25 October 2014

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

UFC 179

By Ray Klerck 

Some fights are high-stakes chess matches, and others are 25-minute, soul-stealing wars where two elite athletes abandon self-preservation and hit each other with the chessboard. UFC 179 was never going to be a quiet night. The Maracanãzinho arena was a roaring cauldron of hostility, packed to the rafters with Brazilian fans bellowing “Uh, vai morrer!” (You're going to die!) at the invading American challenger. Two years earlier, Jose Aldo had knocked Chad Mendes out cold with a knee in round one, celebrating by diving into the Brazilian crowd. But Mendes hadn't just bounced back. He’d evolved into a terrifying, heavy-handed knockout artist with Team Alpha Male in his corner. Standing in front of him was the featherweight king, a man whose leg kicks and lightning counters made him the most feared fighter on the planet. Aldo hadn't lost in nearly a decade, was riding a 17-fight winning streak, and had never tasted defeat inside the UFC. In Rio, against an American he’d already flattened once, the odds of him surrendering quietly were slim to none.

THE PRESSURE COOKER

What made this rematch so electric was the sheer intensity hanging in the air. Their first meeting ended so abruptly that Mendes felt cheated by a missed fence grab, while Aldo felt he had already proven his absolute superiority. Mendes followed that loss with five straight victories, three by first-round knockout. He hadn't spent those two years sulking about the first fight. He'd spent them making himself considerably more dangerous. In the build-up, the bad blood boiled over into shoving at face-offs and relentless trash talk. Mendes was no longer just a Division I wrestler trying to take down the champion. He’d become a refined, explosive striker who genuinely believed he could knock Aldo out. Aldo, defending his throne on home soil, looked about as bothered as a bloke waiting for his number to be called at the deli counter. By the time referee Marc Goddard brought them together, the arena was vibrating with tension. Five rounds were available. It seemed optimistic to think they'd need them.

ROUND 1: THE ACCELERATOR

The opening bell rang, and any idea of a feeling-out process was smashed inside thirty seconds. Aldo threw combinations, and the crowd roared. Mendes sprinted out, matching Aldo’s speed and cracking the champion with a left hook that briefly dropped him. The Rio crowd gasped, but Aldo popped right back up and returned fire with terrifying speed. The two traded blistering combinations, with Mendes landing heavy rights and Aldo responding with stinging jabs and crisp hooks. An accidental eye poke to Aldo gave them both a chance to rest. Aldo came out storming and knocked Mendes down. Next came the controversy. In the dying seconds, Aldo unleashed a brutal one-two combination that landed squarely on Mendes' chin and dropped him hard. The only problem? The second punch landed a fraction of a second after the horn sounded. Mendes wobbled back to his corner, battered and seeing stars, while Rio collectively lost its mind. Round one had somehow contained enough action for an entire fight card.

ROUND 2 AND 3: THE BRAWL IN THE FOG

If Mendes was hurt, he didn't show it. He’d improved a lot since their first outing. In the opening minutes, Aldo took an accidental groin strike that slowed things. It meant Mendes came out for the second and third rounds like a man possessed, driving through Aldo’s defense with explosive upper-body movement and landing huge uppercuts. He switched stances constantly, but the stadium song made it sound like a soccer match. Slowly, the pressure made Aldo’s right eye swell, shutting down his peripheral vision, while Mendes’ face opened up into a map of red cuts. Mendes secured a brief takedown, but Aldo’s legendary takedown defense held firm, and he popped back to his feet to land a counter right hand that nearly turned Mendes inside out. The fight turned into a terrifying, high-speed brawl where neither man took a single step backward. Every time Mendes landed a bomb, Aldo answered with a faster, harder combination. Aldo had never been knocked out and had won 9 straight title fights. Every bit of that record showed.

ROUND 4 AND 5: WAR OF ATTRITION

By the championship rounds, both men were operating on pure muscle memory, instinct, and whatever was left in the emergency tank. Aldo’s lead leg was bruised, his eye was almost completely closed, and his cardio was being tested like never before. His left eye was leaking Shiraz, but he wasn’t alone. Mendes leaked blood from multiple gashes but kept driving forward, swinging looping hooks with bad intent. There was no secret escape hatch now. Ten minutes remained, and both men seemed perfectly happy to spend every second of it making the other miserable. Aldo timed slick slip-counters and dug hooks into Mendes' body, trying to take some petrol out of the challenger. Mendes kept marching back into range. The crowd was on its feet, roaring at every exchange, because sitting down at this point would have felt strangely disrespectful. By the final horn, both men stood in the center of the Octagon exhausted, bruised and looking considerably older than they had 25 minutes earlier. They raised their arms, then acknowledged each other after delivering one of the finest featherweight title fights the sport had seen.

THE DECISION AND MUTUAL RESPECT

When the 25 minutes ended, the arena erupted into an ovation for both men. Jose had been pushed like never before, but he had answers for it all. The judges handed down a unanimous decision victory (49-46, 49-46, 49-46) for Jose Aldo, retaining his championship in his toughest defense to date. The aftermath was a masterpiece of sportsmanship. Two men who had spent months hating each other embraced in the center of the Octagon, their faces swollen, battered, and painted in red. Mendes had arrived in Brazil convinced he was no longer the fighter Aldo destroyed in their first meeting. He proved himself right. Unfortunately for him, Aldo proved something too. You could hurt him, drop him, exhaust him, and make him fight every second of 25 minutes. Beating him was another matter entirely. It was Aldo's 18th consecutive victory, but it was the last bit of glory he had before Conor made a mockery of him. Before that moment was this fight, a brutal, glorious testament to five rounds of elite featherweight warfare, and you can watch it here.