Conor McGregor, in the end, flew a little too close to the sun. The beautiful, boastful Irish brawler let his grand ambitions get the better of him, attempting to rewrite the time-tested rules of the fight game.
In McGregor’s fantasy, weight didn’t mat…
Conor McGregor, in the end, flew a little too close to the sun. The beautiful, boastful Irish brawler let his grand ambitions get the better of him, attempting to rewrite the time-tested rules of the fight game.
In McGregor’s fantasy, weight didn’t matter. The ground game didn’t matter either. All that mattered was movement, precision and artistry trumping all. In this world, the physical was merely a manifestation of the battle of wits, a war he’d always won.
It was a sweet dream, one that persisted through the first round, survived right up until a Diaz slap in the second round of their UFC 196 showdown woke him, and us, to reality. A second-round rear-naked-choke finish ended the myth of McGregor once and for all.
It turns out weight classes were instituted for a reason. That punches capable of ending the night of a man who weighs just 145 pounds can’t always crack 25 additional pounds of armor. And that sometimes, no matter how clever you are, another man simply has all the answers.
Diaz, who normally competes at 155 pounds, was too long and too sharp for McGregor. He was able to survive even the featherweight champion’s most fearsome blows and continue forward. Eventually, as his more muscular arms began to sag, McGregor could no longer keep up.
It was a victory for technique, for resiliency and, yes, for size.
“It worked to Nate’s advantage,” Fox Sports analyst and UFC bantamweight champion Dominick Cruz said after the fight. “He was a little heavier and could take the punches. And he had power in his punches that was hurting Conor. But the extra weight made Conor tired, he’s a real featherweight. Conor’s power wasn’t enough at the higher weight.”
Despite the result, there was something magnificent about McGregor’s willingness to test the conventions of his sport. In a world where so many combat sports champions spend their days manufacturing reasons not to challenge themselves, here was a man willing to risk all to prove his point.
If a man must plummet to the ground, why not do it from such gaudy heights? So many of us know what we are. McGregor wanted to know what he might be. It’s the true mark of a champion, this desire to meet any opponent head on, to say “let’s see” instead of “no, I can’t.”
That it didn’t work out as he imagined only makes it more admirable. It was hubris. But absurd confidence is part of what makes a fighter a champion. It’s the same mentality that allowed Diaz to step into the cage on 11 days notice to face one of the best fighters in the sport.
McGregor threw everything he had at Diaz. No one, at least in the UFC cage, has ever faced down his best and asked for more, shrugging as if to say “is that all?” What happens next means everything for both McGregor and the rabid fanbase coalescing behind him in his native Ireland. Both need a win to re-establish what makes their world go around.
“I took a chance,” McGregor told UFC announcer Joe Rogan after the fight. “…it didn’t work out. It is what it is. I’ll take it like a man, like a champion, and come back and do it again.”
It’s a sensible response to a setback, at odds with the pre-fight bluster that made it seem McGregor pictured himself as some robust combination of Bruce Lee and Michael Collins. For many fighters, a loss like this is an open door to self-improvement. Back at 145 pounds, McGregor may very well resume the dominance that made him such a fan favorite.
The fairy tale is over—now the work of maintaining the life he’s built begins. McGregor is saying all the right things. And if he means it, we’ll be watching him hone his art for a long time.
Jonathan Snowden is Bleacher Report’s Senior Combat Sports Writer.
The prelude is almost over, with the excitement peaking from a press conference worthy of the presser Hall of Fame. In the future they’ll study Nate Diaz and Conor McGregor’s endless argument about who gives less of a f–k right alongside “I did not ha…
The prelude is almost over, with the excitement peaking from a press conference worthy of the presser Hall of Fame. In the future they’ll study Nate Diaz and Conor McGregor’s endless argument about who gives less of a f–k right alongside “I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” “Playoffs? You kidding me? Playoffs?” and all the other greats of an underappreciated art form.
