Tag: CagePotato Roundtable

CagePotato Roundtable #34: What is the Single Worst Tattoo in MMA?


(And this debate is ALLLLLLLL OVVVERRRRR!!!)

Don’t let the “A” in MMA fool you, mixed martial arts fighters are *not* artists…at least, not  in the traditional sense of the term. Look no further than the hilariously atrocious inkwork that so often adorns their bodies for proof of this. Between the non-tribal tribal arm bands, the last name tramp stamps, and the ill-advised branding attempts, MMA fighters (and their fans — see above) sport some of the worst tattoos you’ll ever see outside of a prison cell. But who has the worst tattoo of them all? The CagePotato Roundtable investigates… 

Ben Goldstein

Matt Horwich‘s musical pencil is like something out of a nightmare. It’s a bunch of unrelated visual signifiers held together by an inscrutable logic, and the only thing being conveyed is dread. You wake up sweating after seeing this thing, and you tell your wife, “Shit, I had that dream about my stepfather again, but this time he was a pencil,” and she looks at you, trying to feign sympathy, but the apparition simply can’t be verbalized. Words will never do it justice, because it’s so much more than just “pencil, musical notes, angry face,” it’s what the pencil represents. That goddamned abusive drunk piece of shit, who hated himself because he couldn’t write songs like Neil Diamond, so he took it out on you and your mom. That face. You could put it on a cantaloupe, a hammer, the front of a steamboat, and it would still be him.

Look, I get it, Matt Horwich is eccentric. His concept of reality is not the same as yours. I’m trying to avoid judgment here, but I just can’t relate to the sort of mind that would put this on his body. It’s awful. A worn-down pencil with a ragged eraser. A face devoid of most human characteristics. And three notes — whole note, half note, quarter note! — flying upwards. It’s not a singing pencil. It’s a scowling pencil with musical notation ejecting from the end that is responsible for deletion, not creation. It’s a contradiction, and it’s unsettling. The pencil seems to be straining to get these notes out, and for what? To express that the artistic process is torture? Does the pencil wish it was a violin instead? Does Matt Horwich even remember getting this tattoo, or did it just kind of appear one day? You’re seeing it too, right? The pencil with the face? I’m not crazy, am I?


(And this debate is ALLLLLLLL OVVVERRRRR!!!)

Don’t let the “A” in MMA fool you, mixed martial arts fighters are *not* artists…at least, not in the traditional sense of the term. Look no further than the hilariously atrocious inkwork that so often adorns their bodies for proof of this. Between the non-tribal tribal arm bands, the last name tramp stamps, and the ill-advised branding attempts, MMA fighters (and their fans — see above) sport some of the worst tattoos you’ll ever see outside of a prison cell. But who has the worst tattoo of them all? The CagePotato Roundtable investigates…

Ben Goldstein

Matt Horwich‘s musical pencil is like something out of a nightmare. It’s a bunch of unrelated visual signifiers held together by an inscrutable logic, and the only thing being conveyed is dread. You wake up sweating after seeing this thing, and you tell your wife, “Shit, I had that dream about my stepfather again, but this time he was a pencil,” and she looks at you, trying to feign sympathy, but the apparition simply can’t be verbalized. Words will never do it justice, because it’s so much more than just “pencil, musical notes, angry face,” it’s what the pencil represents. That goddamned abusive drunk piece of shit, who hated himself because he couldn’t write songs like Neil Diamond, so he took it out on you and your mom. That face. You could put it on a cantaloupe, a hammer, the front of a steamboat, and it would still be him.

Look, I get it, Matt Horwich is eccentric. His concept of reality is not the same as yours. I’m trying to avoid judgment here, but I just can’t relate to the sort of mind that would put this on his body. It’s awful. A worn-down pencil with a ragged eraser. A face devoid of most human characteristics. And three notes — whole note, half note, quarter note! — flying upwards. It’s not a singing pencil. It’s a scowling pencil with musical notation ejecting from the end that is responsible for deletion, not creation. It’s a contradiction, and it’s unsettling. The pencil seems to be straining to get these notes out, and for what? To express that the artistic process is torture? Does the pencil wish it was a violin instead? Does Matt Horwich even remember getting this tattoo, or did it just kind of appear one day? You’re seeing it too, right? The pencil with the face? I’m not crazy, am I?

Michael Fagan

Portraits are the improv comedy of the tattoo world. Combine a talented artist with a great subject and the right canvas, and, yeah, you have a pretty great piece of work that you can appreciate. Otherwise? It’s trash. All of it. It’s why we end up with things like Ronda Rousey looking like a puffy-faced Mermaid wearing UFC-braded Shooto pillow gloves.

Which brings us to Alan Belcher‘s Johnny Cash tattoo. Belcher soft-debuted this…thing…at UFC 93 against Denis Kang. Goldstein properly described it as “terrifying.” The UFC would be thrilled to have an afternoon PPV show from Ireland headlined by two aging veterans pulling in 350k buys in 2014, but this was 2009, a time when MMA was golden and Brock Lesnar its king. So, when Belcher fought Yoshihiro Akiyama at UFC 100, he introduced his monster to millions of people worldwide.

What can be said about Belcher’s tattoo that hasn’t already been said about pig-nosed Polish grandmothers who just caught their grandson masturbating to last year’s Sears Christmas catalog? Belcher nearly lost his career due to a detached retina in 2010, though I’ve always suspected that his eyes caught sight of his left arm in a storefront window and called it a day. Belcher’s currently in a St-Pierre retirement purgatory. We can only hope he’s made the proper modifications to turn his Johnny Cash into a My Cousin Vinny-era Joe Pesci.

Seth Falvo


(Image courtesy of Sherdog)

Tribal markings. Olde English letters. Skulls, pit bulls and fleurs de lys. MMA fighters and generic, awful tattoos truly go hand in grenade-tatted hand. Yet despite the plethora of options I could have considered, one truly craptacular piece managed to immediately stand out in my mind when this topic was introduced: UFC heavyweight Shawn Jordan’s chest piece.

This thing is practically a check-list for “tough white guy” tattoos. Nautical starz? Check. A Native American (because all Southern white people claim to be at least 1/8th Native American) with his arms menacingly crossed? Got it. A(n LSU) tiger? Of course. All with a tattered American flag waving defiantly in the background? Like you don’t know.

Shawn Jordan’s left pectoral of clichés would be bad enough if a decent artist actually worked on it, but the fact that it’s as poorly executed as it is really puts this thing over the top. Tattoo artists are fond of saying “Good tattoos aren’t cheap, and cheap tattoos aren’t good.” Judging by the quality of Jordan’s ink, I’m willing to bet that this piece set him back two cases of Natty Light and maybe, maybe an autographed LSU football. I’m on the fence about the football because I’d like to think that a ball autographed by the 2008 National Championship team would have at least earned the horrifically disproportionate Native American a six-pack that didn’t span the entire length of his torso.

It wouldn’t surprise me at all if the hick who scratched his way through Jordan’s chest piece actually considers himself a “talented” tattoo “artist.” Or if every time he sees Shawn Jordan in the cage, his chest swells with pride as he tells anyone who will listen that his “gun” is behind that eyesore. “I did that, right there! That’s professional work for half the price of one of them fangled tattoo parlors, and it’s just as good as what you’d get from a licensed shop!”

Sure thing, buddy. Whatever you say.

Nathan Smith

Years before Conor McGregor and his Cosby Sweater ink became the biggest star in UFC history, the main draw for the promotion was the Undisputed Heavyweight Champ Brock Lesnar who, coincidentally, sported the worst MMA tattoo ever. There is a plethora of ways to describe what Lesnar’s tat resembles but even though I am in my 30’s, my sense of humor leans more towards a kid in junior high. So I am just going to come right out and say it.

Brock Lesnar’s ink looks like a giant penis and we all know it. Seriously, it looks like the tattoo artist took a picture of Ron Jeremy’s erect crank and then stuck a handle on the base of it. To make matters worse, there appears to be a small amount of red blood oozing from the top of the dick which makes it even more reprehensible and disturbing but at least we got the nickname Cock Chestner out of it, I guess.

There isn’t a whole lot more to elaborate on and I really struggled with how I was supposed to stretch this post into 3 paragraphs so it didn’t look like I gave a half-assed effort on this CP Roundtable submission. I thought I’d try to mix in as many amusing penis slang words (i.e. Foreskin Flute, Trouser Snake, Veinous Maximus, Tube Steak, Satan’s Clarinet, Clam Hammer, The Bone Ranger), but I didn’t think that would be a very mature thing to do. So with that being said, here’s 101 Big Dick Jokes.

Alex Giardini

I mean, shit. You guys basically said it yourselves.

After witnessing Paulo Filho’s performance where he robbed Chael Sonnen of the only title the “American Gangster” truly deserved acquiring back at WEC 36, you had a hunch things would get a little out of hand.

Substance abuse, no-shows, and showing up when he shouldn’t have shown outlines what the Brazilian’s career has looked like the past couple of years, yet it’s not like his legend didn’t go out with a bang (technically, it’s still going).

Getting “the same thing Mike Tyson has on his face” just wasn’t enough for the former Pride and WEC veteran; he just had to ink his body with the worst possible eyesores known to man. It’s rather difficult to pick just one, but that’s the rule of the game.

