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This card is large, bizarre, and maybe the worst case of the UFC just shoving people into title contention as hard as possible since Jorge Masvidal got two consecutive world championship matches for beating up Nate Diaz, and everyone's also sort of okay with it because one of them presents a genuinely interesting matchup and the other features a champion almost everyone wants to see lose horribly. And we all need a blood sacrifice to distract us from the complex, nuanced grief-relief of watching Frankie Edgar finally hang up the gloves. Get a hankie and some nachos, because nothing matters and we're going to enjoy it.
MAIN EVENT: KICKPUNCHING ACROSS TIME AND SPACE
MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP: Israel Adesanya (23-1, Champion) vs Alex Pereira (6-1, #4)
After a quarter-century of following this sport this, at least in the UFC, is a first for me: A championship match that has nothing to do with mixed martial arts.
And it fucks up the way I like to talk about these things. There's a formula to the way I write--trace the paths these fighters made through this hard, silly pseudo-sport, compare the melodrama of their stories, make a horribly inaccurate prediction as to who'll win--but I can't do that this time, because it really isn't mixed martial arts that brought us here. It's kickboxing. The second Israel Adesanya struck it big in the UFC videos started blowing up on youtube named THE MAN WHO KNOCKED OUT ADESANYA showcasing the 2017 left-hook knockout that ended Izzy's kickboxing career, inexplicably set to the worst of forgotten 21st century mid-rock like Skillet's "Hero" or "All Around Me" by Flyleaf. That's it. That's the reason Alex Pereira is getting a shot at this championship: He beat him (twice, but only one was a cool knockout so everyone forgets about the first time) in a different sport more than half a decade ago and people still remember Flyleaf.
It annoyed me deeply when, in 2021, Michael Chandler jumped straight to a shot at the lightweight title on the virtue of one single UFC win over Dan Hooker, but at least--at the very least, but still--you could point to Hooker having just gone toe to toe with the division's #2 fighter in Dustin Poirier, which makes dusting him an impressive feat. I wrinkled my nose a little at Jiří Procházka getting a crack at light-heavyweight gold after just two fights, but those were violent, decisive knockouts over two former title contenders. I'm GOING to complain about Zhang Weili getting a shot at the belt after just one win fairly shortly, but Zhang Weili was the champion, and her only losses came against Rose Namajunas, fellow champion.
Alex Pereira isn't in any of those situations. Alex Pereira doesn't have any of those excuses. Alex Pereira got the most favorable path to the top of the division since Conor McGregor pulled the anatomical study skeleton that used to be Donald Cerrone out of a broom closet and knocked it out with his shoulder.
Middleweight has always been Schrödinger's division. Light-heavyweight has almost always been kind of lousy, welterweight has almost always been kind of good: Middleweight, befitting the name, has stood as a divided bastion between them, a division as full of exceptional talent as it is hilarious bullshit, and which you got depended entirely on matchmaking and providence. When Rich Franklin was putting the weight class on the map you had your David Loiseaus and Evan Tanners out there, but you also had sacrificial lambs like Nate Quarry and Matt Lindland and his refusal to ever take a shower. Anderson Silva was the best champion middleweight ever had, but he also fought Patrick Côté and a steroid-powered golem made to look like a courtroom artist's depiction of Vitor Belfort.
Middleweight in 2022, shockingly, is a pretty solid division. Israel Adesanya is a dominant, multifaceted champion, Robert Whittaker is better than everyone in the world except him, Jared Cannonier is a killing engine, Marvin Vettori is an inexhaustible momentum machine, Derek Brunson is a very dangerous wrestler, Paulo Costa is a good punching robot as long as he makes weight. Even the bottom half of the top fifteen has prolific arm murderer Andre Muniz and a few interesting prospects in Nassourdine Imavov, Dricus Du Plessis and Chris Curtis. There are a dozen routes up the ladder and all of them present interesting challenges.
Alex "Poatan" Pereira did not take any of them. He took the hidden thirteenth route, where you fight Andreas Michailidis, who is no longer with the company, Bruno Silva, last seen getting trucked by Gerald Meerschaert, and professional idiocy emitter Sean Strickland, who'd just barely squeaked by Jack Hermansson and was enough of a strategist to fight Alex Pereira, championship kickboxer, by standing in front of him with his hands at his hips as though his brain itself was silently begging from behind his vacant, glassy eyes to be set free from the torment of being stuck in Sean Strickland's body.
And that's all it took. Three wins, only one of them with a vaunted number next to it, and Alex Pereira is the #1 contender to the biggest belt in the company. Is it a silly match? Definitely. Is it an undeserved match? Oh, lord, yes.
But is it a bad match?
No. Which is as irritating as it is exciting.
Israel Adesanya has run roughshod over the middleweight division for almost five years, at this point. His only failing grade in the UFC was his too-much too-soon decision loss to 205-pound champion Jan Błachowicz; at the weight class he calls home, he's 12-0. He's started to run into fan backlash thanks to victorious but seemingly lackluster performances in his last two fights, but not only is that opinion tainted by the memory of the Adesanya who immolated people like the aforementioned Brunson and Whittaker, his performances are just as predicated on other fighters responding to those past immolations.
