March 2025

February 2025

March 19, 2011

Prudential Center, Newark, New Jersey

UFC 128

By Ray Klerck 

As the decade flipped like a fresh page in MMA history, Mauricio ‘Shogun’ Rua stood atop the UFC Light Heavyweight throne, his name etched in gold and his fists steeped in violence. In some ways, he was still PRIDE’s last great champion standing. The era of hair-pulling, rabbit punches, and the white-ring canvas of Saitama Super Arena had faded, yet Rua carried an essence of that Wild West into the UFC. He was almost a relic from a time when rules were suggestions. Having beaten greats like Chuck Liddell and Mark Coleman, his belt wasn’t gifted. He earned it the hard way, dragging Lyoto Machida into deep water to avenge a controversial loss before obliterating him in a rematch. While Shogun was taking the scenic route to UFC gold, Jon Jones skipped the queue, kicked down doors, and set fire to the blueprint of what a champion was supposed to look like.

THE CHALLENGER

Bones was fresh-faced faced, 23 years old. Long-limbed. Freakishly creative. Already putting legends through meat grinders like a young man who didn’t know how to fear his elders. His resume was still baking in the oven, but there were some notable wins over guys like Brandon Vera and Ryan Bader. Had it not been for an injured knee, Rashard Evans was due to be the one to challenge Rua for the title. Had it not been short notice, Quinton Jackson would have been the challenger. Jones said yes, with four weeks’ notice and a shot at history. And 14 years ago, to the month, this is how the changing of the guard took place. 

THE NIGHT EVERYTHING CHANGED

Shogun was one of the best strikers MMA had ever seen. Jones scarcely acknowledged this status, touched gloves but refused eye contact. He’d entered the Octagon to bring a battle where the new school meets the old guard. To put that mindset into context, Jones's first strike was a flying knee to the sternum. From that moment on, it was clear that this wouldn’t be a five-round chess match. This was a mugging in broad daylight or unorthodox proportions. In round one, Jones had range for days and used every inch to punish the Brazilian. His wrestling was suffocating, his top control oppressive, and his ability to unleash hell from angles that shouldn't exist was borderline demonic. The crowd loved it and shouted USA to encourage Jones’s energetic first-round efforts. 

THE BREAKING POINT

Shogun wobbled into round two, looking like a man trying to solve a Rubik’s cube mid-earthquake. He was confused, battered, and rapidly running out of options. In the other corner, Jones looked relaxed and fresh, as if he was just getting warmed up. He dragged Rua into the deep end, suffocating him with relentless pressure, mixing in elbows that sounded like baseball bats cracking against a tree and dropping body shots that had the champ visibly wincing. Every attempt to escape was met with punishment. By the end of the round, Rua’s body language screamed what his corner didn’t want to say out loud: he was in survival mode. His face told the story of a man searching for answers that simply weren’t there. The fans, who had cheered his name at the start, now sat in stunned silence.  

THE CROWNING MOMENT

By the time the third round dinged, it felt like Shogun was being held upright by sheer force of will. The former PRIDE star, once a whirlwind of aggression and violence, could do little more than brace for impact. Jones, ever the artist, chose his shots with cold precision. A crushing left hook to the body made Rua visibly recoil. A knee to the face followed, sending the champion stumbling back, eyes vacant. Jones moved in for the kill, battering him with hammer fists and elbow, then backing off when the job was done.  Rua staggered back toward the cage, where he collapsed in exhaustion. The referee was ready to step in, but Shogun himself almost seemed to call it off. 

As soon as it was over, Rua dropped to his knees, a spent force. He looked up at Jones, and the torch had officially passed. A revolving door of champions had ruled the light heavyweight division, but that changed when Bruce Buffer said, “And new…” At just 23 years old, Jon Jones was the youngest champion in UFC history. His reign had begun, and the sport would never be the same.

THE AFTERMATH

That night, MMA saw the birth of its most dominant champion. An 11-year reign of destruction followed, turning Jon Jones into arguably the greatest fighter of all time. Jones has made light work of every opponent who dared to challenge him. Fighters who had once been considered elite - Rampage Jackson, Lyoto Machida, Rashad Evans - were all systematically deconstructed by a man who seemed to be playing the sport on a higher difficulty setting. As for Shogun, he fought on, reclaiming moments of his old magic but never again touching UFC gold. He would continue competing for another decade, reminding fans of his greatness in flashes but never quite recapturing the form that had once made him the most feared light heavyweight in the world. In the grand scheme of MMA history, UFC 128 was where everything changed. The sport had entered a new age, and Jon Jones was its ruler. There would be other champions. Other challengers. Other greats to come. But that night in Newark, one thing became clear. The Jon Jones era had arrived. And there was no stopping him.