Filho’s “Million Dollar Bulldog” is truly a work of art. Before entering his DREAM 10 bout against Melvin Manhoef, the MMA bubble was treated to the fighter’s new work, which is a bulldog centering a million dollar bill, and beneath that, two bulldogs seemingly about to trade fisticuffs. Now, maybe this was somewhat motivational for the troubled slugger, however, it just takes the cake in the worst way possible. It even came with a bonus “Reward Hunter” (pun not intended, but now, sort of) on his upper chest. It’s like having the best entrée in your life, followed by a meal that puts you in a delusional state where you’re content with your life coming to a close. Furthermore, it’s incredibly creative. To this day, nobody really knows what that is.

Honorable mention would have to be Filho’s forearm tattoo, “Placartoon Tattoo,” which is the shop that marked him, meaning it’s basically a glorified ad on Filho for the rest of his life. I really hope this guy strings a few wins together and makes it into the UFC. Then he could get a Harley Davidson tattoo on the other side of his face.

Jared Jones




Look, we all know that art is subjective, and as a guy who sports several poorly-rendered and half-finished tattoos that could be considered terrible (tree of life, vegvisir, giant maze, etc.) by most people, I am always tread lightly when it comes to shitting on someones ink. Do I think that Alan Belcher has the single worst portrait of Johnny Cash known to man? Without a doubt. Do I think pasty white giants from Maine would be best to reconsider getting that “tribal” tattoo ripped right from an Affliction shirt? Of course. But as I’ve said before, we’ve all made mistakes in our youthful arrogance, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to start sounding like a hypocrite while knocking these (albeit atrocious) displays of artwork down a peg.

Instead, I’m choosing to focus on the tattoos that hint at more than just a mistake made during a drunken night out. I’m choosing to focus on the men behind the tattoos, or rather, the tattoos that say a lot more about their human canvas (as Dave Navarro would put it) than simply, “I want to look badass.” So for me, the worst tattoos in MMA is really a 4-way tie between Melvin Costa, Brandon Saling, Toni Valtonen, and Dustin Holyko.

You see, all four of these men are garbage — White Power, Neo-Nazi garbage. One of them’s also a convicted pedo. They all also happen to be MMA fighters. To their credit, all 4 of these men are very upfront about just how garbage they are, and would like you to know from the moment you lay eyes on them that, yes, you are looking at garbage. Two of them rock swastika tats, one rocks a Heil Hitler “88″ tattoo with SS lightning bolts, and the other simply has “White Power” inked on either arm. What, did you expect racism to embrace subtlety just because we’re living in Obama’s America?

Despite their…let’s call them “sketchy” pasts, some of these garbage men continue to have fights booked to this day, by promoters who I can only assume are also garbage. One of them even had a one-off fight for Strikeforce before that blew up in their face. The worst part? That fight (Brandon Saling vs. Roger Bowling) was pretty goddamn awesome, although hearing Mauro Ranallo, Pat Miletich, and Frank Shamrock praise Saling for being a “natural fighter” and “tough country boy” with “impeccable instincts” seems kinda messed up in retrospect.

CagePotato Roundtable #33: What is the Greatest One-Minute Fight of All Time?


( *sigh* They just don’t make squash matches like they used to. Photo via Getty.)

How good can a fight *really* be if it ends quicker than Michael Bisping’s prom night? That’s just the question we’re trying to answer this week, and we’ve got a whole slew of special guests to help us: Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA (making her second CP Roundtable appearance), Tim Burke (formerly of BloodyElbow), MiddleEasy Editor-in-Chief Jason Nawara, and MiddleEasy writer Nick Robertson. The topic: What is the Greatest One-Minute Fight of All Time? Join us for yet another thrilling CagePotato Roundtable, won’t you?

Ben Goldstein

Anderson Silva vs. Chris Leben is an obvious pick, I know. The 49-second demolition from Ultimate Fight Night 5 has been anthologized in dozens of Internet lists — from “Worst Game Plans of All Time,” to “Most Spectacular UFC Debuts” — and kicked off the greatest win streak in UFC history. It’s a flawless victory, in the Mortal Kombat sense of the phrase.

Coincidentally, Silva vs. Leben synchronizes perfectly to my favorite under-a-minute song of all time, “Wasted” by Black Flag, which is officially listed at 51 seconds, but includes about two seconds of dead air at the end. For your convenience, I’ve overlaid the Silva vs. Leben fight with “Wasted” in the video above, so you can see what I mean.

The whole thing is fast, dumb, and violent, just like MMA at its best. And when Leben collapses to the mat at the end of the fight, as Keith Morris shrugs off the final line “I was wasted,” it’s such a perfect summary of Leben’s persona. He’s reckless, self-sabotaging, often intoxicated, always driving forward with no regard for the consequences. He’ll wake up the next morning with a massive headache, take a couple bong rips, and go skateboarding without a helmet, because fuck it, if it’s your time to go it’s your time to go.

Honorable mention: Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis, which is the “I Like Food” by the Descendents of MMA fights.


( *sigh* They just don’t make squash matches like they used to. Photo via Getty.)

How good can a fight *really* be if it ends quicker than Michael Bisping’s prom night? That’s just the question we’re trying to answer this week, and we’ve got a whole slew of special guests to help us: Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA (making her second CP Roundtable appearance), Tim Burke (formerly of BloodyElbow), MiddleEasy Editor-in-Chief Jason Nawara, and MiddleEasy writer Nick Robertson. The topic: What is the Greatest One-Minute Fight of All Time? Join us for yet another thrilling CagePotato Roundtable, won’t you?

Ben Goldstein

Anderson Silva vs. Chris Leben is an obvious pick, I know. The 49-second demolition from Ultimate Fight Night 5 has been anthologized in dozens of Internet lists — from “Worst Game Plans of All Time,” to “Most Spectacular UFC Debuts” — and kicked off the greatest win streak in UFC history. It’s a flawless victory, in the Mortal Kombat sense of the phrase.

Coincidentally, Silva vs. Leben synchronizes perfectly to my favorite under-a-minute song of all time, “Wasted” by Black Flag, which is officially listed at 51 seconds, but includes about two seconds of dead air at the end. For your convenience, I’ve overlaid the Silva vs. Leben fight with “Wasted” in the video above, so you can see what I mean.

The whole thing is fast, dumb, and violent, just like MMA at its best. And when Leben collapses to the mat at the end of the fight, as Keith Morris shrugs off the final line “I was wasted,” it’s such a perfect summary of Leben’s persona. He’s reckless, self-sabotaging, often intoxicated, always driving forward with no regard for the consequences. He’ll wake up the next morning with a massive headache, take a couple bong rips, and go skateboarding without a helmet, because fuck it, if it’s your time to go it’s your time to go.

Honorable mention: Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis, which is the “I Like Food” by the Descendents of MMA fights.

Tim Burke

Before there was a Nashville brawl in Strikeforce on American national TV, there was a Chute Boxe vs. Hammer House brawl on Japanese national TV that featured some of the more compelling characters in the history of the sport. And as a shameless Pride mark, I feel it is my duty to focus on the bout that led to this insanity. Yes folks, I’m taking you back to early 2006 for the first fight between Mark Coleman and Mauricio “Shogun” Rua. Joint dislocations, bear-pawed refs, and angry Ninjas. Oh my.

The fight itself had everything you could want in 49 seconds. Shogun was still only 25 here and his knees weren’t at that Terry Funk level yet, so he was able to deal with Coleman’s old man strength by consistently looking for subs from the bottom and landing the odd punch to the grill. He almost finished the fight with a kneebar but the wrestler yanked his leg out and went for an immediate takedown. Because Rua was off balance when Coleman shot in though, he posted his right arm in an awkward way and his elbow just popped out of the socket. Gnarly.

It wasn’t quite apparent what had gone down right away, but this was in Japan after all – there were 43 close-up replays that made the gruesomeness quite clear, including a ref cam. They had to wait to show them though, because Coleman had completely lost his shit in the meantime.

After Mark swatted away the ref like a Japanese cicada, Shogun’s brother Murilo (known worldwide as Ninja, the lesser sibling that kisses his younger brother on the head a lot) jumped into the ring immediately to first check on his brother, then to scold Coleman for being a bro. Caveman Coleman wasn’t happy with that, and it led to reinforcements from both sides joining the festivities – The New York Badass Phil Baroni on the Hammer House side, Pride legend and current NSAC track star Wanderlei Silva on the Chute Boxe side. And they all brawled for about 30 seconds while the camera stayed on Shogun, who alternated between watching them fight and screaming in pain. Yeah.

Because Pride was awesome, they followed Coleman and Shogun around for a few minutes with a camera afterward. Shogun is in a lot of discomfort and swearing in Portuguese while Ninja just wants to cuddle with him. Coleman’s segment goes all the way from punching his dressing room wall to giving the ultimate meathead speech backstage before finally deciding to apologize to Chute Boxe. Suitably, the apology is hilarious – after Coleman says he’s sorry, it’s just Wanderlei yelling at everyone and Ninja looking derpy while Rampage Jackson yells “Who, me?” over and over again back at him.

This was Pride FC at it’s goofiest, and just one of the many reasons I loved it so much.

Nathan Smith

Though I have sentimental feelings for UFC 2’s opening televised bout between Pat Smith and Scott Morris because it took my MMA-viewing virginity back in 1994, I would be doing a disservice to one of the sport’s more revered competitors if I chose a brawl from the human cockfighting era. Therefore, I have decided to gush over BJ Penn. The Prodigy was widely acknowledged as the first truly complete mixed martial artist and in lieu of his latest (and hopefully final) retirement announcement; his 11-second obliteration of Caol Uno at UFC 34 is at the top of my list.

I will be the first to admit that I was never the biggest Penn fan due to my creepy fanboyish love for Georges St. Pierre, but even I have to show respect for the skill and achievement that a very special few are able to exhibit. That being said, I am not here to ballwash Penn like FOX and the MLB did to Derek Jeter during the All-Star Game, but BJ was in rare form that night in 2001.