And, if we’re being honest, it might just top them all. After all, neither Bill Clinton nor Jim Mora punched anyone after he said his piece, and the stage didn’t fill up with miscreants and deviants on either occasion. But these things happen in MMA.
All that remains, now that the dust is settled and the debate has been closed about whether or not a “gazelle” is an obscure animal, is the fight—ostensibly, the reason we’ve all come to this kooky party in the first place. Unfortunately, once the cage door closes, the back-and-forth may become decidedly one-sided.
Let’s begin here with some admissions. Even though he once created a whirlwind of chaos looking to do me harm at a UFC Fan Expo, I am a stalwart Nick Diaz fan. I once even called him “the greatest man to ever live,” and my tongue was nowhere near my cheek. No small portion of that admiration filters down to his little brother Nate, another delightful bad boy worthy of the highest esteem.
I’m also, of course, a huge admirer of McGregor. The traditional martial arts, once a laughingstock, have risen like a phoenix from the ashes of the original UFC. And McGregor has been at the front of that charge, using his movement, management of distance and dazzling technique to mesmerize everyone who has the pleasure of watching him fight. As a stand-up fighter, he’s showing us the future of the sport every time he steps into the cage.
This is all to admit I am biased—but toward both men. These are the kinds of athletes—the living embodiment of the warrior ethos—who I want to see in this sport.
Despite that—despite all of his many wonderful skills and warrior’s heart—I’m hard-pressed to see a path to victory for my beloved Nate Diaz.
At his best, much like his brother Nick, Diaz backs his opponent into the cage and unleashes with a never-ending torrent of punches. They come at all angles and with varying degrees of force, sometimes as many as 10 in a row. A master at working the body, Diaz throws in such volume that he often overwhelms an opponent’s processing power.
It’s death by a thousand cuts.
It’s also a game plan that will be near impossible to pull off against a fighter as sophisticated as McGregor. The featherweight champion is a master of space and time. He’ll find the right angles to be everywhere but where Diaz wants him, keeping the fight in the kind of wide-open spaces where he can roam free.
In a boxing match from the outside, Diaz can land a steady, solid jab and make fine use of his reach advantage. But that supposed reach advantage doesn’t account for McGregor’s kicks, which will come early and often.
His lead-leg side kick will stymie Diaz, much the way McGregor used it to frustrate top prospect Max Holloway during their fight in Boston. Not only will it do cumulative damage should the fight go the distance, but it will stop Diaz dead in his tracks, forcing him to reset and begin the chase anew each time.
The fight will most likely look like an odd dance, with Diaz lurching haplessly after McGregor while eating sharp counters and kicks for his trouble. His lone hope is that McGregor, who seemed to lose his composure at times during press events, chooses to stand in front of him and slug it out. But, if past is prologue, the Irishman has ice water in his veins once the bell rings.
There’s an outside chance that Diaz, a gifted jiu-jitsu wizard, will try to take McGregor to the mat. There, the larger, more skilled fighter would have a serious advantage. But something about that strategy feels wrong to Team Diaz, too much like the “punk” wrestlers they’ve spent a decade decrying.
If the two end up clinching near the cage, Diaz has a stellar harai goshi he could use to judo-toss McGregor to the mat. But he’s attempted just one takedown in his last five years of fighting. It would be entirely out of character for him to try one here on the largest stage under the brightest lights.
In the end, we are who we are in this world. Diaz is a born hunter. But, in this case, it’s all those instincts that will make him prey. This is McGregor’s cage. And we all better get used to it.
There were moments on Saturday of the kind of effortless brilliance that could only come from the madcap mind of Brazilian fighting god Anderson Silva.
Michael Bisping may have won the bout on the judges’ cards at UFC Fight Night 84, but it was the 40-…
There were moments on Saturday of the kind of effortless brilliance that could only come from the madcap mind of Brazilian fighting god Anderson Silva.
