When you’re an athlete, at some point birthdays cease being a thing you celebrate. They are, instead, looming reminders that your professional life is quickly coming to an end.
Sure, no one likes getting old. But for a prize fighter, that nagging pain,…
When you’re an athlete, at some point birthdays cease being a thing you celebrate. They are, instead, looming reminders that your professional life is quickly coming to an end.
Sure, no one likes getting old. But for a prize fighter, that nagging pain, that lack of pep, that slight delay in reaction time is the difference between leaving an arena with your hand raised and leaving it on a stretcher.
That may sound like hyperbole, but in combat sports, the consequences for failure can be dire. Few in the fight game know that better than Josh Barnett, a 37-year-old heavyweight who will fight Roy Nelson Saturday in Japan.
The former UFC champion has walked that aisle 40 times in a career spanning 18 years and seen it all. He’s been on both ends of devastating knockouts, fought three different Olympians and tested his will against seven former combat sports world champions.
But Father Time may be the most unyielding, meanest son of a gun he’s ever battled.
“At the highest level, when you really need to push yourself, it’s hard on you. It really is,” Barnett admitted to Bleacher Report in an exclusive interview. “And if you do it long enough, you start to accumulate bumps, bruises, injuries over time. It’s inevitable.”
“That’s why you need training camps. To ease yourself into these things. And as you get older, myself included, you have to learn to train smarter,” Barnett explained. “Not necessarily running your head into the wall over and over and over.
“When you were 20 you might have been able to put your head through it,” he continued. “When you’re almost 40, you may put your head through it, but the rest of you is going to say ‘I’m glad you did that but that’s all we’ve got for today.’ And you’re going to be hurting for awhile.”
For Barnett, age is exacerbated by inactivity. His last fight, a knockout loss to Travis Browne, was almost 22 months ago. He’s been busy since, trying on different potential post-fight careers. He’s filmed two movies, started answering to “Coach,” taken a turn as a color commentator for New Japan Pro Wrestling on AXS TV and found time to compete twice in grappling contests.
None of that, even the submission wrestling, is a proper proxy for fighting, something he says his body was quick to tell him when he got back to the gym to prepare for Nelson.
“If I’m on a good cycle of lifting and eating healthy and being strong and fit but not actually hitting the mats and going hard a lot, I feel pretty great,” he said. “I always feel amazing that first week of training. But if I keep at it, second week, third week, ‘arrgh.’ Where did all that conditioning go? I felt strong as an ox two weeks ago and now all of the sudden I’m just falling apart. The wear and tear catches up with you.”
In time, he says, his body caught up with his mind. The physical and the mental are jelling just as his 41st fight (his 19th fight in Japan) approaches.
“I had my last sparring session (last Friday). I felt like I did well,” Barnett said. “My cardio and conditioning are good and I was able to execute some things I really wanted to. At the same time, by the end I was slinging my mouthpiece across the room, furious and angry because I’m in that headspace where nothing is ever good enough. I’m just mad as s–t all the time. That’s how I know I’m ready to go out there and compete.”
In many ways the rotund Nelson is the perfect opponent for Barnett. The 39-year old is a kindred spirit of sorts, generally pursuing the finish at all costs. Nelson has ended the night early for foes in 18 of his 20 wins. Barnett has clocked out before closing time in 28 of his 33 career victories.
It’s a mindset, he noticed, that doesn’t seem to exist much any more in a sport that has slowly morphed into a very different animal over the last two decades. It’s perhaps another sign of Barnett’s creeping age that this seismic change in how fights are prosecuted doesn’t sit well with the veteran.
“People have figured out a system that works with rounds and time limits and what have you. It has evolved away from being a sport of finishes to a sport of ‘sprint for five minutes, put pressure on the guy, go back to your corner and come back out for another five minutes,'” he said. “No matter what you’re doing, even if you’re just playing Monopoly you’ll eventually figure out a way to game the system. As much as you can to get the best results.”
Traditionalists have been butting heads against the watering down of MMA from the first event forward. This particular skirmish was initially contested on a fateful day in December 1995, when judges rendered their first decision. It’s a battle long ago lost. But that doesn’t stop Barnett from fighting it anew.