Izzy's MMA style has always been built primarily around counterfighting. He pecks, he prods, he stings, and when opponents overcommit trying to attack the taller, faster, cleaner striker, he makes them pay. During his run-up, this was much harder to compensate for and train against. But years and years of reputation and tape alike have been made since then, and as a consequence, even powerful, aggressive strikers like Whittaker and Cannonier begin to look for and avoid the traps and engage Adesanya on level terms--which means less output. And with less to counter, Adesanya, too, throws and lands less. And suddenly you're judging a middleweight championship fight based on calf kicks and jabs, because the challenger is too concerned to come forward and the champion is content to score until they do.
Everyone who fights Adesanya is looking to defuse him. Robert Whittaker wanted to use his wrestling to stifle his counters and his movement, Jared Cannonier wanted to force him into the pocket and land up close, Marvin Vettori wanted to defeat him with psychic warfare and wearing his shorts backwards.
Alex Pereira is the exception. He doesn't need to defuse Israel Adesanya. He's not afraid of Israel Adesanya. Not only does he not want to utilize secondary fighting skills to defeat Israel Adesanya, he can't: He doesn't have any. Alex Pereira faced Israel Adesanya in the sport that represents the centerpiece of both of their skillsets and defeated him twice. Across three separate combat sports, he is the one and only person on the planet to ever stop him, and he did it by knocking him senseless. He's just as tall, he's got just as much range, and he hits even harder.
And that's what, against all odds and against all reason, makes this a good match. Unlike every other fight Israel has or could have in the UFC, Alex Pereira forces Izzy, despite his status as the reigning, defending champion, to be the one fighting against expectation. How does the champion adjust to someone he doesn't clearly outclass as a striker? How does he change his gameplan to keep Pereira from taking his head off? Is this the fight where MMA's greatest kickboxer attempts his first takedown since mid-2018?
Here's the thing: I don't think he will. Alex Pereira knocked him out, but just minutes before Adesanya was beating seven shades of hell out of him against the ropes and could easily have gotten a stoppage had the referee not intervened and forced a standing 8-count. Izzy knows to be afraid of Pereira's power, but he knows he can hurt him too. And he's going to fucking try.
And an Israel Adesanya with something to prove for the first time in years is a deeply dangerous thing for the both of them.
Israel Adesanya by TKO. Izzy's picked up a bunch of new tricks since last they met and Pereira has yet to have to fight a true, full mixed martial arts fight in the UFC. Either Pereira's taking Izzy out fast, or Izzy's winning in the championship rounds.
CO-MAIN EVENT: THE MOMENT WILE E. COYOTE REALIZES THERE'S NO GROUND
WOMEN'S STRAWWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP: Carla Esparza (19-6, Champion) vs Zhang Weili (22-3)
aaaaahhhhhahaahahahahahaahahahahahaahahahahahaWeili Zhang by TKOahahahahaha.
Okay, okay. It's fine. Let's talk about it.
Carla Esparza getting a title shot was something of a fanbase war. She was the very first Women's Strawweight Champion the UFC had, but most fans simply pretended she didn't really exist half because of her grinding wrestling style and half because in her first prospective defense she was legendarily crushed into powder by Joanna Jędrzejczyk, going 1 for 17 on takedown attempts in two rounds and getting outstruck 55-6 en route to a second-round stoppage. At just 92 days, it was and still is the shortest UFC title reign of all time (not counting Jon Jones getting reigns erased for taking steroids or Georges St-Pierre's colon collapsing) and it cemented Esparza's reputation as the forgotten, apocryphal champion. In the UFC's canon, strawweight began with Joanna Jędrzejczyk, who sprang forth from Dana White's angry red forehead.
Which is profoundly unfair to Carla Esparza. "Cookie Monster" was a tough fucking competitor who ran into one of the greatest fighters of all time. With Joanna's career now complete, the only losses she ever incurred were to three of the best champions in the history of women's MMA in Weili Zhang, Valentina Shevchenko and Rose Namajunas--and she very nearly beat the former and latter. There's no shame in losing to the best. And Carla would have been fine were it not for the two years of her career that followed in which she got repeatedly bounced from contendership, dropped a split decision to the nearly-palindromic 11-11-1 journeywoman Randa Markos, and got elbowed into paste by the mythical, long-lost Tatiana Suarez. Losing your title is normal; going 3-3 immediately thereafter is career-killing.
But Carla Esparza, much to the UFC's chagrin, refused to be killed. They threw prospect after prospect at her, from the undefeated Virna Jandiroba to the consistently-pushed Alexa Grasso to the marketing favorite Michelle Waterson-Gomez to the heir apparent in Marina Rodriguez, and Esparza, through grappling, grit and grief-inducing judging, turned them all away. When the UFC matched her up with Yan Xiaonan, they thought they had finally solved the problem: Yan was bigger, stronger, tougher and a powerful wrestler in her own right, representing a hard counter to everything Carla had going for her. The wrestler would be derailed, the UFC could eye a China vs China championship match, and everything would be fine.
