In the 20-plus years since UFC 1 introduced the world to mixed martial arts, only three have been able to string together a nearly innumerable 30-plus-fight win streak.
The first, Igor “Ice Cold” Vovchanchyn, a hard-nosed Ukrainian beloved by hardcore …
In the 20-plus years since UFC 1 introduced the world to mixed martial arts, only three have been able to string together a nearly innumerable 30-plus-fight win streak.
The first, Igor “Ice Cold” Vovchanchyn, a hard-nosed Ukrainian beloved by hardcore fans. He racked up knockouts from Russia to Brazil to Japan; most notably making the Pride Grand Prix 2000 finals.
The second, Travis Fulton, amassed a career record of 250–49–10. Though the rotund heavyweight fought mostly for no-name organizations in the Midwest, “The Ironman” did compete inside the Octagon on two occasions. Something of an anomaly in his own right.
Finally, Renan Barao, fighting this weekend at UFC 173. A live-wire wrecking ball inside the cage, he’s more soft-spoken outside of it. He is the UFC’s bantamweight champion. There is a good chance you may have never heard of him, or know little beyond the fact that he wields one of the UFC’s belts.
There are at least a few reasons why one of the best MMA fighters on the planet remains a relative unknown, especially to those in the United States, far and away the biggest consumer of UFC content.
For starters, Barao is Brazilian.
He does not speak English and uses a translator for interviews. Even the great Anderson Silva, also Brazilian, took years to fully establish himself as a pay-per-view star. At this week’s UFC 173 media day, Barao, the 27-year old with a 32-1 record, spoke about moving Stateside. It would seem the black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu realizes he needs to make a move—literally—in order to grow his fanbase.
Beyond the language barrier, Barao tips the scales, on weigh-in day, at a redoubtable 135 pounds. Or, roughly half of what a heavyweight like Brock Lesnar would weigh in at. Lesnar, on several occasions, would cut down to the 265-pound limit only to enter the cage on fight night well over that mark.
In MMA, size, it would appear, matters to its fans—and even more so than in its cousin combat sport of boxing.
While boxing’s flagship division was, for the longest time, heavyweight, (in boxing, heavyweight starts at 200 pounds and goes up from there) the smaller weight classes have done quite well for themselves.
The biggest stars in boxing right now—Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao—usually compete at the 145-pound mark, give or take a few pounds. In MMA, 145 pounds puts you as a featherweight, one weight class up from Barao’s bantamweight home.
While lighter-weight boxers like Mayweather have headlined pay-per-views that did well over one million buys and beyond, in MMA, only the heavier-weight-class fighters can boast something similar. The buy rates when lower-weight-class fighters headline a PPV woefully pale in comparison.
Combine being a stranger in a strange land with a stature that most MMA fans simply haven’t gravitated toward, and it leaves a lot to be desired for fighters like Barao, or his training partner Jose Aldo, who is champion in the aforementioned featherweight division.
And that’s a shame.
While bigger fighters like Brock Lesnar—or Jon Jones, champ at light heavyweight—are certainly worth their weight in gold, it is the smaller fighters who are often more skilled technicians that can fight for days on end without looking much worse for wear (something their heavier counterparts can’t routinely brag about).
Another knock on smaller-weight-class fighters is that they cannot finish a fight. While the notion that smaller fighters don’t finish fights is a fallacy—sure their finish rate is lower than it is with heavyweights—it would be especially off base with Barao.
He’s stopped his foes with techniques ranging from an arm-triangle choke to spinning back kick and punches.
He can knock you out. He can take you down and submit you. And no one can seem to stop him.
At UFC 173, upstart TJ Dillashaw will attempt to stop that unstoppable force.
Dillashaw is actually one year older than Barao, but carries into the cage with him a modest 9-2 record. Vegas does not like his chances. As of two days ago, the MGM Grand in Las Vegas had him as plus-550 underdog; the champ at a whopping minus-850 favorite:
If Barao does go on to successfully defend his belt, it would be the fourth time in a row he’s done so. It would put him in some pretty good company—head and shoulders with some of the legends of this youngish sport.
Should you get the opportunity—be it at a bar, on a friend’s couch or via post-fight video highlights—check out bantamweight champ Renan Barao this weekend.
It may feel weird going out of your way to view a fighter you may have barely heard of until recently.
