Carlos Condit and Martin Kampmann will once again square off—in a rematch of their exceptional 2009 bout—when they clash in Indianapolis for the second UFC on Fox Sports 1 event. For those who witnessed their action-packed first scrap, this…
Carlos Condit and Martin Kampmann will once again square off—in a rematch of their exceptional 2009 bout—when they clash in Indianapolis for the second UFC on Fox Sports 1 event.
For those who witnessed their action-packed first scrap, this is cause for celebration. Rarely is either man involved in a dull fight—if you cite Condit vs. Diaz, I will seriously hurt you.
This bout is intriguing for a number of reasons, particularly because the fighters are so evenly matched. Each boasts the kind of well-rounded skill set that should guarantee excitement wherever the fight takes place.
With that in mind, let’s take a closer look at how this fight breaks down.
For something that is so central to success in combat sports, there is a surprising paucity of information readily available on the particulars of what we colloquially refer to as the “chin” of a fighter. Why are some individuals able to su…
For something that is so central to success in combat sports, there is a surprising paucity of information readily available on the particulars of what we colloquially refer to as the “chin” of a fighter.
Why are some individuals able to sustain a severe beating, while others turn into Bambi-on-roller-skates if they even so much as think about getting hit?
In order to understand the mechanics of punch resistance, one has to first understand the biochemistry of head trauma.
“It’s really a multi-factorial process when you deal with concussions,” says Dr. Anthony Alessi, Associate Clinical Professor of Neurology at the University of Connecticut and 2009’s Ringside Physician of the Year. “Potassium is inside the nerve cell, and sodium and calcium are outside the cell. What happens is, when you have a concussion, you upset the membrane. Calcium begins to flow into the nerve cell, which then causes swelling and damage to the nerve cell.
“Let’s say there’s a storm, and the concussion is the storm. It causes a rupture in your basement wall, and now you’ve got water flowing into your basement. That rupture in the basement wall is like rupturing the nerve cell. Now you’ve got all this water flowing in—which would be the calcium—and the only way to get it out is to pump it out. And that’s what the nerve cell does.”
Taking this analogy further, it seems as though every fighter has his own distinct internal wall governing how much trauma can be endured before the body is forced to temporarily shut off the power.
“The nerve cell has pumps to pump the calcium out so that it can get back to being balanced,” adds Dr. Alessi. “The body diverts energy to get these pumps working. That’s why knockouts occur, because the brain is saying: ‘Listen, I gotta shut it down here and get this thing going again.’ If you get another storm before you’ve even repaired the first one, you’re going to have an overwhelming amount of calcium rushing in, and that can sometimes even result in death.”
There have been a number of different theories as to why certain fighters are blessed with a more robust set of whiskers than others. Some have argued that when we talk about the strength of a fighter’s “chin,” we are really talking about neck strength.
Dr. Matt Pitt, in a 2010 article for Sherdog.com, argues that the sternocleidomastoid muscles —on either side of the neck—determine one’s capacity to take a punch.
“[The sternocleidomastoids] are prominent. Unfortunately, they are also isolated,” claims Dr. Pitt. “It is not surprising then that we rarely see the thrower of a well-placed punch to the head grasping his hand in pain and stumbling back in amazement as his opponent casually flexes his [sternocleidomastoids] and smiles; the muscular arithmetic is firmly in the thrower’s favor.
“When a punch of sufficient force strikes the face, it accelerates the front of the cranium back into the frontal lobes of the brain. This is the irreducible sweet science of brain injury. A gentle blow to the frontal lobes causes various degrees of central nervous system sedation—it stuns the brain—and a blow of sufficient force simply shuts the brain off.”
Intuitively, this appears to make a lot of sense. But what about fighters who have large neck muscles yet appear to be walking on stilts whenever they absorb anything stronger than a light breeze?
Bob Sapp’s neck looks like it was designed by a caricaturist, but in recent years, he has spent more time in the fetal position than a newborn baby. How to make sense of these apparent anomalies?
