Tag: Commentary

Tragically Enough, Junior Maranhao Defends Those Who Failed Him During RFA 14

By Seth Falvo

MMA fighters are supposed to be tough. They’re supposed to Face the Pain, Never Back Down, Go Out on Their Shields, and embody every Gatorade commercial cliche you can think of. They’re supposed to believe that they’re indestructible, partly because they’ve been told their entire lives that they’re damn near invincible.

Which is all to say that most of us weren’t surprised when flyweight Junior Maranhao — despite falling off of his stool between the fourth and fifth rounds of his title fight at RFA 14 and needing his coaches to revive him — made the decision to answer the bell for round five. Professional fighters are rarely the best judges of their own mortality, making objective parties such as coaches, referees and cageside physicians all the more necessary to save a fighter from excessive damage; this makes it all the more disturbing when these parties are as reckless as they were at RFA 14, and when the Wyoming State Board of MMA refused to acknowledge that there even was anything wrong with the way that this match was handled (much to the shock of the Association of Boxing Commissions).

There have already been countless articles scorning the coaches, the referee and the cageside physicians who allowed Junior Maranhao to continue fighting. There have also been just as many articles scorning the Wyoming State Board of MMA for encouraging the exact things that athletic commissions are supposed to protect our sport from. But lost in our collective outrage is perhaps the biggest tragedy to come from this incident: that Junior Maranhao is still willfully ignorant to the fact that he was in any danger at all during RFA 14. In fact, Maranhao has gone as far as to defend the very people who failed him that night.

By Seth Falvo

MMA fighters are supposed to be tough. They’re supposed to Face the Pain, Never Back Down, Go Out on Their Shields, and embody every Gatorade commercial cliche you can think of. They’re supposed to believe that they’re indestructible, partly because they’ve been told their entire lives that they’re damn near invincible.

Which is all to say that most of us weren’t surprised when flyweight Junior Maranhao — despite falling off of his stool between the fourth and fifth rounds of his title fight at RFA 14 and needing his coaches to revive him — made the decision to answer the bell for round five. Professional fighters are rarely the best judges of their own mortality, making objective parties such as coaches, referees and cageside physicians all the more necessary to save a fighter from excessive damage; this makes it all the more disturbing when these parties are as reckless as they were at RFA 14, and when the Wyoming State Board of MMA refused to acknowledge that there even was anything wrong with the way that this match was handled (much to the shock of the Association of Boxing Commissions).

There have already been countless articles scorning the coaches, the referee and the cageside physicians who allowed Junior Maranhao to continue fighting. There have also been just as many articles scorning the Wyoming State Board of MMA for encouraging the exact things that athletic commissions are supposed to protect our sport from. But lost in our collective outrage is perhaps the biggest tragedy to come from this incident: that Junior Maranhao is still willfully ignorant to the fact that he was in any danger at all during RFA 14. In fact, Maranhao has gone as far as to defend the very people who failed him that night.

During the aftermath of the fight, Maranhao offered his version of the events to MMAFighting.com. He chalked the entire situation up to fans overreacting to him clumsily missing his stool when he attempted to sit down; never mind that the video clearly shows he was already sitting down when he collapsed. Maranhao then goes on to offer these quotes:

“I think that the doctors made the right call. I think I would have gone crazy if they had stopped the fight.”

…

“I saw that some people are trying to blame the commission, the promoters or even my coaches, so I’m really upset about it,” he continued. “I want to make clear that nothing happened. It’s a mistake (to blame them), and it can hurt us.”

Before we go any further, let me be clear that I wasn’t expecting Maranhao to call for anyone’s license to be revoked. But to outright refuse to acknowledge that anything dangerous took place that night?

With all due respect to Maranhao, of course he would have been upset by a stoppage. That’s the entire point of having a doctor at cageside: to protect the fighter from taking excessive damage just because the fighter wants to keep competing. The fighters are trained to play Superman when they’re hurt, the doctors are trained to know the dangers of Second Impact Syndrome. Maranhao may have dodged a bullet on Friday night, but the reframing necessary to say that the situation was handled correctly is incredibly unsettling.

As for the argument that his coaches don’t deserve ridicule? If Maranhao insists on believing that his coaches would never put him in harm’s way for their own personal gain, perhaps he should look up “That Part of Muhammad Ali’s Career We Never Talk About.” You know which one: the one when Ali suffered lopsided beat-downs at the hands of Larry Holmes and Trevor Berbick — Holmes wound up beating Ali so badly that he actually cried after the fight for Ali – simply because his coaches knew they could still profit off of Ali’s legacy. For what it’s worth, Pat Healy also disagrees with Maranhao on this.