But if the young champ’s trajectory continues to chart on its current course, you may get to see one of the all-time great finishers in action on his way to becoming one of the first true stars south of 155 pounds.
Urijah Faber was born in a house in Isla Vista, California. A house, not a hospital. He fondly recalls being raised in a hippie environment, lying around naked until he was two, having a good time.
He has come to embody the “laid-back” California …
Urijah Faber was born in a house in Isla Vista, California. A house, not a hospital. He fondly recalls being raised in a hippie environment, lying around naked until he was two, having a good time.
He has come to embody the “laid-back” California mentality, and, aside from being a fighter, he claims to be a relaxed person. He fights because of his love for it—he did not get into the sport because he was looking to get famous or acquire “a bunch of cash.”
“I am following my passion and that’s what it is about for me,” Faber told me in a 2009 interview.
That passion, though, did lead him barreling down a path of both fame and fortune—an inevitable journey when you combine his looks and personality with one of the best records in the history of this young sport.
For Faber, his “mental game” is everything—and he keeps it simple. When asked how he keeps his mind sharp—was it with yoga, tai chi or visualization?—he plainly stated, “I work my butt off and have a positive attitude. That’s it.”
It really is that simple for the California kid with “California Love” (his signature walkout song on Fight Night).
Coming out of his fight at UFC 139, all the way back in November of 2011 when he ran circles around a previously impressive-looking Brian Bowles, Faber looked to be better—both in mind and body—than ever.
That one-sided affair came just four months after a title fight at UFC 132, where he came up short against his nemesis Dominick Cruz. Faber landed the harder shots, but Cruz edged him out with his sheer volume of strikes, winning an uneven unanimous decision (50–45, 49–46, 48–47).
But despite being only one fight (and win) removed from that title-shot loss, his evisceration of Bowles was enough to earn him an Octagon rematch with Cruz (technically, it would be their third fight since Faber defeated Cruz at featherweight at WEC 26 in 2007).
Faber was selected to be a coach on The Ultimate Fighter: Live opposite Cruz, something Faber told Bleacher Report he was committed to—a three-and-a-half-month commitment, to be exact. The culmination of the season, as it is with every season, would call for the two coaches to face off.
Cruz vs. Faber III was supposed to take place on July 7, 2012 at UFC 148. But it was never to be.
Cruz was forced to pull out of the bout due to an ACL injury. For Faber, who remained healthy and ready to go, things quickly spiraled downward.
A replacement opponent was found in the form of Renan Barao, an incredibly dangerous and only once-beaten Brazilian stalwart who was painfully unheralded. This was a lose-lose proposition for Faber, who was fixed on exacting revenge on Cruz.
Their tilt, which would determine the interim bantamweight champion, was originally scheduled for UFC 148: Anderson Silva vs. Chael Sonnen II, but it was ultimately shipped south to UFC 149, which needed a headliner when featherweight champ Jose Aldo was forced off due to his own injury.
Faber went from co-main event status at UFC 148, which ending up getting a million PPV buys, to headlining a UFC 149 PPV (a fight card with little supporting cast for Faber) that ended up yielding less than 250,000 buys.
It was not the best of times for Faber.
The seven-month span that sat between his beatdown of Bowles to his uninspired effort against Barao was one of the low points of his life—not just professionally, but personally.
“I had to deal with the accident of my sister, which was a pretty traumatic event in my life,” Faber said. “She had a really terrible car accident and had to have five brain surgeries. That was the ‘break’ before the Barao fight.
“Also, the UFC asked me to do The Ultimate Fighter. It was a three-and-a-half-month commitment that I had to sit out for. But the reward was going to be huge. I got this big fight on Fourth of July weekend. A huge PPV check. This huge buildup. It was definitely worth the wait, worth signing a new contract for.
“And it kinda got yanked out from under me. It was a tough year.
“To go from being on this huge event, where I think they set a record for most people in attendance at just the pre-workouts and weigh-ins to being in Canada against Renan Barao, who had like 2,000 followers on Twitter but who was on a 30-fight win streak. There wasn’t much promotion behind it. The supporting cast wasn’t there. It was a crappy way to go into a fight that was supposed to be for so much. I fought my best, but it was hard not to be affected by all of that.”
Through all of that, Faber persevered. All of that hard work, combined with a positive attitude, did wonders.
