Keeping up with Jones
About 10 days before his title defense against Quinton “Rampage” Jackson, Jon Jones told me he believed Rashad Evans would be his toughest test in the light heavyweight division. He also said he expected to compete at heavyweight in three years.
Both of those sentiments were supported at the post-fight press conference. Jackson said that Evans was the only one in the division that could threaten Jones. And Dana White mentioned that he and Jones have spoken about the possibility of him moving up in weight.
But if that move is really three years away, and Evans really is Jones’s biggest test, then I guess we can expect two-and-a-half years of easy title defenses for Jones. Anderson Silva and Georges St-Pierre will probably attest that there are worse ways to spend a career.
There’s nothing wrong with hanging out at the top of the UFC’s so-called marquee division, kicking ass while not getting touched—except on his hands, shins, and elbows, which reportedly were quite sore after Rampage’s face and body were done with them.
On the other hand, if Jones makes it look as easy against Evans as he has against everyone else, maybe he’ll head north in weight in search of new challenges. Winning the title in a second division would put Jones alongside the likes of BJ Penn and Randy Couture. But neither legend was dominant in multiple divisions the way Jones could be.
Fake, Black Elephants
This was the first title fight in UFC history featuring two African-American fighters, but race wasn’t a huge elephant in the room. Jones actually told USA Today that race was practically the only thing he had in common with “Rampage,” who came closest to the race can of worms with his “Jones is a fake” attack. You have to wonder if calling a white person a fake would have stuck the same way.
Jones, for his part, borrowed Evans’ line that “Rampage” “moves like Frankenstein.” Watching tape one day before the fight, I asked Jones if he thought Jackson really did move like Frankenstein.
“He moves when he has to,” said Jones, with a tone that was clearly in Jackson’s defense.
Jackson’s “Jones is a fake” line, meanwhile, was borrowed from Evans as well. But after the fight, Jackson appeared to have dropped the sentiment, having replaced it with “for real,” descriptor now attached to Jones.
Sugarambone
Speaking of Rashad Evans, whose name seems to be coming up as often as Jackson’s and Jones’…can we start calling them a triangle and make up a name that refers to all three of them at once, kind of like a three-man version of Brangelina?
I propose: Sugarambone.
All three have talked endless smack with each other, and two of the three possible fight combinations have already taken place. The final fight, of course, between Jones and Evans, will take place soon. But considering the possibility of future rematches, Sugarambone needs to play it carefully, because the promotional possibilities for future fights are endless.
In his post-fight interview, Jones announced he wasn’t going to talk smack to hype the fight. We’ll see if that holds true or if Rashad baits him back into verbal warfare.
A Hollywood ending
Am I the only one who found, in retrospect, that the plotline of Jones vs. Rampage bore an uncanny resemblance to Rocky V, when the All-American from Philly does battle against the laboratory-crafted Russian fighter?
Sure, Rampage doesn’t look too much like the blond, blue-eyed Russian guy. And I haven’t seen the hi-tech wonders of the new Muscle Farm gym. But still, the gym sounds a bit like the fulfillment of that movie’s prophecy. And in the case of Jones vs. Rampage, the moral of the story is straight out of the movie: hi-tech training is no match for old-fashioned wholesome mojo.
The media is high on altitude
I found it funny how often it came up that Rampage had an advantage because he was training in Denver’s high altitude. Albuquerque, where Jones trained, is at 5,352 feet above sea level, which is 72 feet higher than Denver.
Other notes from press row
Unlike in Brazil, here, it’s not cool to cheer from press row. But during Mark Hunt vs. Ben Rothwell, my friend Fabio Borges (of Rede TV, Brazil), and I found ourselves shouting at the ref to stop the fight. Hunt was repeatedly landing shots that would justify a brain scan for most mortals, and it was obvious the fight was over, despite the fact that Rothwell was still standing and arguably even walking (like Frankenstein, come to think of it).
Rothwell wasn’t defending himself—intelligently anyway. And thanks to poor cardio, accumulated blunt head trauma, and hey, maybe the altitude, he was too slow to pose any threat to Hunt, who was content to stay out of range and land strikes when it suited him. On one occasion, Hunt seemed to walk away after landing a right hook, as if he was under the impression that Rothwell was falling down, a la his last fight against Chris Tuchscherer.
When I’m at an event live, I find myself noticing how much less I notice the ring card girls. There’s no camera forcing you to look at them, no sudden urge to cringe at the inevitability that Mike Goldberg will momentarily say: “The beautiful [insert name of ring girl]” as she blows us a kiss. I must say that I’m still able to keep track of which round it is.
And finally, the Steven Seagal joke is getting worse. It came out afterwards that Seagal wanted to visit with Jones in his dressing room before the fight, and Jones said no because it would be an insult to his training team. That, my friends, is a classy response. And it’s practically as cool as foiling a mugging mere hours before winning a UFC belt.
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