We can — and should — continue to talk about how the failures of leadership on display at RFA 14 could have gotten a fighter killed. But equally important is that the fighters involved at least acknowledge that situations like these are dangerous. We’re all in agreement that the system currently in place in Wyoming is broken, but we can’t actually fix it until the fighters the system is supposed to protect start advocating for themselves.

Michael Bisping vs. Tim Kennedy: Breaking Down the TUF Nations Finale’s Main Event



(Skilled martial artists *and* masters of disguise.)

By Santino DeFranco

Fortunately for us MMA fans, watching The Ultimate Fighter Nations finale — which goes down this coming Wednesday, April 16th, in Quebec City — is a much better way to spend your time than watching the actual TUF Nations TV series. And fortunately for the UFC, it has exactly a 100% chance of receiving better TV ratings too. Continuing with the “Nations” theme, the card is headlined by a Redcoat Brit named Michael Bisping and an American Green Beret, Tim Kennedy. Wait, wasn’t this supposed to be Australia vs. Canada? Close enough, eh.

Although Joe Silva’s geography may not be the greatest, he sure as hell knows how to make an interesting match up with this main event. Not only could this fight have title implications down the road, each of these fine fellows has a few different ways to win the match, making it much more interesting to break down from a technical standpoint. Not to mention, I always enjoy a scrap built upon a foundation of shit-talking, even if it did start as little more than Twitter quips and bizarre short videos of a bad impersonation of The Count by a clothing company.

Either way, there’s animosity — fabricated or real, I don’t really care. I want to see these two men punch each other repeatedly. Maybe we’ll even be lucky enough to see Bisping spit on random people outside of the cage and land multiple illegal blows. That stuff may be against the rules, but it always makes the post-fight-interwebers implode with hyperbolic rage, and that can be just as entertaining as the fights themselves.



(Skilled martial artists *and* masters of disguise.)

By Santino DeFranco

Fortunately for us MMA fans, watching The Ultimate Fighter Nations finale — which goes down this coming Wednesday, April 16th, in Quebec City — is a much better way to spend your time than watching the actual TUF Nations TV series. And fortunately for the UFC, it has exactly a 100% chance of receiving better TV ratings too. Continuing with the “Nations” theme, the card is headlined by a Redcoat Brit named Michael Bisping and an American Green Beret, Tim Kennedy. Wait, wasn’t this supposed to be Australia vs. Canada? Close enough, eh.

Although Joe Silva’s geography may not be the greatest, he sure as hell knows how to make an interesting match up with this main event. Not only could this fight have title implications down the road, each of these fine fellows has a few different ways to win the match, making it much more interesting to break down from a technical standpoint. Not to mention, I always enjoy a scrap built upon a foundation of shit-talking, even if it did start as little more than Twitter quips and bizarre short videos of a bad impersonation of The Count by a clothing company.

Either way, there’s animosity — fabricated or real, I don’t really care. I want to see these two men punch each other repeatedly. Maybe we’ll even be lucky enough to see Bisping spit on random people outside of the cage and land multiple illegal blows. That stuff may be against the rules, but it always makes the post-fight-interwebers implode with hyperbolic rage, and that can be just as entertaining as the fights themselves.

What Kennedy needs to do to ensure victory is first, drop his feeble attempts at trash-talk. Not only is he going up against a formidable opponent in the game of verbal jousting, but also he has most likely killed people. I mean, literally. The man is a U.S. Green Beret. The odds of him having actually killed another living human is as great as Chael Sonnen talking his way into an undeserved title match after a loss. Kennedy, shhh. You needn’t sell your fights with trash-talking, though we all appreciate the effort. What you need to do is follow a carefully scripted game plan by the master planner himself, Greg Jackson.

Kennedy is going to want to keep those karate-style front snapping kicks to a minimum, along with the little foot jabs to the thigh and knee. The reason? He’s going to want to have his footing to catch kicks from Bisping and get inside. If Kennedy stays on the outside and plays the “technique” game with his British foe, he’s going to have a long night. He needs to walk forward in a “V” to force The Count to fight with his back against the cage. Once Bisping has no more space to retreat, Kennedy can really apply the pressure, which is one of his strong points: chain wrestling. He’s not an NCAA all-American, but when he pressures people his cardio usually outlasts theirs and he comes out the victor. (See his twenty-eight takedown attempts that finally resulted in top position over a more experienced MMA wrestler in Robbie Lawler.)