The fight started with Uno’s only offensive maneuver when he ran forward and threw a kick that would make Liu Kang proud. Penn, however, easily sidestepped it. A straight right/left hook/right uppercut combo from BJ put Uno on his back with his head propped up against the cage. From there Penn unloaded 4 brutal punches to Uno’s mug and the fight was over. BJ popped up, bowed to several directions of the crowd, then sprinted out of the cage and up the ramp where he disappeared. It was almost like Penn had the meter running on a cab that was parked in the alley behind the arena.

It took 32 seconds from the moment the bell sounded to start the round until the moment Penn made it backstage. A slow-motion replay showed the damage he did as Dana White (WITH HAIR) sits cage-side clapping. When the dust settled, Uno’s expression resembled that of a college freshman. A college freshman attending his first frat party that is one Natural Ice away from getting dicks drawn all over his face with a Sharpie.

Nick Robertson

I thought long and hard about this topic, and I just couldn’t think of an answer. I had come up with a handful of candidates, but something about them didn’t feel right. I knew I was missing something. I was going to need to try a different approach. So like a young Ozymandias, I ventured out into the desert and swallowed and swallowed a small handful of hashish (approximately 6.7 grams).

I walked and walked searching for an answer. The hash wasn’t really kicking in and I was starting to get restless. When the hash finally did kick in, it hit me hard. My body started to produce a thick glossy sweat that almost looked like gelatin. A chill rolled up my spine and my stomach turned. I was starting to get sick, and I knew I was in for a long uncomfortable night.

After throwing up for what seemed like an eternity it seemed I was finally starting to gain clarity. It was like I suddenly had HD Glasses on. I looked out into the vast desert and there appeared two figures. One had a giant head of gold and an aura of invincibility. It was The Huntington Beach Badboy himself, Tito Ortiz. Across from him stood a dude who looked like an angry stepdad who hid his muscles under an unassuming polo shirt. It was a young, lean, Evan Tanner.

I watched as they felt the fight out on the feet for a brief moment before tying up. Tito managed to get a body lock and I knew the fight was already over. This was a prime Tito Ortiz, who likely had a broken spine at this point in his career, and he wasn’t going to let Tanner take his belt. Ortiz slammed Tanner so hard that he went unconscious. Before Tito could land a second punch Tanner’s spirit had ascended to the heavens. It was both terrifying and beautiful. Moments later I was vomiting uncontrollably again.

When I returned home later that evening I knew I had found what I was searching for and knew, the greatest MMA fight under one minute is most definitely Tito Ortiz vs. Evan Tanner at UFC 30.

Jared Jones

The greatness of Mark Kerr vs. Greg “Ranger” Stott at UFC 15 simply cannot be overstated, although I’ve tried my hardest to do just that in my tenure at CP. It is a 17-second window into what MMA was in the late 90′s — Japanese-level freakshow fights, made up fighting styles (R.I.P!!), and the Just Bleed guy. And beige swim trunks used as fighting shorts. My God, those beige swim trunks.

To be a fly on the wall of Stott’s locker room in the moments leading up to the fight…

Coach: “Greg, I know what you’re thinking: ‘This Kerr fellow just won the last UFC tournament and appears to weigh approximately 450 pounds. He is going to murder me and possibly eat my children.’ But you’re gonna beat him, Greggy! You hear me! You’re gonna shock the world!”

Greg: “But coach, I’ve never even been in a real fight before. Like, ever. R.I.P isn’t even real; I invented it two weeks ago while high on nitrous in my garage. It’s basically just a bunch of awkward jabs and stomps.”

Coach: “None of that matters now, Greggy! It’s too late to turn back. You just had to go shooting your mouth off to that Vinnie Barbarino-looking, Guido Chic, didn’t ya?!”

Greg: “Maybe I can come up with some last second excuse, like a knee injury. Or lupus.”

Coach: “No way, Greg. It’s time to sack up. You were an Airborne Ranger for Christ’s sake!”

Greg: “Why didn’t I just listen to Mom’s advice and stick with the piano lessons.”

Honorable mention: Chris Lytle vs. Kyle Bradley, UFC 81

Jason Nawara

Ah, so this is CagePotato headquarters, eh? I find it pretty funny that I get invited here for a roundtable only to see that what we’re gathering around seems to be an octagonal table. Did you guys get this made in 2009 or something? Does the irony of being near an octagon burn your heart and soul considering you’re not allowed near the Octagon™? Sorry, I know this is off-topic, I’m just kind of in awe of finally being here after reading you lovely humans for years. It’s pretty cool, but it smells kind of weird to be honest.

So yeah, my favorite fight that lasted under a minute. Well, when you guys told me the subject, I thought the pickings were going to be slim, but then I closed my eyes and exhausted all other thoughts out of my brain, and only let the fighting come through. You know what I saw in that moment of complete clarity? A mustache, my friends. A mustache. And it was good.

Let’s go back to UFC 8, the David vs. Goliath tournament held inside a hot arena located in Bayamon, Puerto Rico. A young Donnie (Donny?) Frye, stood like an adonis across from one Thomas Ramirez. A 300+ pound man, who, if I recall even somewhat correctly, had over one million unsanctioned street fight wins. They met in the center of the Octagon™ and after a quick bop to Frye’s forehead, Ramirez was overcome by a flurry that put him to sleep in 8 seconds. It was glorious. These early UFCs are my favorite era of MMA, and I remember specifically watching this show for the first time thinking that “Tom Selleck’ was going to get killed by Mr. Ramirez, but he ended up doing the killing in a figurative manner.

This was the fastest knockout in UFC history for almost a decade until Duane Ludwig’s 6.26-second KO over Jonathan Goulet was officially recognized in 2012 (Todd Duffee and The Korean Zombie also broke Don’s record with 7-second KOs, respectively). So how can this not be my favorite knockout in under a minute? It’s Don Frye knocking out a 300+ pound man in 8 seconds in his debut. This is what life is all about, right here. I’m not ashamed to admit that.

Special CagePotato Roundtable Bonus Selection!

Later that night, Don Frye would go on to TKO Sam Adkins in 48 seconds. This is worth mentioning because it’s a technical knockout in less than a minute, it was immediately after Don’s initial 8-second knockout (which I wrote about above if you’re coming in halfway) and most importantly, it was a fight that featured these unfortunate pants:

Sydnie Jones

Way back in the day, before Matt Hughes was anything more than a regional fighter and former wrestler who once paired up with his twin brother to beat up their dad, Dennis Hallman took Hughes gently by the neck and schooled him on how to be a wrestler and suck in the cage. Hughes catches Hallman’s kick and starts to drive forward for a single leg, but I guess nobody told him, ‘protect ya neck,’ because he leaves it right out there. Hallman takes advantage of all that room created by the complete lack of level change and locks in an arm-in guillotine. It’s over in 17 seconds and Hughes is out cold.

In retrospect, this is pretty satisfying, but Hughes was fighting in relative anonymity and it was only his fifth fight (and third of the night), so, so the fuck what, right?

Well, when paired with Hallman vs Hughes II from UFC 29: Defense of the Belts (video here), it’s extra satisfying. It’s lagniappe satisfying. Because two years and a shit ton of fights later, Hughes is felled by his own blustering over-confidence, this time in 20 seconds, as he shoots in for a single leg and a slam. Having been slammed from a height of maybe 8 to 10 inches, I can say from experience that it hurts, but Dennis Hallman DGAF and he was a straight up angel on high when Hughes brings him down. Instead, he transitions to a fake triangle threat as a way to set up the arm bar…and Hughes slams him again, still to no avail. After Hughes steps on Hallman’s face, he topples over like a dumb tree while Hallman stays tight and finishes the arm bar.

From almost the first second of the fight, Hughes bungled nearly everything, like he was giving a very brief but pointed seminar on how brute strength and wrestling isn’t at all effective if you haven’t formulated a defense against the positions and techniques wrestling overlooks. The two fights combined create a 37-second cautionary tale, if you’re a Hughes fan. And if you’re explicitly not a Hughes fan (or, more charitably, if you’re a jiu jitsu fan), then the two fights are the MMA equivalent of Station: lovely discrete, but nothing short of divine when taken as a whole.

Seth Falvo

There’s a reason why nobody brings up a Fight of the Night earning preliminary scrap when discussing the greatest fights of the year, and that reason is because the greatest fights need to have something important behind them. A great one-minute brawl can go down at even the most obscure amateur MMA event, but the greatest one-minute fight has to have something on the line. My pick wasn’t for a world title, it wasn’t for a tournament championship, and it certainly didn’t cement the victor as one of the pound-for-pound greats. But Gerard Gordeau vs. Teila Tuli quite literally set the tone for the entire future of the UFC, in all of its bloodstained glory.

Through the hardened eyes of the modern MMA fan, Gordeau vs. Tuli isn’t much of a fight. It ended – many would argue prematurely – shortly after Gordeau landed his first (and only) kick. It was far from a technical masterpiece, but the thousands of viewers who paid for a tournament advertised as a ruthless bloodsport didn’t want it to be one. When Tuli’s tooth gets kicked into the third row, those viewers received everything that they were hoping the UFC would deliver. When the fight was called off seconds later, they booed mercilessly – not because they were frustrated by the fight, but because they wanted even more of it. Just like that, almost everybody watching the UFC was hooked on it. The rest, as they say, is history.

