It’s 2015, and Mirko Cro Cop has – once again – signed with the UFC. He’ll turn 41 this year and for all intents and purposes, this is his third act on MMA’s grandest stage. But why are so many legends of MMA continually drawn back to the fight game? And what of the promoters who facilitate their returns? Are they quenching a thirst for nostalgia, grasping at the straws of a more prosperous time, or exploiting the names of our heroes for the sake of a quick buck? …
Fight night. I stand proud in the ring. The bright lights illuminate my opposite number while screaming legions 20,000-deep urge me on from the stands. It’s the third round but I feel fit, strong. My every movement is quick like lightning…he looks like he’s wading through treacle. A straight left, a crisp right… it’s nearly over. My foe has wilted and it’s time to move in for the kill. He seems tired and beaten, like he wants a way out. I give it to him. The roar of the crowd swells in my ears. I take a deep breath, bite down on my gumshield, cock a blood-stained fist back and… …I wake up. A dream. A memory of years ago when things were a little different. I rub the sleep from my bloodshot eyes with thick, gnarled fingers. Everything is stiff. Everything aches. Across the room piles of trophies adorn every surface and there’s pictures of man with his hand raised, draped in big, shiny belts. The man in the pictures seems to get younger every morning.
… Nostalgia or exploitation? The reaction to Mirko Cro Cop’s UFC return has been mixed. We all love nostalgia and it’s tough to argue that his heyday – the wonder years of Pride Fighting Championships – wasn’t the golden age of MMA. In a sport that’s increasingly bland, Cro Cop harks back to a time of unique characters and iconic battles that created or cemented our love for this crazy sport. But is the heavyweight division of the world’s most talent-rich league really the place for a man closer to 50 than 30? Lest we forget, the UFC experience has not been kind to the Croatian Sensation. His record in the Octagon stands at 4-6; with the exception of the Cheick Kongo debacle, every time he faced a heavyweight that might be called ‘reasonable’ by UFC standards, it ended with him stopped by strikes. There is a little hypocrisy in the air of course; critics of Filipovic’s re-signing may have overlooked the almost universally-loved Mark Hunt. Hunt is also 41 this year; another kickboxing convert that transitioned to MMA when Pride opened their once-substantial chequebook. Unlike Cro Cop though, Hunt seemed to get better with age. …
Nowadays even getting out of bed is a chore. Things get easier with a mouthful of opiates and a hot shower. Tough to fight in the US anymore on all these meds, what with their new, fancy testing. Impossible to fight anywhere without them. “Got to do one more though, for old times’ sake” I tell myself. “Just to prove that you can”. And a paycheque, of course. All that money you made didn’t seem to last. Maybe you’ll win and they’ll ask you to come back for another. You kiss your wife as you leave for training and you’re not sure whether the look on her face breaks your heart or drives you on. It’s not the same look she gave the young man from the pictures, full of pride and admiration. What is it, exactly? Concern? Fear? A little pity? Doesn’t matter now. Got a job to do, got to get paid. Don’t know any other way. Who knows, maybe they’ll cheer for you again…
… To his credit, Cro Cop hasn’t been sitting on the sidelines with a drink in his hand like so many faded legends. He returned to kickboxing, mostly against less then world-class opposition and grinded his way to a number of crowd-pleasing wins in Croatia. His home nation gave him a deserved hero’s welcome, especially when he won a K-1 Grand Prix on native soil. Make no mistake though, this wasn’t the K-1 of old; the one where glory had eluded Cro Cop for so long. But that didn’t seem to matter to Filipovic; even though the fight-ending left high kicks were sparser than ever, he was winning. He had the glory, he had the respect. The paydays didn’t hurt either. And that’s the crux of the issue. While the mega stars of today like Georges St. Pierre and Jon Jones can generate millions, the legends of yesteryear did not. Or they did, and like so many athletes before them, they squandered it. When the money stops for sportsmen, it stops hard, especially at the top end of the fight game where all that separates you from being a world champion and a faded echo are a few years and a few losses. …
Everything seems much louder in the gym these days. Like the pictures on my wall, the faces keep getting younger. That’s what I tell myself at least… it’s easier to swallow than the truth. Reflexes are gone, speed is gone, timing is going… I’m getting old. Still got that stopping power, just gets harder and harder to make it count. Head is fuzzier than usual after sparring. I close the door of the steam room for a minute’s solitude and my worries fade out with the noise of fists and shins on damp leather heavy bags. I’m still a hero here; some of the kids in that room have my poster on their walls. Who am I kidding? Their respect seems more forced with every fight. “That’s why you need to do one more” I tell the man in the mirror. “Go out on top, earn it back”. Bills need paying. Can’t think about that now, got to focus on the task at hand. More sparring; need to sharpen these dull tools. Used to be precise as a surgeon’s knife; these days I’m more of a sledge hammer. I can see the gaps and make them hurt, just can’t move through them fast enough. I catch the sideways glances from younger versions of me on the mat. Trying to put a brave face on it, hiding these glassy eyes behind my gloves as my partner sympathetically takes his foot off the gas. I see my coaches share a doubt-filled look before they call ‘time’. I laugh it off. “Got me that time…” He’d get me every time. I’m better than this. I *was* better than this.