But, alas, he did lose the fight to Barao at UFC 149. It was his second loss in a UFC title fight in as many fights. Not exactly what Faber had hoped for his UFC career.
That has been the knock on Faber for a while now, though: that he can’t win the “big one.”
That is not entirely true, of course. He defended his WEC featherweight title against MMA pioneer Jens Pulver at WEC 34 in the biggest and most signature win of his career at that point.
The victory ran his WEC title fight record to 6-0, but things went downhill from there, perhaps due to the fact that he was facing stiffer competition.
It started with a pair of losses to Mike Brown, the first time defending his belt and the second time attempting to get it back. Then, at WEC 48, his legs were pulverized by kicks courtesy of Aldo, though he somehow survived until the final bell.
Since that loss—and since dropping to bantamweight under the Zuffa banner—Faber has gone 7-2 in his new division. The two losses? The aforementioned title fights with Cruz and Barao.
All told, he is 0-5 in title bouts since his first loss to Brown more than five years ago.
But he can erase all of that history with a win over Barao this Saturday night at UFC 169. It’s a fight Faber slid into after Cruz, who was supposed to face Barao in a bantamweight unification title fight, was forced to pull out once again—this time with a groin injury.
Faber’s 4-0 record in 2013 certainly helped him be in the right place at the right time.
OK, so he cannot blot out his past title-fight digressions—not even close. But he can break the dry spell, exact some revenge on Barao and finally, after all of these years, call himself a UFC champion.
But can he get by the streaking Brazilian? A Barao who looks better than ever? Who looks unbeatable?
He’s a mercenary who can outstrike his opponents on the feet or sink them with torpedo-like submissions on the ground. And if for some reason he cannot finish the fight early, as was the case with Faber, he will outpoint the opposition by using his speed and creating distance—by simply being a better mixed martial artist.
In the first fight with Faber, he controlled the pace and slowed him down. Faber knows this. He admitted all of that and more to Ariel Helwani in his recent MMA Hour interview.
So how does he beat Barao? Faber circles back to the mental game with Bleacher Report.
“This whole year has been a training camp for me,” Faber said. “Fight after fight. Training camp after training camp. I’m in the right head space. I’m ready, man, this is the big opportunity and I’m ready to seize it. A three-week training camp doesn’t give much window, but this fight is not about my body, it’s about my mind. It’s about the mental game. The only difficult thing abut this fight was the weight cut—everything else was perfect.
“I know Barao is a tough skilled competitor. So am I. It’s all going to come down to that night and who best imposes their will. I need to find a way to win, and that is what I am going to do. I am just going to take the fight as a new experience, and I am not planning anything ahead. I am going to apply my skills and look for and create the best opportunities possible.”
And what if Faber should lose for a second time against Barao, running his recent record in title fights to a tough-to-swallow 0-6 since November 2008? Faber is not thinking about that outcome, much less retirement. He is simply excited for the opportunity to be in one more fight that counts.
“I have not really thought about that scenario,” Faber said. “I’m always just thinking about what is in front of me, and winning. I’m definitely not in a position where I am thinking about retirement. It is kind of ridiculous to think about things like that. To not be in the moment. I will make those kind of decisions when I cross that road.
“And I will probably stop fighting when I get tired of it. Right now I am super excited about the sport and I think there are some big fights…win, lose or draw. I’ve got a whole string of championship fights I want to have where I get paid a ton of dough and rise back to the top of the MMA world. And this is the first step step in that right direction.
“I like being in events that count. This one is for the championship of the world. It’s Super Bowl weekend. In the Big Apple. I am ready to fight. I am excited, not nervous. I’m hungry, antsy. Just a waiting game at this point. I’m ready to rumble.”
And if Faber should emerge victorious in this first title fight since defeating Pulver over five years ago back at WEC 34, what is his ideal scenario for a first fight as the newly crowned UFC champ?
Completing the trilogy with Cruz, of course.
“Definitely the ideal scenario,” Faber said. “But we will see if they give Dominick the opportunity to fight right away. I’d like to see that. I’m not sure how that’s going to pan out, but I hope he heals up and I get first crack at him. But I think part of the reason they stripped him is that they are not sure if that’s the way it’s going to pan out. We’ll see what happens.”
At UFC 169, gold is on the line for Faber once again, something he has coveted ever since he started competing in this sport.
