Special Feature
“I’m not a writer… go easy on me.”
The first words I uttered to Tom Gerbasi via email upon filing my first story for UFC.com in my early days at UFC. Thirty minutes or an hour passed. Then a response in my inbox:
“Go easy on WHAT? Of course you’re a writer.”
If you ever had the pleasure of meeting Gerbasi in person or speaking to him on the phone, you’re probably reading that response in the rumbling but warm Staten Island accent. A defining characteristic, and one that always instantly made me homesick.
A voice and a person I’ll never forget. We knew him as "TG," and we’re all better for it.
MORE GERBASI: The Fighter | Beloved From The Opening Bell | Lessons From A Master | One Of One | Farewell To The King
One of the most brilliant minds combat sports has seen, it’s not hyperbolic to say without TG, UFC would not be the polished and well-oiled machine it is today. The history of this wild ride would have been lost on the wind, and the athletes whose stories deserve the utmost effort, detail and care would have likely been overlooked over the last two-plus decades.
TG set the standard on many things: how we preserve the history of UFC, the language we use and the type of stories we tell. He set the standard not by written guidelines or lectures on what to do, but simply through his own daily work.
I’ve always characterized myself as a storyteller, and throughout my life and career in sports, that title has taken form in a variety of ways. Being a sort of jack-of-all-trades means you never feel at home in one particular area — not fully a videographer, not fully a writer, not fully a content producer… just a little bit of everything.
But for the short time that I was a writer for UFC.com, my 100+ stories and almost-daily correspondences with TG slowly proved to me that maybe I did have a home… and that was in whatever I decided to do.
Once a year I’d dust off the ol’ writing muscles and would file a story with no warning to him. He’d respond, instantly, “Are you back MP???? :)” and when I’d tell him “definitely maybe” (IYKYK), we’d have a few back and forths about quintessential East Coast things — pizza, music, what did we have to bribe him with to get him to come to one more event with us?
Before my proper broadcast debut for UFC, we had our invariably ceremonial fight week dinner during UFC 309: Jones vs Miocic. After hours of being brought to near-tears and way too many slices of Sicilian pizza, we were headed out on our trek back uptown when I mentioned to him how nervous I was; it was a big moment, and I was already losing sleep a week out.
He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and effortlessly said, “Why? You’ll be great. You always are.”
At this point, I had heard that a thousand times. But for maybe the first time, I really believed it.
READ: Obituary For Thomas Gerbasi
TG’s mentorship transformed me from diffident to adept — as a writer, a person, a storyteller — and brought something out of me that was maybe always there, hidden by years of “no’s” and “not good enough’s,” flung around so carelessly and so often that you really start to believe it.
He was a mentor to many; not in the “corporate BS” way with quotas to meet with the advice he gave or time he so generously shared with us, but in the way that truly mattered — helping us all to see the potential we had within, however he did it.
It was probably the same thing that made him a tremendous storyteller — always finding the most poignant stories in the tiniest cracks of the armor we all wield. He never conducted interviews, instead always had conversations. And if you were ever lucky enough to get to hear him tell any story in his arsenal of wild tales in person (did you ever hear about his first and only fight?), you probably ended up with a sore jaw and a six pack from laughing so hard.
TG was one of one. It’s something we’ve all always known, and the conclusion we’ve all come to over the last few days of telling his stories, looking back on our goofy photos and memories of him, remembering the person he was, in addition to the work that he did.
His absence will be felt profoundly, daily, by all of us at UFC and the countless athletes who loved him dearly. We’re all so grateful for the time he gave us, and for making us all a little bit better each day.
He loved this job — you have to in order to do it for more than two decades — but his favorite job was that of husband, father, and especially grandfather, roles he so admirably balanced as his top priority amongst the demands of our industry. Despite thousands of stories filed, his favorite stories to tell were those of his family; his life’s magnum opus.
A life filled with magnificent work, a life lived as a remarkable human, and a legacy that will not soon be forgotten. Thanks for everything, TG.