It’s Thanksgiving, which means it’s time to take inventory of all the things we can be thankful for in the great sport of MMA. No, we haven’t (yet) gotten an Ilia Topuria title defense at the Bernabéu in Spain or a Nate Diaz UFC reunion or the unified heavyweight title between Jon Jones and Tommy Aspinall, but you know what we did get recently?
Beautiful Mexican scenescapes at the Sphere back in September, enough to blow the psilocybin straight out from our ears. Steve Erceg in a title shot. A UFC record 3,676th consecutive time of Joe Rogan saying “he’s in real trouble here…” only to see the guy in trouble escape with relative ease.
The truth is, there are plenty of people, things and events that make our pastime stand alone as perhaps the greatest display of barefooted people locked in a cage you’ll find in the entire realm of sports. You can look it up.
Professional football can have Taylor Swift and that big tight end. Us? Well, these are a few of the things in MMA that we should truly be thankful for.
France
The sport of MMA has only been legal in France for a short while, which might be why the citizens of that country go apesh*t whenever an event happens through. France gathers around a fisticuff the way it used to a guillotine, and you can hear the commotion all the way across the Atlantic. Look at the reception Cédric Doumbé receives every time he makes the walk in Paris! It’s the closest thing we’ve had in MMA since Georges St-Pierre in Montreal or vintage Conor McGregor in Dublin.
Truly special stuff.
Yet nothing will top the UFC’s visit there in September, when the American interloper Bryan Battle infiltrated the Accor Arena and took out Bordeaux’s own Kevin Jousset before thousands of outraged Frenchmen. When Battle cut his promo — “I know y’all didn’t think the ‘Butcher’ was going to lose a fistfight to a French dude!” — the significance of the effort was felt. That crowd booed with the greatest passion musterable, and it was glorious.
Make no mistake, France is the hotbed for MMA. An event there is an immersive experience.
Shavkat Rakhmonov
I’m not sure what the equivalent of Shavkat would be in other sports, but he is a modern day Timur the Conqueror in these circles — a brutal presence who treats every opponent the way a Rottweiler does a chew toy. In just a couple of weeks at UFC 310, we’ll get to see how he does against the likes of a fellow undefeated fighter in Ian Machado Garry, but the legend of this stone-faced Uzbekistan warrior can’t be overstated.
Look at his hit list. Six fights in the UFC, six finishes. Poor Michel Prazeres still wakes up in a cold sweat wondering if it was the “Nomad” who put him to sleep! He deals in guillotines and rear-naked chokes, but — as Carlston Harris found out — to tempt him on the feet is to play Russian roulette with the Devil himself.
No, Shavkat deals in carnage, and as connoisseurs of that specific field, we’re here for it! Thank you, Shavkat.
Andy Foster
There’s something to be said about open-minded levelheadedness, and the director of the California State Athletic Commission is one of the game’s few true voices of reason. From concerns (and offered solutions) over weight cutting to addressing obsolete rules and discussing pension funds for fighters, Foster is a kind of guardian angel with an affectionate Southern drawl.
Francis Ngannou
Look, it was a heavy return for Francis Ngannou, who has been accused of being the greatest heavyweight going by just about everyone not named Dana White. The passing of his young son was a profound story line heading into his return to MMA against Renan Ferreira, but — once the fight started — there was something in that finishing sequence that reminded us that he strikes with a different kind of power.
It’s a power that can crack mountain faces. A power that terrifies a target and gives observers a case of the winces.
Having Ngannou back in MMA has been a thrill, especially after what can only be considered one of the most lucrative larks we’ve ever seen in the fight game, that foray into boxing. It’s a shame that Jon Jones and Francis are now in different leagues, isn’t it? Still, what a time to be alive.
The Old Guard
Though we can pretend to say otherwise with the benefit of hindsight, the truth is not many people gave Dustin Poirier a chance to beat Benoit Saint-Denis back in March. In fact, it was the kind of assignment that usually spells the end for the brand-name veterans the UFC likes to use in getting the new bloods over.