“My personal opinion is that five minutes isn’t really enough time to be effective,” Barnett said. “Ten minutes would be much better. Or even straight time for 15 or 20 minutes. You’d be able to employ more strategy using all the aspects of MMA versus kickboxing at a high pace and looking to get takedowns and control. There has to be incentive to finish or to go for the finish.“
Against Nelson, Barnett will have another opportunity to make a case against what he calls “the dumbing down” of MMA. The two men will go out to the Octagon to win in the most definitive way possible, one that has nothing to do with judges scribbling on a pad of paper.
“I am there to finish fights,” Barnett said. “I know Roy is too. When he gets in there, he means it. That’s what I want. I want the very best Roy Nelson. And I’m going to beat him.”
Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.
Bellator President Scott Coker may be facing potentially insurmountable odds in his battle with the UFC—but he’s not willing to go down without a fight. Coker is pulling out every promotional trick in the book, taking a page from the beloved…
Bellator President Scott Coker may be facing potentially insurmountable odds in his battle with the UFC—but he’s not willing to go down without a fight. Coker is pulling out every promotional trick in the book, taking a page from the beloved Pride Fighting Championships wherever he can while also adding some interesting twists of his own.
Take, for example, Saturday’s Dynamite 1 show in San Jose, California—the second “tent pole” event of the Coker regime. It was familiar at times, with legendary Pride ring announcer Lenne Hardt belting out fighter names with an enthusiasm that bordered on comical and fireworks announcing to the world that this was no ordinary show.
But then there was the ring, sitting next to the cage, allowing Bellator to mix in some Glory Kickboxing bouts to go along with the mixed martial arts madness. At one point during the preliminaries, there were even two fights being contested at once.
It was innovative for certain. Whether it worked is a question that can’t be answered right away. The kickboxing bouts, unfortunately, failed to deliver. But that’s a failure of execution, not of concept. The idea may not be broken—it just needs a bit of fine-tuning and a better class of fighter.
At Dynamite 1, things went mostly to plan. Light heavyweight champion Liam McGeary went mainstream with a win over fading legend Tito Ortiz. Former UFC contender Phil Davis announced himself as McGeary’s next challenger by winning a one-night tournament in impressive fashion.
Of course, the entire show wasn’t perfection, even if the concept was. But what card is? In a new post-fight series, we’ll look at the card as a whole and choose the five best and worst moments—the handful of things worth talking about on Twitter afterward.
Want to extend the bout from five rounds into infinity? That’s what the comments are for. Make your voice heard.
What follows is a list of things World Series of Fighting Champion Justin Gaethje (15-0) doesn’t give a damn about—whether or not he has a Wikipedia page, concern trolls pretending to care about his well being after a tough fight or online expert…
What follows is a list of things World Series of Fighting Champion Justin Gaethje (15-0) doesn’t give a damn about—whether or not he has a Wikipedia page, concern trolls pretending to care about his well being after a tough fight or online experts suggesting his style wouldn’t wear well against the top fighters in the world.
“I’m not worried about Wikipedia. It doesn’t bother me. I’ll have one soon enough, and it will say ‘Most knockouts. Finishes fights. Is exciting. Fan pleaser.’ I don’t care about anything else,” Gaethje told Bleacher Report in an exclusive interview.
“I’m just going to keep doing what I do…There’s always going to be people talking s–t, especially from behind a computer. I appreciate the people who actually know what the hell they’re watching and pay attention.”
Things he does care about, things on his mind as adrenaline kept sleep at bay for most of the night? Hitting people hard, being exciting above all and doing flips off the cage—no matter how stupid you think it is.
“They know not to try and change me,” Gaethje said, admitting he knew better but just got carried away. “I had actually told myself I wasn’t going to do that. But, hey, emotions run pretty high when you get in there.”
If this boyish enthusiasm doesn’t make you love the 26-year-old lightweight, at least a little, you should probably stop reading here and go look for your soul. If fighting has an id, it’s Gaethje, a walking calamity who doesn’t seem to care all that much who gets the better end of the wild slugfests he effortlessly initiates in every fight.
“When you fight me, you aren’t going to be able to be so careful. They better block their face and knock me out,” Gaethje said. “I’m going to hit them, kick them. I’m going to come forward. They’ll have to run, literally run, backwards. That’s the only way to get away from me. And eventually you’re going to run into the cage.”
