Once again, a year (and some change) has passed, and as MMA fans we look forward to the second half of 2015—anxious and hopeful as we always are amid so much change.
Whenever another year falls off the calendar, the fan in me cannot help but look…
Once again, a year (and some change) has passed, and as MMA fans we look forward to the second half of 2015—anxious and hopeful as we always are amid so much change.
Whenever another year falls off the calendar, the fan in me cannot help but look back on the past, ever grateful that the sport is still alive. You’ve probably heard it a million times from old-time fans, but you’re about to hear it again.
While the future of MMA is a given these days, it wasn’t always so, and I am both thankful and relieved it has not only survived but grown to a level I never expected.
2014 wasn’t the greatest of years for MMA for many reasons. Be it contractual issues or the injury bug, last year seemed to be more about what didn’t happen than what did, although it wasn’t for a lack of effort.
Now, deep into 2015, Zuffa and other promotions are looking at an old problem that has grown terribly large: performance-enhancing drugs. No one knows for sure how the movers and shakers in the world of MMA are going to handle this over the long haul (or if the UFC will revise its current policy), but it isn’t going away on its own—that much is certain.
Then, of course, there are other problems that come from the UFC growing too big—perhaps for its own britches, as the saying goes. Multiple parties are suing the UFC, and the government is renewing past investigations into the legitimacy of the company’s dominance of the sport.
Additionally, more than a few of fighters are noting their unhappiness with the Reebok deal, and new prospects of note (such as Ed Ruth) are choosing to fight with rival promotions simply because sponsorship monies are greater outside the Octagon. This is a particularly salient point given that this kind of situation—more money being available elsewhere—saw the formation of Pride FC and more than a few big fighters jumping ship to sail overseas (back in October 1997) where the grass was honestly greener and of a shade that only money can be.
Still, it’s a stark contrast to the sport in 2005, when the problems of today would have seemed like dreams come true, simply because times of plenty (even if it is plenty of problems) always look better than times of uncertainty.
And that is exactly what 2005 was: a time of uncertain promise, with the UFC playing the role of demanding midwife to a desperate sport.
So, as Sin City, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Batman Begins and Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith tried to pull us into the theaters, Dana White and the brass at Zuffa were still doing honest work in 2005, pushing that boulder uphill while trying to find ways to keep their checkbooks balanced, which would prove a wise move in the years to come.
Yet, they were also daring, crossing their fingers as the debut episode of the first season of The Ultimate Fighter aired on Spike on January 17. As they continued to do their best to put on successful pay-per-view events, they were watching the ratings, hoping against hope that two seasons of a reality show could help them break new ground and wrest first place in the sport from Pride FC, which was still going strong in Japan.
Once again, we stand and look back at the sport a decade later—older, wiser and hopefully every bit as excited and entertained now as we were then.
Here is a list of the events from both the UFC and Pride FC in 2005, in order of occurrence, as well as a list of the top fighters for the year and the top promotion and event. Once again, we hope it will bring about a realization and appreciation of what was and, more importantly, what is.
With so much talk of which fighter will be the next pay-per-view superstar of MMA and who is really the greatest of all time, people can forget even great fighters of the recent past—unless their name is Georges St-Pierre.
It’s been over 16…
With so much talk of which fighter will be the next pay-per-view superstar of MMA and who is really the greatest of all time, people can forget even great fighters of the recent past—unless their name is Georges St-Pierre.
It’s been over 16 months since St-Pierre retired and left his championship in the cage.
Since that time, the sport that he served so well has been taxed to fill the void he left behind after his controversial victory over Johny Hendricks at UFC 167. As always, we are left wondering if he will ever come back because even GSPdoesn‘t seem to know.
But it was clear that he needing something else and thus he stepped away, now a man of means, to embark on the next stage in his life.
Since then, the UFC has tried its best to forget or ignore the fact that the greatest welterweight in MMA history is no longer active. Pay-per-view sales have gone down significantly, and the next hope for a Canadian MMA champion—Rory MacDonald—seems like a long shot given how competitive the welterweight division is.
