Issue 221

September 2025

April 22, 2006

Wembley Conference Centre, London, England

Cage Rage 15

By Brad Wharton

“I’m not a betting man, and I never say never…but it’s highly doubtful this will go the distance.” – The Fight Professor Stephen Quadros, Cage Rage Commentator. They didn’t call Quadros ‘The Fight Professor’ for nothing. He was more often than not directly on the mark when it came to analysis. But you didn’t need to be Nostradamus to predict that a clash of two of the sport’s all-time, all-violence icons was destined to end before the final bell. When Melvin Manhoef, the sparkplug Dutch striker whose punching power drew comparisons to a young Mike Tyson, and Evangelista ‘Cyborg’ Santos, the spit-and-sawdust Brazilian who’d go bone-on-bone with any man born from his mother, met on a 2006 Cage Rage card at the Wembley Conference Center, there was no drawn-out backstory. In lieu of a long-simmering feud or unsettled score, the bout was simply a meeting of two individuals with wild reputations who really fancied their chances at punching the other’s head in. And in typical Cage Rage spirit, promoter Dave O’Donnell – never one to miss the opportunity for a good tear-up - gave them the chance to do so. 

STARTING BLOCKS

For all the anticipation of a snarling pull-apart during the referee’s final instructions, the pair locked eyes and…nothing happened. Blank, expressionless, and emotionless, they were saving everything for the bell. 

With all the talk of Cyborg’s lethal Muay Thai versus Manhoef’s Iron Mike-esque punching prowess, of course, the first blow of the fight was a garden-variety jab from the Brazilian, followed by a crisp kick to the body. It was a smart play, and he continued with it. A couple downstairs. One up top. No need for either man to take the unnecessary risk of an early shootout. But then again, why not? After eating a few more kicks, Manhoef fired back and stung his man with a left hand, and the game plans started to gently ease their way out of the window. The pair slugged away with arcing hooks, seemingly content to wager the power in their own hands against the granite in their opponent’s chin. 

SHAPING UP

Previously static, Manhoef was now bouncing on his toes. He chopped at Cyborg with a kick that sounded like a baseball bat thundering into a side of beef. Another left landed and staggered the Brazilian, forcing him back behind a high guard from which he tossed out a few counter shots - seemingly on autopilot - that fell disastrously wide of the mark. He tried a takedown to buy some time, but the Dutchman just punched him in the head some more. Left to the body, right to the head, left to the head, right low kick, left-right-left, knee. It was the cleanest combination of the fight, possibly the cleanest of Melvin’s entire MMA career. Cyborg was still standing though. It was time for words like ‘clean’ to take a back seat.

POWER IN PAUSE

Santos wisely clinched, slowing the action right down by crushing his man against the cage, delivering a series of thudding knees to the legs and midsection for good measure. This wasn’t what the London crowd had paid to see though. And it wasn’t long before the referee separated the pair to rapturous applause. It’s tough to deliver a compelling blow-by-blow account of the chaos that followed, tough and largely pointless. It wasn’t MMA, it was a bar-fight straight out of an old Western movie. The pair simply stood in front of each other a foot or so apart and threw comedy cartoon hooks until their gas ran out. The fact that only one in every four punches actually landed was irrelevant. It looked awesome. As Quadros would later point out in analysis, such reckless abandon would drain even the stoutest of stamina reserves. Neither Manhoef nor Cyborg was a marathon runner, and the pair had sprinted for close to five minutes.

CHANGE IN TACTICS

In something of a killjoy moment, albeit one that bought him some crucial breathing space, the Brazilian scored a takedown and attempted to fish out an ankle lock on Manhoef, a relative grappling novice. Thankfully, the Dutchman was saved by the bell. After a minute’s worth of some of the deepest breaths ever taken in an MMA cage, the pair got back at it. Cyborg came out looking to snipe from a distance, but it wasn’t long before Melvin had clattered into him and began to land big shots on the inside. The Dutchman was getting vicious, throwing everything with mean intentions and little regard for a potential third round. A long, stiff left stopped him in his tracks. The precursor to a brief pause in which both men put their hands on their hips and took big gulps of air in preparation for the mayhem to come. They bit down and started slinging once more, and it was ‘No Mercy’ connecting with the more crunching blows. Santos’s jab became his undoing for a second time, killing Manhoef’s momentum stone dead. The Dutchman had his key in the ignition, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. 

A MOMENT TO SEIZE

Cyborg smelled blood, backing his man onto the cage with a body shot before battering him with a salvo of wide, looping punches. It wouldn’t have been smart to get up close and personal with a fully-charged Manhoef, but in this weakened state, Santos was able to grip him in a plumb clinch and drive knee after knee into his head and body. The Brazilian began to mix a few hooks and uppercuts into the beating for good measure. By the time Manhoef was able to disengage, it was only willpower, or perhaps some form of divine intervention, keeping him on his feet. Cyborg crashed forward, swinging exhausted punches from his shoulders, but the final blow eluded him.

FINAL HURRAH

Once again, they stopped. Once again, they stared. Once again, they started trying to decapitate each other. Manhoef had somehow found a third wind, punching up Cyborg before falling inches short with a whizzing head kick. Cyborg flashed the grin of a man who’d just narrowly avoided being hit by a bus. 

Unfortunately for the Brazilian, the bus had circled the block for a second run at him. After sucking up a huge lungful of air, Manhoef uncorked a four-punch combination that finally put his opponent on the deck. There’s a limit to the amount of punishment a human body can endure, no matter how tough, how gritty, or how strong of heart. Melvin Manhoef had just found it and smashed it into dust. Watch it here.