Checking out of his hotel the morning after his return bout with Luis Palomino, immediately in discussion for knockout of the year, Gaethje claims to be feeling good. A bump on his head, courtesy of a Palomino left hand, is the only indication he had a rough night at all, despite taking dozens of hard punches from an opponent with heavy hands. If anything hurts, he says, it’s his knee, from bouncing it off his rival’s ribs and head so many times.
So while he hears the incessant criticism of his wild ways in the cage, he’s doing just fine, thank you very much.
“I don’t feel like I’m getting hurt. I don’t feel like my chin is going. He hit me one good time and rocked me. But I didn’t get a concussion or anything like that. I don’t think I took any brain damage that fight,” Gaethje said. “…A lot of people say I’m reckless and I take too many shots. I take shots on the forehead. There’s nothing wrong with that. It puts me in punching range.
“When I take a right hand, I roll with it. I don’t absorb every single bit of the punch. There’s different ways to alleviate some of the force of a punch besides just getting out of the way. When I take it, it’s on my gloves. I don’t get hit a ton on the button. When I do get hit, I feel like I’m setting myself up for big shots.”
The big shots were divided evenly between Gaethje and Palomino in their second fight-of-the-year-caliber bout of 2015. Palomino had the champion reeling in the first round, but Gaethje‘s more diverse skill set eventually turned the tide.
A former NCAA All-American at the University of Northern Colorado, Gaethje has an advantage few strikers with such heavy hands possess—the ability to bring the fight to the mat whenever the going gets too tough.
Just four years into his career, Gaethje has gained some notoriety as the best fighter in the world without his own Wikipedia page. World Series of Fighting, the online encyclopedia of record says, doesn’t meet its notability criteria. While Gaethje laughs this off easily, it underscores something a little deeper—there is no path in his current promotion to reach greatness.
Earlier this year, Gaethje signed a multiyear agreement with WSOF, crushing hardcore fans’ dreams of seeing him against the best in UFC or Bellator. But those fights are coming with time. And Gaethje doesn’t intend to change a single thing.
“I’m not saying I’d walk through everybody,” Gaethje said. “There’s some great fights for me, though, and I’d put on a hell of a show with a lot of the fighters in the top 10. My pressure is second to none, and a lot of them don’t have any way to prepare for what I’m going to be bring. It will be different than anything they’ve ever seen.”
Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.
“Look at my face,” flyweight champion Demetrious Johnson demanded of UFC announcer Joe Rogan after his five-round dismantling of challenger John Dodson on Saturday night at UFC 191. “I look prettier than a motherf–ker. And that’s what technique gets y…
“Look at my face,” flyweight champion Demetrious Johnson demanded of UFC announcer Joe Rogan after his five-round dismantling of challenger John Dodson on Saturday night at UFC 191. “I look prettier than a motherf–ker. And that’s what technique gets you right there.”
It was a telling statement, one that quite cogently divided the battle lines in the MMA world’s constant war between sport and spectacle.
Johnson, without question, is one of the most skilled fighters in UFC history. His style is a dizzying combination of technical perfection and flawless tactics—the cerebral and the physical thrown together in a way few fighters can manage.
But, it turns out, many UFC fans aren’t really interested in whether the sport’s champions can emerge from a five-round fight looking “pretty.” In fact, that’s the polar opposite of their desires.
Johnson isn’t for those fans. He can’t be.
The problem?
They are legion.
Johnson’s box-office fate matters, because it’s a referendum on the sport itself, not just Johnson as an individual. Johnson represents MMAs future. Most fans, it seems, would rather stay in the present.
While the title fight did its best to rescue what was an incredibly dull main card, the UFC’s continued expansion reflected in a collection of monotonous and uninspiring bouts. Looking at the card as a whole, we’ll choose the five best and worst moments—the handful of things worth talking about on Twitter in the event’s aftermath.
Want to extend the bout from five rounds into infinity? That’s what the comments section is for. Make your voice heard.
For the better part of a decade, the baddest man on the planet wasn’t an angry ex-street fighter with a grudge against the world, or a collegiate wrestling star groomed for athletic glory. He was an ice cream eating, sweater wearing, duck-loving savage…
For the better part of a decade, the baddest man on the planet wasn’t an angry ex-street fighter with a grudge against the world, or a collegiate wrestling star groomed for athletic glory. He was an ice cream eating, sweater wearing, duck-loving savage from tiny Stary Oskol in Russia.