“Absolutely, neck muscles are important in the type of concussion that results from whiplash,” states Dr. Alessi. “However, it doesn’t help to avoid a direct blow. It only helps in certain instances. The brain has a certain threshold for damage and different brains have different thresholds. There are different tolerances within the brain and within nerve cells to different stressors, including head damage.”
Trawling through forums and comments sections, a popular view within the MMA community seems to be that there is a connection between mental strength and punch resistance. It’s a curious idea, seemingly borne out of wishful thinking more than anything else.
In boxing and MMA, the sturdiness of one’s chin has almost replaced the size of one’s genitalia as an indicator of masculinity. It’s as though fans are eager to credit the fighter for the fact that he possesses a granite chin, attributing it to mental strength rather than something that is entirely beyond his control.
“[Mental strength] doesn’t play a role in it. That kind of mentality is scary more than anything,” argues Dr. Alessi. “Those are the kinds of people who are going to stay in there no matter what, and those are the guys who end up with the most damage…. They’re willing to die.”
An interesting fact about this issue is that a fighter’s capacity to absorb damage tends to diminish over time—a fact which supports the notion that the composition of one’s “chin” is multifactorial.
Chuck Liddell is one such fighter who made the journey from extreme durability to almost-comical fragility. As his career progressed, watching the deterioration of “The Iceman’s” punch resistance was almost as compelling as the fights themselves.
“Some fighters believe the more you get hit in the head, the more you build up an immunity to damage,” Dr. Alessi points out. “These people think: ‘The more I get hit, the tougher I get.’ But it’s more like: ‘The more you get hit, the dumber you get.’ That’s one of those gym fallacies that has been going around for years.
“The nerve cells are almost like long, fine threads in the brain. What is happening is, with a concussion, you are shearing those nerve cells and rupturing those membranes…Referring back to the threshold of the brain for injury, each time the brain is injured, the threshold goes down, making it more susceptible to further damage.”
In light of how little control we have over our capacity to absorb punishment, it seems strange that we revere toughness perhaps more than any other fighting quality. Much like an exposed magic trick, reducing the “chin” to biochemical equilibrium seems as though it would undermine our sense of reverence.
Chalk it up to my love of science, but watching a Julio Cesar Chavez or a Roy Nelson endure a harrowing beating only to keep moving forward remains an awe-inspiring sight even when one understands the underlying processes.
It is a curious fact about human psychology that we can’t help but gawp at the abnormal, even if it makes us want to regurgitate our lunch. And so it is with MMA injuries. They seem to have a hypnotic quality. Then again, once the initial shock w…
It is a curious fact about human psychology that we can’t help but gawp at the abnormal, even if it makes us want to regurgitate our lunch.
They seem to have a hypnotic quality. Then again, once the initial shock wears off, we tend to respond to subsequent replays of the injury by squirming in our seats and gasping obscenities—at least I do, anyway.
When one thinks of injuries, images of broken bones tend to come to mind. However, this list is going to focus more broadly on injuries in general, rather than concentrating on snapped limbs.
As ever, feel free to leave your own suggestions in the comments.
Without further delay, I present to you seven MMA injuries you’ll never be able to unsee.
With UFC 160 fast approaching, it is once again time for us to engage in the thankless task of forecasting what will happen when trained killers engage in unarmed combat. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. Saturday night’s card, c…
With UFC 160 fast approaching, it is once again time for us to engage in the thankless task of forecasting what will happen when trained killers engage in unarmed combat. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.
Saturday night’s card, coming to us from the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, is stacked from top to bottom: Donald Cerrone vs. K.J. Noons, Junior dos Santos vs. Mark Hunt, and Cain Velasquez vs. Antonio “Bigfoot” Silva for the UFC heavyweight title are just a few of the corkers on the agenda.
With that in mind, the team got together to predict what the future holds for the UFC 160 competitors.
Our seers include the Nostradamus-like Scott Harris, the telepathic McKinley Noble, the clairvoyant Sean Smith, the prophet-esque Riley Kontek, and me, the Sylvia Browne of MMA, James MacDonald.