And that is when we appreciate just how great GSP was; the welterweight division was just as competitive when he was king, yet he was so damn consistent that he turned away even great fighters like Carlos Condit, time after time.
When GSP took the title from Matt Serra in their rematch in 2008, very few thought the Canadian king would ever control the throne like his predecessor, Matt Hughes. To think he would surpass one of the greatest fighters in MMA history in the welterweight division seemed like a pipe dream.
Very rarely does the fighter who ends the reign of a great champion become an even greater champion; it’s like lightning striking the same person twice in the same location.
Yet that was exactly what St-Pierre did, albeit after an initial stumble at UFC 69.
Like Hughes, GSP is a former two-time welterweight champion. Yet when looking at title reigns, St-Pierre stands alone as the only champion in UFC welterweight history to defend his title nine consecutive times, nearly doubling the record of Hughes.
Of course, he was also elevated by the company he kept during his time as the UFC welterweight king. He was mentioned frequently—often in the same breath as Anderson Silva—whenever talk began about the best pound-for-pound fighter in the sport, and those debates were as heated then as they are now.
That kind of consideration speaks volumes for a fighter; detractors are not given credence in such conversations because the body of a fighter’s work is really the only thing that matters, especially to his peers. Fans of the sport may be quick to dismiss many of St-Pierre’s opponents for this reason or that, but his peers have never been of the same mind, which is important to note.
Fighters appreciate great accomplishments just as much as they covet them, and the fact that they regard St-Pierre with such respect is a clear sign that his accomplishments in the sport are significant.
If that is not enough, we need only look at the current title picture of the division to appreciate the consistency he was able to impose.
Hendricks, the man whom many St-Pierre detractors crowed so loudly about, lost the title almost as soon as he had won it. His successor, Robbie Lawler, is scheduled for first defense against MacDonald.
Will Lawler succeed? That is a serious question given the tools and styles of both fighters. But if either man was facing St-Pierre, his chances of victory would be greatly diminished and our excitement subdued due to the dominant nature of GSP‘s style in the later stage of his career.
And that is where we find the rub in our appreciation for such a man. No fighter is perfect, just as no title reign is breathtaking at all turns. The tale of St-Pierre has always seemed to be an epic saga of not one man, but two: Rush and GSP.
The former was a machine who ran over the opposition, crushing them underfoot in order to gain the crown. The latter was a machine of a different sort, intent of maximizing advantage and minimizing risk in order to keep what the former had earned.
Obviously, both were opposite sides of the same coin, but in retrospect, fans will no doubt be divided as to which side they miss most. Diehard fans will applaud both sides, and rightly so; however, just as a man is not the sum of his lesser parts, a champion is not the sum of his record alone—how a fighter wins is still an important consideration in the combative sports, and it always will be.
But while bickering will continue about the worth of Rush versus GSP, another fact seems to be lost.
St-Pierre brought true gravitas to the sport, his title and the division. He was an honest man in a sport that ridicules such honesty when it admits fear, yet St-Pierre was utterly fearless when confronting his own fears in the most public of ways.
He had no need of promotional bravado; he was able to draw large audiences without the inflammatory oratory style of men such as ConorMcGregor or his predecessor, ChaelSonnen. He did this because he, like all of us, was vulnerable to defeat; it pained him greatly to lose, and in that pain we found a man we could identify with. After all, who among us could say that being crushed by an opponent wouldn’t affect us or how we saw ourselves in the eyes of the public?
If anything, examining the career of St-Pierre shows us that even the strongest must still remain human—and that the fears of the common man (or woman) exist on all levels and at all times yet are still subject to great desire and will yield to great courage and discipline.
No, he wasn’t perfect, but he was perfectly human and remains, to this day, an inspiration for many who want to accomplish great things in a sport that doesn’t seem designed to reward the better angels of the human spirit.
This is the career retrospective of St-Pierre, the greatest welterweight champion in the history of the sport.
Anytime the career of a notable fighter comes to an end, distance is required in order to appreciate his full body of work.