Though he never once stepped inside the UFC’s Octagon, among serious fans there was no real doubt—Fedor Emelianenko (34-4-1) was the best heavyweight MMA had ever seen.
The lists, both of Fedor’s victims and his must-see exploits, are legend. Five former UFC heavyweight champions fell at his hands, as did kickboxing stalwarts Mirko Cro Cop, Mark Hunt and Semmy Schilt. He survived a Kevin Randleman suplex, caught Andrei Arlovski in midair with a knockout blow and exuded awesomeness at every turn.
In 2010, his 34th birthday looming as he entered his 34th professional prizefight, Emelianenko showed the first chinks in his formidable armor. One loss, the first legitimate failure of his career, became three in a row in what felt like the blink of an eye. The king was toppled from his throne and Emelianenko faded into memory.
Now, three years after he last entered the ring, Emelianenko is considering a return to action. With Bellator all but bowing out of the bidding, the UFC has emerged as his likely destination.
How would the “Last Emperor,” now 38, fare against today’s best big men? Has Father Time been kind, healing old wounds and providing new-found vigor? Or will the once-great warrior simply be older, slower and punchier than ever before?
Bleacher Report’s crack team came together to provide our best guesses. Have some thoughts of your own? Share them in the comments.
The first time he stepped into a ring, Melvin Guillard was just 13 years old. That’s not unusual on the surface. Plenty of young men get their starts in the fistic arts well before that, competing in martial arts or boxing tournaments, with comical amo…
The first time he stepped into a ring, Melvin Guillard was just 13 years old. That’s not unusual on the surface. Plenty of young men get their starts in the fistic arts well before that, competing in martial arts or boxing tournaments, with comical amounts of padding preventing, in theory at least, serious injury.
The difference for Guillard, who fights journeyman Brandon Girtz Friday on Spike TV at Bellator 141, was the venue, a bar, and the opponent, a grown man.
“The gym I trained at was called Main Event. The gym was upstairs and the bar was downstairs. I started going at the age of 13,” Guillard told Bleacher Report. “My dad went to all my fights with me, mostly at bars in New Orleans. … S–t, I loved it. That’s how I came up with my nickname ‘the Young Assassin.’ I was young and I was just assassinating all these grown men. Life was good. It wasn’t as complicated.”
Dozens of fights followed. More than 150 by Guillard’s count, though almost none of them can be documented. By 16 he was a professional or at least what passed for one in Louisiana before mixed martial arts began its long journey toward respectability.
“I had 40-something fights and was undefeated as an amateur,” Guillard recalled. “My coach was the owner of the place and told me, ‘Hey, a guy pulled out, you want to take a fight tonight?’ It was a Friday night and I was upstairs in the gym just working out. I went downstairs in my workout clothes—I was already sweating. I went down to the bar, got in the ring and knocked the guy out in the first round.
“I seen afterwards the guy went upstairs and got paid like $1,300. And I said, ‘How the hell did he get $1,300 and I only got $200? And I just knocked him out?’ That’s all I was making under the table. The owner said, “He’s a pro, you’re not.’ I said, ‘What do I need to do to be one?’ He said, ‘You’re a minor, you’ll need a parent to sign.’ I said, ‘Cool, my dad’s downstairs at the bar.’ Grabbed my dad, me and my dad walked back upstairs. I signed on the first line, my dad signed right up underneath. And that’s how I became a pro fighter.”
On the path to UFC greatness, roadblocks emerged—fame, cocaine and ego. Now 32, the Young Assassin has his head on straight, is back in the gym and is ready to make his Bellator debut. Is this a redemption song? Or a sad case of too little, too late?
The Rise
One word dogged Guillard from that day forward—potential. He had it with some to spare. A champion wrestler in high school, Guillard was also blessed with fast, powerful hands. It was enough, it seemed, to guarantee a long future in the growing sport.
“He’s a freak of nature,” Guillard’s teammate “King” Mo Lawal said. “A great athlete. Great reflexes. Great intuition. Great body awareness. He’s a natural fighter. He has the tools for it.”
Potential is great. Trying to live up to isn’t always great, even when things come so easy. Maybe especially when things come so easy.
