Morgan Park’s ‘Goozie’ Hines punching his way from north woods to UFC spotlight

By HOWIE HANSON
DULUTH — There’s a broad-shouldered freight train of a man thundering out of the north woods these days, and folks around here simply call him “Goozie.”

Alvin Hines — known from the Pine Tree gas station in Deer River to the mats at Jungle Gym MMA as “Goozie” — has become something of a living tall tale in this rugged corner of Minnesota. The legend started early. Family swear he was out back arm-barring imaginary bears long before he ever strapped on four-ounce gloves.

“I grew up right between Cohasset and Deer River,” Hines said. “Went to Deer River High School, regular blue-collar family, hunting and fishing and stuff. Started working construction. I wrestled in high school, did one MMA fight right after. Didn’t really take it serious, didn’t know what it was.”

Turns out he did know how to grind. Hines, 6-foot-2 and a thick 265 pounds, cut from the same timber as the red pines of his youth, went on to run heavy equipment for the operators union.

“They’re still one of my biggest supporters now to this day,” he said. “I was blessed with great people to help me along the way.”

Somewhere in that swirl of jobs, hunting trips and pickup trucks, the fight bug truly bit. He got back into jiu-jitsu, and a coach told him to start throwing hands.

“Lo and behold,” Hines said, “I had a talent for it.”

Soon the stories spread: the big kid from Deer River steamrolling through local cards like they were all-you-can-eat walleye buffets. Fans cheered as he finished opponents with rear-naked chokes, ground-and-pound TKOs, and the occasional thundering head kick that sent the crowd at Mystic Lake Casino into fits. It was blue-collar brawling made for the big lights.

Then came Las Vegas. On June 28, under the bright glare of T-Mobile Arena and UFC 317, Hines squared off against Brazilian powerhouse Jhonata Diniz. For three punishing rounds, Hines hung tough, ultimately dropping a decision.

“That was my last fight — Diniz, 28-29,” he said. “It went to the judges. Should have pushed my wrestling harder. But he beat me fair and square.”

Even so, thousands back home stood a little taller that night. Pubs from Grand Rapids to Duluth aired the fight, locals half-standing with pride, half-holding their breath every time Goozie’s jaw tested gravity.

What makes Hines a hometown hero isn’t just his fists. It’s how earnestly normal he remains. He still trains with guys who clock into the mill Monday morning, splitting time between Jungle Gym and Superior Jiu-Jitsu across the border.

Ask him to size up his own skills, and he shrugs. “Like I said, I’m not the best at anything. I’m just better than most at all the things I do — wrestling, kickboxing, jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai. And I have a lot of heart. I’m not just fighting for myself, I’m fighting for the people who believe in me. That makes me really hard to beat.”

It’s that stubborn, northwoods pride — and an everyman humility — that keeps folks rooting. He thanked his grandmother before he ever bragged about himself on live TV. And after Vegas, he came right back to Morgan Park, where he now lives.

“It’s a nice neighborhood. Actually, when I go to permanently live somewhere, it’s probably gonna be Morgan Park,” he said with a grin. “Even if I’m a world champion, I like Morgan Park.”

If you break down Hines’ game the way rival fight camps surely have, it’s a mix of raw power and surprising athleticism for a man his size. On tape, he moves like a middleweight, exploding into takedowns from ranges where most heavyweights just plod. When he decides to close the distance, it’s like watching a snowplow on a tight Iron Range road — quick, forceful, and hard to get out of the way. Once he’s on top, Hines is a nightmare. He postures high and rains down elbows or short, clubbing fists until referees step in to save whoever’s underneath.

It’s not just his wrestling that jumps off the screen. Most big men slow to a labored crawl by the second round. Hines doesn’t. He keeps pressing forward, keeps throwing, carrying a high strike rate deep into fights. That’s unusual — and dangerous — in the heavyweight ranks.

Still, there are places where sharp opponents can test him. His striking defense remains a work in progress. Hines has a habit of keeping his chin on the center line, retreating straight back when under fire, which leaves him ripe for short hooks and sneaky overhands. So far, he’s mostly powered through mistakes with brute force and cardio, but the UFC’s a different animal. His ground scrambles, too, sometimes look hurried. He’s so eager to pop up that he’ll risk giving up position or even his back to stand. Smart grapplers will take note.

None of it seems to faze Hines. If anything, it’s fuel. The Vegas loss didn’t close doors. It cracked open the biggest one yet. Hines recently signed a four-fight deal with the UFC — what he proudly calls the NFL of combat sports.

“That’s all up to me,” he said. “Just like everything else in my life. How hard I want to work, push myself. The sky’s the limit.”

Where it takes him is anyone’s guess. “I have teammates that fought in Saudi Arabia, Russia, Brazil — UFC goes everywhere. I could be on any one of those cards. Really looking forward to it.”

For now, he’s nursing a broken nose — his first courtesy of the big show — and waiting on the doctor’s all-clear so the UFC can line up, in his playful words, “another victim.”

As for his record, he lays it out matter-of-factly: “Three-and-oh as an amateur, seven-and-one as a pro.”

In the meantime, training never stops. Two-a-days, six days a week, eating clean, finding small edges.

“If you stick to the grindstone and you’re making small improvements — even if it’s just a little at a time — that’s what you gotta do,” Hines said. “A lot of people can’t do it. That’s why not a lot of people are here.”

He doesn’t much care about rankings yet.

“I probably got one, just because only so many heavyweights in the UFC. But no, not yet,” he admitted. “I don’t sit there and watch a bunch of UFC. I watch other heavyweights and their technique videos — those are the people I’ll be fighting. But they treat us so good. I’m from a small town, a blue-collar family. Wasn’t used to being treated like that.”

His dream stays simple. “Absolutely, I can be a world champion. You can do anything that you want to. Anything. I’ve come from rock bottom, so in my mind, yeah.”

Whatever happens, this patch of Minnesota’s already got a bar stool with his name on it. Bruised, bandaged, flashing that trademark grin — forever ready to return to the fight. Because around here, we know a true local gem when we see one.