Tag: CagePotato Roundtable

CagePotato Roundtable #10: Who Was the Worst Major MMA Champion Ever?


(Come on Tim, you haven’t even read the column yet. Maybe we wrote nice things about you, okay?)

Today on the CagePotato Roundtable, we’re talking paper champs — the one-and-dones and never-shoulda-beens who weren’t quite worthy of the gold around their waist. To limit our scope a bit, we’re only focusing on major MMA promotions like the UFC (including tournament champions), PRIDE (even though all their champions were awesome), Strikeforce, the WEC, and probably Bellator and DREAM as well if anybody cared enough to mention them. Joining us this week is our dear friend Kelly Crigger, the retired solider and best-selling MMA author who’s currently elevating rugby-awareness at American Sin Bin. Read on for our picks, and please, please, please send your ideas for future Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Jared Jones

For four months in 2001-2002, Dave Menne — the fighter who Phil Baroni famously steamrolled at UFC 39 — was the UFC’s middleweight champion. That’s right: The belt that Anderson Silva has proudly worn for the last five-and-a-half years used to belong to this guy. Menne won the title in September 2001 by beating 5-0 newcomer Gil Castillo, and went on to compile an overall record of 2-4 in the Octagon. Gentlemen, the floor is yours. Good luck.

Kelly Crigger

The worst major MMA champion of all time has to be Carlos Newton. For starters when you say your fighting style is Dragon Ball Z Jiu Jitsu to pay homage to a Japanese anime character, there’s a screw loose somewhere.

Secondly, when Newton won the UFC welterweight title, there wasn’t exactly a deep talent pool of competition. MMA was still evolving and techniques were as sound as using bubble gum on a car engine. I will admit that he beat a very experienced and talented Pat Miletich to get the strap, but that’s the lone gem in his dreadlocked crown. Today every weight class has a laundry list of accomplished fighters and an alternate list of accomplished fighters waiting in the wings in case they tweet something controversial and Mr. White fires all of them. The point is, he didn’t exactly climb a ladder of giants to get to the belt.


(Come on Tim, you haven’t even read the column yet. Maybe we wrote nice things about you, okay?)

Today on the CagePotato Roundtable, we’re talking paper champs — the one-and-dones and never-shoulda-beens who weren’t quite worthy of the gold around their waist. To limit our scope a bit, we’re only focusing on major MMA promotions like the UFC (including tournament champions), PRIDE (even though all their champions were awesome), Strikeforce, the WEC, and probably Bellator and DREAM as well if anybody cared enough to mention them. Joining us this week is our dear friend Kelly Crigger, the retired solider and best-selling MMA author who’s currently elevating rugby-awareness at American Sin Bin. Read on for our picks, and please, please, please send your ideas for future Roundtable topics to [email protected].

Jared Jones

For four months in 2001-2002, Dave Menne — the fighter who Phil Baroni famously steamrolled at UFC 39 — was the UFC’s middleweight champion. That’s right: The belt that Anderson Silva has proudly worn for the last five-and-a-half years used to belong to this guy. Menne won the title in September 2001 by beating 5-0 newcomer Gil Castillo, and went on to compile an overall record of 2-4 in the Octagon. Gentlemen, the floor is yours. Good luck.

Kelly Crigger

The worst major MMA champion of all time has to be Carlos Newton. For starters when you say your fighting style is Dragon Ball Z Jiu Jitsu to pay homage to a Japanese anime character, there’s a screw loose somewhere.

Secondly, when Newton won the UFC welterweight title, there wasn’t exactly a deep talent pool of competition. MMA was still evolving and techniques were as sound as using bubble gum on a car engine. I will admit that he beat a very experienced and talented Pat Miletich to get the strap, but that’s the lone gem in his dreadlocked crown. Today every weight class has a laundry list of accomplished fighters and an alternate list of accomplished fighters waiting in the wings in case they tweet something controversial and Mr. White fires all of them. The point is, he didn’t exactly climb a ladder of giants to get to the belt.

Thirdly, he never defended it. They say you’re not really the champion until you defend the belt. They’re right. The hunger that consumes so many fighters as they climb the lofty MMA mountain is frequently snuffed out once they get to the top. The mighty tumble faster down those slopes than the President’s approval ratings. Newton never defended the welterweight title and had one of the shortest reigns as champ in the history of the UFC, especially when you consider how infrequent the events were back in 2001 when he was the champ. Newton’s inability to defend the belt could be forgiven if he’d remained a contender or changed weight classes to challenge for another belt. But his career nosedived after losing the welterweight title to Matt Hughes in his very next fight and he went 6-9 over the next eight-and-a-half years of fighting, with no wins over anyone notable.

Carlos Newton was in the right place at the right time to win the UFC welterweight belt, but since that day his career has been lackluster at best and largely unmemorable. Guess that Dragon Ball Z Jiu Jitsu wasn’t so hot after all.

Seth Falvo

I’ll be honest: When this topic was first introduced, I was pretty skeptical about how it would work as a column. “Major MMA promotion” is an incredibly vague term that could apply to pretty much any promotion that we’ve covered on this site. KSW is a major promotion in Poland. Inka Fighting Championship is a major promotion in Peru. What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t want this column to degrade into a contest to see who can name the most obscure organization’s least-talented champion, like we’re a bunch of MMA hipsters who just overheard someone say “Brock Lesnar should totally be in the UFC Hall of Fame, you guys.”

Yet ironically enough, not only am I about to write about the most obscure champion on this list, but I’m also picking the most obscure weight class in the organization I’m writing about. The WEC carved its niche with the smaller weight classes for a good reason: It had virtually no depth beyond lightweight. Hell, I’m still not entirely convinced that it ever had a true light-heavyweight division. Looking at all the middleweights who fought for the WEC at light-heavyweight back then, it’s almost like the promotion invented the “Rumbleweight” division before most of us knew who Anthony Johnson was.

The WEC light-heavyweight division was made up of guys like Lodune Sincaid, Brian Stann, Steve Cantwell and Tim McKenzie — all of whom are now competing at 185. Oh, and Doug Marshall, too. Remember him? If you were one of those “The WEC in its prime was better than the UFC” fans, you’ve probably repressed all memories that Marshall formerly held the light-heavyweight title for your precious World Extreme Cagefighting.

Doug Marshall was — and I can’t believe I’m about to type this — the minor league version of Tim Sylvia. He was a champion when the division was completely barren of anything resembling talent, winning the belt from Lodune Sincaid (who I almost went with, except Marshall winning was considered a minor upset), defending it against Justin McElfresh (?) and Ariel Gandulla (LOL), and then losing the belt to Brian Stann. Before you justify the loss to Stann with Captain America’s current success in the UFC middleweight division, keep in mind that Stann at this point was little more than a great story and a damn good cross. Stann was so green in the sport that he would go on to lose the belt to Steve Cantwell, of all people. When the UFC absorbed the WEC’s light-heavyweights, Doug Marshall was left behind.

Since getting snubbed by the UFC, Doug Marshall has (act surprised) dropped to middleweight, where he’s been little more than a can crusher. He has gone 6-3, yet his three losses come against guys you’ve actually heard of, most recently suffering a quick KO at the hands of Zelg Galesic at Super Fight League 3. Meanwhile, the WEC’s final Light-Heavyweight champion, Steve Cantwell, has lost five straight fights in the UFC. Such is life when you’re the worst of the best.

Nathan “The12ozCurls” Smith

Ya, I said it. Royce Gracie is the worst major MMA champion of all time. What are you gonna do? Big whoop – you want to fight about it?

I know what I am saying is blasphemy, but at least give me a cigarette and my last words before the firing squad unloads. I want to preface this by stating; without Royce there would absolutely NOT be the sport of MMA as we know it. I do appreciate his effort and skill within the BJJ community as well as the attention he brought to the sport. He was the real life David versus his Goliath competitors.

That being said, Royce was a complete and total DICK. He was the original Paul Harris but back in the day, we were all so enamored that a 175-pound man could annihilate much bigger dudes, it went unnoticed. So ladies and gentlemen of the jury I introduce to you:

Exhibit A – Royce Gracie vs. Jason Delucia (skip to the 0:55 mark of the bottom video)

This poor bastard got his arm broken in half even though he was tapping faster than a professional Track and Field arcade game competitor. Don’t give me any of this “The referee never stopped it” nonsense either. Royce knows what a tap is and he snapped it anyway.

Exhibit B – Royce Gracie vs. Gerard Gordeau (skip to the 5:30 mark of the top video)

This lucky guy knows he is defeated and taps in a gentlemanly fashion. Once the choke is not let go, you see Gordeau’s tap frequency increase to panic mode and then he begins to tap with both hands simultaneously as his death approaches. At least he was wearing awesome pajama pants.

Exhibit C – Royce Gracie vs. Ron Van Clief (skip to the 4:00 mark of the top video)

Mr. Van Clief was pulling a Social Security check when he took this fight and how did Royce treat his elder? By making Big John McCarthy scream repeatedly to release the choke after Ron tapped. Following the fight Van Clief was presumably sent to the glue factory.

Exhibit D – Royce Gracie vs. Dan Severn (skip to the 15:45 mark)

The real “Beast” was taking it to Royce during this contest. Unfortunately for Dan, he subscribes to the Chael Sonnen School of Triangle Defense. Once the choke is locked in, Severn gives his big awkward taps to say “Uncle.” Not so fast mustachioed one, as Royce kept the triangle locked tight until John McCarthy finally pried him off.

So, in closing ladies and gentlemen of the CP jury, I present to you the worst champion in MMA history, Royce Gracie. Not by his performance but rather with his classless actions during his performances. He is a highly skilled BJJ practitioner and a master of his craft but he is also a bloodthirsty animal who was not content with victory alone. He seemingly craved to injure his opponent after they had conceded. Having trained for decades, Royce knew what a tap meant and he didn’t care. Oh yeah, the jerk pulls hair too.

Ben Goldstein

In December 2006, fledgling MMA promotion Strikeforce decided to crown a light-heavyweight champion, despite their general lack of a light-heavyweight division. To fill the vacancy, Scott Coker grabbed the first two 205′ers he could find. One was Bobby Southworth, who had gained a bit of name-recognition on the first season of TUF; never mind that his major accomplishments on that show were calling Chris Leben a fatherless bastard and losing a decision to Stephan Bonnar. Southworth hadn’t won a fight in over three years, and his Strikeforce debut the previous June ended in no-contest due to freak accident (James Irvin). His opponent at Strikeforce: Triple Threat would be aging Lion’s Den product Vernon White, who was riding a two-fight losing streak, and had never competed under the Strikeforce banner. One of these men, honest to God, was about to become a Strikeforce World Title Holder.