Poirier stood his ground, though. He withstood a hellacious trouncing in the first round and smiled as he spit blood out of his mouth. His declaration for all the young guns looking to make a name off his? “You’re gonna have to kill me!” And when he returned fire on the gassed Saint-Denis in the second round, hitting him with a sequence of shots that dropped the jaws of everyone watching, the declaration was the same as Max Holloway’s in his lightweight MBF fight with Justin Gaethje.
“Guess what — I’m still here!”
Fantastic stuff. Easy to appreciate.
Marc Ratner
What a mensh. He’s seen everything with his own eyes going back to Mike Tyson’s heyday in Nevada. Ratner’s the grandfatherly warmth of the UFC experience. You’ll see him wherever the UFC goes, in a cool MITH-style flatcap and sweater, posing in front of the Eiffel Tower or whatever landmark is nearby, just making sure everyone stays on task. It’s his approval that we appreciate.
Don’t think Dan Ige should step in on a few hours’ notice to face Diego Lopes in a co-main event? Think it’s a little rogue, if not illegal? There’s Ratner, weighing in the hero backstage just as cool as you please, a wise man sent to soothe whatever troubles the soul. God bless this man.
The Elephant in the Room
Imagine if Jon Jones had beaten Stipe Miocic and it actually felt like he didn’t have anything more to prove? That would have been a supremely boring affair. No, the brilliant thing about the UFC conveyor belt is that there’s always a new challenger coming in, and in this case a man who happens to be carrying a belt that weighs just about the same as the one Jones wears around his waist.
Tom Aspinall is a godsend for truth-telling in sports. Jones can take another victory lap — he popped up at the Dirty Boxing event wearing a fashionable western cowboy hat this past weekend — but there’s a piece of business left sitting out there which excites every corner of the fan base.
The question of “Can Jon Jones Beat Tom Aspinall” is one of the most compelling for 2025, and it excites every sense in the fight game. Should be fun.
The Referees
The only time we mention them is when they screw up. They are really the offensive linemen of MMA, who quietly go about doing their best to uphold the rules. Think they don’t take enough points for grabbing the fence? Or kicking a groin? Or poking an eye? Think their warnings are hollow? That they are slow to stop a fight, or too early? Think some of them are sadists with iron stomachs for punishment, standing by for beatdowns like perfect Kim Winslows and Mario Yamasakis?
Nah, in this column we’re sending little hearts-shaped signals with our hands. They are doing their level best in a thankless job! #TeamReferees
Dana White’s obsession with Jon Jones
Find you a person who looks at you the way Dana looks at Jonny Bones. Even as Aspinall was breaking through as perhaps the greatest U.K. fighter ever (and most certainly as the most frightening bulldozer in the heavyweight division) … and even as Alex Pereira was making history by stepping in to save event after event with a series of ridiculous knockouts … there was Dana White, singing the praises of Jones and overshadowing those coming after him.
In a game that’s built on hype, Dana counterintuitively stood his ground on the front. Are we thankful for that kind of stubbornness? I mean, no, not exactly. But did it create a lot of drama, especially around the nonstop GOAT and pound-for-pound conversations? It did! In a roundabout way, sticking by Jones forced Dana to look at his anonymous panel of “media” voters that determine the UFC rankings and seriously ask the question: “WTF?”
It was like that scene in “When A Stranger Calls,” when the police inform the babysitter than the calls are coming from inside the house. Beautiful!
Recency Bias
This exists in other sports, but it positively thrives in MMA. We love to exaggerate the importance of what we just watched, perhaps because (in many cases) we paid for the privilege of watching it. Chances are if you hear the words “ever” or “all time” used in a discussion right after a fight, it’s just somebody temporarily lost in the hysteria of the moment. We can guard ourselves against it, but we can’t be trusted with immediate takes.
You know what I mean — things like, “That was the greatest knockout ever,” or, “That might be the biggest robbery of all time,” or, “Best fight ever!” or, “He belongs in the GOAT conversation.” The fun thing is we genuinely believe whatever it is we’re saying. In the moment. But there is a sobering period. And usually by Monday we regain our bearings. It’s a funny phenomenon, and, if we’re being real, we wouldn’t want it any other way.