He’s also going to want to brawl the Brit, get in his face, and hope The Count gets sleepy — like Bisping’s done in the past during his snooze-fest against Jason Miller. Another key: throw a lot of overhands and looping hooks. Bisping tends to reach forward with his hands both defensively, anytime a punch is thrown, and offensively — he tends to reach with his right hand as if parrying when he jabs, like an amateur-style boxer — which opens him up for looping punches. Opening combinations with a jab, level change, or feint is one way to get The Count to reach, then follow it with an overhand.

Now, if your goal is to gain vengeance on America for ousting the redcoats 200+ years ago, and your name happens to be Michael Bisping, you are going to want a battle like those the Brits hoped for when engaging in the Revolutionary War: a respectable, gentleman’s war. Stay on the outside, see your enemy, and fire an arsenal at his head while gazing into his eyes. Good night sweet prince. Oh, and keep the trash-talk coming. But relax, Michael; when you get too wired, bad things happen. Remember the H-Bomb? Remember getting dropped by Dennis Kang early in the first round of that fight? No? Those have been erased from your memory? Well, I do. And they happened because you were too amped up.

One of The Count’s greatest strengths is his ability to regulate distance and to only “fight” when he wants to. As his opponents move forward, like a cheetah in the Serengeti, he’s backing off or moving laterally to keep the range he’s comfortable with. That type of fighting doesn’t always equal an exciting affair, but it’s one way to victory for the Brit, especially if he hasn’t been keeping up with his cardio. He needs to keep his jab in front of him to hold Kennedy on the outside. Bisping’s one of the few fighters that successfully utilizes the jab for distance in MMA, as opposed to just using it to set up an overhand. The only issue with that game plan is that it offers Kennedy the opportunity to capitalize on the areas mentioned above.

Now, I may sound a bit crazy here, but if the Geico-lizard-voice-over-stunt-double has the cardio to maintain a grappling affair, he could pressure Kennedy to the cage and put the Green Beret on his back. Bisping’s wrestling is truly underrated — especially his defensive wrestling — and he could quite possibly out-wrestle Kennedy. I’m not sure he will turn this war of pillow-fists and weird Ranger Up promo videos into a grappling extravaganza, but if he does, and can maintain the blood coursing through his veins, as opposed to the usual spotted dick, he could make his fellow Brits proud with a victory over a highly trained killing machine.

Again, I think we’ll see more of the touch-and-go Bisping we’re used to, and I’m not sure that Kennedy will be smothering the Brit like he should, but either way, all of the fans in Montreal for the TUF Nations Finale will be asking themselves, “Why the hell are these two headlining here?”

The Spirit Runs Forever: Farewell to the Ultimate Warrior, Professional Wrestling Superhero

By Seth Falvo

The man born as Jim Hellwig — famous for wrestling as The Ultimate Warrior in the WWE during the late eighties and early nineties — died last night in Arizona. His death comes just three days after being inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, and one day after his final appearance on “Monday Night Raw.”

Professional wrestling is an art over-saturated in hyperbole; it’s an art where every wrestler is “the biggest” and/or “the best,” every event is “the most important,” and the phrase “the most” is uttered so frequently it practically loses meaning. Yet it’s hard to overstate the popularity that The Ultimate Warrior achieved, and the influence that he has had on any wrestling fan who grew up during the late eighties and early nineties. I know it’s lazy to compare professional wrestlers to superheroes, but for millions of kids like myself, The Ultimate Warrior was as close to a real-life superhero as it got. The Ultimate Warrior’s look and in-ring style — from his heavily-muscled physique and facepaint to his energetic entrances and quick, devastating matches — were convincingly brutal, and his intense, chaotic interview style was extremely unique. His WWE feuds against “Ravishing” Rick Rude, Hulk Hogan, The Undertaker, and Jake “The Snake” Roberts were nothing short of legendary.

(Highlights of The Ultimate Warrior’s best promos. Yes, clips from the Hulk Hogan “Crash the Plane” promo are at the very end.)