With UFC on FX 8 now in the books, it is once again time to review the particulars of yet another Vitor Belfort knockout win. Belfort’s use of Testosterone Replacement Therapy (TRT) has become so controversial in recent months that it is now impo…
Belfort’s use of Testosterone Replacement Therapy (TRT) has become so controversial in recent months that it is now impossible to discuss his increasingly age-defying Octagon feats without questioning their legitimacy.
The 36-year-old has more detractors than can fit inside the Rogers Centre, but a vocal minority of TRT apologists continue to deny that the UFC veteran’s success has anything to do with his steady diet of synthetic testosterone.
After Belfort knocked Michael Bisping silly with a left high kick at UFC on FX 7, a few apologists mumbled something about TRT not being able to teach a fighter how to execute a head kick.
We heard similar claims last night (go here, here and here for just a few examples) in the aftermath of “The Phenom’s” highlight-reel knockout of Luke Rockhold.
While it is true enough that PEDs can’t teach you technique, it’s a little silly to take such a narrow view of the issue.
The problem seems to be that we cannot see the effects of TRT in real time. We have no way of knowing how Belfort would have performed on Saturday night had he forgotten to take his “medicine.” We are instead forced to make subjective judgments about the legitimacy of his performance.
Interestingly, we only ever seem to hear the “TRT doesn’t teach technique” argument in response to flashy knockouts. When Dan Henderson starches someone with a bog-standard overhand right, you won’t find anyone shouting, “That’s all technique, baby!”
Where exactly are these people drawing the line? At what point do they make the distinction between the exceptional and the mundane? Should the merits of a TRT-fueled performance be judged based on the level of technique on display?
In truth, we shouldn’t be attempting to make that distinction. The fact that TRT is a performance enhancer is all that should matter to us. People who attempt to parse the variables in order to lend some additional credibility to Belfort’s performance are missing the point.
One could make the case that the Brazilian’s use of TRT did have a direct effect on the fight-ending sequence of blows. But that isn’t even the most salient issue up for discussion.
The disproportionate focus on the knockout blow—as though everything that occurred prior is somehow orthogonal to the discussion—obscures the deeper point.
The assumption seems to be that events would have unfolded exactly as they did even if we removed TRT as a variable: At 2:25 of the first round, Belfort would have been in position to deliver the fight-ending spinning heel kick, with or without the help of some additional testosterone.
This perspective fundamentally misunderstands the principle of cause and effect.
Without the aid of TRT, perhaps “The Phenom” would have been a step slower on Saturday night. As a result, maybe he doesn’t get in position to land the decisive kick. Who knows? What we do know is that the fight would have unfolded differently, even if we don’t know to what extent.
It’s all speculation, really. So let’s put that to one side and focus on something a little more concrete.
One of the most well-documented effects of TRT is the impact it can have on a fighter’s ability to train. It can lead to greater muscle mass and strength (these effects last for some time after the athlete has cycled off the treatment), but crucially it also allows athletes to train for longer and recover faster.
By any standard, this constitutes a competitive advantage. The quality of a fighter’s training directly impacts his performance inside the cage. Indeed, a premium is placed on preparedness in this business. It doesn’t merely boost a fighter’s physical well-being but also his mental well-being.
If one fighter is training like Superman and the other is training like the average human being, wouldn’t you expect to see this disparity reflected inside the cage on fight night? I certainly would.
To focus narrowly on the final seconds of Saturday night’s main event is to miss the bigger picture. This issue cannot be distilled down to a single technique.
The good news is that the vast majority of the MMA community seems to be on the right side of this issue. Now all we have to do is convince the contrarians amongst us.
Why do we value the existence of an organisation like Bellator? There are a variety of reasons, but two stand out as being of particular importance. The first, and perhaps most obvious, is that fans appreciate the content it provides. While the UFC con…
Why do we value the existence of an organisation like Bellator? There are a variety of reasons, but two stand out as being of particular importance.
