ImageLAS VEGAS - They questioned his heart, they questioned his motivation, they questioned his dedication. Ever since Carter Williams shocked the K-1 USA world with his unlikely victory three years ago, a championship punctuated by a ringing first-round knockout of Rick "The Jet" Roufus, he has been on a downward slide that baffled observers and frustrated his handlers.

This is a fighter with some of the finest physical tools in the business-solid right hand, nasty left hook, sharp kicks from either side, with strength and size to boot. Yet it seemed as though the K-1 title would ultimately be his greatest defeat. He was ill-prepared to handle the pressure, the expectations that came with joining an elite group of legends that included Michael McDonald, Maurice Smith and Mighty Mo Siligia. His weight fluctuated, and his training habits bordered on the nonexistent. He was dangerously close to losing the ring support that lifted him up to the top.

Williams lost fights he should have won, squandered golden opportunities to solidify his standing in the K-1 community. And so when Carter showed up at Mayhem at the Mirage II weighing 272 pounds, a full 50 pounds more than when he won his title, it seemed like the same old refrain. But when he easily demolished potential landmine Yusuke Fujimoto and survived a near disaster against Chalid "Die Faust" Arrab-saved from a sure knockout only by the final bell-Williams appeared to have exorcised his inner demons by qualifying for the championship against Gary "Big Daddy" Goodridge.

Then Williams' string of bad luck, usually a byproduct of his bad technique, surfaced in the training room. He had taken so much punishment in the final round of his bout with Arrab, so many kicks to the knees and punches to the kisser, that his trainers deemed him unable to continue. At issue was a "dead right knee." Williams, easily ahead on all three judges' cards after two rounds with Die Faust, let his guard down in the final three minutes and it cost him a chance at the title. Carter's knee was shot, his chances now as dead as the nerves inside his anchor leg.

"Best to err on the side of caution," Williams' manager, Gene Fields, would say later. "Live to fight another day."

What transpired next will forever be etched in K-1 lore. Arrab, dressed and on his way to the arena floor, is summoned back to the dressing room. Two rounds into his bout with Goodridge, he is bloody and has twice tasted the canvas. But "Big Daddy," ripping a page from Williams' recipe for failure, neither protects his guard nor his sizeable lead. Arrab dumps him with a massive right and the rest is history.

But what of Carter's decision? Was it the right move? Was it merely protecting a young fighter who had many more rounds left in him? Or was it simply another example of a fighter who left his heart at McCarran? By the time a fighter reaches the championship round of this one-night, three-fight tournament, he will have his share of bumps and bruises-unless you're the exception, like Big Daddy, who needed just 76 seconds to dispatch his first two opponents.

Fighting with pain is expected, injuries inevitable. Dewey Cooper once fought an entire round on a right knee so mangled he needed reconstructive surgery after the bout. "The Jet" battled with knees the size of cantaloupes. Curtis Schuster, the victim of K-1's only "walkover" final, suffered a separated shoulder and blown knee in a semifinal bout. But never went down. Never quit.

Would K-1 have been better if Williams had hobbled to the ring and tried to fight Big Daddy on one good leg? Probably not, especially considering how it all turned out. Would the card have lost a bit of its luster from a championship bout that was over before it began? Maybe. Would Williams have been called a hero for showing up or a failure for not putting up? Hard to tell.

One thing's for sure: The questions haunting Williams' career are anything but dead.