Michael Bisping may have won the bout on the judges’ cards at UFC Fight Night 84, but it was the 40-year-old Silva who won the highlight reel, his martial genius shining as brightly as ever.
First came the knee that sneaked in at the bell as the third round came to a close—the right obfuscating, until the last possible second, the left that nearly ended the fight. The front kick that made Vitor Belfort wince in commiseration followed. Finally there was the darting left-handed counter that was once Silva’s calling card.
There were also moments during the course of 25 minutes when Silva looked like anything but the greatest mixed martial arts fighter of all time. When Bisping’s vanilla jab thudded off his head. When the right hand that trailed it found a home as well. When Bisping, mocked by keyboard warriors as “pillow-fisted,” staggered and shocked the former champion.
When Anderson Silva looked decidedly human.
Strangely, it was the fading glory that was sadder than the sheer ineptitude. Had Silva simply been outclassed by Bisping, a fighter more famous for his feuds than anything he’s done in the cage, the message would have been clear. After 19 years, the last spent under the cloud of PED abuse, it would have been time to say goodbye.
For two rounds, it seemed Silva might finally be done. His entire game, built around his uncanny ability to draw opponents in with the ruse of vulnerability, only to abruptly dismiss their hopes and dreams with a bob of his head and a flick of his wrist, was failing him. A product of supernatural reflexes and a sixth sense that allowed him to see the action play out in slow motion, Silva looked hopeless when his powers abandoned him.
He once feasted on fighters like Bisping, as good as the Brit still is. Slow of foot and hand, technically precise but predictably orthodox, Bisping would have been a crippled mouse, Silva the taunting and playful cat. Never one to fight with rounds or the judges in mind, Silva waited for his moment to unleash a ferocity that bordered on sadism.
In his prime, Silva would drop his hands and invite his foes to do their worst. Capable of eating some punches and dodging others in action-star style, he would make opponents pay for the slightest mistake with his blistering counter punches.
People often miss the link between Silva’s defensive panache and his explosive violence in the offensive phase. His taunts, dancing and cocky refusal to defend his face were more method than madness. It gave his opponents the illusion they had a chance, invoking a brief flash of courage often snuffed by Silva’s brutal retort.
Against Bisping, little of what made him UFC middleweight champion for seven years was present in more than bursts. Punches he would have once dismissed with ease were finding his chin, Silva looking as shocked as anyone as Bisping systematically won minutes and then rounds.
For some, Silva’s brief fits of fistic excellence were mere reminders of what was once a constant. For others, such as UFC president Dana White, they were sufficient to win the fight.
Unfortunately, they are likely an invitation for Silva to continue fighting as if he were still a young man. He clearly believes he won the fight and will likely be prompted to make few, if any, changes.
There comes a time when every athlete is forced from the sport they love. In combat sports, it’s all too often a moment marred by tragedy. This is a sport that can leave fighters worse than it found them, no matter how much money they make for mere minutes of their time.
The truth is, Silva is no longer the fighter we all either loved or loved to hate. His reflexes, deadened by time and his chin, diminished by years of abuse, can no longer carry him to greatness. Bisping, never a power puncher, was able to expose an inability to take a punch.
Another fighter, on some sad night, will leave the once-great man looking up at the lights. Maybe that will be enough to shine a light on the shadow of delusion and convince him to make the hard choice to walk away.
Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.
On Saturday in London, a legend of the Octagon makes what may very well be among the last appearances of a storied career. Anderson Silva wasn’t just a fighter—for nearly five years, he was the fighter, the very best to have ever done i…
On Saturday in London, a legend of the Octagon makes what may very well be among the last appearances of a storied career. Anderson Silva wasn’t just a fighter—for nearly five years, he was the fighter, the very best to have ever done it. But while Silva, former middleweight champion and martial arts demigod, commands much of the attention, his opponent is putting the capstone on his own remarkable career.