It’s hard to imagine how differently things would have played out for the UFC if Gordeau vs. Tuli was ten-minutes of circling, shoving, and jabbing culminating in a forfeit via exhaustion instead of a quick, decisive knockout. Would the UFC ever enter the World Fucking Domination era? For that matter, would it have even seen a second event if the audience stopped caring after a lackluster inaugural fight? It’s impossible to say for sure, but, as-is,one minute was more than enough time for the UFC to establish itself as the future of combat sports.

Gordeau vs. Tuli was everything we’d come to love about the UFC, well before we had any idea what to actually expect from it. Fights don’t get much greater than that.

CagePotato Roundtable #32: Who Is Your Favorite Fictional Fighter of All Time?


(Woah, they got constipated Ryu as a secret unlockable character in this game? Count me in!)

The inclusion of Bruce Lee in EA Sports’ derpy-looking UFC game over actual fighters like bantamweight champion TJ Dillashaw not only enraged the CP staff to no end, but got us thinking about other characters that should’ve been included in the roster. That’s right, the CagePotato Roundtable is back, and with special guest Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA! This week’s topic: Who is Your Favorite Fictional Fighter of All Time? 

Nathan Smith

“If he dies, he dies.”

Those iconic words were delivered in a callous monotone shortly after this fighter beat Apollo Creed to death in an exhibition boxing match. You can blame Rocky Balboa for not throwing in the towel (and I am sure Creed’s wife still does) or you can blame Creed’s advanced age, but the fact remains, this pugilist made sure the only Apollo Creed appearances in future Rocky movies would be via flashback sequences. That is how I was introduced to the greatest fictional fighter of all time – Ivan Drago.

Weighing in at 261 lbs. and standing 6’5” Drago looked like the epitome of a living, breathing action figure. He had it all. From the chiseled physique to the thousand-yard-stare, Drago accompanied those characteristics with a hair cut that would make Iceman jealous and a punch that measured 1850 psi.


(Woah, they got constipated Ryu as a secret unlockable character in this game? Count me in!)

The inclusion of Bruce Lee in EA Sports’ derpy-looking UFC game over actual fighters like bantamweight champion TJ Dillashaw not only enraged the CP staff to no end, but got us thinking about other characters that should’ve been included in the roster. That’s right, the CagePotato Roundtable is back, and with special guest Sydnie Jones of WomensMMA! This week’s topic: Who is Your Favorite Fictional Fighter of All Time? 

Nathan Smith

“If he dies, he dies.”

Those iconic words were delivered in a callous monotone shortly after this fighter beat Apollo Creed to death in an exhibition boxing match. You can blame Rocky Balboa for not throwing in the towel (and I am sure Creed’s wife still does) or you can blame Creed’s advanced age, but the fact remains, this pugilist made sure the only Apollo Creed appearances in future Rocky movies would be via flashback sequences. That is how I was introduced to the greatest fictional fighter of all time – Ivan Drago.

Weighing in at 261 lbs. and standing 6’5” Drago looked like the epitome of a living, breathing action figure. He had it all. From the chiseled physique to the thousand-yard-stare, Drago accompanied those characteristics with a hair cut that would make Iceman jealous and a punch that measured 1850 psi.

According to Wikipedia, the Rocky movie franchise has grossed $1,271,222,322 (HOLY SHIT) and throughout the six installments, Balboa has lost a boxing match three times. Creed beat him in the original film, Clubber Lang beat him in the third chapter and Mason Dixon sent Balboa to ultimate (?) retirement in the films latest stanza, but we all know who did the most damage. It wasn’t like Balboa was going to be joining Mensa in the future, but thanks to the beating Drago put on The Italian Stallion, brain damage was diagnosed shortly thereafter, leaving Rocky a quivering mess.

Drago compiled an amateur and professional record consisting of 131 victories, ALL by knockout. Drago was an Olympic gold medalist, an infantry Captain in the Soviet Army who received the Hero of the Soviet Union award, and HE KNOCKED OUT 131 MOTHER FUCKERS! If that résumé doesn’t impress and you (idiotically) choose to agree with the other contributors to this roundtable that picked pixilated video game individuals or cartoon characters or other Hollywood movie goons, I will leave you with this one last piece of evidence: Can any of them do THIS?

Matthew Saccaro

There’s no fighter on the face of any fictional earth more HAM (hard-ass motherfucker, for those not in the know) than Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z.

Seriously, this dude’s toughness is legendary.

Lots of people praise Rocky for training his ass off in the Siberian wilderness. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t come close to what Vegeta does. When he’s not training in a gravity room set to several hundred times the earth’s gravity, he’s training in a magic chamber that slows down time (so he can do a year’s worth of training in an hour) or in the MIDDLE OF SPACE blowing up asteroids and going apeshit. He’s so bad-ass he doesn’t even need to breathe, apparently.

Furthermore, Vegeta is of unparalleled mental toughness. He was a warrior since the moment he was born. And the murder of his father and of his nearly his ENTIRE SPECIES only served to harden his heart and sharpen his resolve.

Yes, Vegeta has lost fights before, but when that happens, he doesn’t get all emo. Instead, he trains 100x harder. That’s pretty much all Vegeta does, in fact. He just trains, fights, and occasionally bangs his wife Bulma. And he’s a Super Saiyan. How could you not like a Super Saiyan?

Vegeta doesn’t fight for money or fame. He fights for the pure love of it. For that reason, and all the others above, he’s my favorite fictional fighter. He’s also got kick-ass theme music.

Seth Falvo

“Broome County is just visibly upset by this disgusting display … so come on down and get your seats for the next home game! Bring the kids! We got entertainment for the whole family!”

If you did not immediately recognize that the above excerpt is from Slap Shot, then we can not be friends. And if you have an issue someone bringing up the Hanson Brothers – one does not simply pick just one – when discussing the greatest fictional fighters, then I do not even know what to say to you, person who does not exist.

What makes the Hanson Brothers so special is that they’re the photo negative of every worn-out, tired sports cliche in existence. They aren’t world class athletes. They wear thick glasses. Their goofy demeanors clash wonderfully with their otherwise violent tendencies. Most importantly, they sure as hell aren’t trying to turn hockey into a morality play or a metaphor for how to live. They’re scrawny geeks with straggly hair who enthusiastically punch anyone dumb enough to get in their way.

Watching the Hanson Brothers, faces bloodied and glasses broken, smile at the fans as they’re being dragged off of the ice captures everything great about fighting. Screw the formalities of the hockey game, this is competition in its purest form – something that even dimwits like the Hanson Brothers can comprehend. Hell, why even bother waiting for the game to start before throwing a few punches? And there’s no need to pretend that the violence is somehow unacceptable, even though it’s clearly what the fans are paying to watch, which is one reason why “I’m listenin’ to the fuckin’ song!” is my favorite line in the movie.

Of course, the Hanson Brothers abandon their roughneck ways before the final game of the season in order to (*begins jerk-off hand gesture*) win the game with honor and integrity and good triumphing evil by sportsing harder than the forces of evil can sports through Old Time Hockey™ (*ends hand gesture*).  For all of one period. Like everyone watching Slap Shot, the fans boo every second of the “clean,” “professional” Chiefs, so as soon as the team learns that NHL scouts are in the arena to watch the toughest team in the minors, the Hanson Brothers are right back to brawling. Piss on Old Time Hockey™; we value spectacle over sportsmanship, and who are the Hanson Brothers to deprive us of that?

It’s fitting that the game wasn’t won by one of the Hanson Brothers – or even by anything related to hockey – but by a striptease from Ned Braden. The Hanson Brothers don’t need to score goals to be the greatest fictional fighters of all time. Scoring goals is for hockey players.

Jared Jones

Question: What is the only thing more badass than a ninja? Did you say a resurrected zombie ninja with hellfire-breathing capabilities and spear-shooting hands? Because if so, I think we just became best friends (Ha! Just stole your friend, Falvo!).

There’s a multitude of reasons that Hanzo Hasashi a.k.a Scorpion from the Mortal Kombat series is not only one of the most iconic video game characters of them all, but one of the only MK characters to appear in every incarnation of the game; dude’s more ruthless than Robbie Lawler, more horrifying than Rick Story, and capable of bringing the heat on a level Karo Parisyan only dreams of while crying himself to sleep beneath an overpass. Not to mention, Scorpion is the owner of the greatest taunt in video game history — “Get over here!” is essentially the “Come at me, bro” of its time, only Scorpion had the tools necessary to physically force you to come at him, bro.

To many, Scorpion is just the less powerful, less popular brother of Sub-Zero. But to those who follow the mythology of Mortal Kombat, he’s essentially the Walter White of the series, an anti-hero who often does terrible things for (mostly) justifiable reasons. While most of the MK characters fall firmly into either the “righteously good” or “pure evil” sides of the fence, Scorpion is a bit more ambiguous. He has no sympathy for the plight of other characters, good or evil, and exists only to carry out his own agenda: avenging the death of his family and destruction of his clan, the Shirai Ryu.

With his silent, unflinching mannerisms and allegiance to no one but himself, Scorpion is truly the lone wolf of Mortal Kombat, and in a universe that already has a guy named Nightwolf, no less. Also, he’s f*cking immortal and can transport you to the Netherrealm for all eternity in a flash, so there’s that.

Sydnie Jones

Over at WomensMMA.com, we deal exclusively in cold, hard facts (and also my subjective, unapologetic editorializing), so I’m just going to tell it like it is. I don’t know why anyone would pick any fictional fighter besides Buffy Summers, the very Buffy to which ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘ refers. Mere humans are so fragile and present such little challenge that she usually doesn’t bother with them. She dispatches demons with ease, and has, to date, been victorious over ALL of them.