Sometimes, it is an epic saga, vast and shockingly dense, as is the case for men such as Jeremy Horn or Dan Severn. Other times,…
Anytime the career of a notable fighter comes to an end, distance is required in order to appreciate his full body of work.
Sometimes, it is an epic saga, vast and shockingly dense, as is the case for men such as Jeremy Horn or Dan Severn. Other times, it is somewhat sparse, as in the case of “The Prodigy” BJ Penn.
It has been more than six months since Penn called an end to his career as an MMA fighter. His final bout was an odd conclusion to a storied career that saw such promise go in all different directions.
To think that it all started as a kind of lark—a bout agreed to in order to please Ralph Gracie that pitted Penn against a kickboxer for the meager sum of $400.
On one hand, Penn didn’t fight as often as he could or have the success that a man of his talent and skill should have had. On the other hand, he managed to accomplish rare feats; he is one of only three fighters to win titles in two different weight classes, and his bravery and daring entertained the fans while handcuffing his legacy.
Yes, Penn is a rare man, the likes of which the sport may not see again for some time to come.
To think that a novice fighter, known only for his brilliant jiu-jitsu, could debut in the UFC for his first true fight and then get thrown against top-five competition for his weight class is shocking, even by today’s standards.
To think he would win with unimaginable ease against the elite of the lightweight division, earning a title shot in just his fourth UFC fight, is nearly mind blowing.
But that is what Penn was: a mind blowing fighter who, in the beginning, made it look so easy that one began to wonder just what kind of sport could let a relative novice make it to the top and threaten for the title in less than a year.
By the time he stepped into the ring with the reigning champion Jens Pulver, Penn had logged no more than seven minutes and 50 seconds in the Octagon. What was more shocking was that each time he stepped into the cage, he got better; it took him nearly all of Round 1 to finish Joey Gilbert, but he only took half that time to finish Din Thomas, who was ranked No. 3 or 2 in the division.
Then, he stepped in against arguably the No. 1 contender in CaolUno and stopped him in just 11 seconds.
No fighter in the history of the UFC has accomplished so much, so fast, against elite competition as Penn did. Fighters like Jon Jones and ConorMcGregor got their title shots fairly quickly but not as fast or as violently and decisively as Penn.
Such a beginning is in harsh contrast to his final fight against Frankie Edgar, where he was basically standing like a dancer, a position that seemed to diminish any punching power while making him ripe for takedowns. That version of Penn seemed to possess none of the former authority or confidence of his younger self, and the result seemed academic from the get-go.
So, now that Penn has stepped off the stage, how do we remember him? Do we criticize his career or lavish too much praise?
This is the career retrospective of Penn, a fighter who has done what few ever did while achieving less than was expected.
All quotes are taken from the book Why I Fight: The Belt is Just an Accessory by BJ Penn, unless noted otherwise.
Stepping back into the Octagon after more than a year off, Anderson Silva is back and with his return comes predictions of shocking devastation and artistic annihilation.
A while back, I listed Anderson Silva vs. Nick Diaz as a “Superfight”…
Stepping back into the Octagon after more than a year off, Anderson Silva is back and with his return comes predictions of shocking devastation and artistic annihilation.
A while back, I listed Anderson Silva vs. Nick Diaz as a “Superfight” and predicted an outcome of a Silva win, via stoppage. Like nearly everyone with a set of functioning eyes and a long history of following the combative sports, I used adages like “styles make fights,” and so on.
Truth be told, I wasn’t wrong in that notion; styles do make fights, and as they always have, so they always will.
But I was also writing from the perspective of a dreamer, and when that happens, things get overlooked.
From a pure stylistic standpoint, Silva should utterly demolish Diaz. I don’t need to recount all the reasons why because it’s already been done in a thousand articles.
Most—not all—of those reasons fans have read about are correct. But none of them seem to be attending history with any sense of realism, and that includes my previous take on the subject.
Simply put, while styles make fights, youth alone makes for the styles of such fighters like The Spider; only in the world of the young does physical talent flourish, untaxed by time.