Beyond the belt, Faber can alter, to some extent, the narrative of his career and what his lasting legacy in the sport will be. It is only fitting that his third, and possibly final, shot at wrapping a UFC belt around his waist falls on Super Bowl weekend.
Peyton Manning won it all back in 2007 after coming up short time and time again. The Buffalo Bills, unsuccessful in four trips to the big game, not so much.
Which way will Faber’s fortune break? It’s hard to say.
However it breaks, though, rest assured that Faber won’t. He will keep working his butt off, positive attitude forever intact. This hardworking hippie will keep fighting his fight, earning title shots until he doesn’t anymore, ending all of it on his terms.
Brian Oswald is the MMA editor for Bleacher Report. All quotes obtained firsthand unless noted otherwise.
Chris Weidman carries confidence—and American flags—in spades, into the cage.
He had confidence before knocking out Anderson Silva in their first fight at UFC 162. He flashed even more of it for the rematch at UFC 168, where he went on to l…
Chris Weidman carries confidence—and American flags—in spades, into the cage.
He had confidence before knocking out Anderson Silva in their first fight at UFC 162. He flashed even more of it for the rematch at UFC 168, where he went on to leg check the ever-living you-know-what out of Silva’s now titanium-fortified limb.
So it is should come as no surprise that “The All-American” and his confidence are riding high.
He recently spoke with Lance Pugmire of the Los Angeles Times, saying that if the 38-year-old Silva does decide to return to the Octagon after recovering from his broken leg, he cannot envision fighting him a third time.
It’s a tough injury to come back from. I honestly would feel bad to fight him again. I know he’s going to be a little hesitant to kick me. He has to worry about getting knocked out. I’ve dropped him twice, knocked him out once. And I don’t know if it’d even be a fair fight to take. There has to be a lot going through his head. Got a leg broken, got knocked out, got dropped. I don’t know where he is mentally, but fighting is 90% mental.
First of all, someone—anyone—talking about the once unbeatable Silva (everyone is beatable) in that way is disarming for many.
“I honestly would feel bad to fight him again.” He said that? About Silva? Well then.
For those that watched Silva go 16-0 over a seven-year span…it just doesn’t compute. Probably never will.
But that is the fight game. Out with the old and in with the new. Nothing lasts forever, and so on. Silva, in some ways, is already yesterday’s news.
We will continue to monitor any injury-related updates, but from the perspective of Silva being at the top of the food chain, many have already moved on.
Weidman certainly has. He is our new Cinderella man. He looks unstoppable. But so did Silva. So did Jon Jones. So did Georges St-Pierre. How long he can keep that glass slipper wrapped around his fist, well, that’ll be fun to see.
Up next: the terrifying TRT version of Vitor Belfort.
And if Silva attempts some sort of career comeback, it will be a feel-good story. But despite seeming a bit cocky, does Weidman’s statement ring true?
Is he just truth-telling and keeping it real as the kids like to say, or is his confidence at a level where it seems in bad taste and a bit nauseating to some?
Is he kicking the former champ while he is down…or was it the most real thing that could have been said?
For Weidman detractors they point to: (1) the audio that some think captures Weidman’s corner saying, “Good, f*** him“; (2) that, in their first fight, he made sure to land as many shots as he could before the ref stopped the action; and (3) Weidman seeming too giddy to them in his post-fight running-around-the-cage celebration.
Let the dude celebrate, no?
They also focus on how matter-of-fact he was at the post-fight presser about consciously leg-checking Silva’s kick and knowing what could likely happen. He did of course say he would never want to see Silva get hurt like that, and there is no reason to doubt that, right?
(Just for the record, no one would say Silva is some squeaky clean in-cage combatant with only angelic tactics.)
The mousetrap for anyone casting Weidman as anything close to cocky is, of course, the acerbic shadow of Silva—considered by many to be the cockiest MMA fighter to step inside a cage, be it to throw his foes off their game or otherwise.
Many sports fans, though—maybe MMA fans in particular—do not necessarily like their champs being buried early, especially while they are still alive and kicking. So they may not care for this bravado from Weidman.
Silva was, and still very much is, beloved. He has not even officially retired yet. Maybe, just maybe, he wants to make one last run—with a little titanium in his stride this time around.
Is it that crazy to think he could come back and beat Weidman in a third tussle? The American clearly won the first round of their rematch, but Silva looked to be winding up in the second frame before…you know.
