Quote of the Week

"Precision beats power, and timing beats speed."
-Conor McGregor, UFC Featherweight Champion

My MMA Year-end Awards for 2015

FIGHTER OF THE YEAR: Conor McGregor. This one's the no-brainer of the list, as well as the most click-baity, so might as well lead with it. Cee McGee started the year with the cool-handed beat-down of Dennis Siver in January, battered Chad Mendes into submission after weathering some strong ground and pound, and then with one punch starched the Pound-for-Pound king, Jose Aldo, in 13 seconds. "Precision beats power, and timing beats speed," he told Joe Rogan afterward. Indeed, Mr. McGregor. Indeed.

BEST FIGHT: Cormier vs. Gustafsson. Most out there are handing this one to Lawler/MacDonald 2, but for my money, the UFC 192 main event was every bit as exciting, and without quite so much cringe-inducing gore as the UFC 189 co-main. Watching Cormier and Gustafsson wasn't just great for being a gutsy, back and forth war, either; it also reminded fight fans that a Light Heavyweight division sans Jon Jones can still be exciting, nay, enthralling. How enthralling, you ask? Well here was my real-time reaction to the thing (read, bottom to top, left to right):

Runners up: Lawler vs. MacDonald 2, Browne vs. Arlovski

BEST PERFORMANCE: Holly Holm (vs. Ronda Rousey). Both the runners up (below) made strong arguments, but neither was quite so awe-inspiring as Holly's ring-craft clinic against Rousey, so "The Preacher's Daughter" gets the nod. The MMA media have recapped this victory ad nauseam over the last month +, so I'll only add that this was a fight that reminded both casual and die-hard fans alike of two things: first, that this sport is still mixed martial arts, and no single discipline, even one as dominant as Ronda's Rousey-brand Judo, is so good that it trumps all the rest... and second, that no one is unbeatable, even in their prime, even at the height of their dominance. Styles make fights, folks, and Holly's proved the perfect foil for what Rousey brought to the cage that night. 

Runners up: T.J. Dillashaw (vs. Renan Barao), Conor McGregor (vs. Jose Aldo)

THE "GOING OUT ON HIS SHIELD" AWARD: Dan Henderson. Have you ever seen anyone MORE in denial about the diminished state of his own chin? Belfort, Cormier, Mousasi, Belfort again. Jack Slack of Fightland already said it better, but I liked how he said it so I'll reiterate--Tim Boetsch (and Shogun Rua, who was winning handily against Henderson until he ran into a blind counter hook) did Henderson a horrible disservice by fooling him into thinking he could still hang with the youngin's, and if Henderson doesn't get out soon, he won't even be able to remember his former glories, let alone regain them.

Runners up: Shogun Rua, Junior dos Santos (a late but surging entrant. Post-Cain, the poor guy is just never going to be the same, as a similarly declining Overeem highlighted recently)

UP-AND-COMER AWARD: Rose Namajunas. The Flyweight tournament was officially the last season of TUF I cared to tune in for, but I don't think I'm out of line in saying Namajunas was the runaway darling of the season. An underwhelming performance in the Finale, culminating in a submission loss to Carla Esparza took some of the sheen off, but after redefining "dominance" with wins over both Angela Hill and Paige VanZant, as well as a slick new 'do, Namajunas 2.0 seems poised to be the UFC's female breakout star of 2016.

And last but not least...

BEST VICTORY CELEBRATION: Andrei Arlovski. I briefly considered Sage Northcutt's gravity defying front flips, but those are quickly becoming a dime a dozen, and when it came right down to it, I just couldn't say no to this little number.

"The Pitbull Shimmy," I think it's called.

The Life of a Closet MMA Enthusiast

"What's MMA? You mean UFC?"

I recently got asked another, less benign version of this during a job interview--"So what's the deal with this UFC business?"--and besides reminding me that Twitter is now a Mecca for background checks, the interviewer's bemused expression reminded me of another sober reality. The life of the closeted mixed martial arts enthusiast is a lonely one.

For over five years now my favorite sport has been professional Mixed Martial Arts, or MMA, but this would be news to most of my friends and relations. It's not that I'm ashamed; I'll divulge my enthusiasm to anyone who cares enough to ask, but more often than not I recognize the looks of judgment and dismissal before I can even get going, their interest waning as mine piques. So I keep it to myself; I've learned the hard way that sometimes it's just easier to lie about the things you love, rather than be persecuted for them.

Persecuted, you say? Dramatic, yes. Inaccurate? Probably not. The MMA-ignorant typically fall into two distinct camps, each with its own excuses to dismiss, to reject. The first camp is made up of people who cannot get past what seems to them to be gory, inarticulate violence.  They can't see the beauty and craftsmanship present in all the various techniques and disciplines, practiced and perfected with the same level of dedication a basketball player puts into his jump-shot or a quarterback puts into his throwing motion, because they're too busy flinching away from black eyes and cut lips. They look at the MMA enthusiast as brutish and base, a sadist who derives pleasure from the pain of others. That a thoughtful, intelligent person could be interested in such a thing doesn't compute.

The second camp looks on MMA as one big game of grab-ass; mixed martial arts as the subtle expression of one's latent homo-erotic fantasies through the domination and subjugation of another scantily-clad alpha male. Boxing's flamboyant, soft-headed little brother. MMA makes them uncomfortable--"It's just two dudes rolling around and lying on top of one another... that's so gay!" They're unwilling to recognize mixed martial arts as a legitimate competition because it's too culturally deviant. They prefer sports where the bodies of athletes are covered by pads and jerseys, not exposed. So much muscle on display, in 1080-P no less, inevitably reminds them of their smoking habit and penchant for frozen Snickers ice cream bars, and we can't have that.

Both these viewpoints are lazy and dismissive, but what's a guy to do? The stigma's always going to be there, and I've accepted that. I maintain no dillusions about MMA one day becoming as popular as football or basketball; mixed martial arts is not for everyone. Despite the fact that nine tenths of the sporting world thinks of bald, meat-head simpletons in Tapout tees when they think of MMA fans, mixed martial arts is actually both the ultimate thinking-man's competition, and the purest form of sport known to man.

Anyone can understand the simple, visceral thrill of a knockout; it's dramatic, it's decisive, it's meaningful. It's physical competition stripped of all its abstractions. No this means that; catching a ball means one thing in football and another in baseball, and until those particular sets of rules are explained and understood, no meaning can exist in the act. Beating someone in a fight has never needed explanation; the meaning is the same, no matter what language you speak or what culture you come from. It's something that's felt, instinctively. It is, as they say, as real as it gets.

But just because something makes sense without explication doesn't mean it's crude or unsophisticated. There are dozens of different strikes to master, hundreds of positions and stances to recognize, scores of submissions to set up and guard against. No part of the body is safe; every part of the body can be used. An MMA competition is nothing less than two competitors using any and every physical tool at their disposal, including their mind, to best their opponent.

My opinion of the sport is pretty high, as you might be able to tell. But are my arguments going to make any converts? Probably not. I've accepted that too. Like any hipster worth his weight in flannel, I've learned to revel in the scorn. Mixed Martial Arts is my best kept secret, and I'm fine with it staying that way.

Conor McGregor and the Left Hand of Greatness

http://i.imgur.com/V6J5Wdg.jpg

Destiny.

It's a silly word, and not often spoken about seriously, like magic and miracles. Self-belief is one thing, but to actually subscribe to the notion that your greatness is preordained? That's asking a lot from most people. Let the scoffing commence.

So why, then, do I buy in when Conor McGregor talks about it? Oh yeah--because so far he's been nothing but right.