Southworth wound up collecting the belt in that fight via decision, and while the title itself was rather meaningless, his title reign was even more forgettable. Southworth’s first defense was against Canadian journeyman Bill Mahood, who verbally submitted due to a rib injury after just 75 seconds, then tested positive for steroids. Southworth’s next challenge was late-replacement Anthony Ruiz; since Ruiz only had about three weeks to prepare for the fight, Strikeforce made it a non-title affair — which made things kind of awkward when Ruiz beat Southworth by TKO due a cut. Obviously, the two men had to run it back, and Southworth won the rematch by unanimous decision in an unwatchably dull five-rounder.

Southworth’s Cinderella-story ended in November 2008, when they finally matched him up with a fighter worthy of holding a belt — former UFC title contender Renato Sobral. Although Southworth put in a valiant effort against Sobral, the bout was stopped before the second frame due to a horrible gash above Bobby’s eye. A rematch was agreed to, but never materialized. Southworth has only competed once since that night, beating some dude in Australia back in 2010. An attempt to get back on The Ultimate Fighter didn’t pan out, which is probably for the best.

Josh Hutchinson

When I heard this week’s question a lot of people came to mind. I had never really sat back and thought about “bad” MMA champions before. Once I did, I realized, holy shit, there have been a lot of them. Although I was gifted with a list of possible candidates as long as the Nile River, my brain stubbornly clung to one specific individual: Brock Fucking Lesnar.

Let me set the scene for you. It was what turned out to be the extremely foul year of our lord 2007, and I heard a rumor that the UFC had contracted a former “professional” wrestler to mix up the heavyweight division. I had also heard that he had a good collegiate wrestling record to his credit. So I thought to myself, “what the hell”? There have been a lot of MMA fighters who have done pro wrestling, and at least he has a solid legitimate wrestling background. Then came the hype, and it never stopped.

Fast forward four months. By this time, I had seen pictures and video until my eyes bled of this supposed unstoppable force. Once I picked myself off the floor from a crippling case of hysterical laughter at the hands of a grown man willingly having a giant dick tattooed on his chest, I started to get mildly annoyed at the attention he was receiving. For fuck sakes the man had one professional MMA fight, and that was against Kim Min-Soo. If you’re not familiar with Mr. Min-Soo, allow me to elaborate. He is a 3-7 fighter, and was 2-5 when he fought Lesnar. On top of that, he has also actually lost to Bob Sapp legitimately. Luckily Frank Mir came along and submitted Lesnar in a minute and a half of the first round, thus successfully derailing what was clearly a bullshit hype-train to begin with. Wait…that didn’t happen.

Instead, they threw the former “golden boy” to heavyweight gatekeeper Heath Herring. That fight somehow warranted Lesnar worthy to fight the aging and undersized Randy Couture for the UFC heavyweight title. I’m either too drunk, too stupid, or too naïve at the lengths promoters will go too when hyping “the next big thing” to understand the logic here. But it happened. What followed was one more win in the vein of Lesnar’s “plow you over and hammerfist you the way I do my dick after viewing Carmen Valentina‘s website” style of fighting, in the form of a rematch win against Frank Mir. Although Shane Carwin exposed the extreme distaste Lesnar has for actually being punched in the face, Lesnar survived his title defense against “The Engineer of Pain” with his belt intact, but beat-down losses to Cain Velasquez and Alistair Overeem forced the phallically branded “athlete” back to scripted fights with an MMA record of 5-3.

I have neither the time, nor energy to look up the following, but I’m willing to bet that he is the only man in UFC history to get a title shot at 2-1, and the only “superstar” to retire at 5-3. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my argument for worst MMA champion of all time.

Ryan Sarr

“I just fucked your ass.” That was the t-shirt Tito Ortiz wore in the Octagon after his victory at UFC 18. It was also the night, as Tito says in his book, that Ortiz became the “Huntington Beach Bad Boy,” and he began his one-man destruction of the Lion’s Den camp. So, who was the unlucky soul whose ass was fucked by Tito Ortiz at UFC 18? Jerry Bohlander, my choice for the worst major MMA champion of all-time.

Jerry Bohlander walked into Ken Shamrock’s Lion’s Den gym in the early 1990s, submitted one of the best fighters in the gym, and was soon thrown into his first pro fight, which he won. In Bohlander’s second pro fight, and first UFC fight, Bohlander submitted Scott Ferrozzo, who outweighed Bohlander by almost 150 pounds. Bohlander went on to lose to Gary Goodridge later that night, but it was only one year later, in February 1997, that Jerry Bohlander would taste UFC tournament gold. Bohlander won the UFC Lightweight (under 200lbs) Tournament at UFC 12, and did so in under two minutes total fight time.

So, after all that success, you ask, why is Jerry Bohlander my choice for worst champion? Well, the night Bohlander won his tournament, he beat Rainy Martinez and Nick Sanzo. Martinez’s pro record? 0-2. Sanzo’s pro record? 1-1, with Sanzo’s only win coming earlier that night against Jackie Lee, who was making his pro debut. So, to become champion, Bohlander beat two completely irrelevant guys who were immediately forgotten in MMA history. Of Bohlander’s 11 career wins, only 3 of those came against opponents with winning records. The three fighters of note who Bohlander fought (Ortiz, Goodridge, Murilo Bustamante) all handily beat him. Granted, in the early days of the UFC the competition was slim, but Bohlander simply has no victories over relevant opponents.

While Bohlander may be the worst major MMA champion of all-time, that says nothing about him personally. After 9/11, he was inspired to become a police officer, and has been serving as a deputy for the Napa County Sheriff’s Office for close to ten years. Bohlander is on the SWAT team and works many dangerous cases. Apparently, Bohlander has two justified killings while on-duty: once shooting and killing a man charging him with a knife; and shooting and killing another suspect who was reaching in his waistband for a gun. So, while I may believe you are the worst major MMA champion of all-time, Jerry Bohlander, I salute you.

CagePotato Roundtable #9: What Was the Most Memorable Fight You’ve Ever Been In?


(“Uh…your hands getting tired yet?”)

For our first crowd-sourced CagePotato Roundtable, we asked you to give us your wildest fight memories, and damn did you people deliver. Our tip-line was flooded with dozens of hilarious, horrifying, obviously exaggerated tales. In the interest of brevity, we cherry-picked the 12 best submissions for today’s column, which you can read below, including a gem from CageWriter‘s own Maggie Hendricks, and a heart-warming story of asshole-comeuppance from the amateur MMA circuit. But first, one that’s near and dear to my heart…

RollsRoyceGracie writes:

This was back in 1988, when I was a senior in college, in Boston. It was late and I was a little drunk, but my biggest problem was the horrible Chinese food I had for dinner earlier that was trying to make its way down the pipeline and into my drawers. I was walking in a mostly residential neighborhood, having failed to score with my date, and I was looking for a McDonalds or a gas station, but I was getting ready to settle for a dark corner behind someone’s garage. [Ed. note: Been there, bro. Been there.]

As luck would have it, two local dropouts spotted me and innately sensed my vulnerability. They hustled over to my side of the street, but I decided to keep walking and ignore them. They didn’t like being ignored. I remember them calling me “Cock” – “Hey cock, where ya headed?” “Hey cock, why ya lookin’ so sour?” I foolishly insulted them by blurting out that I didn’t have any money. “Ya think we’re gonna rob ya, cock? We’re just lookin’ for some sport.” And with that, the smaller one, a skinny kid maybe 40 pounds lighter than me (because I let myself get fat in college), punched me in the stomach. I shit myself on the spot. Loudly.


(“Uh…your hands getting tired yet?”)

For our first crowd-sourced CagePotato Roundtable, we asked you to give us your wildest fight memories, and damn did you people deliver. Our tip-line was flooded with dozens of hilarious, horrifying, obviously exaggerated tales. In the interest of brevity, we cherry-picked the 12 best submissions for today’s column, which you can read below, including a gem from CageWriter‘s own Maggie Hendricks, and a heart-warming story of asshole-comeuppance from the amateur MMA circuit. But first, one that’s near and dear to my heart…

RollsRoyceGracie writes:

This was back in 1988, when I was a senior in college, in Boston. It was late and I was a little drunk, but my biggest problem was the horrible Chinese food I had for dinner earlier that was trying to make its way down the pipeline and into my drawers. I was walking in a mostly residential neighborhood, having failed to score with my date, and I was looking for a McDonalds or a gas station, but I was getting ready to settle for a dark corner behind someone’s garage. [Ed. note: Been there, bro. Been there.]

As luck would have it, two local dropouts spotted me and innately sensed my vulnerability. They hustled over to my side of the street, but I decided to keep walking and ignore them. They didn’t like being ignored. I remember them calling me “Cock” – “Hey cock, where ya headed?” “Hey cock, why ya lookin’ so sour?” I foolishly insulted them by blurting out that I didn’t have any money. “Ya think we’re gonna rob ya, cock? We’re just lookin’ for some sport.” And with that, the smaller one, a skinny kid maybe 40 pounds lighter than me (because I let myself get fat in college), punched me in the stomach. I shit myself on the spot. Loudly.

They heard it and immediately broke down laughing. The little one even fell on the ground he was laughing so hard. But I was enraged. Strangely, my gut felt a lot better all the sudden, and I felt this savageness descend over me. I figured I had nothing to lose, having just crapped my pants, so I attacked. Luckily, the bigger kid, who was probably a few inches taller and a lot more muscular than me, was doubled over right in front of me. I gave him two quick, hard shots to the temple and he crumpled, out cold.

The little guy came around in a flash after seeing his buddy go down, and he had a wiry speed that I couldn’t match. He bloodied my nose, and then he got a little too cocky. He stepped in close for another gut buster and I grabbed him. It may have been the rage or it may have been all the wrestling we did in the dorms, but I had him locked up and he couldn’t get away. I tripped him and fell on top of him, which knocked the wind out of him. I rose up into what I now know is a full mount and battered his face until he stopped trying to stop me. I stood up and kicked his ribs because I was pissed, and then I half walked, half jogged to my dorm a few miles away, trying desperately not to be seen (or smelled) on my way into my room.

Maggie Hendricks writes:

I was in sixth grade and squabbling with a seventh-grade boy over him being in the way when my cheerleading squad was supposed to practice. We had competition in a few days, and I was SUPER SERIOUS about cheerleading. He said, “Whatever, your team sucks,” and I immediately threw a right cross. (My grandfather was a boxer and taught me jabs, crosses and hooks when I was six to use on any “boys who need to be punched.”) It hit him directly in the eye, and I’m pretty sure he fell to the floor. I did get called to the principal’s office and I think I had to apologize, but my mom took me for ice cream afterwards. She was proud of me for standing up for my team, even if we didn’t do so well at competition.