By Seth Falvo

The man born as Jim Hellwig — famous for wrestling as The Ultimate Warrior in the WWE during the late eighties and early nineties — died last night in Arizona at the age of 54. His death comes just three days after being inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, and one day after his final appearance on “Monday Night Raw.”

Professional wrestling is an art over-saturated in hyperbole; it’s an art where every wrestler is “the biggest” and/or “the best,” every event is “the most important,” and the phrase “the most” is uttered so frequently it practically loses meaning. Yet it’s hard to overstate the popularity that The Ultimate Warrior achieved, and the influence that he has had on any wrestling fan who grew up during the late eighties and early nineties.

I know it’s lazy to compare professional wrestlers to superheroes, but for millions of kids like myself, The Ultimate Warrior was as close to a real-life superhero as it got. The Ultimate Warrior’s look and in-ring style — from his heavily-muscled physique and facepaint to his energetic entrances and quick, devastating matches — were convincingly brutal, and his intense, chaotic interview style was extremely unique. His WWE feuds against “Ravishing” Rick Rude, Hulk Hogan, The Undertaker, and Jake “The Snake” Roberts were nothing short of legendary.


(Highlights of The Ultimate Warrior’s best promos. Yes, clips from the Hulk Hogan “Crash the Plane” promo are at the very end.)

As big of a star as The Ultimate Warrior was, his career could have been even bigger if it weren’t for his shaky, mercurial relationship with WWE owner Vince McMahon. There were his numerous departures from the WWE. There was tension over Jim Hellwig legally changing his name to the mononym “Warrior” and suing for the rights to his character (which he eventually won, by the way). There’s been Warrior’s refusal to work with the WWE on a career retrospective DVD, which lead the WWE to turn the project into The Self Destruction of The Ultimate Warrior; not to spoil it for you, but Warrior’s portrayal is less-than-flattering. And, of course, there were Warrior’s stints in WCW (as well as their cheap Warrior knockoff, The Renegade) and in Nu-Wrestling Evolution — the less said about those, the better.

But time has a way of healing all wounds, and The Ultimate Warrior would make amends with the WWE shortly before his death. Warrior is a playable character in WWE2K14, was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame merely four days ago, and made one final appearance on “Monday Night Raw” the night before his death. In retrospect, the speech he gave on Raw was haunting: The Warrior essentially gave his own eulogy.

“No WWE talent becomes a legend on their own. Every man’s heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe a final breath. And if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them bleed deeper and something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized. By the storytellers, by the loyalty, by the memory of those who honor him and make the running the man did live forever. You, you, you, you, you, you are the legend-makers of Ultimate Warrior. In the back, I see many potential legends. Some of them with warrior spirits. And you will do the same for them. You will decide if they lived with the passion and intensity. So much so that you will tell your stories and you will make them legends, as well. I am Ultimate Warrior. You are the Ultimate Warrior fans. And the spirit of Ultimate Warrior will run forever!”

Warrior is survived by his wife, Dana, and his two daughters. Feel free to share your favorite Ultimate Warrior memories in the comments section.

Clay Guida vs. Tatsuya Kawajiri: Breaking Down UFC Fight Night 39?s Co-Headliner


(Guida’s evolution has been awe-inspiring. Just ten years ago, he was an overweight comedian with no direction in life. / Photo via Getty)

By Santino DeFranco

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing MMA fans that Clay Guida is exciting. He’s known for his energetic entrances, where he bounces up and down like a jackrabbit, lip-syncing to his walkout music, before getting slapped around by his brother prior to entering the cage. Unfortunately, the moment the bell rings that energy doesn’t equate to active, or exciting, fighting, which is a little misleading if you ask me. This Friday, April 11th, Guida takes on Japanese veteran Tatsuya Kawajiri in the UFC’s return to Abu Dhabi at UFC Fight Night 39: Nogueira vs. Nelson, and he’s going to need a lot more than an exciting entrance to escape the cage victorious against his tough foe.

Kawajiri will be making his second UFC appearance and, for some reason, is stuck once again on a Fight Pass card where his name isn’t even on the poster. (Not that he’d want to be associated with this train-wreck.) I’m assuming the promotion is paying him more than their standard entry-level pay, which begs the question, why isn’t the UFC promoting “The Crusher” heavier? Maybe a win against Guida will convince the UFC to finally introduce him to an American audience for his next fight.