Michael Bisping was never UFC champion. In fact, he never even challenged for UFC gold. Despite that, he’s been an enduring, if not always endearing, presence at the top of the UFC pecking order. Bisping was the kind of fighter the promotion could always count on to provide a recognizable name on any fight card that required an extra smidgen of star power.
While Silva’s legacy is increasingly difficult to grapple with, Bisping too presents a conundrum for historians looking to properly evaluate a career that defies easy description. What to make of Bisping‘s fighting life? Bleacher Report has assembled its team of MMA history buffs to make sense of a fighter who always gave his all—but in the end came up just a little bit short.
Jonathan Snowden: Bisping has been an important cog in building the UK audience and a comfortable presence for fans looking for a familiar face in the co-main event level slot. When asked to headline, mostly, he’s done pretty well as a drawing card. Ultimately, I think he’s had a distinguished career, and I’ve really enjoyed watching him progress as an athlete and a personality.
But—you knew there was a but coming—when you glance down his record, I don’t think it’s my imagination that he’s fallen short again and again against top competition. He’s a very good fighter who, every single time, lost to other very good or elite fighters.
Steven Rondina: There’s no question that Bisping has had a great career on the whole. He’s been an anchor for the middleweight title picture for years now, and that’s an accomplishment few fighters have been able to pull off. On the flip side, it’s tough to ignore the fact that he’s never beaten a former UFC champion, never beaten a guy who would eventually become a UFC champion and never gotten a title shot.
When I sit back and look back on his MMA record and try to pick out the best win of his career, it’s a difficult task because he’s beaten so few big names and has rarely dominated the opposition. The best win in his career, in my book, is when he beat a 40-year-old Cung Le who was coming off a two-year layoff. I’m not even sure if that counts, honestly.
Chad Dundas: My thinking on Bisping has come full circle in recent years. When he first broke into the UFC back in 2006—boy, has it really been 10 years?—I was probably guilty of not fully appreciating his approach. I fell into the trap of thinking he was just a cocky Brit with a less than admirable grasp of the rules. Just seeing the way he strutted to the cage used to kind of tick me off. In retrospect, I know that’s exactly what he wanted.
In more recent times, I’ve unexpectedly found myself wanting to see the man do well. I can only assume this warming is a response to his longevity and a growing respect for his methods. Think of what a luxury Bisping has been for the UFC, after spending his career as one of the more called-out fighters in the middleweight division and a guy who proved he could basically sell a grudge match against anyone.
At this point, I have no choice but to admire that, even if I didn’t always like it.
Patrick Wyman: When you watch Michael Bisping fight, there’s never any question about whether he’s made the most of his talent. He uses what he genuinely has—cardio—along with real depth of skill in every phase and just about every veteran trick he can come up with to find an edge. If he’s hurt, he’ll get into the clinch and grab the cage; he’ll grab the shorts; he’ll milk groin shots and headbutts; he’ll call his own fouls. It’s inspiring to watch.
He wants to win so, so badly, and nothing has ever been easy for him. Just look at the murderer’s row of elite fighters he’s faced over the years. For a guy who categorically isn’t one of the best in the history of the division, he’s done everything he could to get there.
Snowden: I think Patrick’s right. I’d call Bisping a limited fighter, but I do it with admiration. This is a guy who has managed to do battle with an increasingly gifted and technically competent crop of fighters despite being decidedly average in almost every measurable form of athleticism.
He’s not particularly fast, strong or quick. He’s a fighter who, instead, is forced to win almost every second of a bout on his wits alone, a Jeremy Horn for the striking set. That’s impressive.
Wyman: And what’s crazy is that he hasn’t stagnated skill-wise as he’s gotten older; he’s gotten demonstrably better after turning 35. I thought he was done after the Tim Kennedy fight, when he struggled with his distance management and takedown defense, and then he came out and turned Cung Le’s face into a poor man’s Picasso on the feet in his next outing.
He’s also a pioneer in what a lot of other fighters will probably be doing in years to come—building a training camp around himself. He has his own coaches and brings in his own training partners, which gives him the personal attention he needs to keep growing.