And then Carla beat the shit out of Yan. She ragdolled her, dominated her, and won a TKO victory in just eight minutes after outstriking her 170-31. It was a statement victory to the UFC: I am the top contender and you will treat me accordingly. She made clear at the press conference that after this fifth consecutive win over a clear title contender, she wasn't taking any more fights unless they were for the belt. And as we all know, there's nothing Dana White loves more than fighters attempting to act like they're worth something. Months of cold war ensued, with Dana repeatedly answering press questions about her title aspirations by shitting on her intention to stay inactive and promising other options that would be shortly revealed. But those options never came, and the UFC caved, and on May 7, 2022, Rose Namajunas vs Carla Esparza 2--a rematch of the fight that inaugurated the championship seven and a half years prior--finally came.
It was fucking terrible.
Every one of Dana's nightmares manifested at once. Esparza and Namajunas, in a form of performance art humankind was not and may never be prepared to appreciate, put on the combat sports equivalent of Waiting for Godot. Over five rounds the two scored 30 and 38 strikes respectively--an average of one strike per minute for each competitor. There were no submission attempts, there was almost no successful wrestling, by the end of the fight only 32 seconds of ground control time had been counted. Between rounds Pat Barry, Rose's cornerman and husband, would reassure her that the plan was working and the crowd's constant boos meant she was doing it right. I direct a great deal of anger at judges, but that night they had the truly impossible task of painting a decision onto the blank space of total neutrality.
After minutes of deliberation, white smoke billowed and Carla Esparza was the new champion. She'd reclaimed her throne and was, once again, the best in the world. And she immediately opened as a massive underdog to every one of her potential challengers, including one Zhang Weili.
On paper, it isn't difficult to understand. Zhang Weili hasn't lost much. She's faltered three times in her career: Her very first MMA fight, and then her second title defense against Rose Namajunas 22 fights and almost a decade later, and then once again in her subsequent rematch, which was an extremely close split decision that could easily have gone either way. There are only two fights worth of bad tape on her in the UFC, and one of them was very nearly a victory. Everything else is not only victorious, it's most often devastatingly victorious.
When she fought the ridiculously tough and almost-never-stopped Jessica Aguilar, Weili took her down, broke her face open and armbarred her in three minutes. When Rose Namajunas lost her first title reign to the juggernaut that was Jéssica Andrade powerbombing her unconscious, Weili bulldozed her with punches, knees and elbows, knocking her out in forty seconds. Zhang and Joanna Jędrzejczyk engaged in one of the best fights in MMA history in 2020, battering each other senseless for twenty-five minutes and ultimately leaving Zhang victorious; when they met for a much-anticipated rematch in 2022, Weili destroyed her, hurting her repeatedly and ultimately knocking her out with a spinning backfist in two rounds.
So here, we have an oddity. Lots of people have tried to portray Esparza's rise to the top as a sort of black swan event, insisting that she was steadily getting massively better and no one noticed. I don't think this is entirely without merit, but I also think it's overstated. You can see her standup and her cardio improving over her rise back through the ranks as opposed to earlier fights where she looked entirely lost on her feet and winded after two rounds, but despite said improvement she was still outstruck or statistically even with four of her six victories. Her wrestling is still solid and dangerous, but not enough to have threatened most of her opponents; she attempted only one submission in her entire run to the title and Yan Xiaonan was the only person she managed to really damage with ground and pound.
And she won her title in one of the single most baffling title defenses of all time, against a champion who refused to engage and lost through sheer inactivity.
And then she used her fame as UFC champion to go on Fox News and talk to Tulsi Gabbard about misgendering trans people and how they shouldn't get to compete in sports.
Sometimes MMA gives you a series of miracles where a Charles Oliveira or a Robbie Lawler turns out to have gotten better than anyone thought they could be. There are a lot of smart people who want this to be one of those situations. It's not. Carla rose to the top on a moderate improvement in skills and a massive amount of good fortune, and now she has to defend her moment in the sun against someone she can't manhandle in the wrestling or bully on the feet.
Zhang's gonna win. It's not gonna take very long. Enjoy it while it lasts.
MAIN CARD: POLITELY CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU'VE LOST MORE THAN FOUR
LIGHTWEIGHT: Dustin Poirier (28-7 (1), #2) vs Michael Chandler (23-7, #5)
It's time for violence, my friends.
I have opinions about Michael Chandler's time in the UFC and how consistently they've attempted to force him into the title picture, and I have opinions about Dustin Poirier's matchmaking and how insane it was for the UFC to use him at the apex of his power to reinvigorate the Conor McGregor money machine, but Chandler got dusted when it counted and Poirier got his shot at the championship in the end, so it worked out. Similarly: This matchup, however goofy, is going to work out very, very nicely.
