issue 218
June 2025
Classic Fights #16: Fedor Emelianenko vs. Brett Rogers
November 7, 2009
Chicago, Illinois
Strikeforce: Fedor vs. Rogers
By Brad Wharton
With the (latest) retirement of Jon Jones, the term ‘GOAT’ is once again the topic of debate. With cases to be made for Jones, Anderson Silva, George St Pierre, Khabib Nurmagomedov, and Demetrious Johnson, it’s a testament to how far the sport has come. The topic wasn’t always so broad. MMA in the late 00s didn’t lack its share of great fighters, but they had all, bar one man, shown themselves to be flawed. Matt Serra had knocked out St Pierre. Silva had been submitted multiple times by lesser opposition. Matt Hughes. Dan Henderson. BJ Penn. Randy Couture. They were quite the mob, but what’s a mob to a King? Or rather, an Emperor?
THE LAST EMPEROR
Fedor ‘The Last Emperor’ Emelianenko had reigned over MMA’s fractured heavyweight division through its peak years. The sport’s top talents were scattered between the UFC and Japan’s PRIDE Fighting Championships, leading to an endless back-and-forth over which organisation had the stronger roster. Emelianenko stood above them all. He’d blown through all the competition and dominated them again in subsequent rematches. Dana White would flick between downplaying him as a paper champion, to describing signing the Russian as his obsession. This ended when Scott Coker’s Strikeforce promotion, desperately trying to position itself as a competitor to the UFC, announced that it had shaken hands with Emelianenko. Fedor had been mythologised, and while the myth had seeped into the mainstream, few casual fans had seen him fight. Strikeforce needed an opponent to introduce the Russian to the mainstream. Coker, as big a geek as any of us, pulled a trick out of the PRIDE playbook. The opponent? Brett ‘Da Grim’ Rogers, who would have made millions had PRIDE still been around at the start of the 2010s. At 6’5 and 265lbs, they’d have strapped a rocket to him in Japan. He struggled to make a living in the USA, despite an undefeated record and a 100% KO ratio. When Strikeforce came a-calling, it seemed like changing tyres to make ends meet may be a thing of the past.
STRIKEFORCE: FEDOR VS ROGERS
If the occasion had gotten to Rogers, he wasn’t letting it show. Following Emelianenko’s almost ethereal walkout, the big man met his opponent on the scratch line and cracked him with a long, stiff jab.
“As long as Rogers punches straight, as long as he punches first!” barked analyst Frank Shamrock.
Initially, it seemed like just a cut across the bridge, but as the round wore on, the blood flowed. Clearly, the cartilage had been crushed, adding an unforeseen drama to proceedings. Fedor crashed forward and tossed his man to the mat, eliciting a mighty roar from the crowd. Rogers simply stood up, powering his way back to his feet and bodylocked the smaller man onto the fence amidst a barrage of knees. Rogers may have been chipping away, but it was a neutral position. The crowd didn’t care. With blood coursing down Fedor’s open-mouthed face, the reverence they’d had for him moments ago gave way to roars of ‘USA!! USA!!!’ Whatever it was, they’d be sold about the Immortal Fedor and the Everyman Rogers; they were buying it in droves, fully invested in the upset. Fedor used the threat of a leg trip to force his way off the cage, backing his hulking foe into neutral ground. He teased a right, but it was misdirection for a thudding left ‘Da Grim’ never saw coming. The blow crashed into his jaw, snapped his head back, and stiffened his legs.
THE SCRAMBLE
The Russian pounced as his man tried to clinch up, shucking him off and picking his ankle to take the fight to the mat. Thunderous strikes landed as he improved his position, before a rare tactical error brought the crowd to its feet. Emelianenko had attempted a kimura from the top half, allowing Rogers to sweep and wrench his arm free. Seeing his chance, the American went hell for leather, pounding his man’s head off the canvas as the world looked on, open-mouthed. Fedor snapped his legs up for an armbar, but the pair’s positioning beside the cage prevented him from getting a full extension. A scramble ensued with Rogers again ending up on bottom, defending strikes and a brief arm triangle choke as Emelianenko’s still flowing blood made purchase difficult for both men. With seconds ticking in the round, Fedor attempted his trademark jumping overhand into his downed opponent’s guard, but nothing came of it before the buzzer.
FINAL MOMENTS
The klaxon felt like it’d given the audience permission to breathe. The action had taken an obvious toll on both combatants. Rogers looked exhausted after giving a superior fighter the best five minutes he’d ever mustered. Fedor’s jaw hung slack, gulping down air as a cutman did his best to patch up his busted nose.
“The chants of Fedor now being drowned out by the chants of USA!” bellowed Mauro Renallo, as the pair locked up again early in the second. It wasn’t that they wanted Fedor to lose, quite the opposite. Almost 12,000 people had just seen God bleed. Emelianenko let rip with a trademark barrage of looping punches, but nearly everything hit the guard. Like a wounded predator, there was a sense of urgency about him. All Rogers wanted to do was clinch, or so it seemed. ‘Da Grim’ suddenly backed off, allowing Fedor into his preferred striking range. ‘The Last Emperor’ hopped from foot to foot, his arms hanging loose in a typically low-slung guard. And then, man felt God’s retribution. It came as a single punch. A clean, crisp, sickeningly violent right hand that sounded like a gunshot as it scrambled Rogers’ senses, collapsing him to the canvas in a defenceless heap. No follow-up, no celebration, and no indication at the time that it would be the final act in the reign of The Last Emperor.