Men like Silva are indeed artists. At a certain point, they realize that their skills are augmented by physical abilities that don’t come along that often—at least not when coupled with a mind that recognizes the opportunities that arise when talent meets desire.
As hard as it is for many fight fans to believe, Silva is not the first of his kind, not by a long shot.
That is why I am coming to the conclusion that a Silva defeat, at the hands of an unlikely spoiler like Diaz, is not as implausible as most would believe.
Even though Silva possesses important advantages in the realms of size, experience, power, speed and skill, he is giving up the high ground in three terribly significant areas: youth, endurance and any kind of foundation found only in a strict adherence to the basics of the sport.
When a fighter gets old (as all must), the more their foundation is tested. If it is built on the basics of the fight game—the sound mechanics of offense and defense—then they can adapt, plying their experience and savvy via strategy and gamesmanship, in the hopes that they can anticipate and counter the advantages of their younger opposition.
In short, they begin to use their mind rather than their body, anticipating before the fact, rather than relying on reflexes to defend them after the fact.
This very thing is what allowed men such as Randy Couture and Bernard Hopkins to compete and succeed in the face of much younger and more physically “fluid” opposition.
It is also an aspect of note when it comes up missing, as it usually does in the persons of great talent, who cannot and will not be encumbered by working behind the basics of a sound jab, or defensive practices that limit their freedom of expression.
We saw this in full when Silva got his clock cleaned by Chris Weidman at UFC 162. No matter what anyone says, this was not a fluke. Silva was doing what he always did, but this time he wasn’t able to do it as well as he had done before.
In Weidman, he faced an opponent who was rising to the occasion, second-by-second. In Weidman, he was also facing a young lion that was swinging a very basic yet heavy hammer.
A younger Silva, unencumbered with the expression-hindering limitations of basic defense, probably would have been saved by his reflexes and his stamina. That version of Silva was nowhere to be found in the cage against Weidman (at either time) and in truth, probably no longer exists.
That’s the sad and ironic thing about witnessing an artist at work. After time, the colors of their palate seem to bore them and thus they begin to try and transcend yet again, only to find that the brush is trembling because their hand is shaking.
Sometimes, seemingly overnight, they can’t even hold the brush at all.
When someone—anyone—tries to encourage them with calls to attend the basic, they cannot heed that wisdom because that which is basic is utterly alien to them from a practical standpoint.
They understand the concepts because as artists, no basic concept escapes them. But when it comes to applying the basic with any kind of success or satisfaction, they cannot do the former because it will not lead them to the latter.
If they can’t fly, they’d rather die.
While diehard fans of Silva will try and dismiss his previous losses as nothing more than a momentary flight of hubris or fluke endings, facts are facts. Silva is showing many of the signs of a fighter—an artist—in decline.
Of course, you have to look at history in order to see evidence of such signs in order to know what they look like now, and for Silva fans, it should be easy.
All they need do is heed the downfall of one of Silva’s heroes: Roy Jones Jr.
Once upon a time, Jones, like Silva, was utterly untouchable and unbeatable. Against the exceptional fighters of his era, in his prime, Jones made them look like club-level fighters by comparison.
He beat Bernard Hopkins by decision, basically using one hand. He swarmed James Toney with an offensive blitz that was so fast and unpredictable that the latter—who is one of the greater defensive minds when it comes to boxing—was unable to cope, aside from covering his head and praying for rain.
Jones was so great that he even scaled the heavyweight mountain, beating the odds and Jon Ruiz, to claim a portion of the heavyweight crown. Considering where Jones had started, it is still a staggering accomplishment and one not bound to be repeated for another 100 years.
After besting Ruiz, Jones honestly should have retired. He had put his body through hell over the years, especially during his heavyweight ascent, and he had nothing else to prove.
Then, his pride was attacked by Antonio Tarver, who hounded Jones publicly. Jones took up the challenge, began cutting back down from heavyweight to light heavyweight and met Tarver in the ring.
The result was a victory for Jones that saw him win a decision that was much closer than many cared to admit. He looked slow and sluggish, getting hit more often than ever, lingering too long in positions that he used to own based on his freakish physical gifts.