… Deconstructing legends Cro Cop is not alone. Despite his depressingly poor outing against Roy Nelson last year, legendary Brazilian heavyweight Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira intends to climb back into the cage in 2015. Nogueira’s body has long since given up on him and the whispers coming out of Brazil about the state of his health are tragic. How long will it take, how many beatings will he endure, before people forget the legend and see only a broken man outstaying his welcome? Ken Shamrock would be a great choice to answer that question. The original UFC superstar went from being the sport’s most recognisable face to one of its most respected elder statesmen. The damage Ken has since inflicted on his reputation has tarnished the legacy he’d toiled so hard to build. He should be revered as the godfather of MMA; instead, he’s seen by many as a carnival huckster, all talk and ever-diminishing returns. Unthinkable losses, embarrassing wins and promised fights that never materialise; that’s how many will remember somebody once dubbed ‘The World’s Most Dangerous Man’. This year, at nearly 51 years old, Shamrock will once again come out of exile. A bare knuckle boxing fight against veteran gypsy scrapper James Quinn McDonagh in the UK is his latest date with destiny. Few are holding their breath that the fight will actually take place. He needs the money, and the roar of the crowd. With great power, comes great responsibility Where do the promoters stand in all this? Regional shows can perhaps be forgiven for booking the likes of Shamrock, a name that carries notoriety if not weight; a legend that will get knocked down at a knock-down price. But what of Bellator and the UFC? The 41-year old Kevin ‘Kimbo Slice’ Fergusson will return to the cage this year. Dan Henderson is nearly 45, although seemingly still capable. It’s at least palatable for the UFC to book Cro Cop against fellow ‘old school’ fighters like Hunt, Frank Mir and Nogueira, or regional-level sluggers like Ruan Potts and Nikita Krylov. But the talent gap at heavyweight is immense; how long before he finds himself opposite a Travis Browne or Stipe Miocic? Ultimately that is Filipovic’s cross to bear. He’s never been the kind of man to go out with a whimper. History has shown that he’ll fight on regardless, so perhaps it is best that he earns as much money as possible while doing so. Whether we as fans support that by opening our wallets and tuning in is a personal choice. I will, for now, and I’ll hope that whatever it is that Mirko is looking for – money, fame, respect – is worth the physical risk he’s taking. …
Fight night. I stand, haggard, in the ring. The crowd ain’t so loud for me now. It’s the third round and somehow my opposite number looks fit, strong. His every movement is quick like lightning… I feel like I’m wading through treacle. A right cross, a left to the gut… it’s nearly over. I’m fading and he moves in for the kill. I feel tired and beaten, I want a way out. He gives it to me. It’s over now, I’ve had enough. Can’t keep going home to my wife like this. Can’t keep scaring my kids with these lumps and bruises. Made some good money, at least. And I nearly had him in the first. If only I’d landed that one big shot… “Maybe just one more…” I tell the man in the mirror. “Who knows, maybe they’ll cheer for you again…”