Issue 123

December 2014

Gareth A Davies

MMA and Boxing Correspondent for The Daily Telegraph, London, UK, explores the one opponent fighters can’t defeat: Father Time

Time stops for no-one. More powerful than a José Aldo double flying knee, a Dan Henderson right hand bomb and a huge Johny Hendricks hook, Father Time creeps up on a fighter when he or she least expects it. It’s the shot they don’t see coming. 

It strips a competitor of their ambition and future and forces them to contemplate whether to carry on with diminishing talents or swallow their pride, get out while they can, and contemplate other means of making a living. Father Time is unforgiving and merciless. It does not discriminate. We’re all susceptible. 

Pride FC superstars Mauricio ‘Shogun’ Rua, Josh Barnett, Alistair Overeem and the Nogueira brothers are all fighting Father Time right now. They remain in the UFC by the skin of their teeth and talk of retirement follows each and every defeat. Wanderlei Silva has gone already. 

Where they once thrived in their fighting arena, winning big bouts and claiming titles, they now often wallow in defeat and look up at the lights as if to wonder, ‘Where did it all go wrong?’ One minute they were young, hungry and full of danger, the next they were flat on their back, regaining their senses just in time to catch a younger opponent wheel away in celebration. 

Times change. In a sport like mixed martial arts, the rate of evolution goes at double-speed. There’s no room to stall or stagnate. Do either and you’ll go the way of the Pride legends. You’ll find yourself an old dog surrounded by greyhounds. You’ll yearn for halcyon years when the sport was simpler. When, some say, it was more pure. 

The rate of the sport’s evolution means the majority of fighters in the modern era have a short shelf-life. Here today, gone tomorrow. If they refuse to learn or develop their skills, it can be even quicker than they first imagined.

In September I spent an hour talking with former UFC middleweight Charles McCarthy, who competed on season four of The Ultimate Fighter. He fought Michael ‘The Count’ Bisping in his last professional contest. 

McCarthy, now 34, has become a professional MMA athlete manager. Young enough to still compete, he decided to retire in 2008 following his defeat to the Briton. A sobering moment of clarity followed. 

When he lost to Bisping, he told me the equivalent of a light bulb lit up in his head. Then it exploded. “I wasn’t the king of the world and had a long way to go to become king of the world,” he recalled of the moment six years ago. 

He had one child already, one on the way and needed to make some choices. Fast. “I never wanted to live in a car again or be poor. Even to attain middle class in the States is very hard. I didn’t want to see my children struggle.

“I’m very realistic with the fighters I manage because I’m a guy who went through the process and washed out. I didn’t get where I planned to get. At the same time, I was crushing guys in the training room who were fighting for titles. In my head, it was going to happen for sure. I was going to win a world title.

“But, after the Bisping fight, it didn’t happen for me. It became very apparent to me that MMA is like a lottery in so many ways. Sometimes you have good fortune, sometimes you have bad fortune.”

McCarthy was never old in fighting terms. He was never shot or shopworn or the victim of too many wars. He simply one day realized he wasn’t 

good enough. Bisping offered him a glimpse at the rate of evolution in mixed martial arts and it scared the bejesus out of him. 

To his credit, McCarthy was savvy and intelligent enough – and brave enough – to accept his limitations, suck it up and seek other employment. He got out while he could. 

Others are not so lucky. Not so ballsy. They stick around because they believe it’s the only thing they’re capable of doing to a good standard. It’s the quickest way to make money. It’s the only thing they know. 

So next time you see a Pride legend stutter, falter and step into combat a shadow of their former self, don’t ridicule their decision to fight on or scoff at the sight of yet another defeat. Instead, consider why these veterans continue to compete. 

More often than not, their reasons will center on two things: a desire to entertain their legions of fans (see Wanderlei) and a refusal to let go of something that has defined them for so long. For the warriors of Pride and a bygone era, this beautifully brutal sport remains a habit they just can’t kick.