So. Weidman. A bit of a jerk? Or simply confident, ready to move on from the Silva saga, get on down the road and pave his own legacy. He certainly looks like he is on his way to doing just that if he can get by Belfort, Lyoto Machida and a few other challengers who emerge.
Whatever you think of Weidman and what he brings, it works; the no-nonsense bravado does the trick because this is the hurt game and champs need all the gall they can muster. He fought fire with fire and burned the old dragon down.
One day in the future, though, he too may be looking down the double barrel of the latest young gun who doesn’t give a you-know-what that a now past-his-prime Weidman once beat the late great Silva.
June 8, 2006 may not be a date that will live in infamy, but it’s a day that an undone Chris Leben will likely never forget—one that, despite the hellacious amount of beatings his body and brain have chewed off and spat out since, has come to be…
June 8, 2006 may not be a date that will live in infamy, but it’s a day that an undone Chris Leben will likely never forget—one that, despite the hellacious amount of beatings his body and brain have chewed off and spat out since, has come to be part of quite the MMA time capsule, over seven years in gestation.
Anderson Silva will also likely never let go of that night (he has taken a lot less damage since, broken leg last night at UFC 168 notwithstanding).
It was his much-anticipated UFC debut. His victim, the aforementioned Leben, had no earthly idea as to the degree of web he was about to be tangled up in. The beatdown that “The Spider” spun violent on Leben’s dome, Silva’s strikes slicing through Leben like a hot surgical knife playing the violin through unsuspecting buttah, well, it was something to see.
So maybe it was fitting, or just cruel, that Silva and Leben both fought, and lost, last night—Silva in the main event and Leben headlining the preliminary portion of the fight card.
Seven years can take take its toll on a man, any man (or woman now).
But when said men subject themselves to the kind of labor that Silva and Leben do—plying their trade in a steel cage wrapped around an unforgiving canvas floor—well, it can only go on for so long. Only go on for so long and go well, that is.
This sport will let you sand yourself down to subatomic particles if you let it.
Not in the Octagon, of course. Dana White has a good record of asking someone with less brain cells than when they started talking fight to please trade in their five-ounce gloves for a figurehead role within the organization.
(There is no ill will in that graph, either. Simply a not-so-soigne-facts-of-life kinda thing that anyone who puts a little time in, or way too much, will leave this sport with less gray matter. And it is a good thing that a guy like Chuck Liddell can graduate from the cage to conference room with little to no downtime).
But for those not so fortunate, they may end up fighting their guts out—metaphorically speaking, of course—for some XYZ, fly-by-night (and/or fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants) organization in some no-name town in the Midwest, or Florida.
And all of this is not to damn anyone specific.
Not to damn the man. Certainly not to damn Dana White. He is, by all accounts, a model citizen in this sport. The pillar of good health, if you will.
Or the used car salesman guy who starts that XYZ organization and “pays” nameless, faceless, warmish bodies to take a dive, take a beating or just take it on the chin as best they can even though they have no reasonable idea how to actually fight beyond what you might see in a bar on a Saturday night as John Mellancamp or ACDC blares above the ego-driven and intoxicated blood-spill.
MMA has gone mostly mainstream.
It is a legitimate sport—and those that say otherwise are shrinking in size and stature.
A sport with real men and women who have fought in wars, birthed and raised children, fear God, pay their taxes and so forth. Why they do what they do (hell, why do any of us do what we do?) is of no matter. We do what we do because we can and/or want, because something inside of us itches away and the only way to bring temporary relief is to find our scratch post in life and hold on for dear life.
For some, fighting is that scratch post (sometimes a stick of dynamite). For others, it’s crochet—or cat videos.
The sport has all the bells and whistles it needs, and then some, as far as rules and regulations. At least at the level of the UFC, Bellator and a few other leading organizations (once you get beyond the pines, though, things may get a little too dicey for most people’s comfort levels).
But I digress.
Back to Silva and Leben.
They both had their respective runs in this sport.
Silva elevated himself a rung, or 20, above Leben’s. Not that anyone is counting, at least not right now.
The two will forever be intertwined. From that night back in the summer of 2006 to the more recent outing that will be forever remembered by MMA scholars and riffraff alike, another time capsule, a bitter melon reminder of impermanence—that nothing, yes nothing, lasts forever.