To earn the victory, Kawajiri is going to have to keep Guida on the outside, where the American won’t be able to use the cage to slow down the action. The more minutes spent disengaged from any sort of grappling affair — either clinched up against the fence or on the ground — will favor the Japanese fighter. “Crusher” is going to need to circle, and spend some extra energy to fight out of the clinch and away from the cage. But in doing so, he risks overexerting himself and fatiguing those bulbous muscles attached to his small frame, which could be problematic in the later rounds as Kawajiri isn’t particularly known for having iron lungs. Although Guida doesn’t really do much with his famous cardio besides hop around and hug people very tightly, that’s not to say he isn’t capable of pushing the pace if needed — and we rarely see the man sleepy at the end of a fight.


(Guida’s evolution has been awe-inspiring. Just ten years ago, he was an overweight comedian with no direction in life. / Photo via Getty)

By Santino DeFranco

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing MMA fans that Clay Guida is exciting. He’s known for his energetic entrances, where he bounces up and down like a jackrabbit, lip-syncing to his walkout music, before getting slapped around by his brother prior to entering the cage. Unfortunately, the moment the bell rings that energy doesn’t equate to active, or exciting, fighting, which is a little misleading if you ask me. This Friday, April 11th, Guida takes on Japanese veteran Tatsuya Kawajiri in the UFC’s return to Abu Dhabi at UFC Fight Night 39: Nogueira vs. Nelson, and he’s going to need a lot more than an exciting entrance to escape the cage victorious against his tough foe.

Kawajiri will be making his second UFC appearance and, for some reason, is stuck once again on a Fight Pass card where his name isn’t even on the poster. (Not that he’d want to be associated with this train-wreck.) I’m assuming the promotion is paying him more than their standard entry-level pay, which begs the question, why isn’t the UFC promoting “The Crusher” heavier? Maybe a win against Guida will convince the UFC to finally introduce him to an American audience for his next fight.

To earn the victory, Kawajiri is going to have to keep Guida on the outside, where the American won’t be able to use the cage to slow down the action. The more minutes spent disengaged from any sort of grappling affair — either clinched up against the fence or on the ground — will favor the Japanese fighter. “Crusher” is going to need to circle, and spend some extra energy to fight out of the clinch and away from the cage. But in doing so, he risks overexerting himself and fatiguing those bulbous muscles attached to his small frame, which could be problematic in the later rounds as Kawajiri isn’t particularly known for having iron lungs. Although Guida doesn’t really do much with his famous cardio besides hop around and hug people very tightly, that’s not to say he isn’t capable of pushing the pace if needed — and we rarely see the man sleepy at the end of a fight.

If I knew a lick of Japanese, and was in “Crusher’s” corner before the fight and in between rounds I would tell him to use his feints and level changes to get Guida to shoot and try to time his upper-cut to Guida’s large head. Then, with a horrible accent, I would politely explain the next step: Fight hard to stay off the fence and wriggle away from the clinch at all costs. In order to conserve his energy, he should take his time after the grappling exchanges to move away from Guida, dance around the cage, and get oxygen back into his muscles so he can rinse and repeat.

As for Guida, he’s coming off of a loss to Chad Mendes, who is well on his way to another title shot in the near future, pending he doesn’t slip on a banana peel in aisle seven of Ralph’s grocery store. Guida hasn’t looked spectacular in his recent outings, but that could very well be more due to the elite level of competition he’s faced lately rather than his own performances. A loss here could really put him in line for being cut from the UFC roster based on their recent slashing of fighters, and would make him 1-4 in his last five outings. The good news: he has a winnable fight in front of him.

As mentioned earlier, the most exciting thing about a Guida fight is his entrance, but that is certainly due to his fighting style as opposed to his fighting ability. He tries to “win” fights, not finish fights. But, if he wants to see another number on the only column that counts, he better put that gas tank to use and keep the scrambles coming again and again. Guida has an underrated ground game and is great in transitions, where he regularly finds his way in top position when the dust settles, scoring him points. The problem he usually faces there is that he’s not known to take advantage of those top positions and inflict significant damage.

If he intends to beat Kawajiri, he’d better make the Japanese fighter pay whenever he finds himself on top. But taking down Kawajiri is not an easy task. If Guida is hoping to drag the fight to the mat, as I’m assuming will be his game plan — unless he plans on failing at life by trying to mimic his performance against Gray Maynard — he’s going to need to use a lot of level changes and feints to get Kawajiri off balance and guessing. If he can get Kawajiri off balance before initiating a committed takedown and scrambling incessantly after the first attempt is stuffed, he may be able to wear the Japanese fighter down and out-position him.