The first, and perhaps most obvious, is that fans appreciate the content it provides. While the UFC continues to pump out more and more cards each year, there remains an appetite for yet more MMA.
Therefore, the oft-posited notion that MMA has reached its saturation point is, in light of recent television ratings and pay-per-view buys, a total non-sequitur. It makes no more sense than suggesting that there is too much NFL, NBA and EPL soccer on television.
While Bellator can’t match the UFC’s level of talent, the California-based promotion nevertheless consistently offers high-level MMA competition.
The second reason why we tend to value an organisation like Bellator is that it offers additional opportunities to the growing number of mixed martial artists who view the sport as a viable career path.
The UFC has a limited number of roster spots it can fill, which means Bellator plays a vital role in the maintenance and growth of our industry. Not only does the promotion employ fighters who generally aspire to be a part of the UFC, but it also provides a platform for them to showcase their skills against respectable opposition.
However, Bellator now seems eager to take on a different role within the industry.
I am certainly not in principle opposed to Bellator showing ambition, but this recent attitudinal change has had an undesirable effect on the industry. In fact, Bellator is currently failing our fighters on a number of different levels.
But why should you or I care?
When I refer to mixed martial artists as “our fighters,” I do so affectionately. After all, there is an element of truth to the quixotic notion that they are risking life and limb for our entertainment.
I recall one MMA journalist claiming that compassion for fighters should be our penance for deriving so much pleasure from their suffering. It’s very poetic, but the truth is arguably much simpler.
We should care because we are emotionally invested in the well-being of these athletes and because how they are treated and the opportunities they are afforded directly impacts the health of the MMA industry.
If there is a clear path to prosperity and opportunities are abundant, MMA becomes a much more attractive option for young athletes. However, the health of the industry relies just as much on organisations like Bellator as it does on the UFC.
While you might argue that Bellator CEO Bjorn Rebney has every right to hold loftier goals in mind, it is a fantasy to think that his organisation will ever genuinely compete with the UFC. We are not talking WWF vs. WCW from the mid-1990s here, despite the obvious parallels.
And this delusional sense of potential equivalence is in many ways harmful to the industry. Indeed, Bellator’s current contract dispute with Eddie Alvarez perfectly illustrates this point—the particulars of this quarrel can be read here.
Some will doubtless argue that Rebney and Co. are just trying to hold onto a fighter their organisation helped build, but they are essentially holding Alvarez hostage, stalling not only his career but also his earning potential.
Do not allow the legal legitimacy of Bellator’s claim to cloud your reasoning. People tend to conflate legality with morality, as though all immoral acts are illegal and all moral acts are legal.
Bellator may have matched the guaranteed earnings promised within the UFC’s contract offer to Alvarez, but the respective deals are not equivalent. To say that Eddie Alvarez does not have much greater earning potential as a UFC fighter is a failure to reason honestly.
The additional money he could gain from sponsorships alone undermines the common-sense argument, if not the legal argument of Bellator. This does not even factor in the money Alvarez would earn on pay-per-view—assuming the events on which he appears draw at least 200,000 buys.
Technically, those earnings are not guaranteed, since it can never be stated with absolute certainty that the shows he appears on will breach that threshold. But when you consider that the UFC has only failed to exceed 200,000 buys twice in the past seven years, Bellator’s argument seems spitefully contrary.
Having been under contract with Bellator for around six months, Nam was released when the organisation chose to cancel their bantamweight tournament.
But when Nam later went on to knockout their 135-pound champion, Eduardo Dantas, at a Shooto event in Brazil in mid-2012, Rebney decided to “unrelease” a fighter who had never so much as stepped foot inside a Bellator cage.
While Nam fielded offers from the UFC and WSOF, Bellator took advantage of their contractual right to match any offers from rival promotions.
Unfortunately, Rebney’s offer to give him a spot in an upcoming 135-pound tournament would have kept the 29-year-old out of action for six months. Bearing in mind the fact that Bellator had already reneged on two similar offers, can anyone blame Nam for being reluctant to re-sign with them?