Dustin Poirier rules. He's a smart fighter with some of the best combinations in the sport and the power to make any one of them dangerous, and even in his losing efforts at lightweight he's been a threat, almost choking out Khabib Nurmagomedov and dropping Charles Oliveira twice. He's been one of the best lightweights in the world for years and remains possibly its scariest knockout artist. He's also overaggressive, has a tendency to get touched up by longer punchers and gets abused in the clinch when he doesn't have a strength advantage. But he's one of the best in the sport at finishing people once he stings them, and with the way he flows into combinations, he stings almost everyone he fights.
Michael Chandler is Dana White's wet dream: An impossibly muscular lightweight with fantastic wrestling credentials who chooses to almost never use them in favor of swinging for the fences and is so much a company man that the term "Dana White Privilege" was coined for the equivalent exchange of his complete and utter public obeisance to the president and the UFC's subsequent matchmaking for him. Michael Chandler entered the UFC, beat a fringe top ten fighter coming off a loss, and powerwalked right into a title shot. Upon losing two fights in a row he beat the dessicated skeleton that used to be Tony Ferguson and now he's fighting the #2 guy in the division. The push isn't subtle.
All of that being said: He is, in fairness, a bad motherfucker. Chandler is insanely fast and powerful, with some of the quickest strike-to-face explosions in the division. His right cross is severely underrated and his headkick knockout over Ferguson shows a growing comfort with the rest of his striking game he hasn't previously exhibited. He's also chinny and tends to get wobbled in almost every fight he has, and is saved by his exceptional recovery. But his explosive style also visibly saps his energy and leaves him winded in later rounds.
I am biased against Michael Chandler. I fully face and admit this. I refuse to learn my lesson. He's absolutely capable of putting Dustin to sleep with a single punch, but he has to lead with his head to do it, and that's what gets him cracked across the jaw every time he fights. He nearly got knocked out twice by a half-conscious Tony Ferguson; if he gives Poirier the same chance, he's going to sleep. And I'm choosing to believe he will. Dustin Poirier by TKO.
BANTAMWEIGHT: Frankie Edgar (24-10-1, #12) vs Chris Gutiérrez (18-4-2, NR)
My first mixed martial arts event was UFC 6. It was an incredibly violent show with a cast of larger-than-life wrecking machines: The terrifying brawler Tank Abbott, who basically murdered a man and mocked his unconscious body, the wild-eyed karate master Pat Smith, the 6'8" Paul Varelans, even the main event was a battle of legends in Ken Shamrock and Dan Severn. But I was most intrigued by Oleg Taktarov. Where everyone else was some form of big, weird cartoon character with wildly obvious advantages, Taktarov was a quiet, normal-looking guy who was simply technically very, very good. When Taktarov won the tournament thanks to his technical prowessand also one of his training partners throwing a fight against himit cemented my tastes. I appreciate all kinds of fighters, but my favorites aren't the big scary knockout artists or the grapplingly-aggressive submission wizards, they're the smart, clean, technical fighters.
My favorite fighter, for years, was Frankie Edgar. And now, thank god, the time has come to see him off.
This is hard to imagine for new fans who've become accustomed to lightweight persisting as the UFC's most consistently great division, but it barely existed during the UFC's boom. The company had dissolved the entire weight class in 2003 and left it for dead; they revived it in 2006, but its re-inaugural champion, Sean Sherk, managed exactly one title defense before both he AND challenger (and sex offender) Hermes França tested positive for steroids, leading to the belt's suspension. The division would've floundered in perpetuity were it not for the return of B.J. Penn. One of the sport's greatest legends and cautionary tales alike, Penn set the standard for what it meant to be a lightweight--more than any other division, you had to be good at everything. He was fast, powerful, a great striker and grappler alike, and he so severely outclassed his competition that the only man in the UFC that could beat him was Georges St-Pierre, arguably the greatest fighter of all time an entire weight class up. At 155 pounds, B.J. Penn looked unbeatable. When the UFC announced it was holding its first-ever event in Abu Dhabi, B.J. Penn, a man who hadn't been beaten at lightweight in eight years, was on it as a massive -900 favorite.
And his +600 underdog challenger Frankie Edgar took his belt away. And when the UFC, citing the closeness of the decision, Penn's record and their desperate desire to have the belt back on the more marketable fighter ordered an instant rematch, Frankie did it again, even more definitively. B.J. Penn would fight for nine more years: He lost seven in a row and retired as a shadow of his former self. And Frankie Edgar built his career out of Penn's bones.