Rondina: It’s also super funny to me how Bisping has become a champion of fair play with the new fans ConorMcGregor and Ronda Rousey have attracted because of his campaign against PED users. That, of course, is despite the years and years of rule-skirting.
All of my most memorable “Michael Bisping Moments” are negative ones. I remember his controversial win over Matt Hamill in 2007 and his less than graceful handling of the fallout afterward. I remember him landing a number of illegal blows on Jorge Rivera and then spitting at his corner after their UFC 127 fight. I remember him taking a technical decision over Alan Belcher after one of the scariest eye pokes I’ve seen. And, of course, I remember him getting decapitated by Dan Henderson.
Objectively, Bisping has had an absolutely excellent UFC career. Subjectively? I’m expecting him to remain a controversial figure from here until eternity.
Mike Chiappetta:I don’t think it’s a coincidence that over the last few years, the public has grown to embrace him. Most sports fans can appreciate a journey like his, one with one obstacle following another placed in his path met by an unrelenting determination in chasing the prize.
When Henderson flatlined him at UFC 100, Bisping was mostly met with derision. But he’s kept working and moving forward, through another bad knockout at the hands (and feet) of VitorBelfort, through eye surgery that probably would have (and maybe should) have ended most careers, and through age and time.
Now, as he nears his 37th birthday, we realize he is an elder statesmen, and we can appreciate his rocky journey in pursuit of something he may never achieve. He may not be an all-time great fighter, but he most most certainly is an all-time great competitor.
Dundas: I hope history ultimately dictates that he was a better fighter than he mostly got credit for in the moment. Bisping has been haunted by that highlight-reel KO loss to Henderson and had the misfortune of spending nearly his entire career fighting in the weight class where Silva held the title. As a result, we never even entertained the notion he might be champion.
Still, the guy has amassed a 17-7 overall record in the Octagon, and at least four of those losses came against fighters who later tested positive for PEDs or were known to dabble in testosterone replacement therapy. Maybe that’s not elite, but it ain’t too shabby, either.
Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.
It’s a given that everyone who steps into the cage to compete in a high-level mixed martial arts bout is incredibly tough, both mentally and physically. You have to be in order to walk willingly into the lion’s den to face off with another athlete. One…
It’s a given that everyone who steps into the cage to compete in a high-level mixed martial arts bout is incredibly tough, both mentally and physically. You have to be in order to walk willingly into the lion’s den to face off with another athlete. One who has spent years perfecting the craft of human-body annihilation.
A single fighter, however, is staking out a lone place at the pinnacle of this lunatic fringe, establishing himself as a fighter without fear—a man to whom limits are laughable.
Just 74 short days ago, Conor McGregor stepped into the Octagon to win the undisputed UFC Featherweight Championship from the great Jose Aldo. On Tuesday, the UFC announced that he will enter the cage again in 10 days to battle Nate Diaz at 170 pounds.
Fording that 25-pound gulf would rank among the most impressive accomplishments in UFC history.
Two men, both Hall of Famers, have earned UFC gold in two different weight classes. Two more, Anderson Silva and Dan Henderson, have competed at an elite level in three. That’s the company McGregor hopes to join—and the attempt alone is worthy of song.
Bleacher Report writers Jonathan Snowden and Mike Chiappetta sat down to discuss a fighter who isn’t content to conquer a single division.
Is it madness or are McGregor’s talents too vast for any one weight class to contain?
Mike Chiappetta: I’m glad we’re discussing this question because I don’t think people are appreciating McGregor’s riverboat gamble here. He is risking his aura and mission for multiple world titles for almost no reward!
The fight against Rafael dos Anjos was quite understandable. He was chasing history. But to stay on the card and then move up in weight to assuage his opponent’s short-notice troubles? That’s bonkers.
