UFC 202 – Conor McGregor: The Puncher’s Path part two

(Note: This is a follow-up to a piece published on January of 2015, which paralleled the careers of Conor McGregor and heavyweight boxer George Foreman. To read the original Puncher’s Path, follow this link.)

Why Nate Diaz? That question must haunt Conor McGregor to this day.

When the UFC tapped the younger Diaz brother as a replacement opponent for McGregor at UFC 196, their logic was clear. What better foil for the most divisive man in the UFC than another bonafide lightning rod? What better replacement for a title fight than a man who claims not to care for belts anyway?

Of course, promoters don’t just care for selling fights. The UFC brass must also have had McGregor’s resume in mind. Nate Diaz could sell a fight, sure–but he could also be beaten. He had won only two of his last five bouts. What’s more, when Diaz received the call, he was enjoying the spoils of his last victory, downing shots in Cabo San Lucas and building more fat than muscle. Even in retrospect, the plan seems foolproof: give Diaz only 11 days to prepare, let him build the fight, and let McGregor win.

It didn’t work out that way, of course, but one wonders if McGregor shared the promotion’s shrewdness.

A steadfast believer in the Law of Attraction, Conor McGregor has never been satisfied with his own achievements. He has always hungered for more, always looked to outdo himself, always sought the next challenge.

In June of 2012, McGregor flattened Dave Hill to take the Cage Warriors featherweight title. Rather than defending the belt, he moved up in weight, and took the lightweight title from Ivan Buchinger six months later. To McGregor, even this impressive achievement was nothing more than a launching pad. He won his UFC debut in April of 2013. Despite a crippling ACL injury, he put together a four-fight win streak in the next three years and faced Chad Mendes in July of 2015. Winning the interim UFC title, he set his sights on the unified championship, and took it with ease, knocking out longtime champion Jose Aldo in just 13 seconds.

For other fighters this might have been the culmination, a justly deserved reward for years of body-breaking work. But McGregor wanted more. He scheduled a bout with UFC lightweight champion Rafael Dos Anjos, looking once again to catapult from success to success. When Dos Anjos pulled out with an injury, McGregor was happy to accept a replacement fight–but why at welterweight? And why Nate Diaz?

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The date is June 23rd 1973. George Foreman is the heavyweight champion of the world, but at featherweight, seven divisions and 91 pounds away from Foreman’s smoldering gaze, the throne sits empty.

A young man by the name of Bobby Chacon stands ready to make a run, his back to the ring as he dukes it out with the turnbuckle, waiting for the sound of the bell. Behind him is Ruben Olivares, one of the greatest bantamweights the ring has ever known, and until recently the undisputed champion. He is making his second foray into the featherweight ranks, and Chacon feels up to the challenge.

The bout begins. Chacon chases after Olivares, following in his footsteps rather than cutting off the ring. For a time it works. Chacon strafes Olivares with ramrod jabs. He pierces his belly with right hands, and follows with left hooks upstairs. He is scoring, and his confidence balloons with each success. Ruben Olivares has three times the experience, but Bobby isn’t fooled. Olivares comes prepackaged with a fearsome reputation, but right now he doesn’t seem so tough.

By the third round, Chacon is fully committed to the attack. He has 17 knockouts to his name, a finishing rate of 89 percent. No one can take these punches for long, not even “Rockabye” Ruben Olivares.

But Olivares is done taking punches; midway through round three, Chacon steps in with a right hand. Olivares lays a palm on his neck and sweeps him into the ropes. Suddenly, Olivares becomes the aggressor. He mashes lefts to the body and rolls under Chacon’s counters to land hooking blows to his head.

Before long the onslaught slows, and Olivares takes a step back. But when Chacon follows, eager to regain the forward momentum of the first two rounds, Olivares meets him halfway with a pair of heavy counters. Again Olivares pulls back, and again counters Chacon as he renews the chase.

Bobby doesn’t know it yet but this is the pattern of the fight. Olivares pulls, Chacon reaches after him. And the harder Chacon reaches, the more Olivares’ counters sting. Olivares has three losses, but slowly, punch by punch, Chacon is realizing that those aren’t losses he can replicate. He is caged in with a craftier fighter, and his young body is breaking down under the weight of Ruben’s superior experience.

The locals call Chacon the Schoolboy, but tonight is the first time he’s really looked the part, with Ruben Olivares his headmaster. After the ninth round, Bobby Chacon sits down on his stool, and stays there for several minutes. He stares as Olivares celebrates his 73rd win.

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They say that power corrupts, and nowhere is this more true than in combat sports. Punching power can be taught, but true power is typically innate. And in a sport where the direction of a bout can be changed with a single, decisive blow, there are few gifts more precious.

But punchers very often fall victim to their own power. Almost always, in fact. Even as they put down foe after foe, they lose sight of the strategy and technique which help bring that power to bear. It is often difficult for gifted athletes to understand the importance of fundamentals; it is almost always difficult for gifted punchers to hone their craft when each and every opponent is dispatched with ease.

When I wrote about the Puncher’s Path in January of 2015, I painted the picture of an arrow-straight road, evenly paved, that goes on and on until it runs over a cliff. The truth is more complicated. The Puncher’s Path is serpentine, weaving this way and that like the punch-drunk pugs that walk it. It runs up against the cliff, but for many the Path veers away before they step over, or they are able to scrabble desperately back onto the pavement after stumbling into the pit.

The Path is wide enough for two-way traffic, too. There are many gifted punchers who ran headlong down the path, only to catch a glimpse of what awaited them and turn right back around.

That is why it matters what McGregor’s reasoning was in accepting Diaz as an opponent. If, in his eyes, Nate was a worthy opponent and a suitable replacement for the lightweight champ–if perhaps McGregor’s suggestion of a welterweight limit was intended to add another layer of difficulty to the matchup–then McGregor’s philosophy remains intact. If McGregor expected something like the fight he got at UFC 196 and took it anyway, then he can view the result as an unfortunate consequence of his thrill-seeking career path. In other words, he can cope with it, and come back better.

If, however, McGregor saw Diaz the way the UFC did, as an out-of-shape and unprepared victim–if the welterweight limit was intended to give Conor a break from the rigors of his brutal weight cutting regime–then the Dubliner stands on shakier ground. If Diaz was an easy fight gone awry, then McGregor can come into the rematch once again expecting an easy fight. He can excuse his defeat and, instead of retailoring his game for a uniquely difficult opponent, double down on the notion that Diaz, like more than a dozen men before him, is just another chin waiting to be cracked.

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Two years have passed, and Bobby Chacon is back in the Forum in Inglewood, California. He has entered the familiar arena to face a familiar opponent: Ruben …

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