Frankie, in his prime, was the cleanest fighter on the planet. In an era where fighters were still struggling to escape the orbit of one-dimensional approaches he was a master at mixing his attacks. He would dart in and out at unusual angles, score jabs and leg kicks that were nigh-unto uncounterable and snap off takedown entries that were downright unfair in their efficacy. He could charge in, land a three-punch combination and slip out before his opponents could even react. He could do this hundreds of times for five rounds without breaking a sweat, and on the rare occasions an opponent did catch him--or, say, knock him down a thousand times in one round, as Gray Maynard did--he would get back up and find a way to even up the fight. He was incredible. And he was also 5'6" in a division that was about to be dominated by guys larger than most welterweight champions up to that point. Frankie tried to fight off Benson Henderson and the WEC invasion--and he came so close that their second fight could easily have gone either way--but he couldn't get over the strength and power advantage. So he left for the recently-merged featherweight division where, for the next half decade, he went 7-José Aldo. He cut through every single other contender in his path, but just like Benson at 155, Aldo at 145 was his kryptonite: Too strong to compete on the feet, too good to drag to the ground. By 2018 Frankie was unequivocally the #3 fighter at featherweight--but once again, the division was getting bigger around him, and this time, he was just about to enter his forties.
Age hit Edgar like a ton of bricks. Frankie's technique was amazing, but like any other fighter, his physical gifts were what allowed it to work. His blinding speed let him land strikes and his impossibly good recovery let him survive being caught by them. Once those slipped, the show was over. After thirteen years of fighting the toughest men on the planet without once being stopped, Brian Ortega turned out his lights for the first time with a Mortal Kombat uppercut, and in some ways, Frankie never really regained consciousness. He came back with a victory over Cub Swanson in his next fight, but even it portended bad things: When they fought four years prior Edgar had demolished him, ragdolling him at will and choking him out with seconds left in the fight just to emphasize the point, but in 2018 Edgar had to fight like hell just to stay even. It was his last real win. Max Holloway outclassed him, Chan Sung Jung knocked him cold with ease, the judges gave him a deeply undeserved gift against Pedro Munhoz. Cory Sandhagen detonated a flying knee on his chin in half a minute. Marlon Vera kicked the last remnants of it out of the octagon.
Jens Pulver, a former rival of B.J. Penn's, gave a poignant interview about realizing his own too-long-in-the-tooth career was over not from his growing pile of losses, but from watching Penn, visibly a shadow of his former self, getting destroyed by Edgar in their third and final match in 2014. No one teaches you how to stop, he said. You learn how to compete and challenge yourself and overcome obstacles, but no one teaches you how to end your life's work. Every fighter dreams of achieving the levels of glory B.J. Penn did in his career; no fighter dreams of ending that career on a decade-long losing streak, or moving onto an unsettled, punch-drunk retirement losing bar brawls to drunks on TMZ.
Three years was enough. Four knockouts was enough. Frankie Edgar is riding into the sunset. And in a better sport, a better world, his retirement fight would be an event: A battle of legends against Dominick Cruz, a clash of diminished but still popular champions against Cody Garbrandt, one last gritty veteran war against Jim Miller.
But mixed martial arts is cruel and confusing, and the aging wrestler always puts over the new guy on his way out of the territory. Frankie is fighting Chris "El Guapo" Gutierrez, a four-year, eight-fight UFC veteran no one really remembered existed until he knocked out the hard-hitting Danaa Batgerel this past March. And that's probably unfair to the man. Bantamweight is one of the biggest shark tanks in the UFC; going 6-1-1 is in no way easy, and Gutierrez is in no way undeserving of laurels. He's fast, he's tough and he's incredibly scrappy; his leg kicking game is both quick and debilitating, his counter-grappling saves him from a lot of bad positions and his chin has yet to fail him.
He's skilled. He's vital. He's 31 and still fights like a man with years left in the tank. It's not his fault no one else wanted him in this fight, nor is it his fault he's the chosen executioner for one of the most beloved fighters in the sport. But it's no less difficult to feel good about it.
So I'm going to do something I do feel good about. Frankie Edgar by decision.
Am I talking myself into it out of nothing but sheer, unadulterated bias? Sure. Frankie's lost a bunch, but he's lost to some of the best fighters on the planet, and Gutierrez, for his many talents, hasn't demonstrated himself to possess that level of power or grappling. Am I going to be wrong? Almost certainly. But anyone who reads these columns knows I'm wrong all the fuckin' time, and it'd be nice to choose to be wrong intentionally for once.
And if this is my last chance to pick a Frankie Edgar fight, I'm picking it the right way.
LIGHTWEIGHT: Dan Hooker (21-12, #12) vs Claudio Puelles (12-2, NR)
For a guy who's done so much great work for them, the UFC really, truly does not want to give Dan Hooker an easy fight. "The Hangman's" strength of schedule over the last four years is the stuff of nightmares: Gilbert Burns, Edson Barboza, Al Iaquinta, Paul Felder, Dustin Poirier, Michael Chandler, Islam Makhachev and Arnold Allen altogether comprise the combat sports equivalent of walking back and forth through the alley where Batman's parents got murdered. In just his last five fights Dustin Poirier hit him 208 times, Chandler and Allen knocked him dead in a single round, and Islam ripped his goddamn arm in half. For all of his range and power, for his aggression, he hasn't just been losing, he's been taking the kind of losses that derail careers.