We live in a world where boxer Canelo Alvarez is pressuring Gennady Golovkin to fight him at a 155-pound catchweight for the 160-pound middleweight belt, a five-pound swing that is threatening the bout’s signing. Everyone wants to either be the biggest one in the division or force the opponent to suck down to an unhealthy weight.
McGregor just doesn’t care. He’ll fight anywhere along the spectrum as long as he sees green.
Is his approach a bit reckless? In the long run, maybe. It harkens back to BJ Penn freelancing around divisions with no regard for logic, an experiment that was met with wildly mixed results. Then again, Penn was notorious for a, shall we say, “relaxed” work ethic, while McGregor trains like a madman.
While the Dos Anjos fight would have been far more meaningful, facing Diaz for no real stakes speaks to the courage befitting a (potential) legend in the making.
Jonathan Snowden: In the world of combat sports, words mostly breeze by like the wind. A lot of fighters have made a lot of money boasting about how big, bad and fearless they are. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, their handlers move mountains to ensure they rarely face anyone with a pulse.
McGregor, quite clearly at this point, is different. His braggadocio is backed by action, his willingness to face just about any man at any time proven by fate and circumstance.
When Dan Henderson was forced to drop out of UFC 151 a little more than a week before the fight, champion Jon Jones refused to step into the cage with Henderson’s former teammate, Chael Sonnen.
Henderson, at this point predominantly a striker hoping to land a Hail Mary right hand, presented an entirely different challenge than Sonnen, a wrestler who relied almost entirely on his powerful double-leg takedown. Jones, perhaps wisely, demurred, choosing to fight another day and forcing the UFC to cancel the event.
McGregor is a different kind of animal.
Faced with similar circumstances last year, McGregor gladly squared off with wrestling stalwart Chad Mendes instead of striking buzzsaw Jose Aldo. Here, again, he’s willing to trade Dos Anjos’ powerful pressure and top control for Diaz’s volume punching and dangerous bottom game.
Despite grumbling from some Internet critics, Diaz is no gimme fight. He’s a proven commodity, and the bout will be contested at a weight 15 pounds above the one McGregor was planning to weigh just 24 hours ago.
Do you think people may be underestimating the danger to McGregor here, Mike?
Chiappetta: If you want to be a stickler, you can reasonably say that Diaz does not present the same danger as Dos Anjos, who has transformed into a pretty fearsome fighting machine over the last few years.
With that said, most people complaining about this match are doing so based on the emotion of hearing the pairing rather than any sort of fight logic. Diaz is undeniably dangerous, as 11 of his 18 career wins are by submission, and he’s tapped out black belts before.
But McGregor has become an event fighter, so all of the X’s and O’s of fighting—the important stuff—get hidden behind his enormous personality, his headline-grabbing words and his aura. The fight becomes secondary.
The point you make about Jones’ refusal to compete on short notice is a good example of why immediate backlash is often off the mark. The outrage against Jones was purely based on emotion. He had a very rational explanation: He and his team prepared for Henderson’s specific style and did not feel it was worth risking the title against a late replacement just to keep a date. That’s a very sensible approach and worthy of respect.
Every athlete has the right to captain their own career as they see fit. Jones is on one end of the spectrum, but let’s be thankful of others like McGregor who steam forward with no need for brakes.
McGregor has said repeatedly that he does not train for any single man or style, and every time he’s been forced into situations that put that to the test, he raises his hand to volunteer. That alone is walking into danger.
Snowden: If I take off my “journalist” hat, and lord knows it doesn’t fit me particularly well, I’ll confess to cheering for McGregor in this fight. Not that I wish ill will toward Diaz—my fandom of that family’s exploits is long and legendary.
But I like the idea of the UFC making these kinds of small concessions to the rich history of combat sports.
In boxing, meandering through weight classes is common. At its worst, that’s a problem, an opportunity for fighters to duck certain rivals and ensure only the most favorable outcomes. But at its best, it gives us fights like “Sugar” Ray Leonard vs. Roberto Duran, epic battles between fighters who agree to see which champion is the better man.