Alex Pereira
And speaking of Pereira, what a treasure the UFC has stumbled on with this guy. He was originally being harnessed as a contender because of his deep backstory ties to Israel Adesanya, but has emerged as one of the great cult figures in MMA. Everywhere you look it’s Easter Island out there. Everywhere you lend an ear you hear the word “Chama” being whispered, like it’s the code word for da club.
Pereira’s run is unparalleled. Never have we seen a fighter on the north side of 35 destroying all comers with such animalistic ease. The fact that he has a sense of humor that the public is tapping into more and more between fights? Even better. A simple request to the UFC: Give us three more title defenses in 2025, please, and keep them coming until Poatan turns 50.
Octagon Girls
Seriously, how would we know what round it is in the wilderness of a three-round fight, if not for the dutiful reminders? The Octagon Girls are like human GPSes to these marathon fight cards who occasionally blow kisses. Whatever they’re being paid, it’s not enough.
The Apex
Oops, thought for a minute this was the April Fool’s column. However, I will say this — the Howler Head VIP bar at the APEX is a fine thing to hit on a Saturday afternoon. Three words for you, if you don’t believe it: Free liquid diabetes!
Kid Rock
It used to be we’d hear Kid Rock’s music whenever Donald “Cowboy” Cerrone made the walk to the Octagon. Harmless enough, right? Kid Rock and MMA kind of went together like Dude Wipes and Corn Nuts. Nothing to be overly concerned about there, and we all could keep a safe distance.
Yet now Kid Rock the person keeps showing up to events, usually accompanied by Dana White and Donald Trump, yet occasionally also with Tucker Carlson and Elon Musk. Want to talk about your spectacles? It’s rare for Kid Rock to look like the picture of church boy innocence in any company, yet this is the damndest thing. Triple dog dare you to try and find collectives like these at a basketball or hockey game, brother. MMA has the biggest middle finger in sports! We’ve come a long way from the “Just Bleed” days.
Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano
I know, I know, these are boxers. But MMA pays attention when it comes to Jake Paul joints, largely because that dude treats all our retired uncles like such sh*t. We don’t like it one bit, but sometimes it’s worthwhile.
Over a hundred zillion people tuned in to see one of the greatest fights of the year, and perhaps the greatest women’s rivalry ever. This is the Ali-Frazier for women’s boxing, and the fact that Serrano survived to hear the judges’ scorecards with a trench of a cut above her eye is its own miracle. She should have won to even the series and force a rubber match, which is an injustice we’ll have to live with.
But if they run it back one more time just for shnipps and giggles? We are very lucky fight fans indeed.
Merab Dvalishvili
Not saying that Merab is just what the bantamweight division needed, but he embodies everything that should be right about the UFC. There’s not supposed to be any kind of protection plan for our champions. Instinctively, from a business perspective, who would’ve blamed the UFC if it had tried to steer Merab away from its popular champion Sean O’Malley? The “Suga Show” had only started rolling when the bantamweight boogeyman rolled in like the blood-dimmed tide. That footage of Merab kissing O’Malley is some of the coldest you’ll encounter, and if there were any regrets by the matchmakers, they felt it through those icy Georgian lips.
That’s why it’s bothersome that Magomed Ankalaev hasn’t been booked to face Pereira or that Aspinall is still waiting on Jones to strike a deal with the UFC. This isn’t boxing. Though matchmaking in boxing is changing with aid of Saudi money, getting the top guys in the same ring remains an obstacle course. Merab is the poster boy of the meritocracy, and you know what? It’s not a bad poster to look at.
The Rosy Red Era of Ilia
Ilia Topuria has taken out the greatest featherweights going in back-to-back fights — Alexander Volkanovski and Max Holloway. To let that sink in, remember that Max’s only losses in the division over the course of 11 years came against Volk, and Volk had never lost in the division period. These were the two most dominant fighters to ever commandeer a weight class.
It’s one hell of an opening act to what could be a magical run for Spain’s greatest. And as with any bigtime overthrow, it becomes fun to contemplate what comes next. Will it be the rematch with Volk? And will that happen in Spain, an untapped market of the UFC’s which just might happen to be the most rabid fanbase outside of France? If watching stars materialize is your thing, it’s a fun time to be a fan.