In fact, she handles them so masterfully, she doesn’t even keep track of how many vampires and other demons she’s killed. At this point, it’s probably in the thousands. And her industriousness and ingenuity is unmatched – who else could get a vampire to unwittingly drink holy water? Or disregard the ‘no weapon forged’ bit of lore about the Judge and use a rocket launcher to largely disintegrate him?

Buffy has slayer strength, heals quickly, and sometimes has premonitory dreams. That’s all very impressive, especially compared to the other choices here, but the clincher is that she dies all the time and was ultimately totes whatevs about it. The first time, she drowns and is resuscitated via CPR. She gets up and is like, “I feel strong. I feel different…let’s go.” No panicking or neurotic introspection about how close she came to just being dead for good. Only ass-kicking. I think I’d probably want to take a freak-out-preemption nap, at least. And then it culminated in Buffy throwing a super old, powerful vampire through a skylight onto a broken piece of wood below, staking him. That is some serious precision.

I mean, later, she turned the Master’s bones to dust for no reason other than emotional release, but she handled dying remarkably well. Especially for a 16 year old girl. I was a 16 year old girl once. I did not handle much of anything with that degree of  magnanimity. One time, when I was 16, my brother suggested my boyfriend and I might not be right for each other and I cried for an hour. She dies twice more in the series (I’m counting the time at the end of season six), and the thing that unsettles her most is coming back to life, not that she was dead. That’s corn to the core, for sure.

Also, despite being just 5’4 and maybe 120 pounds, Buffy saved the world multiple times over, against a variety of foes and prophecies and other terrible things. Sometimes against multiple foes, at the same time. And sometimes sacrificing herself or her loved ones so everyone else can live. Once you’ve run your boyfriend through with a sword in order to stop the apocalypse, it’s not like some Soviet relic more than twice your size is going to present much of a challenge. I guess Drago is a good choice…if you’re too afraid to go with the only real contender, solely because she’s a girl.

Since Buffy’s the clear choice, I can’t think of any other reason you wouldn’t choose her over the others besides that you’re being a puss. The hockey bros are endearing, but there’s just no way they could save the world all the time. The world isn’t covered in ice, friends So let’s keep it real – we all know who the best is, regardless of whether you can own up to it. It’s the one who has a flawless track record of staving off the apocalypse, no matter the cost.

Ben Goldstein

Created by Nintendo designers Genyo Takeda and Makoto Wada in 1987, Mike Tyson from Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! remains the greatest video game boss in 8-bit history. In comparison to the game’s tiny, Caucasian protagonist, Tyson was a gigantic, black, human Death Star, sporting a gap-toothed sneer and a line shaved through his hair. He looked mean, he hit hard, and defeating him meant you had legit skills on the B’s and A’s.

Despite all my hours spent on the NES back in the day, I never managed to pull it off, and you’re talking to a guy who ran through Contra, Castlevania II, and the entire Ninja Gaiden series. (Apparently, beating Tyson was kind of easy if you knew the trick to doing it, but shit, nobody ever told me.)

Outside of Mario the Plumber, no video game character has ever captured the public’s imagination like “Iron Mike,” who inspired a Fresh Prince song, the Drederick Tatum character from The Simpsons, and an army of barely-disguised video game imitators, including Mark Tyler from Power Punch II, and Balrog from Street Fighter II. Even today, three decades after the release of Punch-Out!!, Mike Tyson is still an object of tribute and parody…


A hulking slugger with the voice of a toddler, who raised pigeons and threatened to eat your children. Too bizarre to actually exist, and too iconic to ever forget.

[Note: After further research, I’ve learned that the appearance and voice of Mike Tyson were actually inspired by a dancer and spoken-word artist of the same name, although there’s no evidence that the real Mike Tyson ever boxed professionally.]

Honorable mention: Abobo from Double Dragon. Love that guy.

Who is your favorite fictional fighter of them all? Give us a shout in the comments section. 

CagePotato Roundtable #31: What Was the Greatest One-Round Fight of All Time?


(Don’t worry, this is the only time you’ll be seeing this guy on the list.)

With three of the fights on UFC 170‘s main card ending in the first round, the CagePotato.com staff has decided to revisit the greatest one-round fights in MMA history during today’s CagePotato Roundtable. Despite their brevity, these fights were memorable enough to be worthy of any discussion on the greatest fights in MMA history. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future roundtable discussion topics to [email protected]. 

Nathan Smith


(Photo courtesy of MiddleEasy.com)

Greatest fight that only went one round, you say? Psh, please. How about a fight that had more total strikes thrown in the first 30+ seconds than in the entire multi-year relationship between that (piece of crap) Ike Turner and Tina? Ok, ok, maybe not that many but Don Frye vs. Yoshihiro Takayama still resulted in a shit load of punches. So, to all the other contributors to this RoundTable, I respect your opinions but much like the original Highlander – There can be only one – your choices are all The Kurgan (and he was “the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank State Prison” mind you, so you can take solace in that you losers).

After a multitude of viewings, according to my bloodshot eyes and my bourbon breath, there were 91 total strikes thrown by both Don Frye and Yoshirho Yamasaka in the opening 34 seconds of their epic collision way back at Pride 21 in June of 2002. True, I am not Reed Kuhn and these figures are not exact like a Cagepotato Databomb but let those punch-stats sink in. For a little more than half a minute, almost 3 strikes were thrown per second with almost ALL of them landing.


(Don’t worry, this is the only time you’ll be seeing this guy on the list.)

With three of the fights on UFC 170‘s main card ending in the first round, the CagePotato.com staff has decided to revisit the greatest one-round fights in MMA history during today’s CagePotato Roundtable. Despite their brevity, these fights were memorable enough to be worthy of any discussion on the greatest fights in MMA history. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your ideas for future roundtable discussion topics to [email protected]. 

Nathan Smith


(Photo courtesy of MiddleEasy.com)

Greatest fight that only went one round, you say? Psh, please. How about a fight that had more total strikes thrown in the first 30+ seconds than in the entire multi-year relationship between that (piece of crap) Ike Turner and Tina? Ok, ok, maybe not that many but Don Frye vs. Yoshihiro Takayama still resulted in a shit load of punches. So, to all the other contributors to this RoundTable, I respect your opinions but much like the original Highlander – There can be only one – your choices are all The Kurgan (and he was “the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank State Prison” mind you, so you can take solace in that you losers).

After a multitude of viewings, according to my bloodshot eyes and my bourbon breath, there were 91 total strikes thrown by both Don Frye and Yoshirho Yamasaka in the opening 34 seconds of their epic collision way back at Pride 21 in June of 2002. True, I am not Reed Kuhn and these figures are not exact like a Cagepotato Databomb but let those punch-stats sink in. For a little more than half a minute, almost 3 strikes were thrown per second with almost ALL of them landing.

The two combatants literally played the roles of the Blue Bomber and the Red Rocker while trying to knock each others blocks off. Most hockey fights fail to deliver that type of jackhammer-punching and mano y mano awesomeness. Even Ryu and Ken have fewer strikes thrown in a three round contest than Frye and Yamasaka unleashed in the opening moments of their one round affair.

Sure, the fight was not exactly a technical masterpiece but it even had the passionately polite crowd at the Saitama Super Arena in a fanatical frenzy. The Frye vs Yamasaka contest went on to win Fight of the Year in many publications and it now lives in online infamy. Because Frye. Because Pride.

Brian J. D’Souza


Fedor Emelianenko vs Naoya Ogawa by spartiate09

The 2004 PRIDE heavyweight grand prix semi-final between PRIDE heavyweight champion Fedor Emelianenko and 1992 Olympic silver medalist in judo Naoya Ogawa ended in less than a minute with Fedor winning via armbar. But the result was a combination of Fedor’s thwarted Olympic aspirations, PRIDE’s deception and skilled management.

When Fedor was on Russia’s national judo team, resentment collected as he was unable to surmount the politics that kept him from representing Russia in the world championships or the Olympics:

“In all of the Russian championships I was always third-third-third. In our sport the first place always goes to the world competitions, the second to Europe’s. I was always third. I was tired and was asking them if they had a conscience at all. I’m fighting, and the entire room’s yelling at the judge, ‘What are you watching?’ I couldn’t get through, so I left.”

Pro wrestler Ogawa had many asterisks next to his 7-0 win column in MMA. Gary Goodrige said he was offered a bribe of $20,000 to lose to Ogawa (Goodridge, who lost via keylock, claims he turned the bribe down). Going into the first round of the 2004 grand prix against Ogawa, kickboxer Stefan Leko could barely walk, but when his compensation was more than doubled from $150,000, Leko agreed to be shot full of painkillers and the fight went on. Leko quickly lost to Ogawa via arm-triangle choke .

Said Fedor and Leko’s then-manager Miro Mijatovic, “Fedor knew humiliating Ogawa was another step in building his legend amongst the general Japanese public. We insiders knew Ogawa was crap, and I was pissed at our role in allowing that fraud to get so far.”

The PRIDE brass wanted Fedor to take on Sergei Kharitonov in the semi-finals, but Fedor’s team knew that smashing Ogawa was a better proposition.

That Ogawa was an elite judoka who had enjoyed the opportunities to shine on the world stage denied to Fedor provided the fuel. The lack of a handshake before the contest was dropped like a lit match as Fedor coldly dismantled Ogawa in the first round en route to winning the 2004 PRIDE heavyweight grand prix.