That’s what a McGregor win offers. His success in several classes would allow UFC matchmakers to let their imaginations run wild, to make bouts that don’t necessarily fit within their current orthodoxies.
It’s a step toward fighters taking center stage. And that’s good, not just for McGregor but all who might dare follow him down this path.
Chiappetta: To bring it all back around to the question, Jonathan’s scenario proves why McGregor isn’t crazy at all—not by a long shot. All of this is due to him. The huge gates, the pay-per-view buyrates, the extra attention, it’s all self-created. It’s all because of McGregor. He has a plan, motivation and an appetite for risk.
Nothing great is achieved by following the mold. McGregor has broken out.
Some people claim they are chasing greatness, but he is doing it. Right in front of our eyes, day by day, minute by minute.
For the MMA world, that’s not cause for criticism. It’s cause for celebration.
Jonathan Snowden and Mike Chiappetta cover combat sports for Bleacher Report.
It’s a given that everyone who steps into the cage to compete in a high-level mixed martial arts bout is incredibly tough, both mentally and physically. You have to be in order to walk willingly into the lion’s den to face off with another athlete. One…
It’s a given that everyone who steps into the cage to compete in a high-level mixed martial arts bout is incredibly tough, both mentally and physically. You have to be in order to walk willingly into the lion’s den to face off with another athlete. One who has spent years perfecting the craft of human-body annihilation.
A single fighter, however, is staking out a lone place at the pinnacle of this lunatic fringe, establishing himself as a fighter without fear—a man to whom limits are laughable.
Just 74 short days ago, Conor McGregor stepped into the Octagon to win the undisputed UFC Featherweight Championship from the great Jose Aldo. On Tuesday, the UFC announced that he will enter the cage again in 10 days to battle Nate Diaz at 170 pounds.
Fording that 25-pound gulf would rank among the most impressive accomplishments in UFC history.
Two men, both Hall of Famers, have earned UFC gold in two different weight classes. Two more, Anderson Silva and Dan Henderson, have competed at an elite level in three. That’s the company McGregor hopes to join—and the attempt alone is worthy of song.
Bleacher Report writers Jonathan Snowden and Mike Chiappetta sat down to discuss a fighter who isn’t content to conquer a single division.
Is it madness or are McGregor’s talents too vast for any one weight class to contain?
Mike Chiappetta: I’m glad we’re discussing this question because I don’t think people are appreciating McGregor’s riverboat gamble here. He is risking his aura and mission for multiple world titles for almost no reward!
The fight against Rafael dos Anjos was quite understandable. He was chasing history. But to stay on the card and then move up in weight to assuage his opponent’s short-notice troubles? That’s bonkers.
We live in a world where boxer Canelo Alvarez is pressuring Gennady Golovkin to fight him at a 155-pound catchweight for the 160-pound middleweight belt, a five-pound swing that is threatening the bout’s signing. Everyone wants to either be the biggest one in the division or force the opponent to suck down to an unhealthy weight.
McGregor just doesn’t care. He’ll fight anywhere along the spectrum as long as he sees green.
Is his approach a bit reckless? In the long run, maybe. It harkens back to BJ Penn freelancing around divisions with no regard for logic, an experiment that was met with wildly mixed results. Then again, Penn was notorious for a, shall we say, “relaxed” work ethic, while McGregor trains like a madman.
While the Dos Anjos fight would have been far more meaningful, facing Diaz for no real stakes speaks to the courage befitting a (potential) legend in the making.
Jonathan Snowden: In the world of combat sports, words mostly breeze by like the wind. A lot of fighters have made a lot of money boasting about how big, bad and fearless they are. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, their handlers move mountains to ensure they rarely face anyone with a pulse.
McGregor, quite clearly at this point, is different. His braggadocio is backed by action, his willingness to face just about any man at any time proven by fate and circumstance.