And now he's fighting Claudio Puelles, a man who tears knees apart on a seemingly weekly basis. The "Prince of Peru" is most famous for his insatiable love of kneebars and personal dedication to collecting human leg tendons the way some people hoard movie posters, but there's nothing one-dimensional about him. He is, if anything, one of those deeply dangerous grapplers who's so confident in their bottom game--which he should be, as despite suffering numerous takedowns he's controlled the grappling in every single fight of his UFC career--that he's entirely willing to march forward, spamming kicks to the body and throwing overhands and spinning elbows because he has no fear of being taken down.
Which is great! But he should probably have a healthy fear of being knocked out, because that's absolutely happened to him. It was 2016 and he was a far less experienced, far more reckless fighter, to be sure, but he's also been predominantly fighting grapplers since then. His last fight was an absolutely inexplicable battle against a 40 year-old cardio-wrestling Clay Guida. Dan Hooker does not want to take Claudio Puelles down. Dan Hooker wants to punch him in the face until he gets desperate, then knee him into oblivion when he starts shooting double-leg takedowns.
Cosmically, Dan Hooker seems like he's suffered too much already. He's been dribbled around the cage for almost two straight years by some of the top fighters on the planet. Claudio Puelles should be a good comeback fight. He's a grappler who prefers leglocks to left hooks; he's the kind of fighter Hooker should be able to outstrike at will.
So it's going to be deeply gross when Puelles peels his ligaments apart like a Twizzler. Claudio Puelles by submission.
PRELIMS: AVERTING A FALL BY TRYING TO FLY
LIGHTWEIGHT: Brad Riddell (10-3) vs Renato Moicano (16-5-1)
Well, this should be nuts. Brad Riddell has established himself as one of the UFC's best bout machines: A consummate brawler with a strong wrestling game that he uses less as a singular weapon and more as a foundational support for his dream of punching people until their noses go away. And it was working extremely well, earning him multiple Fight of the Night bonuses and a four-fight winning streak, until he actually made it into the top fifteen and got completely fucking flattened by Rafael Fiziev and Jalin Turner. Riddell's facing a third potential loss here, but I don't imagine he has any fear for his job; the UFC loves him and his style too much to let him go easily.
Renato Moicano is one of those heartbreaking fighters to love. He's got all the tools--his striking is fast and multifaceted, his grappling is deadly and he's got heart to spare--but like so many before them, he just can't quite put them together with a solid defense, and it's gotten him nuked every time he fights someone in the top five. When last we saw Moicano he was taking a life-altering beating from Rafael dos Anjos, and while he was entirely outclassed, he impressed in his refusal to fold and even won the fifth round after twenty straight minutes of getting the shit kicked out of him.
This should be both a fantastic fight and a bit of a toss-up. Brad Riddell is extremely aggressive and Renato Moicano is extremely hittable--he has the somewhat unfortunate honor of statistically absorbing as many strikes as he lands--but Riddell, for all of his tenacity, hasn't demonstrated the kind of one-shot knockout power that's put Moicano in the ground before, and Riddell's wrestling hasn't kept him from getting into bad positions against strong grapplers. Renato Moicano by submission when Riddell gets clipped in one of his wild exchanges and Moicano keeps him on the floor.
LIGHT-HEAVYWEIGHT: Dominick Reyes (12-3, #7) vs Ryan Spann (20-7, #12)
MMA is fucking cruel. Just two fights ago Dominick Reyes was one of the most talked-about fighters on the planet: The formerly undefeated 6'4" power-boxer the entire world seemed to agree had done the impossible and defeated Jon Jones only to get robbed by the judges. Two knockout losses later, the sport has written him off as a lost cause. And they weren't even bad losses! Jan Błachowicz and Jiří Procházka are both world champions and Reyes was trading back and forth with both right up until his demise. His jab is sharp, his leg kicks are quick and he's willing to jump a guillotine on a motherfucker if he thinks he needs to. The only thing people worry about is his chin.
In that frame of reference, I can entirely understand being scared of a matchup against Ryan Spann. "Superman" is a terrifying presence: A 6'5" finishing artist with an 81.5" reach and power sufficient to destroy anyone who falls into it. At least, on paper. In practice, Spann's record starts to fall apart a little. His big UFC stoppage victories came against people like Rogério Nogueira who were a fight away from retirement, or chinny soon-to-be-middleweights like Misha Cirkunov facing the end of their careers. His last victory against Ion Cuțelaba was easily the best of his career--and Cuțelaba is 2-5-1 in his last four years of fighting.
Let me simplify this: At the same time Dominick Reyes was arguably defeating Jon Jones, Ryan Spann went to a split decision with and was statistically outstruck by Sam Alvey. And I refuse to sanction this buffoonery. Dominick Reyes by decision.
WOMEN'S FLYWEIGHT: Erin Blanchfield (9-1, #12) vs Molly McCann (13-4, #15)
Hey, guess what: It's a relevant, interesting, exciting women's fight! With ranking implications and one of the most-hyped women's fighters in the entire UFC!! In the middle of the prelims!!! I WILL NEVER STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT THIS PHENOMENON.