So I guess it wasn’t a fight, since he didn’t punch back, but damn it felt good.

Tyler Hill writes:

First off the most impressive thing about this story is the video evidence (which is not ultra shit quality). Search “Tyler Hill Vs. Justin Marshall” and see that, even though there is a complicated story behind this, people want to see that knockout. It would easily be top 3 of your “Falling Tree Knockouts“. My shin left him being carted out on a gurney. I will continue with the story after it but please give the video a chance and see that its not any less than I claimed….


(Yep. That’s pretty fucking incredible.)

Story: I’m 20 years old from Memphis, TN. Name is Tyler “Zombie” Hill. Think of me as a Cody Mckenzie type of dude except I have a Palhares like obsession with legs. But I like to kick people with mine. I’m 8-1-1 as an ammy at 170/155 @ 6’4″ (I know, no one cares). This particular fight was scheduled and I had my opponent change 7 times over 2 weight classes. My final opponent just straight didn’t show for weigh ins. I had hundreds of people coming so after a very aggravated discussion with the matchmaker I told him I didn’t care who they got. They were talking about some pro boxer. I said fine, whatever.

The date is what made this story special to me. October 9, 2011. It was exactly one year after I lost my great grandmother, who raised me. I had spent the last year in fury trying to follow up on a promise I made her in our last conversation that I would never quit and fight with everything I had no matter what the circumstances. And 1 year after her death, here we go, I face this situation. So they got this guy who was a boxer, supposedly a pretty good one. When he showed up the night of the fight after being allowed to weigh in at whatever the hell he wanted, he was looking for his opponent and they pointed me out and he laughed, put his hand over his mouth and said, quote: “I’m bout to show y’all MMA people what a real knockout is. How a boxer do it.” I smiled at him and said nothing. The fighters that knew me that shared his lockeroom told him that he better be weary of my kicks. He said something to the effect of he didn’t need to check my kicks because he was going to knock me out. The video should explain from there. You only have to watch 25 seconds of the actual fight before it happens. I was later told I collapsed his trachea and he was unresponsive well after they carted him out.

I’ve been a avid reader of CagePotato for some years. I’ve wanted to get this video to you to see if you might honor me in displaying it somehow. I know it is unrealistic to believe that this will impress you guys, being I am a mere amateur. But hey if I can’t dream, what can I do?

Nate LaVelle writes:

I was hanging out at a hippy coffee house waiting for a friend to show so we could go roast a fatty. I went outside to show off a Highlander replica sword I bought and had in my car trunk when a group of 4 guys and 2 girls gets kicked out of a trashy bar across the street. One of the hippies starts yelling something about her car to the drunks who see me holding a fucking sword (in the sheath, it wasn’t real, hence replica) and rush me. I got BLASTED on the right temple and swarmed. I had zero chance to do any damage and in the scuffle one of the drunks took the God damned sword so I just waited to be stabbed by it, thinking FUCK I had a sword, I should have used it. They beat the hell out of me for about two minutes while the fucking dumb hippies watched and did nothing. I had a concussion, bruised ribs, cuts, a bruise on my shoulder with a perfect boot print, etc. The best shot landed was the one drunk girl booting me right in the face. I opened my eyes just as it was about to land, and watched it connect in slow motion. After that fight I realized, if I can take that, a one-on-one match up was nothing.

Deadpanda writes:

I got invited to a B-day party (40-60 people) in Hawthorne (safe(r) part of South Central Los Angeles) by a couple friends of mine. We all get pretty drunk & we maybe drink a little more of the host’s booze than we contributed, so there were some people at the party who were not happy with us. Needless to say, I was very drunk & stumbling around when someone thought it would be fun to put on some 6oz gloves & do some backyard boxing. I happily agree to be the first one to step up to the ‘ring’ and I got the distinct impression that they really meant to teach me a lesson for drinking too much. But they didn’t know, and I failed to mention, that I had been sparring with Malaipet for the last 3 & 1/2 years & am a decent Muay Thai practitioner.

So some prefight talk happens & it’s made clear that I’m not liked there. So the fight starts & then ends abruptly when I knock my opponent out with my opening right cross… This is a good time to mention that I’m the only white guy at the party & I just KO’d one of the host’s best friends. Still stumbling around & not fully aware of what had just happened I was promptly given a 2nd opponent to kick my ass. While my first opponent was much my size (6′, 190-200 lbs.) the second guy was very much not my size at 6’5″, 280-300 lbs. So at this point I realize that I’m about to get my ass kicked if I don’t pull my shit together (mind you I have about a .020 BAC) and pull something off. So the fight starts and using my drunken genius, I open by throwing a very slow, very sloppy, right hook/windmill that sails past his head like I was too drunk & just flat out missed. To sum it up, the right hook was a faint to set up a spinning left back fist that I landed with quite a bit of authority & follow through. The back fist caught him flush on the jaw line & put him out harder than the 1st guy; again, it was the first punch I threw.

It was then kindly suggested by one of the girls that I should leave the party (quickly) & my friends drove me home.

Jake Nuesser writes:

Before starting Fight Chix with my wife Elisabeth, I was just another designer/martial artist who also spent evenings bouncing at a local bar. Well, Christmas night fell on half price Sunday, and since it was a holiday, we didn’t have a full staff on that evening. Our resident DJ, Jeremy was drinking heavily in his off time, and had a police grade spotlight that he decided to shine on other unsuspecting patrons. His target this evening was a rather large bodybuilder type of dude in a powder blue sweater. An obvious target I suppose.

At one point Jeremy zeroed in the spot light on our Powder Blue titan and followed him the length of the dance floor. He clearly wasn’t in the festive mood, and he almost ran all the way to the DJ booth to have a few words with Jeremy. I jumped off the stage and got close enough to the situation in case something might go down — but I was confident that Jeremy wouldn’t start a fight in the bar he works at — on Christmas of all days! I was wrong. Powder Blue asked him “why the fuck do you keep shining that light on me” to which Jeremy, who is built more like a defensive lineman than a DJ, climbed out of the DJ booth and relied “Why don’t you hit me pussy” Clearly this answer-a-question-with-a-question conversation wasn’t what Powder Blue was interested in — and he pushes Jeremy.

At this point I spring to action, and get an over under grip on the guy before being pushed to the ground by one of his friends. Mind you, as a bouncer, I’m not really supposed to hit anyone. I DE-escalate and control the situation. Well the situation at this point is being on the bottom with Powder Blue taking swings at me like Mark Coleman. Lucky for me, my guard was good and his arms were short. I worked to my feet and Jeremy and I escorted Powder Blue out the back door, over a railing and into a fresh pile of Christmas snow — but before we bid him farewell, Jeremy looked out and said “Merry Fucking Christmas” and the door was slammed shut. God Bless us — everyone.

Angry Little Feet writes:

Way back in grade school there was a boy named Johnny. He was very big for his age while I was very small. Johnny tormented me terribly. He pulled my hair and made me cry. He picked me up and dumped me into a waste basket then fastened the lid and left me there. He even stabbed me with a pencil once. One day in gym class our teacher was called away for a few minutes and of course Johnny made his move. As always he started pushing me and pulling my hair. I suppose he didn’t expect I would push him back because when I did he fell right back onto his rump. That’s when I started to kick him. These angry little feet were still stomping him and kicking at his face when our teacher returned and dragged me off of him.

I tell you this not because I am proud of it — but more as a public service to my fellow Taters. Please remember that even the smallest and most harmless-looking creature when backed into a corner is more than capable of going completely apeshit on your ass.

I sometimes wonder what ever became of Johnny. Nah — not really. I don’t give a fuck what happened to him.

Smellypiratehooker writes:

I’m not exactly sure which one of my fights would be the most memorable so I’m just gonna go with the last one cause it’s the most fresh in my mind and it’s got a happy ending (at least for me).

I was down at the local pool hall with a buddy of mine (Kaboom82) pounding beers and pretty much keeping to ourselves playing pool when a mutual aquintance of ours came up and wanted to play doubles. I personally hadn’t seen the guy for awhile and as much as I didn’t really feel like playing doubles against him and his brother, I thought that it would be a kind of dick move to say no so we both agreed.

Now one thing you have to realize is that when either one of us are playing pool against someone (especially when money is involved) there is a certain amount of respect that you should have when someone is taking a shot. So it comes to Kaboom’s turn and one of the brothers is tapping his stick just loud enough to be purposfully annoying. In response, Kaboom tells him to quit tapping his stick on the table. The other brother catches wind of the minor confrontation and takes it upon himself to totally blow it out of proportion. He starts to pick a fight with Kaboom and when I go over to basically defend my buddy, he takes his cue stick and jabs me with it. At that point I’m a race car in the red, and Kaboom is ready to explode (pun intended).

The chicks working the bar come rushing down and pretty much kicked them out and let us stay cause they saw what went on and are friends of ours. In no way did I think that was the end of it and not to my surprise they were waiting outside for us to come out and pick up where we left off. We went up to the bar, took a shot of whiskey and made our way outside to the two brothers that we were playing pool with and the other one that happened to be kicking around up at the bar when this went down. We stepped outside at the entrance to the two brothers shooting off and in the middle of the arguing, one of the brothers that we were playing pool with swung at Kaboom followed by the other brother we were playing with. Both of us started launching back when out of the corner of my eye, the third brother was coming in on my side.

That’s when things went black. I was told later that it was one of the more savage fights that one of the spectators had seen. I grabbed a hold of the brother and Don Frye‘d the guy until it hit the ground and wrapped him up in a schoolyard headlock. People came rushing over and asked me to “let him go, he had enough.” I got up and what was once my white Coors Light shirt was a blood red version of its former self. I let out a battle cry of “I’m ready for round two” and looked over to see his other brother’s jaw dropped and my buddy grinning like the cheshire cat.

I then saw the guy’s girlfriend who I just got finished lighting up and was expecting to get chewed out or even smacked when (and this is the best part) for some reason that I still can’t quite understand, she tuned him out for being an idiot as he was clutching his broken nose trying to figure out where it all went wrong. I knew at that point that the cops were gonna be called and there was no way I was walking home looking like a gunshot victim. So we called a cab and chalked this one as one of the times we were the heros.

Randy G. writes:

My name is Randy Giroux I am 42 years old. A couple of years back my wife and I went to a Shinedown concert here in New Hampshire. It was a general admission concert so we got there early so my wife could be up real close to the stage. First band came on and everything went well then Shinedown came out. During the first song a group of guys started moshing thus bumping into my wife and myself. At this time I was getting pissed, but my wife was getting nervous so she told me let’s just move. I thought to myself no, why should we move when we really wanted to be close to the stage. So as the moshing continued I said to one of the moshers to knock it off, to no avail. It was building up inside of me. Then a girl was trying to get out away from the pit when she was slammed to the floor right in front of me. I lost it!