At the end of the day it’s going to come down to whether Kawajiri can keep enough separation to out strike Guida on the feet, or put the caveman on his back and ground and pound. Or will Guida be able to adequately move his hair in a frantic manner and pressure Kawajiri enough for the judges to be convinced he’s exciting and deserving of the win? Related question: Considering how badly things turned out in Abu Dhabi four years ago, is it wise to book a potential snore-fest for this card’s co-main event?

On This Day in MMA History: Chuck Liddell KOs Tito Ortiz at UFC 47, Ten Years Ago Today

By Ben Goldstein

I have a couple theories on how superstardom is created in combat sports:

1) Every great fighter needs a great rival to stand in opposition to — an equally skilled counterpart who can push him competitively and generate personal animosity.

2) You either have to be an entertaining talker, or the guy who beats the living shit out of the entertaining talker. (The WMMA corollary is: You either have to be a beautiful woman, or the girl who beats the living shit out of the beautiful woman.)

Both of these theories can help explain why Chuck Liddell was — and continues to be — a cultural phenomenon, and arguably the most famous MMA fighter of all time. They also help explain why some of today’s UFC champions struggle to find the same kind of relevance.

Ten years ago today, Chuck Liddell cemented his stardom by knocking out Tito Ortiz at UFC 47: It’s On!, which took place April 2nd, 2004, at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in Las Vegas. Even though it was a non-title fight, Liddell vs. Ortiz 1 was the most compelling, highly-anticipated bout in UFC history to that point — a once-in-a-blue-moon meeting of two rivals who were both incredibly talented, and opposites in every measurable way. It had a storyline as dramatic and exaggerated as any pro-wrestling feud, and yet, somehow, it was real.

Chuck Liddell was the hero, of course. Humble and laconic, Chuck talked with his fists. The only time he showed emotion was after he knocked a guy out, after which he would gallop around the cage, then lean back with his fists at his sides, screaming at the air, the usual deadness in his eyes replaced by unrestrained insanity. He had a cool nickname and a cooler mohawk. He was a white guy, and yes, that does matter. His name was “Chuck,” for God’s sake.

By Ben Goldstein

I have a couple theories on how superstardom is created in combat sports:

1) Every great fighter needs a great rival to stand in opposition to — an equally skilled counterpart who can push him competitively and generate personal animosity.

2) You either have to be an entertaining talker, or the guy who beats the living shit out of the entertaining talker. (The WMMA corollary is: You either have to be a beautiful woman, or the girl who beats the living shit out of the beautiful woman.)

Both of these theories can help explain why Chuck Liddell was — and continues to be — a cultural phenomenon, and arguably the most famous MMA fighter of all time. They also help explain why some of today’s UFC champions struggle to find the same kind of relevance.

Ten years ago today, Chuck Liddell cemented his stardom by knocking out Tito Ortiz at UFC 47: It’s On!, which took place April 2nd, 2004, at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in Las Vegas. Even though it was a non-title fight, Liddell vs. Ortiz 1 was the most compelling, highly-anticipated bout in UFC history to that point — a once-in-a-blue-moon meeting of two rivals who were both incredibly talented, and opposites in every measurable way. It had a storyline as dramatic and exaggerated as any pro-wrestling feud, and yet, somehow, it was real.

Chuck Liddell was the hero, of course. Humble and laconic, Chuck talked with his fists. The only time he showed emotion was after he knocked a guy out, after which he would gallop around the cage, then lean back with his fists at his sides, screaming at the air, the usual deadness in his eyes replaced by unrestrained insanity. He had a cool nickname and a cooler mohawk. He was a white guy, and yes, that does matter. His name was “Chuck,” for God’s sake.

Naturally, Tito Ortiz was the villain. Tito loved to talk, even though he was never really that good at it. But he also understood that mental warfare was just as important as the battle that happened inside the cage. He was a ground-and-pound artist — not a standup fighter — who enjoyed discussing what he was going to do to you, how he was going to hurt you. His hair was closely cropped and dyed blonde. He was born Jacob Christopher Ortiz, but performed under the name “Tito” in an apparent attempt to gain Hispanic fans and piss off everybody else. It worked.

