Say this for UFC star Nick Diaz—the man knows how to put on a show.
Spitting, taunting and at one point even laying down on the mat, Diaz made a mockery of Anderson Silva, the greatest middleweight to ever live. Perhaps he lost every stanza, though fight stats show several of the rounds were frighteningly close. But he lost his way, ending the fight with his head held high.
In Diaz world, that’s just as good as a win. He was the one coming forward, even as the final bell approached. Silva, as is his wont, was unsure and unwilling to engage on anything but his own terms. A counterpuncher, he refuses to come forward as anything but a last resort.
In the past, that’s led to some excruciatingly boring contests. His fight with Demian Maia was so awful, in fact, that UFC President Dana White stormed out of the arena before the conclusion, later apologizing to fans for the travesty.
But Nick Diaz doesn’t do boring.
“I kind of lose my s–t in there when people do that,” Diaz said at the post-fight press conference. “You probably noticed that…the more he punched the more he was going to end up with the s–t end of the stick.”
Silva may have had his hand raised at the end of UFC 183. And he deserved to. But there was no doubt we were watching a Diaz fight.
Most incredibly? He was doing it at half-speed.
Many longtime observers noted Diaz wasn’t nearly as aggressive as he usually is, fighting only in spurts instead of coming forward in a wave of punches, his sneer presaging a savage attack unlike any other in MMA history. After the fight, he revealed why.
“I had a little injury before the fight with my left arm,” Diaz said at the post-fight press conference. “I had to get a cortisone shot. And I stopped throwing punches about two weeks before the fight…I wasn’t in gear to throw punches, and I knew I was in big trouble.”
What’s next for Diaz, as always, remains unclear. He took almost two years off, in the prime of his career, after his last fight, a loss to then-welterweight champion Georges St-Pierre.
“Who knows what Nick’s going to do,” White said after the fight on the live press conference. “Nick made a lot of money tonight. You might not see him for three years this time.”
It’s also unclear exactly what to do with a fighter like Diaz. He’s an attraction, clearly. But he’s also lost three fights in a row.
“I’m kind of tired of being a loser,” Diaz admitted after the fight. “I’m doing well, though, as far as this being a job versus the other guys that are out here. I put on a show for these fans. I don’t know what to make of it right now.”
It would be hard to justify putting Diaz in with any of the promotion’s champions. It’s equally hard, however, to imagine him in the cage with one of the sport’s many competent, but anonymous, card-fillers. That leaves both fighter and promoter in a bind that may be impossible to unravel.
If this was Diaz‘s last fight, MMA is losing a truly unique athlete. In a career spanning more than 12 years, he’s fought the best historical fighter in three different weight classes. When you include his bout with Frank Shamrock, at one point the greatest light heavyweight ever, you have a resume that will never be matched.
Diaz has his fair share of great wins. Paul Daley. Takanori Gomi. Robbie Lawler. But winning was never the central point in a Nick Diaz fight. Arguably, he was at his best in defeat. It was when things weren’t going his way that a hero emerged, a man incapable of anything but combat in its purest form, his self-confidence bordering on the absurd even as the chips were down.
Diaz fought the best and fought them his way. His warrior ethos and unwavering desire to fight for the finish, and not for the scorecards, wasn’t always smart. But it was true to who Diaz is.
In a world of phonies, it’s that authenticity that has helped Diaz capture the hearts of so many. In sport filled with fighters mouthing phony platitudes and of blood feuds culminating in a hug, he was a breath of the freshest air.
Diaz may have never been the greatest fighter in the world—but he may have been the greatest warrior. That’s a legacy worth remembering.
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