Now, I studied martial arts for about 10 years and always considered myself able to handle myself. That being said, I hauled off and right crossed him right to the side of his face. After the punch the guy catches his footing and starts coming at me. I think hey, I will roundhouse kick him, but I can’t cause with the crowd and the female on the floor I actually had to step over her first not allowing enough time to kick. At this point I go into fighting mode, left punch, right punch, left punch, right punch, etc. connecting multiple times to his face before he goes flat out cold. During the time I was hitting him, I felt a punch luckily graze my right cheek so after the guy went down I immediately turn my attention to the guy on my right, panic mode now kicking in. I start out, left punch, right punch, left punch, right punch, etc, then he goes down and out.

At this point I turn back to look to my left when bang a freight train hits me right in the nose. After coming to, I must have looked like the Incredible Hulk cause I remember being in the middle of this open pit screaming “come on I will take you all on every one of you!” at which at this point everyone grabbed me and the other guys and put this show to rest. Moral of the story is if you are going to take a swing at someone make sure his two buddies are not with him.

Chris “Viva Hate” Morse writes:

So this one time I woke up late for school and seriously I did not want to go, I asked my mom please and she still insisted “No!” I missed my first two classes and arrived with no homework just to listen to my teacher preach class like some kind of jerk. I get home and my pops caught me smoking to which he said “no way!” I pointed out that he was a hypocrite because he was smoking two packs a day. I finally realized that living at home was such a drag only to find my mom had thrown out my best porno mags. My parents further insisted I not step out of the house if this was the clothes I was going to wear and that they would kick me out if I did not cut my hair. I lay in my room when my mom busted and said “what’s that noise?” I pointed out her jealousy because it was the Beastie Boys. I had to fight for my right to party.

RIP MCA

We’ve got two more stories that are too good not to share, and too long to include on this page. So hit that “next page” link if you’ve got like 10-15 minutes to spare…

CagePotato Roundtable #8: What Was Your Lowest Moment as an MMA Fan?


(Props: David T. Cho)

Being an MMA fan ain’t easy sometimes. Hyped-up fights turn out to be snorefests, scandals damage the sport’s legitimacy, incredible parlay bets get wrecked by incompetent judging, forcing us to explain to our kids once again that Santa Claus most have lost our address this year. On today’s CagePotato Roundtable, we’re discussing the fights and moments that made us want to give up on MMA entirely and follow [*shudder*] baseball for a while. Let us know your own lowest fan-moment in the comments section, and if you have a topic for a future Roundtable column, send it it to [email protected].

Seth Falvo

It’s crazy how life goes full circle: When I was ten years old, Doug Flutie was my favorite NFL player. I begged my dad to buy me Flutie Flakes for breakfast, so that I too could grow up and be a successful, albeit undersized quarterback for a small market football team. My dad refused, which explains why I’m now a writer (You’re welcome, Andrew Luck). After all, I was too young to remember the real Doug Flutie, the Heisman Trophy winning Boston College quarterback who helped make the USFL somewhat relevant. Flutie may have still been a talented quarterback — especially for his age — but he had clearly lost a step by the time I started watching football.

Thirteen years later I was on the phone with my dad, talking about one of the most lopsided fights he had ever seen. I spent the entire conversation trying to convince him that the small, pudgy guy he just watched get destroyed by a no-name oddity was at one point the most dangerous fighter on the planet. As you may have guessed, I’m specifically referring to Fedor Emelianenko vs. Antonio Silva. But really, Fedor’s entire Strikeforce run can be summed up the exact same way. Perhaps Fedor was too old, perhaps the heavyweight division had simply caught up to him, or perhaps it was a combination of the two. But one thing is clear: By the time that Fedor made his way to Strikeforce, he was no longer the untouchable fighter that he had once been.

Even in his lone victory, a second round knockout against Brett Rogers, he was arguably losing the fight before connecting with the fight ending right hand. And Brett Rogers is no Apollo Creed; he’s barely a pimple on the ass of Vodka Drunkenski. He’s a gatekeeper in every sense of the word — just legitimate enough for EliteXC to have kept him away from a “prime” Kimbo Slice, but not legitimate enough to pose any threat of beating a true contender. We had all the warning signs that Fedor was going to be a bust signing after this fight, yet we chose to ignore them because hey, he won, right?


(Props: David T. Cho)

Being an MMA fan ain’t easy sometimes. Hyped-up fights turn out to be snorefests, scandals damage the sport’s legitimacy, incredible parlay bets get wrecked by incompetent judging, forcing us to explain to our kids once again that Santa Claus most have lost our address this year. On today’s CagePotato Roundtable, we’re discussing the fights and moments that made us want to give up on MMA entirely and follow [*shudder*] baseball for a while. Let us know your own lowest fan-moment in the comments section, and if you have a topic for a future Roundtable column, send it it to [email protected].

Seth Falvo

It’s crazy how life goes full circle: When I was ten years old, Doug Flutie was my favorite NFL player. I begged my dad to buy me Flutie Flakes for breakfast, so that I too could grow up and be a successful, albeit undersized quarterback for a small market football team. My dad refused, which explains why I’m now a writer (You’re welcome, Andrew Luck). After all, I was too young to remember the real Doug Flutie, the Heisman Trophy winning Boston College quarterback who helped make the USFL somewhat relevant. Flutie may have still been a talented quarterback — especially for his age — but he had clearly lost a step by the time I started watching football.

Thirteen years later I was on the phone with my dad, talking about one of the most lopsided fights he had ever seen. I spent the entire conversation trying to convince him that the small, pudgy guy he just watched get destroyed by a no-name oddity was at one point the most dangerous fighter on the planet. As you may have guessed, I’m specifically referring to Fedor Emelianenko vs. Antonio Silva. But really, Fedor’s entire Strikeforce run can be summed up the exact same way. Perhaps Fedor was too old, perhaps the heavyweight division had simply caught up to him, or perhaps it was a combination of the two. But one thing is clear: By the time that Fedor made his way to Strikeforce, he was no longer the untouchable fighter that he had once been.

Even in his lone victory, a second round knockout against Brett Rogers, he was arguably losing the fight before connecting with the fight ending right hand. And Brett Rogers is no Apollo Creed; he’s barely a pimple on the ass of Vodka Drunkenski. He’s a gatekeeper in every sense of the word — just legitimate enough for EliteXC to have kept him away from a “prime” Kimbo Slice, but not legitimate enough to pose any threat of beating a true contender. We had all the warning signs that Fedor was going to be a bust signing after this fight, yet we chose to ignore them because hey, he won, right?

If we chose to ignore the warning signs in his victory, then we refused to acknowledge that they even existed when he lost. His loss to Werdum? Don’t go saying Werdum managed to bait Fedor and submit him, like we knew he would if he had any chance of winning. Fedor just got caught, and that happens to everyone. His aforementioned loss to Antonio Silva? Whatever, we all know that Bigfoot Silva is too big and strong to lose. It’s funny how quickly the Fedor fans would resort to that justification, while simultaneously praising Fedor for his victories over foes even larger than Silva, such as Hong Man Choi, Semmy Schilt, Zuluzinho…you get the idea. By the time Fedor had woken up from the beating that the much smaller Dan Henderson gave him, the myth that Fedor would ever be untouchable again had been debunked. Sure, some of us were still crying “EARLY STOPPAGE!”; just like some children will insist that their dead goldfish moved before their parents flush it down the toilet.

Interestingly enough, Doug Flutie’s NFL career ended with Flutie successfully dropkicking an extra point — the only successful dropkick in the NFL since the 1941 NFL championship game. It’s not exactly winning the Super Bowl, but it’s the best possible way for the guy to have gone out. Likewise, Fedor has won two straight fights since being released, and will more than likely make it three against Pedro Rizzo on June 21. Is it the most glamorous way for him to finish out his career? Don’t be stupid. But it’s far less painful than watching him lose, which is all I ask for after his time spent in Strikeforce.

Chris Colemon


(Click image for video.)

I’ve been to many live MMA events over the years, but few are as memorable as those early UFC’s in Louisiana. Most of the people in attendance were there to scream racial epithets at Tsuyoshi Kohsaka — nice place to hang your hat, Seth — so the few ‘real’ fans present had no trouble approaching fighters to shoot the shit after the fights. It was a golden time, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any uncomfortable moments.

A former UFC champion several times over, Dan Severn was tapped for main event action at UFC 27: Ultimate Bad Boyz. Though he’d been incredibly active during his hiatus from the UFC, the sport had evolved exponentially in the three-plus years since “The Beast” had last stepped foot in the Octagon, and young guns like opponent Pedro Rizzo seemed cut from a different cloth. What followed the opening bell was my lowest moment as an MMA fan.

At forty-two years of age, Severn was clearly near the end of his run as a pro fighter, and he looked dangerously slow and timid against “The Rock.” Straight away Severn shot in, but his once-formidable takedown was thwarted when Rizzo simply stepped aside and gave him a little toss, sending the elder statesman careening to the floor like a chubby chick in an grape-stomping contest. From that moment on there was a sickening feeling in the air that an old man was going to get very hurt. It wasn’t how slowly Severn reacted to a grazing head kick that was concerning, it was that he never reacted. Moments later, a hard inside leg kick chopped Severn down on all fours, but he was quickly back to his feet. Another kick to the same spot caused immediate injury to Dan’s well-braced knee, forcing him to verbally submit while clutching his knee in agony, Peter Griffin-style.

As this was the final bout, everyone sat in their chairs for a moment, thankful that the bout ended so quickly yet disgusted that it had ever been booked in the first place. It was a depressing capper to the evening, and it made me question if there was anything sporting whatsoever about what I’d just watched. I felt ashamed to have been connected to the sport at that moment…then a few weeks later I found out that Randy Couture was coming back to the UFC, and I forgot all about poor Dan’s knee.

At least the UFC learned a valuable lesson: never sacrifice an aging champion to prove how far the sport has evolved.

Jefferey Watts

I would love to give you a history lesson on how the Thai people stole their entire combat style from the Cambodian people but I’ll save that for another day. Today I’ll be honest and forthcoming with you. I’ve been a long time fan of MMA and perhaps really fell deeply in love with the sport because of a group of guys on a reality show called Tapout. However on March 11th, 2009, the entire MMA world was forced to swallow a tough pill in that Charles “Mask” Lewis had died in a horrific automobile accident involving himself, his female passenger, and a drunk driver.