Those areas of advantage that used to belong to him alone suddenly seemed like a foreign language to him, and the combative sports are not kind to visitors with a limited visa.
A rematch was announced and Jones this time saw it all come to a crashing end in Round 2, thanks to getting caught with one of the more basic blows in boxing: the counter left hook. He was caught and knocked out cold by a blow that couldn’t have found a younger Jones if it were a thousand in number and coming down like rain.
Jones tried to come back, but after being an artist for so long, defying the basic rules of the sport and flying high above the rest, he didn’t know how to walk like mortal men—re: his opponents—and thus with the gifts of youth gone, he was beaten down with the book of basics.
As was the case for Jones, so too might the case be for Silva.
Like Jones, Silva looked terribly bored with fighting when he stepped into the ring against Weidman for the first time. All the in-cage antics didn’t seem like a kind of gamesmanship aimed at Weidman; it seemed like Silva trying to find something in the ring to make it all worthwhile.
As if a dangerous opponent wasn’t enough.
Then, in his strongest area of advantage, Silva was taken out with a basic blow that was not preceded by any kind of complex set up. He didn’t get caught with that shot because he wasn’t a great fighter; he got caught because he grew old and all those years of flying high have seen those mortal legs wither and entropy with neglect.
The basics are the tools that fighters can carry with them into the later years of their career. They are great because they are simple and they are also equally dangerous for anyone with the patience and dedication to master them. They serve young and old alike, but it is the latter that make the most of them if an older fighter’s discipline can match his desire.
Quite honestly, I don’t know if Silva has it in him to do anything other than jump off the highest cliff, fully believing he can fly as he always has. I don’t think we’re going to see a wiser, cunning version of Silva that uses the basics to any kind of true advantage.
I also don’t think we’re going to see that version of Silva that possessed such incredible timing, or such accuracy, for one is surely dependant on the other.
He may not look like the old man he is becoming on January 31, 2015, but if he does, it would not surprise me in the least. No matter how great a fighter he is, he is not the fighter he once was, and the signs are there.
Diaz is the younger man, in his prime, and he doesn’t have one ounce of pressure on his shoulders. He also has the endurance needed to push or survive a heavy pace. Above all, he just doesn’t care about any of the supposed advantages Silva used to possess.
Diaz knows that ownership of any realm in the world of combative sport is contestable; come fight night, the odds that he gives away anything to Silva are slim. That “don’t be scared, homie,” attitude and a willingness to fly face-first in defiance of anything and everything will probably see another previous advantage of Silva nullified: the psychological edge.
Unless Silva scores a very quick stoppage, Diaz will be in his face all night long, and every second that passes will see him become bolder. While Diaz may not be any great philosopher, he knows how to solve the puzzles of distance and timing, and it’s not as complex as most would believe; initiating action to gauge reactions will do the trick more often than not.
Going into UFC 183, Diaz could be seen as the agent of the basic; simple youth driven by simple desire, empowered by simple tools used with furious purpose. As much as we would like to say fighting is a metaphor for so much more, it really is, and always has been, simple and direct. That is a language men like Diaz (and others of his stylistic slant, such as Julio Cesar Chavez) can speak all day long.
For Silva, if he is to once again make that which is simple look utterly innocent, like a sacrificial lamb offered up in his name for slaughter, he has to turn back the clock. He must be what he once was—at least for no less than 25 minutes—when he was in love with fighting, before getting knocked out by Weidman one time and shattering his shin the next.
The list of problems he could face if he does not is worrisome.
If Silva’s timing is off, he’s going to get hit a lot more than expected, and that could throw his whole game off.
If Silva’s judgment of distance is off, he’s going to get hit a lot more than expected, and that could throw his whole game off.
If Silva is slower than he used to be, or any number of things, the results could be disastrous. There was no single skill that Silva had that made him the greatest ever; it was all of his skills, empowered by his physical gifts, which made him the best.
If those physical gifts have faded, then the tools they empower fall short and with them go their master.