Seriously, come the fuck on. Erin Blanchfield is one of the best prospects at women's flyweight: She's a great grappler and a powerful combination striker who's been kicking off heads and ripping off arms for years. The only loss in her career was a razor-close split decision against Tracy Cortez, who's now top fifteen in the UFC herself. She dominated one of the toughest people in the division by shutting out Miranda Maverick and in her last fight she took on the inexplicably unending hype train that is JJ Aldrich, stuffed 2/3 of her takedowns, outstruck her 2:1 and choked her out in just two rounds. And it wasn't just on the prelims: It was the first prelim. Erin Blanchfield is 3-0 in the UFC and every single one of her god damned fights has been on the prelims.
And that's even less excusable here, because she's fighting "Meatball" Molly McCann, whom the UFC has been full-court-press promoting for an entire year. McCann, a hard-headed brawler whose emotional core as a martial artist centers entirely around shoving people into the cage and punching them until they explode into piles of candy, has come up hand in hand with Paddy Pimblett as a centerpiece of the UFC's new British invasion. Every time the UFC carts out Tom Aspinall and Paddy Pimblett to pump the UK money printer, she's there. She was the preliminary headliner when she took an incredibly hard-fought victory over Ji Yeon Kim and she was a main-card fixture for the UFC's last two London events, where she became an instant star after scoring back to back spinning elbow knockouts.
So now she's buried midway down the prelims. I conspiratorially think it's because the UFC wants less people to see her lose. McCann's winning streak has successfully buried the memory of the fights that came just before it--namely, getting ragdolled and completely controlled by Taila Santos and the soon to be unjustly released Lara Procópio. The UFC very carefully gave McCann two vulnerable fighters in her big-ticket appearances, and at some level they know what's most likely to happen here, and why, despite having three wins and two sensational knockouts, McCann's a huge underdog. Erin Blanchfield by decision.
MIDDLEWEIGHT: Andre Petroski (8-1) vs Wellington Turman (18-5)
I'm really looking forward to this fight. Andre Petroski is a living paradox of a fighter: A frantic, wild-eyed brawler who wings haymakers like a 2005 throwback and shoots takedowns that aren't so much 'takedowns' as they are 'angry American football tackles.' His last fight against Nick Maximov was a perfect exhibition of this: He bounced spasmodically forward on his feet, threw back to back headkicks that saw him visibly struggling to lift his leg past his opponent's shoulder, and chucked rear-hand haymakers from multiple feet away with such power that he nearly bowled himself over. And then the moment his opponent shot a takedown, Petroski turned into an ultra-fluid, incredibly talented Daniel Gracie-trained BJJ brown belt who rolled right through everything, secured an anaconda choke and reduced Maximov to unconsciousness in seconds. He's fighting on the reckless grappler gameplan: I can do what I want on my feet because on the ground I don't think you can stop me.
Wellington Turman thinks he can stop him. Aside from having my favorite non-Mongolian name in the sport, Turman is one of the more underratedly tough matchups at middleweight and it's for largely the same reason: He feels he's such a grappling threat that he's free to march forward tossing out kicks at will. He loves hunting aggressively for kicks to the body half because it masks the headkicks he wants to land and half because if you catch them and take him down, he's going to hurt you. Misha Cirkunov learned this the hard way this past February, as he dumped Turman in exactly this manner and found himself submitting to an armbar just seconds later. Turman's had some historic trouble with tough wrestlers who could grit through his submission attempts, and his recklessness has gotten him knocked out.
But still, this is a great matchup and I'm not sure who I--
Wait. What's this?
No. NO.
Ryan Spann went to a split decision with and was statistically outstruck by Sam Alvey. And I refuse to sanction this buffoonery.
NO SON OF MINE, WELLINGTON. NO SON OF MINE.
Andre Petroski by submission.
EARLY PRELIMS: MATT FREVOLA MAKES ME INVOLUNTARILY THINK OF JOHN TRAVOLTA
LIGHTWEIGHT: Matt Frevola (9-3-1) vs Ottman Azaitar (13-0)
This is a battle of former prospects and theoretical bags of potatoes and I am here for it.
I underestimated Matt Frevola. When last we saw him back in January he was in a very bad place: A narrow split decision over Luis Peña, a year and a half of injury layoffs and two straight losses, the latter a seven-second knockout loss to Terrence McKinney. I thought he'd been too damaged to come back easily; he proved that I was a big ol' dummy by dropping Genaro Valdéz five times and pounding him out in just three minutes. Matt Frevola: As it turns out, still an extremely tough guy. Ottman Azaitar has been out of action for two reasons, but in fairness, it's for one of the funniest possible reasons: At the height of the pandemic, when the UFC still actually gave a shit about proper COVID protocols and were holding fights in lockdown on FIGHT ISLAND, Ottman and his team--on camera--smuggled their access wristbands to friends on the outside, snuck them into the hotel where the fighters were staying, and had one of them shimmy down the exterior balconies and bring them a mystery bag. Their manager claims it was a sack of potatoes. If so: Them potatoes got Azaitar fired and scratched from his fight...with Matt Frevola.