Tapout was founded by Charles and Dan “Punkass” Caldwell, and it stood for something at one time. The industry-leading clothing brand went from $30,000 in sales in 1999 to around $200 million ten years later — sponsoring notable fighters such as Donald “Cowboy” Cerrone, Dan Lauzon, Pat Curran and many, many others along the way — and after Mask’s tragic death, I knew it was only a matter of time until his creation was sold. Lo and behold, on September 7th, 2010, barely a year after the death of one of their own, Tapout sold out to Authentic Brands Group in a major apparel merger. (Authentic Apparel would also purchase Silver Star Casting and MMA Apparel.) It might have been the obvious business move, the smart move, just not the one I think Mask would have made.

On August 11th, 2011, Tapout’s new parent company went after Tapout Cancer LLC, a non profit company which raises awareness and money through Brazilian Jujitsu. Surely now Tapout could go no lower, the brand that had once stood for greatness and the little guy trying to make a difference. Now they were attacking charity organizations for trademark infringement? Seriously? I don’t really know how you make steps to clean that much mud of your name but it seems they’re giving it their all because as reported earlier this month by MMAPayout, Tapout will donate a percentage of limited edition t-shirts to the Daniel James Miller Foundation.

That in my opinion is great news but only a small step in a very long road they have to recovery in the eyes of MMA fans everywhere.

Jared Jones

Gentlemen, I have seen some dark things in my brief time on this earth. Tribal warfare, nuclear fallout victims, genetically mutated animal corpses, Cannibal Holocaust, Antichrist (twice), A Serbian Film, and a cult-led massacre that I may or may not have been a participant in. Fun fact: I was once at a 4th of July party where a man, tripping his balls off on mescaline mind you, proceeded to drag a deer carcass off the road and feast on it like it was the breakfast buffet at the local Holiday Inn. But none of those things come within eyeshot of the emotional trauma I suffered when I watched Mirko Cro Cop get Mirko Cro Copped by Gabriel Gonzaga at UFC 70: Nations Collide.

Let me set the scene for you: I was at a friend’s house, watching the fight on the big screen TV that I both worshiped and secretly hated my friend’s family for having the means to afford. Joining us was my friend’s father — an ex-member of the East Coast Mafia, my friend’s mom — a smoking-hot dog trainer, and their jackass brother-in-law — a MMA novice who was as dopey as he was clueless. The fight began alright enough, with Filipovic landing a solid body kick before getting taken down and spending a couple of minutes on his back. Not great, but I knew that Cro Cop was simply biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

And then it happened.

As if God was playing some sick joke on me and me alone, Cro Cop was served fifty pounds (the approximate weight of one of “Napao’s legs” according to Wii Fit) of irony that I’m pretty sure gave me AIDS right then and there. The only reason I can’t confirm this is because I refuse to get tested, wear condoms, or give the prostitutes I have on call my actual name. Ignorance is truly bliss. Anyway, I have never witnessed a fight, aside from Silva/Leites perhaps, that left me with such a heavy sense of hopelessness and dread.

Cro Cop was and always will be a hero of mine; how can anyone state otherwise? His Wikipedia page reads like a Duke Nukem game synopsis and the highlights of Abraham Lincoln’s biography (specifically the passages involving vampire hunting) were mixed in a blender, set on fire, then thrown out of an airplane into a tornado that had just passed through an axe factory. And to see a legend like Mirko fall in such devastating, not to mention (because I already mentioned it) ironic fashion, just made me want to give up on this whole “normal” existence and fall back on the tragic, less refined ways of my past. But I can’t go back to that…not this time. I can’t…go…back…

Josh Hutchinson

The morning of July 22nd, 2009, I awoke to feelings of desperation, anger, depression, and at least 100 other emotions that words would never do justice to. I was very much looking forward to watching a great night of live fights sponsored by Affliction. Instead, like some kind of evil Santa, Josh Barnett rose from whatever circle of hell I’m sure he commands to snatch away the present we were receiving in Affliction: Trilogy.

If there are two things in this world that I love, they are my Thursday night Russian roulette tournaments with the local homeless, and live fights. Josh Barnett fucked up at least one of those for me. Naysayers be dammed, because in case you forgot, Affliction carried names like Fedor Emelianenko, Tim Sylvia, Andrei Arlovski, Ben Rothwell, Josh Barnett, Pedro Rizzo, Renato Sobral, Matt Lindland, Mark Hominick, Antonio Rogerio Nogueira, Vitor Belfort, (at least five of those names are still relevant) and many others. Hell, they even got Megadeth to perform, for some reason.

I still personally hold the belief that if Affliction: Trilogy had come to fruition; we would be staring down the barrel of two established promotions, competing with each other. That of course would mean a competing talent pool, exciting fights damn near every weekend, and none of the “my way or the highway” mind set the UFC has undertaken (ask Miguel Torres). That being said, I personally hold Josh Barnett responsible for all things bad in my life (as if I have much going on besides MMA). Therefore Nation, the next time that anything remotely bad happens to you — be it stubbing your toe, not being able to pay the rent on time, or your tool shed/meth lab blowing up *sigh*…again — I not only encourage you, but personally insist that you blame it entirely on Josh Barnett.

Nathan Smith

When you mix a bottle of Makers Mark, the internet and some free time alone there are only 2 possible destinations — Porno or YouTube — and after you finished with the former, you eventually arrive at the latter. Around 2004 or so, YouTube introduced many of us to the street fights of Kevin “Kimbo Slice” Ferguson and they were a sight to behold.

I actually felt like I was doing something illegal by even watching them because of the sheer brutality and the fact that the fights were taking place in a random backyard or parking lot. Being an MMA fan since the early days, I knew that he would only have a “puncher’s chance” if he ever found his way to the cage but that didn’t change the fact that he was intimidating. Kimbo was a scary dude and seemingly shared the same identity as Jules Winnfield’s wallet.

Fast forward several years and the sport of MMA was thriving while spawning stars like Chuck Liddell, Georges St. Pierre, and Anderson Silva. It was inevitable that MMA was going to be broadcast live on network TV. The growth of the sport combined with the athleticism and charisma of the competitors had escalated MMA to damn-near mainstream status. It was a natural progression and I knew it was coming. I just didn’t think that the very first prime-time network television MMA main event that everybody across America was going to be exposed to would feature none other than Kevin “Kimbo Slice” Ferguson. Back on May 31, 2008, every Tom, Dick & Harry who had little to no interest in “our” sport tuned into EliteXC and CBS touting Kimbo as the MMA flag-bearer. I wanted to puke.

Ratings peaked at 6.51 million viewers during the Kimbo VS James Thompson fight and to say the bout was a technical masterpiece would be like saying Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was Oscar worthy.

The fight was a brawl but to classify it as MMA and force-feed it to the masses of ill informed mouth-breathers was negligent in my opinion. The CBS suits got their ratings and didn’t care that the evolution of the sport was being hindered.

Thank God for The Silverback Seth Petruzelli.

Though Kimbo and CBS did bring new eyeballs to the sport, ultimately the experiment failed for all involved. Kimbo was exposed as being what most of “us” already knew. CBS lost the demographic they craved when EliteXC went belly-up shortly thereafter and the public perception of MMA was damaged a little bit more.

CagePotato Roundtable #7: What Was the Greatest Upset in MMA History?


(Matt Serra: MMA’s patron saint of lost causes.)

With tomorrow night’s UFC 145 main event slated as a 4-1 squash match, the CP gang is talking upsets for today’s installment of the CagePotato Roundtable. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and share your own MMA-upset testimonials in the comments section…

Doug “ReX13” Richardson

This wasn’t a hard decision for me: My personal “greatest upset” would have to be Fabricio Werdum vs. Fedor Emelianenko.

While I normally disagree with that crazy fanboy (hey Sodak) explaining to me how Fedor is an intelligent machine, sent back in time to destroy craniums and assassinate Andrei Arlovski, I completely wrote off Werdum here. Like, no way a guy who hung out in Minotauro Nogueira’s guard for six days is going to get tapped by a dude who calls himself “Go Horse” and smiles like this, right? So yeah, I gave him no chance of pulling out a victory. I could be on tape somewhere saying that he had no chance, in an obnoxiously opinionated manner. I may also be credited with one of the worst predictions in CP history.

So yeah, that one stung a little bit.


(Matt Serra: MMA’s patron saint of lost causes.)

With tomorrow night’s UFC 145 main event slated as a 4-1 squash match, the CP gang is talking upsets for today’s installment of the CagePotato Roundtable. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and share your own MMA-upset testimonials in the comments section…

Doug “ReX13″ Richardson

This wasn’t a hard decision for me: My personal “greatest upset” would have to be Fabricio Werdum vs. Fedor Emelianenko.

While I normally disagree with that crazy fanboy (hey Sodak) explaining to me how Fedor is an intelligent machine, sent back in time to destroy craniums and assassinate Andrei Arlovski, I completely wrote off Werdum here. Like, no way a guy who hung out in Minotauro Nogueira’s guard for six days is going to get tapped by a dude who calls himself “Go Horse” and smiles like this, right? So yeah, I gave him no chance of pulling out a victory. I could be on tape somewhere saying that he had no chance, in an obnoxiously opinionated manner. I may also be credited with one of the worst predictions in CP history.

So yeah, that one stung a little bit.

Chris Colemon


David vs. Goliath MMA – Watch More Funny Videos

“Colemon, get the fuck over here, now!” It’s not every day that a phone call changes your little world, but it happens. It was 1995, I was in high school [yeah, I’m old], and though I didn’t know it yet, I was about to see something beautiful.

Upon entering my friend’s home I found him and another pal huddled in front of a paused TV-VCR combo, a half-naked giant frozen on the screen. “These two guys are about to fight. Who do you think is going to win?” The behemoth’s name, I would soon learn, was “Emmanuel Yarborough…Yarborough.” The placard held by the hooker circling the cage read “Sumo,” and I had no trouble believing it.

Though obviously in shape, the relatively tiny Keith Hackney inspired little confidence in me, tiger claw stance be damned, and so I chose the giant. Before hitting play, my friends, the lying bastards, confirmed that Yarborough did indeed beat the little guy into paste. Imagine my surprise when the fight ended two minutes (and one broken gate) later with Hackney clubbing the world’s largest professional athlete into submission.

I doubt there were any casinos taking action for that scrap, and on paper Hackney may have even had the advantage, but none of that mattered to a guy seeing those two stand side by side. There are far greater examples of an underdog getting the win in our sport’s history, but this one matters most to me. That one crazy fight was all it took — David beat Goliath, and I was hooked.

Ben Goldstein

It’s appropriate that Rashad Evans is fighting this weekend, because no MMA upset made more of an immediate impact on me than seeing Rashad absolutely demolish Chuck Liddell at UFC 88 back in September 2008. I remember the night well. Fate had taken me to Jay-Z’s sports bar, the 40/40 Club, where I met Matt Serra for the first time. But let’s face it, you don’t wanna get bored with how many MMA stars I chill with, that stuffs, how many celebrity-owned New York night-spots I’ve pounded beers in, how many plates of nachos I order for me and the ladies in my life.