The fact that Ortiz never fought Liddell during Ortiz’s light-heavyweight title run — which Randy Couture had recently ended at UFC 44 — led many UFC fans to suggest that Ortiz was “ducking” Liddell. (Ortiz had his own explanations for why the matchup was delayed.) At any rate, that bit of backstory only helped the narrative: Ortiz was a coward at heart, and Liddell was finally going to prove it.

At the time, Liddell was coming off a disappointing run in the PRIDE 2003 Middleweight Grand Prix, where he was TKO’d by Quinton Jackson in the semi-finals. Essentially, it was a publicity stunt that backfired. Instead of proving the superiority of UFC fighters over PRIDE fighters, Liddell couldn’t even beat the guy who came in second place to Wanderlei Silva. So in addition to his rivalry with Ortiz, there was a personal redemption angle in place at UFC 47 as well. And so, Liddell vs. Ortiz had every single element required to be a legendary fight. Here’s how it played out…

Ortiz looked tense from the beginning. He tried to box with Liddell, and ate counter punches for his efforts. Chuck’s power was making Tito nervous. Ortiz made two ineffectual takedown attempts in round one, both of which were easily defended by the Iceman, the best sprawl-and-brawler in the sport. As the round ended, Chuck landed a barrage of punches and a head kick, and all Ortiz could do in response was shove Big John McCarthy like the heel he was, and shout at Chuck that he wasn’t hurt.

Ortiz opened up round two with a sharp leg kick. It was the last significant strike he’d land. The two fighters clashed in a striking exchange shortly after, and Tito came away rubbing his right eye like he’d been poked. But McCarthy didn’t see it, and Liddell didn’t care. What follows is one of the most brutal finishing sequences in UFC history — a homicidal assault of punches from Liddell that made Ortiz crumple, as anybody would. It was over.

That night kicked off the most successful period of Liddell’s UFC career. It was the first in a string of seven consecutive KO/TKO victories from 2004-2006, which included a title fight win over Randy Couture the following year at UFC 52, a redemptive TKO of Jeremy Horn — the man who was responsible for Liddell’s first loss, back in March 1999 — then another KO of Couture, a second TKO of Renato Sobral just for fun, and another knockout of Ortiz at UFC 66 in December 2006.

I’ll close with this fun fact: Liddell vs. Ortiz 1 was just the second UFC PPV to earn 100,000 buys. Liddell vs. Ortiz 2 was the first UFC PPV to break one million buys. In other words, their second fight was literally ten times more successful than the first. It redefined the metrics of success in mixed martial arts, and you can thank Chuck Liddell for that. But if you do, don’t forget to thank Tito Ortiz as well, because without a bad guy, it’s just not a very good story, is it?

Full UFC 47 results are below…

MAIN CARD
Chuck Liddell def. Tito Ortiz via KO, 0:38 of round 22
Chris Lytle def. Tiki Ghosn via submission (bulldog choke), 1:55 of round 2
Yves Edwards def. Hermes Franca via split decision
Andrei Arlovski def. Wesley Correira via TKO, 1:15 of round 2
Nick Diaz def. Robbie Lawler via KO, 2:31 of round 2
Mike Kyle def. Wes Sims via KO, 4:59 of round 1

PRELIMINARY CARD
Jonathan Wiezorek def. Wade Shipp via TKO, 4:39 of round 1
Genki Sudo def. Mike Brown via submission (armbar), 3:31 of round 1

Random Notes:
– Ten years later, a Nick Diaz vs Robbie Lawler rematch could still headline a mid-level UFC event. Crazy.
– Tim Sylvia and Andrei Arlovski were supposed to fight for the first time on this card, but Sylvia was pulled off due to his NSAC suspension for a positive steroid test. Arlovski remained on the card against Cabbage Correira, who was originally slated to fight Mike Kyle. Wes Sims came in as a replacement opponent for Mike Kyle on a day’s notice.

Why “Going Out on Your Shield” Is the Most Toxic Part of MMA Culture


(Photo via WSOF)

By Matt Saccaro

Rousimar Palhares and Yushin Okami were the stars at last night’s World Series of Fighting 9. Both fighters crushed their respective cans, and got write-ups on MMA sites across the web because their “UFC veteran” status makes them more page view friendly.

While fans and pundits are lost in circular debates about Palhares’ leg lock ethics, the sport is missing out on something more serious that happened at WSOF 9: Marlon Moraes vs. Josh Rettinghouse.