You can read more about Fedor in Pound for Pound: The Modern Gladiators of Mixed Martial Arts)

George Shunick


Wanderlei silva vs quiton rampage jakson pride… by rap3ur

So what if it’s a little under 10 minutes long – technically, the first battle in the three-part war waged by Wanderlei Silva and Quinton Jackson took place within a single round, so it qualifies for this list. Silva and Jackson, two of the greatest light heavyweights (or in PRIDE terms, middleweights) in the history of the sport, met in the culmination of the 2003 Pride Grand Prix for Silva’s middleweight title. At the time, the argument could be made that they were the best fighters on the planet. Jackson had just defeated Chuck Liddell earlier in the night, and Silva had dominated a game Hidehiko Yoshida as well. Silva was in the midst of his prime and Jackson was just entering his own.

If that context wasn’t enough, there was no love lost between these two heading into the finals. Following a knockout win over Kevin Randleman at Pride 25, Jackson had called out Silva for a title fight. Silva responded in kind by rushing into the ring, yelling “MY BELT” at Jackson and shoving him across the ring. Before it even came to blows, they engaged in one of the most intense staredowns in MMA history – Jackson unblinking and snarling as Silva hopped back and forth, their eyes never dropping for an instant. When the fight began, Jackson rushed across the ring to slam Silva as was his wont in those days. Silva countered by pulling guard and attempting a guillotine. While unsuccessful, he was able to avert the fate of Ricardo Arona and the fight continued from his guard. Jackson was active, but Silva was able to avoid any significant damage by utilizing an effective defensive guard.

Jackson was able to pass Silva’s guard after the latter attempted an armbar, and proceeded to land knees to Silva’s face from side control. Silva regained half-guard, but Jackson continued to work with body shots. His success was fleeting; Silva quickly regained guard and proceeded to stall where he was able. A somewhat questionable standup followed, as Wanderlei received a yellow card for inactivity but also benefitted from returning to his feet. Taking advantage of this opportunity, Silva managed to stun Jackson with a knee from the clinch. What followed was one of the most brutal and memorable displays of sanctioned violence ever. Silva chased down the backpedalling Jackson and managed to secure a Muay Thai plum. He proceeded to deliver 17 unanswered knee strikes to Jackson’s head, with the occasional soccer kick thrown in for good measure. In a surreal moment, Jackson and Silva seemed to lock eyes one final time and smile at each other before Silva delivered the final blow and Jackson crumpled to the canvas.

The fight itself is one of the most exciting and vicious you will ever see in MMA. It featured two of the best fighters at their peaks fighting for a title after each had already dispatched legitimate fighters earlier in the evening. Not only was it a seminal moment in the history of the sport, it contained seminal moments within it. Few other fights can claim to possess these accolades. None can do so having only lasted a round. That’s why this is the greatest one-round fight that ever was, and perhaps the best that will ever be.

Jared Jones

We all may rip on Nick Diaz for being a delusional, numb-skulled stoner with sociopathic tendencies around here, myself included, but it’s hard to deny that the man was destined to be a mixed martial artist (which makes it all the more frustrating that he up and retires every time a fight doesn’t go his way). Few fighters display such a blind sense of confidence in the cage, and Diaz’s ability to do so from the very get-go of a fight, or regardless of whether he’s actually winning a fight, is a thing of beauty to watch. It’s goddamn heroic, is what it is. Call Nick Diaz stupid all you want, but I bet you’d be willing to trade in a few brain cells for the gift of fearlessness in a heartbeat. I sure as hell would. I sleep with a night light to keep out the monsters to this day. Nick Diaz sleeps under his bed every night hoping that one of those punk-ass bitches *tries* to start some shit with him when he’s not looking.

And that’s not even to mention his skill set. Diaz not only possesses some of the best Jiu-Jitsu in the game, but the kind of smothering, in-your-face boxing skills that have broken many a so-called “superior striker” in his heyday. Take his fight with Paul Daley at Strikeforce: Daley vs. Diaz in 2011, for instance. Although Diaz was the promotion’s welterweight champion at the time, Daley was the one being heralded as the guy who could change the complexion of a fight with a single punch. We expected nothing less than a Rock’em Sock’em match in Diaz vs. Daley, and they delivered one in the most dramatic fashion imaginable.

To his credit, Daley was able to drop and nearly finish the unbreakable Diaz with punches on two separate occasions in their one round war. As was the case in most of Diaz’s fights, it took getting dropped for Stockton’s finest to realize that his opponent hit like a bitch. Had Daley known that rocking a Diaz is like cutting one head off a Hydra, he would have probably pulled a Claudinei Angelo right then and there. Yet he kept fighting, the brave bastard.

Diaz quickly recovered on both occasions, picked his shots, clinched when necessary, and waited for his moment of opportunity, never reverting from his signature “come at me, bro” pose in the face of danger. That moment came with 20 seconds left in the first round, when during an exchange along the fence, Diaz blistered Daley with an overhand right that sent him tumbling to the canvas. A few follow up punches in the closing seconds came shortly thereafter, and just like that, Nick Diaz became the first man to ever stop Daley with strikes.

Nick Diaz, the guy who strikes with strikers and wins. The champion who favors a good fight over a gameplan, a back-and-forth slugfest over an easy decision win. How can you hate that?

Seth Falvo

Cheick Kongo Matt Mitrione UFC on Versus 4
(Photo courtesy of Tracy Lee/Yahoo! Sports.)

On one hand, this is an extremely tough spot to be in: Both Matt Hughes vs. Frank Trigg II and Cheick Kongo vs. Pat Barry are still on the board, yet I can only pick one of these fights as my choice. Yet on the other hand, this really isn’t a difficult decision. Cheick Kongo vs. Pat Barry gets the nod here.

Everything that can possibly be written about this classic already has been, so I’m not going to beat a dead horse and recap it blow-by-blow. Besides, if you’ve ever so much as heard about this fight, you know exactly what happened. Kongo vs. Barry had everything that a great fight should: evenly matched opponents, logical strategies, and a dramatic build-up to the a climactic finish. And that was before Cheick Kongo came back from seemingly being knocked out to shut out Pat Barry’s lights.

You could take two of the best fight choreographers in Hollywood, two of the most talented professional wrestlers in the WWE, and give them an entire year to build up a fight to such an exciting finish in only two minutes and thirty-nine seconds, and their creation wouldn’t hold a candle to this. “Anything can happen in a cage fight,” MMA promoters will tell you. Sometimes, it’s actually true.

Did we omit your favorite one-round fight? Let us know your pick in the comments section.

CagePotato Roundtable #30: If You Took an MMA Fight, What Song Would You Walk Out To?


(Respect the legend.)

It’s safe to assume that most of you reading this have at least entertained the notion of taking an MMA fight. If you have, you’ve probably also given some thought as to the song that you would want playing as you made your walk to the cage. In today’s CagePotato Roundtable, we’re sharing our staff picks for the songs that we would use as entrance music — songs that get us fired up and would (hopefully) enhance the experience that is watching live MMA for those in attendance. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your best ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Jared Jones

There aren’t many scenarios in which suddenly being thrown into an MMA fight would not end in a violent, just pitiful death for me. That being the case, I’d want my entrance song to reflect my acceptance of this fate, while also being something that transcends all musical genres and really, all of humanity. What can I say? I’m a simple guy. I would want my entrance song to tell the attending audience that, contrary to the urine stain on my shorts, I do not fear death and in fact am fully prepared to torture my opponent’s body so that his soul will be humble. For God is the teacher, I am his instrument, and his lessons are so…beautiful… (*smears pig blood on chest*)

Only one song meets all of the above criteria: “The Host of Seraphim” by Dead Can Dance.

You’re probably familiar with Dead Can Dance even if you don’t think you are. Aside from the fact that their haunting, neo-classical world tunes have been featured in countless films (“Seraphim”, for instance, was featured in The Mist), Lisa Gerrard — who along with Brendan Perry makes up DCD — is a singer, composer, and musician whose voice has appeared on such iconic film soundtracks as Gladiator, Man on Fire, and Black Hawk Down. But for those of you who might not be familiar with the greatest musical group to come out of Australia in ever, I’d recommend that you check out their impressive catalog of work, which spans over 20 years and eight studio albums. A few of my favorite tracks: “Rakim,” “Ulysses,” “Sanvean” and “Spirit.”


(Respect the legend.)

It’s safe to assume that most of you reading this have at least entertained the notion of taking an MMA fight. If you have, you’ve probably also given some thought as to the song that you would want playing as you made your walk to the cage. In today’s CagePotato Roundtable, we’re sharing our staff picks for the songs that we would use as entrance music — songs that get us fired up and would (hopefully) enhance the experience that is watching live MMA for those in attendance. Read on for our picks, and please continue to send your best ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Jared Jones

There aren’t many scenarios in which suddenly being thrown into an MMA fight would not end in a violent, just pitiful death for me. That being the case, I’d want my entrance song to reflect my acceptance of this fate, while also being something that transcends all musical genres and really, all of humanity. What can I say? I’m a simple guy. I would want my entrance song to tell the attending audience that, contrary to the urine stain on my shorts, I do not fear death and in fact am fully prepared to torture my opponent’s body so that his soul will be humble. For God is the teacher, I am his instrument, and his lessons are so…beautiful… (*smears pig blood on chest*)

Only one song meets all of the above criteria: “The Host of Seraphim” by Dead Can Dance.

You’re probably familiar with Dead Can Dance even if you don’t think you are. Aside from the fact that their haunting, neo-classical world tunes have been featured in countless films (“Seraphim”, for instance, was featured in The Mist), Lisa Gerrard — who along with Brendan Perry makes up DCD — is a singer, composer, and musician whose voice has appeared on such iconic film soundtracks as Gladiator, Man on Fire, and Black Hawk Down. But for those of you who might not be familiar with the greatest musical group to come out of Australia in ever, I’d recommend that you check out their impressive catalog of work, which spans over 20 years and eight studio albums. A few of my favorite tracks: “Rakim,” “Ulysses,” “Sanvean” and “Spirit.”