Just, if one is so lucky, remembered—or not forgotten.
These two will be remembered. Neither will soon be forgotten, not by those who breathe sweetly from the ever-expanding MMA atmosphere. Especially the one that is, at this present moment, the greatest mixed martial artist to ever step inside our dialed-down thunder dome. Existential angst, do your worst.
And this MMA thing—it will keep on rolling along (the same could be said for football or boxing).
You know nothing about how the rematch will play out. Then again, you probably know everything.
Normally in the fight game, so called “experts,” and the lay fan too, have at least a modicum of insight into how a fight might play out.
In this corner we…
You know nothing about how the rematch will play out. Then again, you probably know everything.
Normally in the fight game, so called “experts,” and the lay fan too, have at least a modicum of insight into how a fight might play out.
In this corner we have a hulking wrestler, and in the opposite corner we have a scintillating striker. Can the wrestler take the striker to the ground enough times to win via judges decision—maybe finish with some ground-and-pound—or will the striker keep things upright long enough to get the knock out?
With the curious case of Chris Weidman vs. Anderson Silva 2, we have just that. Weidman is that hulking wrestler. And Silva is that scintillating striker. But they are so much more than that, too.
Not only with the respective physical tools they possess—and all their intangibles—but with how they ply their trade at such a high level inside the cage. Most importantly, the mental moxy (if you will) they have both wired into themselves somewhere along the way.
Anything can, and just might, happen in their rematch.
In their first fight, which you can view here, Silva trotted out his normal juke-and-jive routine.
The purpose being to taunt his opponent to throw them off their game. Get them to start swinging at him, a guy who cannot be hit, so he can counterstrike his way into their heart and squeeze it until it stops beating. But for those who’ve been watching Silva ‘dance-and-prance’ for years, it felt like something more.
Whether it was just Silva being himself plus a little icing on the cake, him disrespecting Weidman because he felt disrespected that so many were picking the challenger in the upset or the “heavy is the head that wears the crown” theory and he was simply looking for a way to lose, Silva took it too far—and for that, he paid dearly.
It cost him his status as champion. But he was more than just a champ. He was the greatest MMA belt holder of all time, having successfully defended it over the course of seven years and 14 foes.
He also gave up having never been knocked out in his record-breaking career. And he was not just knocked out, he was embarrassingly so—getting blasted while in character, that character looking like a jackass to many when Weidman’s left hand, clenched tight, landed flush on Silva’s face.
Silva’s body, unhinged, like all his bones had left his body—like someone pulled the plug on an appliance and it just quit working—unraveling backward to meet the unforgiving Octagon floor. Weidman finished Silva off with some ground-and-pound that had “go f**k yourself” written across his gloves, because, well, he felt Silva had been disrespectful to him during the entire course of the fight.
Weidman don’t play that juke-and-jive game, no sir he does not.
In the post-fight speech, Silva gave the impression he was retiring, only to sign on for the rematch a few weeks later. No doubt, Dana White applied the right amount of pressure and flashed the appropriate amount of dollar signs for Silva to run it back at least one more time. One more time translates to what some are calling the biggest and/or most important fight in UFC history.
So yeah, uh, what is going to happen in this rematch? Your guess is as good as mine. There is literally not one thing that will happen before, during or after the fight that should leave anyone surprised.
Be that as it may, the following slides offer some thoughts on what could happen, some of which probably will in fact happen.
If 19th century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche had been around to give Junior dos Santos a post-fight pep talk after the beating he took from Cain Velasquez, he might have said something like, “that which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
Th…
If 19th century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche had been around to give Junior dos Santos a post-fight pep talk after the beating he took from Cain Velasquez, he might have said something like, “that which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
The cliche may not always apply, but when a man, or woman, decides to try their hand at being a professional fighter—be it boxing, mixed martial arts, or some other permutation—for all intents and purposes, they know what they are getting themselves into. Whether or not they have enough personal clarity to know if they’re biting off more than they can chew is an entirely different matter.
Fighting, as a professional sport, provides fans of caged carnage with a moral dilemma in that we are essentially, for the purposes of entertainment, rooting for the expedited destruction of our fellow man.
UFC President Dana White appears to be aware of the fine line between rooting for violence—and enjoying it—and knowing when the action inside the Octagon has gone too far.