The point is, Chuck was more than a 2-1 favorite over Rashad coming into the fight. He appeared to be reborn with his fantastic win against Wanderlei Silva the previous December, and the general consensus was that Rashad wasn’t quite ready to face a legend. Before the fight, Rashad might have even agreed with that assessment.

Liddell landed more shots than Evans in the first round of the match, and most likely took it 10-9 on the judges scorecards. But heading into round 2, you could see Rashad’s confidence swell. He had settled in. He had tasted Chuck’s power, but hadn’t wilted. He kept an eye out for the infamous Chuck-face that Keith Jardine had described to him in training, and when he saw it coming, he hit the Iceman with the most savage overhand right I’d ever seen.

As I recall, I grabbed the arm of Jesse Holland from MMA Mania, and shouted “SANFORD AND SON! THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS DOING THE REDD FOXX FAKE-HEART-ATTACK-THING FROM FUCKING SANFORD AND SON!”

I never hung out with Jesse again.

Jared Jones

+1200. Heading into his UFC 63 fight with inaugural UFC lightweight champion Jens Pulver, Joe Lauzon was listed at +1200 by nearly all of the Vegas bookies. As the Etrade baby will tell you, those odds are the same as the likelihood of being mauled by a polar bear and a normal bear in the same day. But the man with possibly the worst nickname in MMA (next to Ron “H20” Waterman) managed to pull out the victory. And not only did Lauzon score the upset, he walked right through Pulver like he was the aforementioned Etrade baby.

This fight will always be a personal favorite of mine, if only because it is a prime example of the unpredictability of MMA. Pulver was making his return to the UFC for the first time since his classic title-defending war with B.J. Penn at UFC 35. Having gone 9-4 against names like Takanori Gomi, Hayato Sakurai, Duane Ludwig, and Cole Escovedo, the UFC was basically setting up one of their most marketable lightweights with an easy victory. When determining Pulver’s opponent, I imagine Joe Silva asked himself the following:

1. Does he look like your average Best Buy employee with just as impressive a physique?
2. Is his nickname derived from a pop star, kid’s cereal, or amusement park ride?
3. Is his record impressive enough at face value to sway the CSAC into allowing this massacre to be carried out?

He must have thought he hit the proverbial jackpot when he came across Joe freaking Lauzon. But Silva, having never seen Revenge of the Nerds or Dirty Dancing before, made a classic mistake; he put baby in a corner. Lauzon came out swinging like he was fighting for the right to visit Skywalker Ranch, following up a couple close knees that would have surely decapitated “Lil Eagle” with a left hook that nearly did. And in a mere 47 seconds, Pulver’s glorious UFC aspirations came crumbling down around him.

Perhaps even funnier than the fight itself would be the following season of The Ultimate Fighter, which featured Baby Jay and Jens as coaches, and none other than Joe “Excelsior” Lauzon as a participant. He wasn’t chosen by Pulver, go figure, but when he finally had his preliminary matchup on episode 6, he quickly proved that his win over Pulver was no fluke, rag-dolling Brian Geraghty for a little over a minute before sinking in a rear-naked choke victory.

When reviewing the fight in an interview afterward, I remember Pulver’s assessment like it was yesterday. “At least I didn’t lose to some bitch,” he said. Indeed you did not, Jens. Indeed you did not.

Nathan “the12ozcurls” Smith

For me, the greatest upset in MMA history has nothing to do with a “lucky” haymaker or an improbable arm-bar. However, there was an invincible favorite and an underdog that had no chance in hell of coming out on top. The two combatants waged an unlikely war and when the dust settled, the undisputed champion was left bloodied and beaten. This fight didn’t last 15 minutes or five championship rounds. No, this fight had been raging since November 12, 1993. That was the date of UFC 1, and it was the very beginning of the moral majority claiming that MMA competition was not fit for human consumption. Whether for sport or for entertainment, “society” assessed that MMA was profane, and the judge, jury and executioner were coming. It was literally “us” versus “them,” and if you have found your way to www.cagepotato.com, you are part of “us.”

I already know that a lot of people who are reading this were in diapers or grade school in 1993, but I wasn’t. I am not one of these poseurs that will tell you I actually saw UFC 1 live but you can bet your bottom dollar that I did give my old man $25 to order UFC 2 on PPV. That is when I saw Pat Smith vs. Scott Morris in the opening televised bout and that shit changed my life. I have only used the “love at first sight” proverb with my wife and kids, but looking back now, those few seconds also fit the analogy. Yes, it was brutal and yes it was unorthodox but it was the modern day Coliseum for me from that point forward.

Shortly thereafter, just like many of “us”, Senator John McCain saw a video-tape (pretty sure it wasn’t BETA-MAX) of a UFC event. He was outraged and he did his best to get MMA banned. The UFC was late-night news fodder and got kicked around like Jared Jones in the comment section of CP. McCain even said, “UFC is a brutal exhibition of machismo with no place in the modern world. It’s gory, and bloodthirsty and no better than watching a car wreck as it happens. It brings out the worst in its audience and should be banned for encouraging violence.”

Little did McCain know that he was doing all of “us” a great favor by enlightening the masses about the “human cock-fighting.” I will admit that the “open-weight and no-holds-barred” approach was pretty much . . . . . how do I put this . . . . . HUMAN FUCKING COCK-FIGHTING, but without McCain’s involvement there would never have been the Unified Rules of MMA that were adopted in 2000. The “them” intended to eradicate the sport but instead, they launched “us” towards respectability.

A lot has happened since the first “sanctioned” UFC took place back on November 17, 2000. And the biggest Johnny Cash middle finger came on August 18, 2011, when the UFC signed a multi-year contract with FOX. I felt vindicated knowing that I was a supporter all along and the irony was so fitting. The same channel that I can watch a potentially fatal car crash happen during a NASCAR race live on network television is the same channel I can now watch supreme athletes test themselves in the modern day Coliseum.

SCOREBOARD — “us”: 1, “them”: 0. WE WIN!!!!!!

Seth Falvo

I was going to write about how Randy Couture vs. Tim Sylvia was the upset that wasn’t, and therefore my favorite.

But since we’ve pissed off enough people this week, I’ll work on getting back in Gus Johnson‘s good graces and agree that Kimbo Slice vs. Seth Petruzelli was, in fact, the greatest upset in MMA history. Yep. No punchline to be made here.

*rides off into sunset*

[Ed. note: I feel sorry for your mother.]

CagePotato Roundtable #6: What Was the Worst Referee Blunder in MMA History?


(I know, Kim. These fights make us want to puke, too.)

Sometimes, that “third man in the cage” can be a fighter’s worst enemy. And so, we thank CP reader Ryan Barnhart for providing us with this week’s CagePotato Roundtable topic: “What was the worst referee blunder in MMA history?” Since we’ve already covered judging fiascos, it only seemed fair to dump some hate on the sport’s officiating as well. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and let your voices be heard in the comments section…

Chris Colemon

I’ve already lost this Roundtable debate. The travesty captured in the video above isn’t a “blunder” at all — it’s a referee-sanctioned homicide. At first glance you spot the black slacks and tie and assume this official to be a professional of the highest order; only later do you realize that he’s a struggling mortician simply there to drum up more business for himself.

Rogerio da Silva and Eric Venutti met in the second round of the ‘Brazilian Vale Tudo Fighting 2‘ tournament. Not only does the lard-ass at the helm of the match allow his own indecisiveness to place a fighter in jeopardy, he insists that an unnecessary finishing blow be delivered to a fighter too rocked to realize that he’s still engaged in a fist fight, Mortal Kombat-style.

It’s easy to look at the date of this event — May 31, 1996 — and dismiss it as the sort of thing that happened in those early days of human cockfighting. But keep in mind that by this time the UFC had ten events under its black belt, and Brazil was no stranger to the fight biz either. Even under a looser rule set, previous fights in the same organization had ended via judges decision and TKO due to cuts, so civility was not entirely lost on these people. This lone act makes everything Cecil Peoples has done look completely acceptable. Almost.


(I know, Kim. These fights make us want to puke, too.)

Sometimes, that “third man in the cage” can be a fighter’s worst enemy. And so, we thank CP reader Ryan Barnhart for providing us with this week’s CagePotato Roundtable topic: “What was the worst referee blunder in MMA history?” Since we’ve already covered judging fiascos, it only seemed fair to dump some hate on the sport’s officiating as well. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and let your voices be heard in the comments section…

Chris Colemon

I’ve already lost this Roundtable debate. The travesty captured in the video above isn’t a “blunder” at all — it’s a referee-sanctioned homicide. At first glance you spot the black slacks and tie and assume this official to be a professional of the highest order; only later do you realize that he’s a struggling mortician simply there to drum up more business for himself.

Rogerio da Silva and Eric Venutti met in the second round of the ‘Brazilian Vale Tudo Fighting 2‘ tournament. Not only does the lard-ass at the helm of the match allow his own indecisiveness to place a fighter in jeopardy, he insists that an unnecessary finishing blow be delivered to a fighter too rocked to realize that he’s still engaged in a fist fight, Mortal Kombat-style.

It’s easy to look at the date of this event — May 31, 1996 — and dismiss it as the sort of thing that happened in those early days of human cockfighting. But keep in mind that by this time the UFC had ten events under its black belt, and Brazil was no stranger to the fight biz either. Even under a looser rule set, previous fights in the same organization had ended via judges decision and TKO due to cuts, so civility was not entirely lost on these people. This lone act makes everything Cecil Peoples has done look completely acceptable. Almost.

Doug Richardson

The worst officiating blunder in MMA history has to be allowing Steve Mazzagatti to carry a reffing license. Yeah, I get that he’s a nice guy or whatever, but when you’re talking about the Hall of Shame, Mazzagatti and his moustache are inaugural members. His resume of failure is uglier than Tim Sylvia in drag, and that’s a picture that no one wants to paint for you.

I will, because no one should be doomed to repeat this kind of history:

At UFC 92, Mazzagatti played lookout while Cheick Kongo bounced Moustapha al Turk’s head off the canvas like he was trying to get to the prize hidden inside. (And seriously, if you’re a fighter in the cage with Cheick Kongo and Steve Mazzagatti, somebody hates you. It may be God, Joe Silva, Dana White, or possibly all three, but you were not meant to have a good day.) Kongo sliced al Turk open with elbows on the ground, and then got in some solid practice with hammerfists, hooks, and straight punches from guard before the Mazz, daydreaming about teaching Muay Thai to RoboCop, registered what was going on and stopped the bout. DFW has some choice words about Mazzagatti after the fight, suggesting that someone capture the inept ref, wrap him in chains and fire him into the heart of a black hole — for the good of MMA.