Diazisn’t the best fighter in the world, and even if he beats Silva, he won’t be remembered as the better fighter. Ironically enough, within Diaz we see clear reminders of the constants of combative sport: indomitable spirit, utter defiance, aggression and desire. They’re constants that Silva cannot overcome forever.
It is these aspects that could see Diaz revealed as the worst stylistic matchup for Silva, rather than vice versa, because he brings the most basic to bear with more malice and bad intent than possibly anyone else in the sport.
It’s a tragic thing in a way—being able to fly so high above the rest of the world. All it takes is one problem—one sign of age, one missed moment or misjudged distance—and suddenly flying through the sky is replaced with falling to the earth.
Perhaps the fall will occur at UFC 183, perhaps not, but if it does, no one should be surprised. Fighters grow old; it happens all the time.
When news came of the lawsuit against the UFC, Scott Coker took exception with the idea that Bellator MMA was being considered as a minor league organization.
Coker addressed the issue with MMAfighting.com’s Marc Raimondi), saying: &ldqu…
When news came of the lawsuit against the UFC, Scott Coker took exception with the idea that Bellator MMA was being considered as a minor league organization.
Coker addressed the issue with MMAfighting.com’s Marc Raimondi), saying: “Do I think Bellator is a minor league? The answer is no.”
As a relatively new figure in the promotion, it is not surprising that Coker would come to the defense of his employer; he managed to keep Strikeforce going in the MMA scene for many years before the UFC finally bought it out.
“I would say four years ago, people would say that about Strikeforce. They’d say ‘Oh, UFC has the best fighters, the best champs.’ That can be debated.”
Then, Coker spoke of the future as proof positive that big things are to come Bellator’s way.
“Labeling a league based on the past can be misleading because the fighters that are here today fighting for us are going to be the next Luke Rockholds, the next Daniel Cormiers. They are going to be the next stars of MMA.”
It’s an optimistic point of view, to be sure. Coker has the acumen to grow Bellator into something much bigger, and he has made some big strides already in abandoning the tournament-based format for big cards with bigger names.
Sadly, those names are either seriously faded or being plucked from his roster by the UFC.
Right now, Bellator has three big names: Tito Ortiz, Stephan Bonnar and Kimbo Slice. The fact that Slice is even being considered as a major player in the Bellator scheme of things is telling.
Thus far, the kinds of fighters that a man like Coker could build an organization around have already been pulled from his stable or abandoned the promotion, through no real fault of his own.
Hector Lombard, Quinton “Rampage” Jackson, Ben Askren and Eddie Alvarez used to claim Bellator home, but no longer. None of this is Coker’s fault; he’s essentially been given a fixer-upper project that just happens to have a television deal and major backing.
And, of course, he has some very good fighters who are toiling in relative obscurity because hardly any of the MMA fanbase knows them.
So, how can he go about pulling his new promotion up by the bootstraps?
Well, going after fighters like Fedor Emelianenko, Mirko “Cro Cop” Filipovic and Slice is not the answer. Neither is signing professional wrestling notables. That makes Bellator look like it doesn’t have any original ideas of its own.
If it is going to succeed at all, it needs to come to grips that it is in direct competition with the UFC; Bellator can no longer subsist from the scraps that fall off the Zuffa table. If it didn’t know that before, seeing the UFC lure away Jackson and yank Cro-Cop out from under its nose should be proof enough.
Zuffa is not about the business of abandoning resources that might feed the enemy. The UFC didn’t need either fighter; it reached out and took them because it would damage Bellator as a rival.
If Bellator ever wants to be taken seriously as a legitimate alternative to the UFC, for both fans and fighters, it has to start making serious moves, with full conviction.
So how can Bellator remake itself as a force in the sport?
When asked by a reporter why he was a boxer, Irish featherweight champion Barry McGuigan answered simply and honestly: “I can’t be a poet. I can’t tell stories.”
But he could fight. From 1981 to 1989, McGuigan amassed a rec…
When asked by a reporter why he was a boxer, Irish featherweight champion Barry McGuigan answered simply and honestly: “I can’t be a poet. I can’t tell stories.”