In the post-fight presser for Velasquez vs. dos Santos III, White goes from declaring UFC 166 “the greatest fight card in UFC history”—he is probably not far off there—to making sure people know he thought the main event should have been halted in the third round.
White was not the only man who thought the one-sided affair should have been stopped in the third frame. Or, at least, he appeared to be considering it, if only for a split second.
Referee Herb Dean moved in after Velasquez had dropped dos Santos for the second time in the round and was going in for the kill. Dean looked to put his hand on the back of the champ, but pulled back and let the action continue.
Dos Santos survived. And the mugging continued for one-and-a-half rounds more than many thought it should have.
Velasquez kept up his relentless pace until dos Santos was completely exhausted in the fifth and final round. The Brazilian striker desperately attempted a choke, but Cain shrugged him off, and he dropped down to the canvas floor hunched over. Dean, finally, was forced to put an end to the action.
There was one man who actually thought the fight had been stopped before the third round. That man was dos Santos himself.
According to a report from Fighters Only, dos Santos does not remember most of the UFC 166 fight with Velasquez. Afterwards, he was under the impression that he had been knocked out in the second round. His corner believes he fought from round two onwards “on autopilot.”
If you thought that having no memory would give dos Santos some pause about getting back in there and doing it all over again, guess again. Instead, he proclaimed, “Now it’s time to go back to the gym and train, dedicate myself to come back stronger than ever and, who knows, some day dispute the championship again and be able to honor the support from everybody who believed in me.”
Perhaps Nietzsche whispered in his ear after all.
In an editorial over at Yahoo! Sports, Elias Cepeda postulates that dos Santos was failed by those who were supposed to protect him at UFC 166.
Dean is singled out by name, but Cepeda believes there are several parties at fault: “But that doesn’t mean that his corner, the ring side doctors and the referee should allow him to take damage that will undoubtedly color his health in the years to come.”
“If you watch that third round again when he’s getting hit, his arms are [out]. He’s not defending himself, he doesn’t have his hands up. He’s out.”
“There’s no need for a young, talented guy to take that kind of punishment when he’s out on his feet,” White said. “I was kinda hoping somebody was going to throw the towel in or the ref would come stop it, or the doctor was going to stop it. One eye was closed, and the other was cut wide open. He was hurt.
“I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but I’m a believer. I always like to say that if anybody in his [expletive] corner cares about him, please, throw in that towel. I thought the fight was done in the third round. Is Junior dos Santos tough enough and does he have the heart to go through it? Yeah, but does that mean he should?” White went on.
“If you look at the fight, it ended in the fifth. That guy took seven, eight minutes more punishment that he didn’t need to take until it ended. That seven or eight minutes, I don’t know man. I just, I don’t like it.
Those who disagree may argue that dos Santos was still throwing hard punches throughout while intelligently defending himself to some extent. Others, like Cepeda, would counter that he appeared to be “out on his feet”…that his brain had rattled around in his skull but he was too tough and well-conditioned to actually go unconscious.
John S. Nash over at Bloody Elbow furthers the discourse on cornermen with his contribution “Throwing in the Towel on MMA Cornermen.” He points out differences between cornermen in MMA and boxing and says that it is time for the cornermen of mixed martial arts to get with the program of throwing in the towel when warranted—that some men have to be protected from themselves.
The question then becomes: what if the current culture of MMA lends itself to cornermen not protecting their fighters? And what happens when things are compounded by the referee not stepping in when he or she should?
Going back to White one last time, who said post-fight, “I wanted to throw in the towel. I had Tilman Fertitta, Lorenzo and Frank’s cousin, sitting next to me (asking me) ‘How does this work, can you throw in the towel?'” That’s a good f***ing question. I think if I threw the towel in, I’d get f***ing beat to death by his corner and half the fans here and probably the next time I went to Brazil.”
Should White have the power to throw in the towel? If he had that power, would he actually use it? Obviously being the promoter provides a clear conflict of interest, but the point remains on whether or not someone should be able to press the eject button if the corner and referee do not? And if so, who would that be?
How many of you would have have thrown in the towel if you had been cageside, on the edge of your seat, somewhere between intoxicated by the spectacle and taken aback by the brutality?
In the 20-plus years since UFC 1 introduced the world to mixed martial arts, only three have been able to string together a nearly innumerable 30-plus-fight win streak.