Indulge me and put yourself in Tyson Nam’s position for a moment. Imagine a former employer, who had previously wasted both your time and money, deliberately halting your momentum just as your career is about to take off.
Now imagine them doing such a spectacular job of sabotaging your career that you are unable to earn a living for seven months, by which point your value has plummeted and you are forced to take a job with a smaller company for less money.
Hopefully you now have a sense of the ease with which Bellator is willing to torpedo a fighter’s career in order to meet its fanciful ends.
Perhaps the most salient factor in the above cases is that neither Alvarez nor Nam want/wanted to fight for Bellator.
Tyson Nam stated explicitly his wish to sign with the UFC. Eddie Alvarez, on the other hand, has been forced to remain officially neutral on his preferred final destination. Stating outright his desire to compete for the UFC would certainly undermine his legal argument, so we are forced to read between the lines.
I find it astonishing that the community is seemingly divided on these issues. Are we really so charmed by the false notion of “the little promotion that could” that we are willing to suspend our ethical intuitions?
In addition to these cases, Rebney has made it clear that he has no real interest in signing former UFC talent.
There are obviously some exceptions, such as Ben Saunders and Vladimir Matyushenko, but it has become apparent that Bellator is not a realistic option for former UFC fighters who have achieved any degree of notoriety.
Why might this be?
Bellator is intent on discovering and building its own stars, rather than relying on former UFC talent. However, the promotion is also very much interested in controlling its image and guiding fan perception.
Does anyone really think that Jon Fitch is a sub-UFC-level fighter? Signing Fitch would only have strengthened Bellator’s welterweight division. But it would also have come with the risk of him potentially toppling their 170-pound champion, Ben Askren.
In terms of fan perception, this would have been disastrous. A discarded former UFC fighter strolling into the organisation and unseating their long-time champion? Such an occurrence would only highlight the talent disparity that exists between the promotions.
The net result of this is that there are currently few opportunities to be found in Bellator, unless you are young or relatively unknown. Or Russian.
One suspects that if Fitch had decided to change his name to Jon Fitchamovic, Bjorn Rebney would have been powerless to stop himself from offering the UFC-vet a contract.
And as has been demonstrated, parting ways with Bellator is becoming increasingly problematic for any fighter with a lick of talent. Rebney seems to be running his organisation like he is the warden of Alcatraz: difficult to get in, even more difficult to leave.
If you thought my criticism would only extend to Bellator’s treatment of male fighters, I would like to draw your attention to their women’s division, which currently boasts a whopping five fighters.
Bellator may have featured female fighters before the UFC, but it is difficult to see how they could have done any less to promote women’s MMA. Beyond the comically-shallow talent pool, Bellator has minimised WMMA at every opportunity, whether consciously or unconsciously.
Female fights are routinely relegated to the undercard—including title fights. Additionally, there are currently no women’s tournaments planned for the near future. With that in mind, one wonders why Bellator is in the WMMA business at all.
The only upside of the situation is that, if need be, these women should find it trivially easy to emancipate themselves, given how indifferent Bellator appears to be towards promoting their female fighters.
Needless to say, my criticism of Bellator should not be viewed as some sort of endorsement of how the UFC handles its fighters. I have my own problems with the UFC in this context, particularly when it comes to their minimum fighter pay and the issue of financial transparency.
With that said, I am not even remotely tempted to claim that Dana White and Co. are failing our fighters in quite the same way as Bellator.
Whether or not Bellator is viewed as the plucky underdog, people have to recalibrate their priorities and start to realise that the promotion has been egregiously unscrupulous in some of its recent dealings with fighters.
Some might argue that Bellator’s perceived failures are a product of Bjorn Rebney’s ambition. I am more inclined to argue that they are a product of his self-deception.
The general rule is that competition in business is a good thing. Bellator seems to be demonstrating that there are clear exceptions to this rule.
For something that is so central to success in combat sports, there is a surprising paucity of information readily available on the particulars of what we colloquially refer to as the “chin” of a fighter.