But he could fight. From 1981 to 1989, McGuigan amassed a record of 35-3 with 28 wins by KO/TKO. He only fought in America twice, but his loss to Steve Cruz was voted Fight of the Year for 1986 and his legacy is better than most fight fans remember.
Sadly, that’s the problem most good—even great—Irish fighters have had; most of them are utterly forgettable amid their peers once they exit the stage.
That same fate seems unlikely to befall Conor McGregor, and he hasn’t even won a true championship.
Then again, he is different to his brothers; he is one fighter who is a poet, telling stories that promise a new legacy of pride and domination for Ireland.
Without question, he is the boldest fighter Ireland has produced in over a hundred years. Even compared to such greats as McGuigan, Wayne McCullough, John “Rinty” Monaghan, Jack Dempsey and Billy Conn, McGregor is clearly a man of a different cut, although the color of the cloth is the same.
In truth, McGregor seems like the antithesis of the typical Irish combatant; he comes out raging on the microphone with all the confidence of a brawler, while his contemporaries were reserved and defense-minded when speaking outside of the ring. Inside the cage, McGregor fights like a counter-punching perfectionist, calm and precise, where his predecessors were face-first brawlers, willing to eat four to land one, trying to be the last man standing in the hammer party.
Should McGregor actually manage to capture a UFC title and defend it—even if only once—he is likely to be the most popular and successful fighter Ireland has ever seen.
But bigger doesn’t always mean better, especially when you compare McGregor to fighters such as Dempsey or Conn. In today’s age of instant information and glorification, Twitter frenzies and so on, McGregor’s gift for the gab makes him a perfect match for the 21st century.
Had McGregor been born in a previous generation, his rise to glory outside Ireland and Europe would have been much slower, yet just as inspired.
One thing that is clear is should McGregor attain the championship in 2015 or taste his first defeat in the UFC, it will all be of his doing. He is the man behind the wheel, foot hard on the gas, full speed ahead.
There is some caution to be had in that approach, of course; the faster you go, the harder it becomes to navigate those sharp curves and avoid brick walls. This doesn’t speak of a possible annihilation at the hands of Jose Aldo in the Octagon; it speaks to the defeat of interest in McGregor should he lose such a big fight so soon into his UFC career.
This might sound like utter nonsense, but the bulk of McGregor’s current fanbase does not claim Irish ancestry. He will always have the Irish, even if he loses every fight for the rest of his career, but his current standing transcends geography.
Much like Floyd Mayweather Jr., many of the people who will pay to watch McGregor are waiting to see him lose. That’s the way it is with polarizing fighters. Once that happens, interest can be quickly lost if a fighter is not careful—and caution is not a word in McGregor’s vocabulary.
At UFC Fight Night 59 on January 18, McGregor will be facing Dennis Siver. Should he have another spectacular night, the UFC will finally remember they are supposed to promote their fighters as singular entities instead of part of their own brand.
When that happens, the floodgates are going to open and every day is going to seem like St. Patrick’s Day in the world of MMA. It may get so overwhelming that the UFC hopes Aldo loses.
On paper, McGregor would be a much greater belt holder for the promotion, simply because he generates so much interest, both in and out of America. Aldo, as fantastic as he is, simply doesn’t possess that rare “it” factor that makes the world go wild.
McGregor walks and talks like a man playing cowboys and Indians for real. That kind of clear passion on such a demanding and revealing stage can make fans—even detractors—feel like they are closer than ever to being a part of the action.
Living vicariously requires the suspension of disbelief for just a little while. When passions are inflamed, both sides are so invested that disbelief is all but forgotten in the face of strong emotions, such as love and hate.
While McGregor has found it incredibly easy to inspire such emotions, Aldo seems almost like a robot, just waiting to be told what to do. Aside from his fighting (which is growing more conservative with each passing bout), Aldo is all too easy to forget after the fight and hard to remember before.
Now, all that remains is for McGregor to win, and one opponent looks far more beatable than the other.