Although the metalhead in me really wants to take the cliché route and blast the breakdown from August Burns Red’s “Back Burner” on loop (or maybe some DOWN, in light of Matt Brown’s excellent usage of “Bury Me in Smoke” on his now cancelled podcast), I feel that “Host of Seraphim” would better serve as a soundtrack to me being separated from my mortal coil and ascending to plains unknown. Of course, the profundity of the moment would probably be lost on the viewing audience once I had fully voided my bowels on the canvas, preferably on the Amp’d Mobile logo.

(Sidenote: I’ve mentioned this once before, I think, but I actually saw STEMM perform at a hole in the wall bar back in 2005. Unaware that they were the much-maligned UFC theme band at the time, I nearly suffered a stroke when they hit the first note on “Face the Pain.”

“Is this band actually covering the UFC song?” I said to my friend.

“No, they are the UFC song,” he replied.

We haven’t spoken since.

All in all, though, I must give STEMM their due credit for putting on one hell of an energetic show. They weren’t the worst metal band I’ve ever seen live, in any case — that honor goes to Hatebreed. My friend and I stopped talking for completely unrelated reasons.)

Ben Goldstein

Ideally, I’d want my walkout song to be one that hasn’t been used by anybody before, and would fire me up for battle while striking fear into the hearts of my opponents. The duel theme from Barry Lyndon — “Sarabande” by Handel, if you want to get specific — immediately comes to mind. But let’s be real: For most MMA fans, classical music is the kiss of death. I can just picture all the meatheads in the mezzanine making sour faces as soon as my walkout song starts, then heading off to take a piss or get more beer while their girlfriends continue to swipe at their smartphones, half-comatose, totally ignoring my rad walkout. I would be wearing an executioner’s hood, by the way, NOT THAT IT MATTERS TO ANY OF YOU UNGRATEFUL ASSHOLES.

(Serious, but unrelated question: What the hell did bored women do at MMA fights before the invention of smartphones and texting? Did they even go to fights?)

I suppose I could use a metal version of Sarabande, to play to the crowd a little more. Or maybe a techno version? Ugh. I don’t think I could live with myself. Alright, new plan: I would walk out to “Beware,” the first track from the Exmilitary mixtape by Death Grips, which starts with a 48-second clip taken from a Charles Manson prison interview. I would stay backstage until the Manson monologue was finished. Bad vibes would spread throughout the arena. My opponent would feel The Fear begin to take hold. Then, when the first “BEWARE!” kicks in, I’m striding forward in my executioner’s hood, not too fast, not too slow. Purposefully, I guess you could say. Ready to give nothing and take everything.

My nickname would be “The Nailbiter,” because I bite my nails and because all of my fights would go to the judges.

George Shunick

In general, I’m a firm believer that entrance music should be tailored to your opponent. In fighting, you have to do anything to get that mental edge. Besides, my music taste varies from day-to-day. In the end, I’d play it by ear. Pun intended. So if I’m facing, say, a devout Christian like Michael McDonald or Diego Sanchez, I’d probably opt for some Norwegian black metal. Then again, that might motivate them. Maybe go with some Christian music to make less inclined to hit me? Scratch that, I need to be able to look myself in the mirror the day after, so I’d stick with metal.

Likewise, there are simple answers for other types of fighters or scenarios. Taking on an ex-Chute Boxe fighter? Just avoid trance music. They love trance music. Don’t encourage them. Fighting in Germany? Go with Rammstein. If you start to lose, hopefully the crowd will riot. Josh Barnett? Play Kenny G — don’t worry, I’m not linking this one — and he’ll tap before the fight starts. Squaring off against Matt Hamill? Eh, it doesn’t really matter. And so on and so forth.

“But George,” you begin, even though we’re not on a first name basis and this was not a conversation, “what if you didn’t have any foreknowledge of your opponent? What would become of your music selection then?” You are cruel to press me so, imaginary interlocutor with impressive grammar skills. It’s a tough question to answer, in part because you’re not picking the best song for an entrance; you’re picking the song with the best two-minute opening, which is all you’ll hear. In that time the song needs to embody the transition a fighter experiences in the build-up the fight; the shift from the relatively serene to the unrelenting and primal.

Lately I’ve been digging Trentemøller’s “Hazed” in that vein. It’s dark, ambient, and has a pulse like a heartbeat that keeps pushing the song along as the rest builds around it. On another day I go see myself being slightly less patient and opting for El-P’s “Request Denied” (assuming the first 50 seconds could be cut) or Strapping Young Lad’s “Skeksis”. Like I said, my taste varies. They’re all different styles and genres, but in the end all would do an excellent job of firing me up and taking my mind off the fact that I’d be about to get mauled by a professional athlete in front of way too many people.

Brian J. D’Souza

I would choose “Wild Hearted Son” from British rock band The Cult’s 1991 album Ceremony. The opening scene of the video shows a Native Indian doing a dance through a modern city. The message has to do with how we’ve had our primordial war-based instincts submerged by soft living, but just beneath the surface beats the heart of someone proud.

“Got a screaming horse in my belly/Scar on my heart” howls vocalist Ian Astbury. Fighting in the Octagon™ might involve signing away your soul contractually and shaking hands with all kinds of undesirables, but the song carries a powerful message that reverberates beyond that experience.

Nathan Smith

It’s a god-damned crying shame that the art of dramatic entrance seems to be a thing of the past — a relic from an era that was glorious enough to give us Genki Sudo, the epitome of awesome, who nobody will be remotely as cool as — ever — period — end of sentence. So for me, the actual song itself is almost secondary compared to the opening spectacle. This is especially true in the rare instances when the musical artist actually participates in the ring-walk.

A couple of my favorite pugilistic entrances were when that dickhead “Money” Mayweather was accompanied to the ring by 50 Cent on Cinco de Mayo against Oscar De la Hoya while decked out in Mexican patriotic gear (and a big ass sombrero) #irony. There was the “Godfather of Soul,” James Brown, being more traditionally nationalistic when he welcomed Apollo Creed to his own funeral with a stirring rendition of “Living in America” #drago. Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Motorhead giving a magnificent performance of HHH’s theme before the co-main event of Wrestlemania 17 #lemmysmole.

That is what I crave to recreate. I want to come out to a presentation, but I heed Dirty Harry’s advice and I know my limitations. Therefore, I’d lob an email to Jon Lajoie and he could make this shit happen because he’s rad. Truth be told, my mother (who has her doctorate) is a 100% descendant of Poland (What doctorate? Amiright?) and my pops is a mutt like most of Americans. His family is part German, Irish, Scottish and a partridge in a pear tree, whatever.

Anyways, I would go vintage Tito Ortiz (kinda) with my half Walesa flag half Old Glory as “Everyday Normal Guy 2” starts playing. Then Lajoie would walk out with his hoodie on and I’d follow — lip-syncing the words all while I’d have my mouthpiece IN. I would make history with the brutal honesty and humor. I’d win the crowd over with my entrance jam and my obscene nipple twists. Once the actual fight starts, I would be immediately synonymous with names like Mark Hominick, Houston Alexander, Tim Hague and Jonathan Goulet. #stupidface.

Seth Falvo

As important as music is to the experience of watching live fights, there unfortunately exist far more examples of lousy, forgettable entrance songs than good ones. From unspeakably cringe-worthy nu-metal to cliché-ridden rap to the most overplayed, overrated pop songs you can think of, you’re guaranteed to hear a variety of uninspired cheese whenever you attend a local MMA event. Even I am guilty of walking out to “Tom Sawyer” by Rush for my amateur Muay Thai debut; the song may be overplayed and slightly overrated, but I justify my decision on the grounds that it was Kerry Von Erich‘s theme song.

Although I highly doubt that I would ever compete again, I don’t see how I could possibly walk out to something other than the Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, “Free Bird” if I were to change my mind. For starters, Fabulous Freebird fans among us will quickly point out that “Free Bird” was the first rock song to be used as entrance music, and I’m a real sucker for history like that. Another reason that the song works is that everything about it — from the chord progression to the melody and lyrics — gives off great “calm before the storm” vibes, making it an inherently dramatic way to kick off a fight. There’s no need for props, theatrics, or plain old overcompensation when you’re walking out to “Free Bird” — the song makes any statement you could possibly try to make for you. That sort of confidence is a signal to even the most casual of fans that shit is about to get very real, very quickly (for some particularly brutal examples, see Butcher, N.).

And even if you aren’t into all that fancy, book-learnin’ in-ring psychology stuff: “Free Bird” is a great song. Sometimes, that’s the only reason you need.

Do you have any better suggestions for an entrance song? Let us know in the comments section what you would pick.

CagePotato Roundtable #29: What’s Your Wildest MMA Prediction for 2014?

Free Cage Potato dog
(2014: The year that Dana White buys this dog. For Bjorn Rebney. Too soon?)

When former CagePotato.com contributor Jason Moles announced his retirement in 2013, it appeared that there wouldn’t be a “Crazy Enough to be True” predictions column for 2014. Rather than let the opportunity to make outlandish assumptions about the state of our favorite sport pass us up, we’ve decided to offer our wildest ideas in the form of a CagePotato Roundtable. Read on for our picks, share yours in the comments section, and please continue to send your ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Ben Goldstein


(Mariusz Pudzianowski defends his UFC Poland Super-Heavyweight Title against honorary polack Bob Sapp. / Photo via Sherdog)

Though the UFC once laid claim to the title of fastest-growing sport, the promotion has begun to hit its ceiling in the United States. And they know it — which is why they’ve been pushing so hard for World Fucking Domination lately. After finding major success in international markets like Canada and Brazil, the UFC has been busy laying the groundwork in overseas locales as far-flung as Singapore, India, Turkey, and Poland.