Brock Lesnar complained that Mazzagatti was unreasonably quick to stand up his fight with Frank Mir at UFC 91 when Brock was winning, and also for not being quick enough with the Mazzagatti dive when Brock was tapping to a kneebar.

But those guys are known for being free with their opinions. But then consider that Kenny Florian went on ESPN and said that Mazzagatti seemed to have problems judging when to end a fight. Ben Rothwell agreed, after Mazzagatti managed to be both too late and too early in stopping his fight with Cain Velasquez. Rothwell had been KO’d by Velasquez, but Cain followed up the KO with enough punches to the face that Rothwell rebooted and started moving again. Then when Rothwell is pinned against the cage and in the process of standing, Moustache Mazz calls the fight.

He’s stopped fights early (James Irvin vs Houston Alexander), he’s stopped fights late (Yves Edwards vs Josh Thomson), he’s stopped fights so late that the fighters themselves thought he was out of his goddamn mind (Cris Cyborg vs Shayna Baszler). He once tried to stop a fight with jazz hands, and Jason McDonald was forced to ruin whole sections of Joe Doerksen’s childhood memories until Mazz actually stopped the fight. Hell, he once asked Matt Hamill if he was ok to continue, then called the fight when Hamill didn’t respond quickly enough. Small problem there: Matt Hamill is deaf. And yet still, none of this is even Mazz’s best worst.

What absolutely takes the cake was the fight Mazzagatti reffed at UFC between Anthony “Rumble” Johnson and Kevin Burns. Burns, apparently trying to highlight his black belt in Tiger Claw Kung Fu, came at Johnson with multiple techniques targeting his eyes. Mazzagatti was on top of the action, noted the danger to Johnson’s peepers, and warned Burns to lay off the Three Stooges routine. Burns just barked at him and said “Whyioughta…” and went back to threaten the retinas. After four separate warnings from Mazzgatti, Burns finally landed his mythical Eyepoke of Doom, sending Johnson reeling in agony (and partial blindness).

So here’s your moment, Steve: you’ve observed Burns attacking with splayed fingers in the vicinity of Johnson’s eyes and given him FOUR. SEPARATE. WARNINGS. Johnson is complaining about another eyepoke and is unable to continue. His eye, while not actually hanging outside of his face with lightning bolts coming out of it, does appear to be red (Rumble would require surgery and miss six months of action). What’s the call? No contest? Disqualification? Go to a judges’ decision?

If I told you that Kevin Fucking Burns won via TKO at 3:45 of the third round, should you even be surprised?

Steve Mazzagatti, ladies and gentlemen.


Nathan “The12ozCurls” Smith

The referee is there to enforce the Unified Rules of MMA, but more importantly, the ref is there to protect the fighters. Not only did Yves Lavigne not do that while overseeing Matt “The Immortal” Brown vs. Pete “Drago” Sell at UFC 96, but Lavigne seemed hell-bent on getting Sell killed.

We all knew when this scrap was announced that the chances of it going the distance were about as likely as Roy Nelson coming back from the buffet line with a salad. All suspicions were realized within the first ten seconds of the bout when the self-described “technical brawler” Brown opened up with a pair of kicks and a superman punch that all landed. A big high kick clubbed Sell’s neck/head and a left-right combination deposited “Drago” to the canvas like a sack of potatoes at the 18 second mark. Yves Lavigne quickly stepped in and put his arms around Brown’s midsection to keep him from jumping on top of Sell and doing more damage. In the split-second that Lavigne stepped in between the fighters, Sell got back to his feet, although he was clearly hurt. This is when Yves Lavigne shit the proverbial bed and allowed the vicious beating to continue.

First, Lavigne stopped Brown from continuing his initial onslaught by grabbing him around the waist – fight is over. Second, Pete Sell was obviously on “Queer Street” and needed to be saved – fight should have been stopped. Brown was visibly pissed and did not want to dish out any more punishment but what was he supposed to do? The Immortal went so far as to twice give Lavigne the arms-outstretched “What the hell are you doing?” gesture, but Lavigne let it all play out in front of a packed arena and millions watching on television.

I remember when this went down and I can not explain the sheer pandemonium from my friends screaming like Apollo Creed’s wife just before Dolph Lundgren sent Apollo to his maker. I literally thought that we were going to see Sell beaten to death that night and if it had happened, I believe that Yves Lavigne should be in prison.

After the fight, Lavigne had this to offer:

“I did let Mr. Sell take maybe — not maybe — I let him take a beating for absolutely nothing. So I didn’t do my job properly. So basically, I screwed up. I screwed up and I’m going to learn from it and try not to do it again…I’m going to make sure not to do it again.”

While Yves Lavigne tries to learn from his mistake, he is lucky that the Sell Family didn’t have to learn to live without Pete.

Seth Falvo

Before I can determine the worst referee blunder in MMA history, I need to first define “referee blunder.” Are we talking about a terrible stand-up that possibly changed the outcome of a fight? Are we talking about a dangerously late stoppage? Can I just write “CECIL PEOPLES SUX, LOL!”, cue my theme music and call it a day?

…I can’t? In that case, allow me to choose the fight I’m pretty sure Cecil Peoples watched in order to refine his officiating techniques: Gilbert Yvel vs. Carlos Barreto.

The fight begins predictably enough, with Barreto earning an immediate takedown and Yvel in trouble. Yet as the fighters get tangled in the ropes, the referee makes the decision not to reposition them, but rather stand the fight back up entirely. Shortly after the questionable stand up, we see Yvel knock out Barreto, and the fight gets waived off — for a few seconds at least.

Those of you who have been here a while may remember the ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ rule for determining whether or not a fight was stopped too soon. Barreto tries to employ it, even though he’s clearly struggling to make eye contact with the official. While a more responsible ref would have ignored Carlos Barreto and his cornermen, this official decides to go against everything he forgot to learn in training and restart the fight. Seconds later, we have Yvel defeating Barreto for the second time that night and terrible referees all over the planet took note: Flying knees DO finish fights.

Jared Jones

God Damn you, Dan Miragliotta. God damn you for making me defend James Thompson.

The fact is, I had never seen James Thompson’s chin hold up to anything, be it a jab or a passing breeze, until his fight with Kimbo Slice at EliteXC: Primetime. For reasons that I am going to attribute to black magic, Thompson showed up with a piece of granite for a chin that night, and was rewarded by having perhaps the most legitimate victory of his career (next to his win over Don Frye, of course) stolen from him by Miragliotta. But worse even than Miragliotta’s third-round standing TKO stoppage of the fight were the implications behind the stoppage itself. As we all know, EliteXC was living and dying by the Kimbo Slice brand name, and were willing to do anything to protect their investment. Though that mentality works in professional wrestling, putting all your eggs in one basket — especially one with shit cardio and zero ground game — is a recipe for disaster in MMA.

Knowing now how corrupt a promotion EliteXC was, it doesn’t seem too hard to imagine that everyone was in on the fix except James Thompson. Poor, hapless James Thompson. I hate to lob accusations at veteran official like Dan Mirogliotta, but let’s just say I would be more shocked to find out that he wasn’t paid off for this fight. Aside from the pathetic stoppage itself, there were several moments in the Thompson/Slice “fight” that one can only describe as “fishy.” Take the first round, for instance, when Thompson locked in a standing guillotine on Slice within the opening minutes. Kimbo appeared to tap out, but all of a sudden, the camera pulled away to a shot of the fight from damn near across the stadium. A simple production error? I think not. As if that wasn’t odd enough, the second round was capped off by Thompson landing over 100,000 elbows to Slice’s dome, all while Miragliotta was apparently ordering a cheesy pretzel from the nearest concession stand. Granted, the elbows were barely strong enough to crunch a Bugle, but Slice was clearly not defending himself, and that should have been all it took to end the fight then and there.

Entering the third round, everyone from Gary Shaw to Kimbo himself knew that something dramatic had to be done. This is where Jared Shaw came in. Using his Buffalo Wild Wings beeper, he relayed the following message to Miragliotta: KIMBO DIES, YOU DIE. Simple, yet effective. So Miragliotta patiently waited for Slice to land any significant offense whatsoever and pounced like a homeless man on a Sacajawea dollar. The fact that one of Kimbo’s punches managed to make Thompson’s ear explode was just icing on the cake. Miragliotta stepped in, Kimbo got the victory, and I sat speechless on the couch of my now ex-girlfriend trying to convince her that what we had just witnessed was actually a legitimate sport. The aforementioned “WTF is your problem?!” rule was not only warranted, by my only reaction for such an injustice. Thank God Thompson would never have to deal with that kind of blatant favoritism ever again.

Ben Goldstein

Since so many of my colleagues picked TKO-related reffing moments, I decided to look for something submission-related. But after some time spent with a stopwatch trying to figure out whether Kim Couture or Nik Fekete suffered more brain-damage, I came across this all-time classic, which took place at Turkey’s first MMA event last year, and was overseen by Turkey’s blindest moron.

If you’re a referee, I suppose you can be forgiven for not realizing that a fighter has lost consciousness before he had a chance to tap. (I mean, at some point you have to realize that hey, that guy isn’t moving around much, and there’s probably a reason for it, but whatever, we can’t all be Josh Rosenthal.) But how about when a fighter does tap, and you’re right there to see it? Get a load of this clown taking a knee right next to the action, looking for a sign — any sign really — that he should stop the fight. The guy on the bottom, furiously tapping? No, too subtle. Dude is waiting for a thunderbolt fom God Himself, or whatever the hell they worship in Turkey.

Eventually, the winning fighter just gets up, knowing that the fight has been over for about seven seconds. And what does the ref do? He taps the mat. Good job, buddy. You’re about as useless as a hat full of busted assholes.

CagePotato Roundtable #5: If You Could Make One Change to the Unified Rules of MMA, What Would It Be?


(“From now on, all preliminary card fighters will be required to slam four shots of tequila before the start of each round.”)

After a one-week resting period, the CagePotato Roundtable is back up in that ass with another spirited debate. Today’s topic is “If you could make one change to the Unified Rules of MMA, what would it be?” Sitting in this week is Potato Nation comment-section all-star Nathan Smith (aka The12ozCurls) — and since it’s his first time, we’ll make the new guy go first. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and shoot us your own MMA rule-change suggestions in the comments section…

Nathan “The12OzCurls” Smith
One of the reasons we love the sport of MMA is the absolute reality that a fight can end in the blink of an eye. We have all held off taking a leak or grabbing another beer until the end of a round because we all know that in the 30-90 seconds that we step away from the screen, the fight could be over. It has happened to all of us. You figure the last minute of the round is going to be uneventful just like the four minutes prior. You get up to snag another High Life and then you hear the collective “OOOOOHHHHHHHHH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” from the roomful of friends that have gathered in your man-cave garage to watch the latest UFC.