“They’ve got all these guys in the f–king UFC and Bellator just walking in from college or whatever job they do, cutting grass or building houses, whatever the f–k they do for a real living. This has been my only job, my real living. I am a fighter,” Guillard said. “I don’t take nothing from these guys. They’re in the gym busting their asses, working hard to get to that level.
“Me? I’m born with this s–t. … I can wake up and do everything they can do. I’m gifted like that.”
In a sport mostly made up of former amateur wrestlers, who are proud of the grind Guillard dismisses out of hand, and traditional martial artists, who are looking for camaraderie to go with their combat, that’s an attitude that doesn’t always sit well.
“Melvin can be a nice guy,” one former trainer told Bleacher Report. “He’s also a headache.”
Guillard’s fall from grace started at the Green Valley Ranch in Las Vegas, almost before his career had truly gotten started. A clandestine pool party, one he attended on the lam from filming The Ultimate Fighter, turned into a night of debauchery. It was the first time he used drugs and the first time a drop of alcohol touched his lips.
It wouldn’t be the last.
“It was in a hotel suite,” Guillard said. “I was hanging out with a couple of football players. We had snuck out to a pool party and I was having fun, flirting with all the girls.
“They didn’t know who we were but they said, ‘You’re a cool-ass little dude, you should come hang out with us.’ Went back to their suite. There was drugs and b—hes everywhere. They said, ‘It’s yours. Anything you want. Have fun.’ That was how it all started for me. That first time, it was so much fun.”
Drugs and alcohol have shortened many athletic careers. But success came so easily for Guillard that he almost made it work.
“Can I really be great at fighting and do this at the same time? I started telling myself, ‘Yeah, I can work it into my schedule. I can have fun and party with b—hes and focus on my fight career.’ And for a long time I did,” Guillard said. “But then I wasn’t training as much and started getting lazy. And I realized ‘this s–t ain’t working now. It ain’t as fun as it used to be.’ And that’s when I made the conscious decision to change my life around.”
The UFC never gave up on its promising prospect. His potential was just too tantalizing, his ceiling incalculably high.
“I’ve known Melvin for a long time, since The Ultimate Fighter, and I always thought he was a very talented guy and just never lived up to his potential,” UFC President Dana Whitetold MMA Junkie. “He was out there not doing all the right things to become the great fighter that he had the potential to be.”
An up-and-down career peaked in 2011 with Guillard seemingly poised to earn a shot at UFC gold after running off five straight wins under the tutelage of new coach Greg Jackson. Things fell apart just as quickly.
“Back then, five years ago, I was an adolescent childish-ass kid who made good money and didn’t take s–t from anyone because I could whoop everybody’s ass,” Guillard said. “That’s who I was five years ago. If I was champion then I would have ruined my life. I’d probably be sitting in jail like War Machine for doing something f–king stupid.
“I definitely would have ruined my career. Because, at that time, I was partying really hard and I would have really thought I was untouchable. I would have really had a f–king attitude. I really wouldn’t have wanted to put up with people and people would have really started hating me.”
Even without that level of success, Guillard struggled to maintain professional relationships. Disputes at the gym and extracurricular fights created turmoil. Consecutive losses, to Joe Lauzon and Jim Miller, exacerbated it, so Guillard departed for Florida and a new home with former teammate Rashad Evans.
Once there, away from the strict standards of Jackson, whose carefully structured organization was built to corral impulsive talents, Guillard stumbled. He went just 2-3-1 over the next two years, eventually departing his new team at the Blackzilians for a return to Jackson, only to be barred from the facility by popular vote.
“People have this idea that ‘Melvin is hard to work with. Melvin is this. Melvin is that.’ Nah,” he said. “I come from a family where I was raised to speak my mind. That’s who I am. I wear my feelings on my sleeves. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. A lot of places people don’t like it when you’re voicing an opinion. And I’m a strong, opinionated person. I get along with almost anybody. I’m a nice guy. I just don’t take s–t from people.
“There are times I do think the best way is my way. I do things that work with my style of fighting. I already know how to fight. I’m not in the gym trying to learn how to fight all over again. I’ve been doing this longer than past teammates, current teammates, future teammates. I was doing this back when it was crazy—when there were no rules. I’ve been doing this a long time.”
If you’re looking for repentance, you’ve come to the wrong place. Guillard is is not that kind of easy comeback story. Now training at American Top Team alongside many of the sport’s top fighters, he is still doing things his way. He’s just more careful to keep the line between his work and personal lives more firmly drawn.