With all the flag waving and the “You’ve never seen anyone like McGregor; he’s going to shock the world and make it look easy” predictions, it’s easy to forget that there is a very real buzz saw waiting in the distance. While Aldo isn’t a great orator and may never get a personal Reebok deal like McGregor, he’s still the best featherweight in the world. When he is on point, he can end anyone’s night in mere seconds.
So far, McGregor has managed to steer all talk from what a daunting task he will have facing Aldo and made the conversation a sing-along in his honor. It’s a wise policy, as it ensures the UFC won’t yank the title shot away from him like they have so many others in the past.
McGregor has the fans talking about what he wants them to talk about. In turn, the UFC is going to listen by force of imposition. Like the saying goes, sometimes it is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, and right now, McGregor is dictating his own terms.
But if he secures the title shot, he’s suddenly in the deepest, darkest and most dangerous waters he’s ever seen, and that is going to be a damn big problem. While McGregor fans are quick to point out the sure fact that Aldo has never faced anyone like “Notorious,” that is a truth that cuts both ways.
Speed, grappling and striking are all areas Aldo looks to have at least a slight advantage, perhaps much greater. In experience, he has forgotten more about fighting elite-level competition than McGregor is likely to learn in the next four years combined.
His fans may try to fashion a murderers’ row out of McGregor’s past UFC opponents, but to be painfully honest, decision victories over the likes of Chad Mendes, Ricardo Lamas, Frankie Edgar and Urijah Faber are worth far more than first-round stoppages over the likes of Marcus Brimage, Diego Brandao and Dustin Poirier.
But they are not worth so much more that McGregor should be dismissed outright. There is indeed something about how he talks it and then walks it that makes him incredibly compelling. The next “big moment” in MMA will probably be McGregor vs. Aldo—a fact Aldo fans and MMA fans in general should appreciate simply for the enormity of the event.
The UFC has never sold out a stadium the size of Croke Park before, which could change very soon.
A fight against Aldo will be huge, and that will be McGregor’s doing, not Aldo’s. Sure, Aldo is the champion and brings a hell of a lot to the table, but McGregor will be the man everyone is listening to, and with that will come a tidal wave of attention.
And so, we wait to see if McGregor has the substance equal to his ambition. If he defeats Siver, he will get Aldo and the time for talking will be over.
McGregor will lead and the media will follow, but eventually, it will all give way to a truth that is only found on the other side of combat.
As Friedrich Nietzsche said: “Every talent must unfold itself in fighting.” So too must the bombast and bravado of McGregor give way to something far more substantial than words.
Is he coming to claim the featherweight title, or is he merely bringing a groundswell of attention to the division, only to end up handing it over to the Brazilian king as a painful tithe for thinking someone so great and established as Aldo could be overthrown by someone as untested as himself?
It is probably a case of the latter to be honest. There is a lot of green Kool-Aid being passed around out there, but Aldo is being dismissed far too easily by far too many.
He may not know how to polarize the public like McGregor, but he knows how to win on the biggest stages. If McGregor is anything less that utterly brilliant, Aldo could end up laying the kind of beating on him that shatters an illusion so totally that no one believes it ever existed in the first place.
Oddly enough, given all of that, I still don’t care. I love what McGregor is doing because it is utterly defiant of common perception.
He dares to be great, and thus he is great and becomes greater one fight at a time. How long will that last? How high will that take him?
I am not sure, but I am hopeful that even if he loses to Aldo, he puts up enough of a fight that the dream endures; that’s what makes fighters great to begin with: dreams.
And lest we forget, coups have been realized before on lesser tape. On February 15, 1978, Leon Spinks, with just eight professional fights on his record, fought and defeated the great Muhammad Ali, who held a record of 55-2 at the time.
Spinks went into the fight—his greatest accomplishment at that point being a gold medal in the Olympic games just two years prior—and defeated a fellow gold medalist who is arguably the greatest heavyweight of all time.
Fighting is a great many things, but sometimes all it takes is the belief that great things comes to those who take great chances.
Stepping back into the Octagon after more than a year off,