It is two years later. Dana White has forgiven the potato incident. Frevola's tough-fisted wrestleboxing faces Ottman's undefeated Muay Thai techniques. And presuming his two years on ice hasn't too terribly damaged him: Ottman Azaitar by TKO.
WOMEN'S STRAWWEIGHT: Karolina Kowalkiewicz (13-7) vs Silvana Gómez Juárez (11-4)
Karolina Kowalkiewicz had the feelgood story of the summer. Up until 2016 KK was an undefeated contender who seemed to pose a serious threat to Joanna Jędrzejczyk's strawweight title: After losing their fight she fell into the pit of penultimate darkness and, between 2018 and 2022, lost five in a row. Most of the world sucked their breath in through their teeth when she came back against Felice Herrig in June; her second-round submission victory was a welcome exhalation of relief. The UFC is still toeing the water with her, as Silvana Gómez Juárez is, respectfully, not the stiffest competition; she eschews control in favor of wild swinging, and while it paid off in spades in her last fight as she knocked Na Liang senseless, she was 0-2 in the UFC beforehand thanks to superior grapplers, and Karolina shouldn't be different.
KK's got the better distance striking, the better clinch game and shouldn't have much trouble getting her to the floor and hunting for a choke. Karolina Kowalkiewicz by submission.
FEATHERWEIGHT: Michael Trizano (9-3) vs Seung Woo Choi (10-5)
We made it all the way to the bottom of the card before reaching housecleaning fights, good lord. Mike Trizano, arguably, should have been gone awhile ago. He was the lightweight winner of The Ultimate Fighter 27, the deeply cursed season where featherweight winner Brad Katona was inexplicably cut after two losses, and Trizano's UFC tenure hasn't gone particularly well: He's 3-3, but his second win was a split against Luis Peña that was more or less a coinflip and his third an openly insane decision against Ľudovít Klein. In a fairer world, Trizano and his all-around-if-unremarkable gameplans are on a five-fight losing streak. Seung Woo Choi, on the other hand, had a career highlight and immediately fell into a slide. Julian Erosa would be on a seven-fight UFC win streak right now were it not for Choi knocking him absolutely senseless right in the middle thanks to superior boxing and accuracy. Unfortunately, Choi proceeded to get choked out by Bruce Leeroy and outstruck by Joshua Culibao, who showcased all the holes in his defense a faster fighter could exploit.
Michael Trizano is not, I believe, a faster fighter. He's very tough--I don't think Choi's going to be able to take him out--but he doesn't have the counter speed or the wrestling strength to make Choi pay for the strikes he's going to land. Seung Woo Choi by decision.
BANTAMWEIGHT: Julio Arce (18-5) vs Montel Jackson (11-2)
Welcome to chaos. Julio Arce is one of the most unpredictable fighters in the UFC, as much for a skillset that vacillates wildly between haymakers and headkicks as clinch trips and power doubles as for the results he tends to get. In one moment, he'll outclass Dan Ige; in the next, he'll struggle with Sheymon Moraes. Destroy Julian Erosa; get cornered by Hakeem Dawodu. Punch out Andre Ewell; get punched out by Song Yadong. He's a powerful and universally dangerous fighter, but much of that power comes from the inherently uncontrolled nature of his style, and that style gets exploited regularly. Montel Jackson is entirely about control. He's a dangerous puncher in his own right--his kicking game leaves a little to be desired--but his best work comes on the ground, where his positional control, sweeps and chokes have made him a terror. He'll happily engage in punching battles, and he has deceptively good boxing combinations under his sleeve, but he'd much rather follow an opponent to the ground and choke them out than let them up for more striking.
There's a wrinkle here: Jackson's two UFC losses came against fast, frenetic fighters like Ricky Simón and Brett Johns who used their energy to keep him from dictating the pace and position of the fight. Julio Arce definitely has that ability, but he'll have to apply it consistently to succeed, and Jackson's consistency is a very tough thing to overcome. Montel Jackson by decision.
LIGHT-HEAVYWEIGHT: Carlos Ulberg (5-1) vs Nicolae Negumereanu (13-1)
Hey, it's an actual prospect fight, sort of. To be honest, I'm surprised by this matchmaking. Carlos "Black Jag" Ulberg seemed like a bit of a UFC project: A fun, photogenic Adesanya training partner out of City Kickboxing with knockout power and action figure muscles, dogged more by a lack of experience than a lack of potential. It wouldn't have been out of the question to give Ulberg another softball; an Ed Herman or an Anton Turkalj. Nicolae Negumereanu is, by all appearances, a comparatively real threat. He's powerful enough on the feet to score standing TKOs, good enough at wrestling to ragdoll men half a foot bigger than him, and gives sufficiently little fucks about entertainment to grind men into dust while drunken Las Vegans scream baleful and most likely homophobic curses about blood and guts.
In other words: It's striker vs. wrestler, and you know where I always land. Nicolae Negumereanu by decision.