So I ask: How could it get better? Answer: By adding another way to win a fight in the blink of an eye, that is more painful than a Paul Harris ankle lock and more powerful than a 2005 Iceman overhand right.

I would change the rule that states that it is illegal to “intentionally throw your opponent out of the cage/ring.” Now let me preface this by saying it has to be a cage because pushing somebody over the top rope is for guys like Brock and Hillbilly Jim. Not only would I make chucking your opponent out of the Octagon legal, I would propose that you automatically win if you are able to successfully achieve that feat.


(“From now on, all preliminary card fighters will be required to slam four shots of tequila before the start of each round.”)

After a one-week resting period, the CagePotato Roundtable is back up in that ass with another spirited debate. Today’s topic is “If you could make one change to the Unified Rules of MMA, what would it be?” Sitting in this week is Potato Nation comment-section all-star Nathan Smith (aka The12ozCurls) — and since it’s his first time, we’ll make the new guy go first. If you have a topic-suggestion for a future Roundtable column, please send it to [email protected], and shoot us your own MMA rule-change suggestions in the comments section…

Nathan “The12OzCurls” Smith
One of the reasons we love the sport of MMA is the absolute reality that a fight can end in the blink of an eye. We have all held off taking a leak or grabbing another beer until the end of a round because we all know that in the 30-90 seconds that we step away from the screen, the fight could be over. It has happened to all of us. You figure the last minute of the round is going to be uneventful just like the four minutes prior. You get up to snag another High Life and then you hear the collective “OOOOOHHHHHHHHH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” from the roomful of friends that have gathered in your man-cave garage to watch the latest UFC.

So I ask: How could it get better? Answer: By adding another way to win a fight in the blink of an eye, that is more painful than a Paul Harris ankle lock and more powerful than a 2005 Iceman overhand right.

I would change the rule that states that it is illegal to “intentionally throw your opponent out of the cage/ring.” Now let me preface this by saying it has to be a cage because pushing somebody over the top rope is for guys like Brock and Hillbilly Jim. Not only would I make chucking your opponent out of the Octagon legal, I would propose that you automatically win if you are able to successfully achieve that feat.

I understand why this rule was implemented back in the stone ages of MMA: A) Because of the “open weight” format where dudes were typically outweighed by 50 to 500 lbs (see Keith Hackney vs. Emanuel Yarborough @ UFC 3), and B) because there were huge dudes with little to no training that were just plain batshit crazy (see Scott Ferrozzo @ UFC 8, 11 & 12).

Tank Abbott actually tried it back in 1996 at Ultimate Ultimate when the scrappy Cal Worsham was actually getting the better of the stand-up action during the opening seconds of their quarterfinal bout. Once Tank was able to get a hold of Worsham, he picked him up over his head and literally tried to heave him into the 3rd row of Birmingham, Alabama mouth-breathers in what appeared to be a bingo hall. But alas, Worsham held on to Tank’s head and the potential for the most awesome highlight in MMA history was thwarted.

Now that there are weight classes and the two fighters are at least similar in size — unless your opponent is Anthony Johnson — the feasibility of a guy actually heaving another man out of the cage has all but disappeared. (Though you can tell that Matt Hughes’s mind was heading in that direction against Carlos Newton.) So if it is damn near impossible to actually pull off, why not abolish the rule and give the fighters and the audience one more option for potential fireworks? We live for the “Holy Shit” moments of MMA, and what could possibly compare to a title changing hands when the champion is muscled overhead and Frisbee-d out of the Octagon?

I’m sure the rule will never change and even if it did, it’s hard to see it ever being put to use. But what if…what if?

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You would have to watch every UFC wearing an adult diaper with a full cooler beside you because you would never get up during a fight ever again.

Doug “ReX13” Richardson

If I could change one thing about the Unified Rules, it would be to get rid of the senseless “12 to 6″ elbow rule. The strike is no more damaging than one from another angle and it’s hard to officiate consistently, so what’s the argument for having such a rule?

Long, long ago (UFC 8), Gary “Big Daddy” Goodridge murdered a poor, gentle soul named Paul Herrera with a succession of elbows so terrifyingly violent that white people everywhere shut the fuck up about rap music and started being afraid of ultimate fighting. Herrera had tried a fireman’s carry, but wound up trapped in a Goodridge crucifix that surprised everyone involved. Goodridge paused a moment before unleashing a string of twelve billion of the angriest elbow strikes you’ve ever seen in the space of four seconds, scrambling Herrera’s emotional cortex and his ability to roll his Rs (a fate worse than death for a guy named “Herrera”).

The Association of Boxing Commissions (average age: dirt) saw this fight and soiled their Depends, and not even that nice boy Jon Jones can change their minds about the danger of elbows coming “from the ceiling to the floor.” Jones, of course, suffered a disqualification loss to Matt Hamill at the TUF 10 Finale, due to a combination of the silly 12-6 rule and the power of Steve “The ‘Stache” Mazzagatti to fuck up any fight, any time (but Mazz is a story for a different time).

Perhaps the best argument against the rule is that I’m still not quite sure what exactly is the wrong way to elbow somebody: Is it literally “ceiling to floor”, meaning an elbow is illegal if it follows the path of gravity straight down? Or is it 12-6 relative to the fighter throwing the elbow — from head to toes? Even watching fighters get warned or disqualified doesn’t help; it seems referees themselves don’t agree on how this rule should be interpreted.

Do we really need a rule so arbitrary, so capricious? No. So yeah, I’d definitely 86 the 12-6 elbow rule if I could change the Unified Rules.

Plus I’d move to allow knees on the ground. And add a cruiserweight division.

And whatever it was that Nick Diaz tested positive for, legalize that.

Fuck it, soccer kicks too.

“Suga” Chris Colemon

19. “The use of abusive language in the fighting area”

There are so many things to love about talking shit, but one of my favorite aspects of this unheralded art is the way it hurts people’s feelings.

I realize that MMA is a sport, not a soap opera, and that at the end of the day the most important factor in a fight is the skill of the combatants involved in the scrap, but all things being equal I’ll take a side of animosity to go with my ground-and-pound.

Why they ever forebade in-cage smack talk is beyond me. We’ve refined and restricted the act of fighting into a neatly packaged spectator sport, but when you boil things down there’s still a lot of emotion that goes into a fist fight. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the professional demeanor of your GSP’s and Couture’s, but if I have to choose between 15 minutes of bowing and bro-hugs or watching two rabid, snarling fighters baring their teeth, I’m going with the dog fight all day.

Every fighter believes in his skills, but to tell your opponent that you’re going to fuck him up mid-fight and dare him to stop you really ups the ante. Succeed and you come off looking like a boss; fail and you come off looking like a tool. So I implore you, athletic commissions, let the fighters jaw all they want; their fists end up doing the real talking anyway.

Jared Jones

I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with the preferential treatment wrestlers receive in the sport of MMA. Not only are takedowns ranked next to Godliness as far as the judging criteria goes, but these sons of bitches are completely protected from a maneuver that is nothing short of dog shit in the real world. I’m talking about dropping to your knee, people. Sexual connotations aside, dropping to your knee or knees gets you killed in the streets, and the fact that wrestlers are allowed to use this flaw in the rules as a means for stalling fight after fight drives me fucking bananas. If a fighter has the fear of getting kneed into oblivion by his opponent while attempting their billionth sloppy takedown, then perhaps he would be a little more hesitant to essentially take the fight out of fighting. Hell, we might even see guys like Jon Fitch and Jake Shields try to engage on the feet, but perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the grappling aspect of MMA as much as the next guy, unless the next guy is Melvin Guillard of course, but this “no knees to a downed opponent” nonsense is about as blatant a case of nepotism in the MMA rule book as I have ever seen. If fighters were allowed to knee the head of a downed opponent, matches like Munoz/Okami, Hughes/Serra, and Brookins/Koch would have played out a lot differently. Mainly, they wouldn’t have sucked ass.

It’s as simple as this; mixed martial arts competition, at least in my opinion, is supposed to be held on a level playing field. Each form of fighting has its upsides and its pitfalls, which is why a given fighter must have more than one tool in his arsenal if he is to succeed in the sport nowadays. And allowing wrestlers to shoot for a takedown from halfway across the cage then intentionally hit the deck with no fear of a counter-attack inherently destroys that concept. Imagine not being able to punch Rousimar Palhares while he was diving for a life-shattering leglock, and you’d begin to understand how bullshit this rule is.

“No knees to a downed opponent” puts forth the notion that a given fighter doesn’t need to have even half-decent standup as long as they can hug their opponent for three rounds and take home a decision based on some warped idea of “octagon control.” Tito Ortiz will tell you the downside of having shit standup, and if that isn’t proof enough, just rewatch the TUF 15 preliminary fight between James Vick and Dakota Cochrane and tell me that that fight wouldn’t have ended within the first minute if Vick was allowed to throw some knees. The fear of God back needs to be put into these takedown artists, these lay-n-prayers, and these flip-floppers once and for all, and there’s only one way to do it.

Ben Goldstein

As much as I appreciate Jared’s dream to turn every UFC fight into a grisly re-creation of Arona vs. Sakuraba, I think it makes more sense to simply re-define what “grounded” means in MMA. There’s something very un-sporting — and really freakin’ dangerous — about soccer-kicking or kneeing a man in the head when he’s down, and I have no problem with that remaining illegal. But while some fighters unfairly game the system by dropping to a knee when they’re about to eat one in the face, it’s also currently allowable to simply put your hand down to escape a thrashing.

The worst recent example of this came during Rampage Jackson vs. Ryan Bader at UFC 144; click the image above and skip to the 4:58 mark. As you’ll see, Bader secures a clinch that places Rampage’s head in a very vulnerable spot. After Bader slams a knee up the middle, Jackson tags the mat with his left hand, effectively calling a time-out on getting his ass beat. With his options now limited, Bader decides to shoot for a single, and loses the position that could have — should have — ended the fight right then and there. That’s garbage, folks, and in my opinion, it’s the single biggest flaw in the unified rules. Two clarifications…

– Being on one knee should still count as a grounded safe-zone for fighters, but dropping there intentionally (as Jared described) should be treated as a violation of the current rule against timidity. It’s not a “wise” strategy, as Mike Goldberg claimed during the Rampage/Bader fight. It’s the very definition of “avoiding contact,” and referees should start giving warnings and point-deductions as soon as they see it happening.

– Upkicks should be allowed whether the recipient is technically grounded or not. The grounding rule is intended to prevent fighters from taking devastating head trauma from opponents who are on top of them, not to prevent amazing shit from happening.