When Dan Henderson was forced to drop out of UFC 151 a little more than a week before the fight, champion Jon Jones refused to step into the cage with Henderson’s former teammate, Chael Sonnen.
Henderson, at this point predominantly a striker hoping to land a Hail Mary right hand, presented an entirely different challenge than Sonnen, a wrestler who relied almost entirely on his powerful double-leg takedown. Jones, perhaps wisely, demurred, choosing to fight another day and forcing the UFC to cancel the event.
McGregor is a different kind of animal.
Faced with similar circumstances last year, McGregor gladly squared off with wrestling stalwart Chad Mendes instead of striking buzzsaw Jose Aldo. Here, again, he’s willing to trade Dos Anjos’ powerful pressure and top control for Diaz’s volume punching and dangerous bottom game.
Despite grumbling from some Internet critics, Diaz is no gimme fight. He’s a proven commodity, and the bout will be contested at a weight 15 pounds above the one McGregor was planning to weigh just 24 hours ago.
Do you think people may be underestimating the danger to McGregor here, Mike?
Chiappetta: If you want to be a stickler, you can reasonably say that Diaz does not present the same danger as Dos Anjos, who has transformed into a pretty fearsome fighting machine over the last few years.
With that said, most people complaining about this match are doing so based on the emotion of hearing the pairing rather than any sort of fight logic. Diaz is undeniably dangerous, as 11 of his 18 career wins are by submission, and he’s tapped out black belts before.
But McGregor has become an event fighter, so all of the X’s and O’s of fighting—the important stuff—get hidden behind his enormous personality, his headline-grabbing words and his aura. The fight becomes secondary.
The point you make about Jones’ refusal to compete on short notice is a good example of why immediate backlash is often off the mark. The outrage against Jones was purely based on emotion. He had a very rational explanation: He and his team prepared for Henderson’s specific style and did not feel it was worth risking the title against a late replacement just to keep a date. That’s a very sensible approach and worthy of respect.
Every athlete has the right to captain their own career as they see fit. Jones is on one end of the spectrum, but let’s be thankful of others like McGregor who steam forward with no need for brakes.
McGregor has said repeatedly that he does not train for any single man or style, and every time he’s been forced into situations that put that to the test, he raises his hand to volunteer. That alone is walking into danger.
Snowden: If I take off my “journalist” hat, and lord knows it doesn’t fit me particularly well, I’ll confess to cheering for McGregor in this fight. Not that I wish ill will toward Diaz—my fandom of that family’s exploits is long and legendary.
But I like the idea of the UFC making these kinds of small concessions to the rich history of combat sports.
In boxing, meandering through weight classes is common. At its worst, that’s a problem, an opportunity for fighters to duck certain rivals and ensure only the most favorable outcomes. But at its best, it gives us fights like “Sugar” Ray Leonard vs. Roberto Duran, epic battles between fighters who agree to see which champion is the better man.
That’s what a McGregor win offers. His success in several classes would allow UFC matchmakers to let their imaginations run wild, to make bouts that don’t necessarily fit within their current orthodoxies.
It’s a step toward fighters taking center stage. And that’s good, not just for McGregor but all who might dare follow him down this path.
Chiappetta: To bring it all back around to the question, Jonathan’s scenario proves why McGregor isn’t crazy at all—not by a long shot. All of this is due to him. The huge gates, the pay-per-view buyrates, the extra attention, it’s all self-created. It’s all because of McGregor. He has a plan, motivation and an appetite for risk.
Nothing great is achieved by following the mold. McGregor has broken out.
Some people claim they are chasing greatness, but he is doing it. Right in front of our eyes, day by day, minute by minute.
For the MMA world, that’s not cause for criticism. It’s cause for celebration.
Jonathan Snowden and Mike Chiappetta cover combat sports for Bleacher Report.
Conor McGregor, in the end, flew a little too close to the sun. The beautiful, boastful Irish brawler let his grand ambitions get the better of him, attempting to rewrite the time-tested rules of the fight game.