This fight was a horrifically one-sided mismatch. Rettinghouse couldn’t compete with Moraes in any area of MMA. As the bout dragged on, Moraes’ leg kicks started to take their toll. Rettinghouse was reduced to hobbling and then Nick Serra-level buttscooting. Rettinghouse had little to no chance of victory by the time the “championship rounds” started. The media knew it. The referee knew it. Rettinghouse’s corner likely knew it as well. The fight went the full five rounds, but it was over long before the judges submitted scorecards. It shouldn’t have made it that far. It should’ve been stopped.

Unfortunately for Rettinghouse’s legs, such behavior is an anathema to MMA culture. MMA, the ultimate dude-bro sport, values a glamorized Spartan ethos that never considers the results of its “come back with your shield—or on it,” mantra. Fans, fighters, coaches, and everyone in between agree almost unanimously that getting knocked out is better than quitting on your stool between rounds, and that (s)napping is better than tapping. It’s better to let a fighter “go out on their shield” than stop a fight too early, robbing the winner of undisputed victory and the loser of honor in defeat.


(Photo via WSOF)

By Matt Saccaro

Rousimar Palhares and Yushin Okami were the stars at last night’s World Series of Fighting 9. Both fighters crushed their respective cans, and got write-ups on MMA sites across the web because their “UFC veteran” status makes them more page view friendly.

While fans and pundits are lost in circular debates about Palhares’ leg lock ethics, the sport is missing out on something more serious that happened at WSOF 9: Marlon Moraes vs. Josh Rettinghouse.

This fight was a horrifically one-sided mismatch. Rettinghouse couldn’t compete with Moraes in any area of MMA. As the bout dragged on, Moraes’ leg kicks started to take their toll. Rettinghouse was reduced to hobbling and then Nick Serra-level buttscooting. Rettinghouse had little to no chance of victory by the time the “championship rounds” started. The media knew it. The referee knew it. Rettinghouse’s corner likely knew it as well. Nevertheless, the fight went the full five rounds. It shouldn’t have made it that far. It should’ve been stopped.

Unfortunately for Rettinghouse’s legs, such behavior is an anathema to MMA culture. MMA, the ultimate dude-bro sport, values a glamorized Spartan ethos that never considers the consequences of its “come back with your shield—or on it,” mantra. Fans, fighters, coaches, and everyone in between agree almost unanimously that getting knocked out is better than quitting on your stool between rounds, and that (s)napping is better than tapping. It’s better to let a fighter “go out on their shield” than stop a fight too early, robbing the winner of undisputed victory and the loser of honor in defeat. Josh Barnett once admitted that he’d rather die than let a fight end prematurely.

One could argue that such behavior is admirable, necessary, and worthwhile on the sport’s grandest stages. At the highest level of any physically taxing sport, sacrifices must be made.  However, this attitude trickles down to the lower-levels, which is exceedingly dangerous for younger and less experienced fighters.

During the Moraes-Rettinghouse match, Bloody Elbow staff writer Zane Simon joked that there was “nothing like potentially destroying your career for a regional MMA title.” He was right, and CagePotato’s own George Shunick echoed this sentiment. The fight was no such thing; it was a beat down that the referee or Rettinghouse’s own corner should have ended. Rettinghouse gained nothing by continuing, and risked everything. We like to tout MMA’s safety, conveniently forgetting this sport can be lethal. Fortunately, Rettinghouse wasn’t in severe danger as it was only his legs that were being tenderized. But seeing a fighter continue despite being concussed (“rocked”) multiple times is common. We praise these fighters as modern-day warriors and worship their toughness. We deride those who realize fleeting glory isn’t worth forgetting your child’s name a few decades from now as cowards who don’t belong in the cage. We beg corners, referees, and doctors not to stop fights.  Let them go out on their shield.

There is no honor in being knocked senseless or in not tapping. Bold displays of bravado demonstrate the innate foolishness of MMA’s culture, not mental and physical fortitude; we believe it’s better to prove toughness and risk permanent injury rather than concede defeat and convey weakness. Renzo Gracie ascended into legend when he let Kazushi Sakuraba snap his arm, but Chris Leben received no such praise for electing to avoid further head trauma and physical abuse against Uriah Hall at UFC 168.

MMA needs more behavior like Leben’s. The sport needs to dispel its culture of prizing punishment above precaution. Fighters have more courage than sense, and if we’re going to discourage cornermen, officials, and doctors from doing their jobs, we might as well take MMA back into the 1990′s.