“I think his experience at (Jackson’s) and the Blackzilians taught him hey man, the bulls–t has to stop,” Lawal said. “‘I got to get my act together and, you know what? These people are here to help me.’ Everybody is cool with him. The coaches too. He doesn’t talk back. Maturity kicked in. He realized he was just hurting himself.”
“People are quick to judge me,” Guillard said. “Even teammates and s–t. That’s a business. It’s a job. You don’t go to work and like everybody you work with. A gym is no different. That’s our office. I’m not there to make friends with everybody.
“I’m there to do my job and train and make my money. I know some things I do or say don’t sit right with people. But I’m only being honest. That’s the person that I am. My family raised me to be a man. They raised me to stand on my own two feet.”
Reinventing himself, as a fighter with potential instead of a cautionary tale, hasn’t been easy. Cut by the UFC after a lethargic fight with former teammate Michael Johnson, Guillard had a disastrous and acrimonious run in World Series of Fighting that did little to repair his battered reputation.
“He got a little jaded for a little bit. But now he’s with Bellator and rejuvenated,” Lawal said. “…I used to tease him ‘Melvin, when was the last time you trained for a month straight?’ He could never answer. I could tell you when. Three or four years ago.
“Last year I saw Melvin at the gym, and this is generous, a total of seven times. Even when he was fighting for the belt, I saw him the week before the fight. He might have hit mitts once or twice, then went out to fight. Literally. He’d break a little sweat and he’d be gone. We wouldn’t see him until the week of the next fight.”
The Return
After missing weight for his last two fights and being released from his second promotion in just a year, Guillard, finally, has his head together, ready and willing to put in the work needed to be great.
“I think Melvin’s realized ‘it’s about my career.’ It’s about being champion and making money,'” Lawal said. “The attention? Been there and done that. It took him some time to phase out of that. That’s just being young. Now he’s a little older and a little wiser.
“I started seeing him at the gym. I said, ‘Damn, three days in a row, Melvin? Give me a high-five, dog. Damn Melvin, a week? What the hell is going on here? The f–k? Two weeks? A month? Hell naw, this ain’t the real Melvin.
“He’s in the gym pretty much every day. Hitting the mitts. Wrestling. Sparring. He’s always doing something. It’s good to see it. This is a more serious, better conditioned, more motivated, more focused Melvin. That Melvin is going to be hard to beat. Anybody. Any weight class. Any organization. Any planet.”
Guillard realizes, after copious chances come and gone, that it’s time to buckle down and prove what he’s known all along—that he’s one of the best in the world. Still just 32 years old, he isn’t convinced that he’s a fighter on the downward arc of his career.
“Right now it’s my time to be champion. So, all those people saying ‘you’re dwindling all your talent away’ no I’m not. I’ve been saving all that s–t for when I mature,” Guillard said. “I have the opportunity to do a lot of great things. And to become a Bellator champion. I want to become a world champion. That’s the only thing on my resume that’s not there yet.
“I could have been a champion 10 years ago. I could have whipped anybody in the UFC 10 years ago. I could still whip anybody right now. When I’m in shape, nobody can touch me. When my mind is focused on the task ahead? Nobody can touch me. And everybody at 155 and 170 knows that. Guys aren’t eager to line up and fight me.”
The road to redemption goes through Girtz, a Division II wrestling All-American who’s racked up a 4-2 record in Bellator. From there, Guillard is already looking forward to his next fight, hopefully October 23, and then the one after that. In Bellator, he explains, he’ll call the shots on when he fights and who. His destiny, once again, is back in his own hands, and he’s ready to make the most of it.
“Things are still a little rough right now,” Guillard admitted. “I haven’t fought since last November. Financially things have been a bit of a struggle. But that’s what makes me the strong person that I am. When I get in this cage, that’s why I’m going to knock this guy out.
“I know what’s on the line. I know what paycheck I’m going to take home once I knock him out. I know what I won’t take home if I don’t get the job done. I’m a prize fighter. I want to be rich. I want to make a lot of money in this sport. And right now this dude is standing in my way.”
Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.
When you’re an athlete, at some point birthdays cease being a thing you celebrate. They are, instead, looming reminders that your professional life is quickly coming to an end.