The problem is, none of these upcoming markets have the talent pool available to produce a world champion in the foreseeable future. Or a top contender. Or a fighter who could credibly compete anywhere on a pay-per-view main card. That’s why I’m predicting that 2014 will see the unveiling of individual UFC titles for countries/continents. I mean, Vitor Belfort is already the middleweight champion of Brazil, right? They might as well give him a belt and make it official.

Free Cage Potato dog
(2014: The year that Dana White buys this dog. For Bjorn Rebney. Too soon?)

When former CagePotato.com contributor Jason Moles announced his retirement in 2013, it appeared that there wouldn’t be a “Crazy Enough to be True” predictions column for 2014. Rather than let the opportunity to make outlandish assumptions about the state of our favorite sport pass us up, we’ve decided to offer our wildest ideas in the form of a CagePotato Roundtable. Read on for our picks, share yours in the comments section, and please continue to send your ideas for future CagePotato Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Ben Goldstein


(Mariusz Pudzianowski defends his UFC Poland Super-Heavyweight Title against honorary polack Bob Sapp. / Photo via Sherdog)

Though the UFC once laid claim to the title of fastest-growing sport, the promotion has begun to hit its ceiling in the United States. And they know it — which is why they’ve been pushing so hard for World Fucking Domination lately. After finding major success in international markets like Canada and Brazil, the UFC has been busy laying the groundwork in overseas locales as far-flung as Singapore, India, Turkey, and Poland.

The problem is, none of these upcoming markets have the talent pool available to produce a world champion in the foreseeable future. Or a top contender. Or a fighter who could credibly compete anywhere on a pay-per-view main card. That’s why I’m predicting that 2014 will see the unveiling of individual UFC titles for countries/continents. I mean, Vitor Belfort is already the middleweight champion of Brazil, right? They might as well give him a belt and make it official.

Case in point: TUF China debuted last month. Coached by a UFC near-washout and a guy you’ve never heard of, the season will produce a completely irrelevant winner, who’s only fit to beat up other irrelevant curtain-jerkers from countries that aren’t the U.S., Brazil, Canada, or England. While the novelty of seeing native Chinese fighters (or Turkish fighters, or Polish fighters, etc.) will get local fans tuning in, eventually the UFC will have to throw these people a bone to keep them happy, because watching your home country’s fighters get smashed as soon as they face legitimate competition isn’t fun.

And so, the UFC will do the smart thing and have these guys/gals fight exclusively within their own borders for secondary titles. And maybe, if one of these regional champs goes on a long win streak, he/she will be called up to the prelims of a UFC on FOX Sports 1 card, where you might actually get to see them compete. Until then, us North Americans will only be able to watch the UFC’s new regional superstars on that digital subscription service thingy they’re selling, and if you think we’re coughing up any more money to the UFC for that bullshit, you are out of your got-damn mind.

Nathan Smith

It is well known that UFC President Dana White is a loose cannon when he is in front of a camera or a microphone. The “Baldfather” has no filter and basically shoots from the hip no matter the topic, the fighter, or the reporter in his crosshairs. He has taken some heat for profanity-laced rants in the past, but there has never been any real punishment from the Fertitta brothers (at least not publicly).

After Georges St. Pierre’s somewhat cryptic and confusing comments with Joe Rogan following his UFC 167 victory, Dana White launched into a diatribe at the post-fight press conference saying that GSP owed the UFC something more. Fast forward a day or two and Lorenzo Fertitta backtracked on White’s words by basically apologizing (even though he never actually said “Sorry”). In the past, Fertitta has never come to cover White but after the amount of flack being thrown because of White’s comments, it was evident that some things needed to be clarified.

Though White’s obscenity-filled tirades have been far and few between as of late, it is only a matter of time before Mount Dana erupts. When he does — because of falling ratings, a network deal that has not produced as expected or a slew of other factors — I believe that the Fertittas will in fact publicly chastise White. Whether it is a fine or a suspension or just a good old fashioned public tongue lashing, White will finally be the one on the other end of a heated lecture (and he will have earned it after the years of insensitive comments he has made).

Jared Jones


(Photo via Getty Images.)

Between 2010 and 2011, Matt Brown went 1-4 in the octagon, with all of those losses coming via second round submission. Although not one member of the MMA media dared say it to his face, they had all but written him off as just another slightly above-average TUF alum who couldn’t hack it in the big leagues. “Get out of here!”  they’d shout once he had turned his back, “Why can’t you just go back to where you came from?

I don’t know if Brown wished upon a shooting star or sold his soul to the SKOAL Gods in return for Jax fists, but something amazing happened when he reemerged in 2012. Something…supernatural. Come to think of it, it was probably voodoo.

In the past two years, Matt Brown has gone 6-0 in the octagon with 5 TKOs. Five. Brown has fought like a man possessed (by voodoo), scoring wins over young guns (Jordan Mein), crafty veterans (Mike Swick), and previously undefeated hype machines (Stephen Thompson) alike. His last performance against Mike Pyle was, by definition, a flawless victory. Of all the career comebacks we witnessed in 2013, Brown’s was far-and-away the most impressive, if only because of the utter mediocrity that preceded it. In fact, of the nominees we listed in our “Most Unexpected Career Comebacks” roundtable last March, only Brown and Cub Swanson have managed to remain undefeated to this day. No, GSP *doesn’t* count, because he was defeated by both Johny Hendricks and old age.

What is the point of all this hyperbolic, redundant, and mostly fabricated backstory? Only that Brown has entered the prime of his career and is destroying whoever is placed before him with a combination of Zen-like tranquility and Pedro Lopez-like brutality. The dude is untouchable, “Immortal” you might even say (*crickets*). Like Bernie in Weekend at Bernie’s 2 when conga music is playing (which again, voodoo). And now that GSP has decided to step away from the sport, the UFC’s welterweight division has transformed from a grappler’s purgatory into a brawler’s paradise. Lawler vs. Hendricks will most likely be a slugfest for the ages, and when title fights are suddenly being decided by who can stand and trade leather the longest, Brown is as good a candidate as any to get that gold.

Until he done went and slipped his disc again, that is, forcing him out of his fight with Carlos Condit and the title shot that would’ve come after he won via murder. But rest assured, the year of The Rhino The California Kid “The Immortal” is coming. And that year is 2014.

Seth Falvo

Believe it or not, things are actually much worse for TNA Impact! Wrestling than they were merely two months ago when I first wrote about their sad state of affairs. As in, “holding shows in high school gymnasiums” worse. I firmly believe that 2014 will be the year that this company finally kicks the bucket, to the apathy of nearly every wrestling fan on the planet. And the wrestlers proudly featured in the company’s final pay-per-view main event when this happens? Don’t hold your breath waiting for one of them to be AJ Styles. Same goes with Jeff Jarrett. Ditto Samoa Joe, Christopher Daniels, Abyss, and anyone else whose name was once synonymous with the company.

No, Rampage Jackson and Tito Ortiz will be the ones headlining TNA Impact! Wrestling’s final pay-per-view.

Yeah, I know how everyone this side of Parts Unknown rolled their eyes at Rampage and Tito’s appearances in TNA last year, but the company is losing so much money and has so few wrestlers left that I think Viacom sends these two once-strong pay-per-view draws back to TNA Impact! Wrestling as a last-ditch effort to find people willing to buy a TNA pay-per-view. Sure, even the most brain-dead among us *looks directly at Jared…who is holding up a mirror. Well played.* can see the holes in this logic, but desperate times call for desperate measures; this is especially true when you consider that Viacom brought in Rampage and Tito to headline a pay-per-view in the first place. This will obviously end badly — even for a company that considers 50,000 buys a smashing success — leading TNA Impact! to close its doors shortly afterwards.

Sure, the idea of Rampage Jackson and Tito Ortiz headlining the final TNA Impact! Wrestling pay-per-view is completely ludicrous, but if you expect anything different from Dixie Carter, you’ve clearly never actually watched one of her company’s shows. Oh how I envy your ignorance.

And finally, here’s Doug “ReX13″ Richardson to wrap things up.

Frustrated by dwindling PPV buys, Dana White starts hinting at “big fucking changes, like, huge” coming to Fox. Speculation abounds.

Zuffa announces that it is resurrecting Strikeforce for a new weekly primetime show on FS1. In a stunning move, Scott Coker returns to captain the ship, and “Wednesday Night Strikeforce” is born. His decision to include occasional kickboxing bouts in the broadcasts is hailed as visionary, as “WNS” quickly outstrips viewership numbers from the TUF lead-in. Meanwhile, UFC PPV cards are cut back to eight per year, and buy rates promptly skyrocket.

Coker leads the fight for better pay of fighters, proposing a tiered salary system that guarantees a minimum $48K to fighters under the Strikeforce banner. He suggests a format change to the now-ubiquitous Ultimate Fighter program, which now sports no less than eight spinoffs across the world. His idea, a weekly interview and highlight show recounting the various incarnations of TUF worldwide, is embraced by the blogosphere, but roundly rejected by White, as is the salary gambit.

Tensions between Coker and White continue to mount for the remainder of 2014. In December, Dana White and Scott Coker both start hinting at “big fucking changes, like, huge” coming to Zuffa. Speculation abounds.

Have your own “crazy enough to be true” predictions for 2014? You know what to do.