The Last Emperor: A Retrospective

---

Chris Nelson: Nothing felt right the night Fedor lost for the first time. (Well, not the first time, but you know.) For some reason, I was watching the fights by myself. Ever since my younger brother had pulled me back into MMA by way of Pride, we’d made it a point to get together and watch Fedor’s fights live whenever possible. Randy Couture, Anderson Silva, B.J. Penn -- these guys were special, too, but a Fedor fight always felt like a happening. Anyway, the fight started and things felt normal momentarily when Werdum put his head down to throw wild punches and Fedor dropped him, but that was the end of that. The first armbar looked tight; Fedor pulled out of it. The second looked deep, too, but it wasn’t until Werdum cinched up the triangle that I understood what I was watching. Werdum had baited the trap and now he had his prey.

When Fedor tapped out, my face was as expressionless as his. I wasn’t so much sad that a fighter I liked had lost as I was sympathetic for this man. Despite being a killer in the ring and a relatively bland interview outside of it, Fedor always seemed like genuinely decent human being who just wanted to fight and provide for his family, and whose only crime was having loathsome management. In that 69 seconds, he didn’t lose a fight, he’d shed his mythical status and, with it, all of his bargaining power. It didn’t feel right.

As I write this, it’s been exactly two years since his loss to Werdum, and already the pendulum of public opinion seems to be swinging toward “He was overrated.” This is often punctuated by something about how he “never fought in the UFC,” and then sometimes talk of how he “ducked” tough competition. Of course, most anyone who’s been around long enough -- and plenty have been around much longer than me -- knows this wasn’t the case. Political issues aside, maybe MMA simply passed him by, but give this to Fedor: he didn’t go out on a losing streak when it would have been easy to do so, and he went out on his own terms. It will be a long time before we see any heavyweight do what Fedor did, and until they do, he’ll remain the Last Emperor.

Wojek Rysiewski: Putting Fedor’s remarkable sporting accomplishments aside, what always amazed me throughout his career was the cult following he acquired with many fans all over the world. In light of the difficult relations between Poland and Russia, Emelianenko’s huge popularity among Polish MMA enthusiasts is even more astonishing. The Last Emperor’s sportsmanlike behavior, peaceful demeanor outside the ring and aggressive, cutthroat style of fighting earned him a unique breed of fans, the kind of devoted followers who would in masses watch all his U.S. fights in the middle of the night and then argue in his honor for hours on message boards.

No other foreign fighter has ever been more popular in Poland and no current UFC star attracts even half as much attention as the Russian heavyweight did in his heyday. I am pretty sure that Fedor will be remembered in the Polish MMA community for many years to come.

Lutfi Sariahmed: I never really felt intrigued by Fedor’s allure like so many other MMA fans had been. It's not that I ever doubted his skill; I knew he was great. As a sports fan, however, I wanted to see him fight the best in the post-Pride era. I couldn’t understand the fervor and attachment after he had balked at facing the best guys.

Then, Strikeforce heavyweight tournament -- remember how excited we were that when it started? When “The Last Emperor" took on Antonio Silva, my fascination didn't stem so much from the allure of Fedor as it did that the best heavyweight ever was coming off the first "real" loss of his career. How was he going to respond to something he hadn't really previously dealt with? However, I was taken aback by the atmosphere live as the entire crowd seemed to rise and fall with Emelianenko's every move. The whole card was one of Strikeforce's better efforts, but that New Jersey crowd was only there to really see one man. I didn't really appreciate how many Eastern European fight fans there were in New Jersey until that card.

Fedor’s cult-like following sang in unison as if it were an English football crowd as he made his way to the cage. They booed and threw whatever garbage was around toward the cage after he lost. The only thing they seemed to be missing was a flare to set off in the crowd. Being part of the Fedor train that night definitely gave me a clearer idea of how far his reach is and was.

Sam Genovese: I spoke with Evgeni Kogan at an M-1 event directly after Fedor’s losses to Fabricio Werdum and Antonio Silva. He, along with others, talked about how Fedor had perhaps become a little complacent and arrogant in his training. It was one of the few times that I saw a portion of Fedor that seemed human and flawed. He was not an emotionless robot. He even had a sense of hubris which endeared me even more to one of my favorite fighters.

Mike Whitman: How can one decide on a favorite Fedor Emelianenko moment when there are so many from which to choose? Fight fans will never forget the Randleman slam, the Fujita comeback, the Cro Cop fight, and all the others.

Rather than remembering a single moment in Emelianenko’s career, I’ll instead comment on the man. His quickness and acceleration were extraordinary. In his prime, Emelianenko could cover distance as well as any heavyweight ever has, transitioning between positions seamlessly. This quality perfectly complimented his ground-and-pound, which reminded me of a nail gun. It was clean, efficient and allowed him to inflict a continual stream of punishment upon his victims.

I will never forget the audible pop of Emelianenko's gloves as they crashed into Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira, Gary Goodridge and Heath Herring. I guess I agree with original Pride play-by-play announcer Stephen Quadros: it did sound like someone hitting a buffalo with a baseball bat.

Paul Fladten: Never again will this sport find another Fedor Emelianenko. Doing things his own way, Fedor evolved into a larger-than-life figurehead of the sport while dominating the landscape of the heavyweight division. My fondest memory of Fedor’s career was that of his demolition of former UFC champions Tim Sylvia and Andrei Arlovski. While nowhere near as important or memorable as Fedor’s victories over Cro Cop or Minotauro, the crushing conquests finally gave longtime fans of Fedor and Pride the opportunity to show the “UFC or bust” faithful what they had been missing all those years.

Jordan Breen: Everything. Bald, chubby. The low-budget Adidas shorts in Rings. The Arona controversy. TK’s elbow. Bobby Hoffman not fighting. Herring’s face. The punch in the Nogueira fight, you know the one I mean. Fujita fish dance. Same armbar on Coleman twice. Randleplex. Broken hands, torn skin. The 2003 New Year’s Eve scandal. Daisuke Sato’s intro for the “Cro Cop” fight. The “Cro Cop” fight. Zuluzinho and Hong Man Choi. The “rope grab” against Lindland, while hanging out with Jean Claude Van Damme and Vladimir Putin. Dana White versus Vadim Finkelstein. Tom Atencio and Donald Trump. WAMMA. Sylvia lasts 36 seconds. Arlovski ends up mounted on Dave Mandel’s wall. “Crazy Russians.” Seven years on top. The shock of Werdum’s triangle, Silva’s mount, Hendo’s haymaker. The sweater. Eating two ice creams. The funny pictures on the rollercoaster, the creepy pictures in the sauna. Strange Korean commercials. Father Andrey and his beard. The “that man has to be eliminated” quote. “Enae Volare Mezzo.” Loving Red Lobster. D-level action movies in Thailand. Jerry Millen. Dana White’s emoticon tweets. “God’s will.”

The above paragraph sounds like hysterical, stream-of-consciousness insanity, not a textual scrapbook of the greatest heavyweight MMA has seen thus far. Yet, that is what is and was magnetic about Emelianenko. His presence was constantly intriguing and polarizing because it was so confusing and curious.

Never has a fighter so detached from the sport and its machinations seemed more familiar, beloved and popular, in all kinds of unique international locales, no less. Fedor was the epitome of walking softly and carrying a big stick, a deeply religious introvert who shied away from the obsessive idolatry that his rabid fans engaged in. He was the sport’s greatest heavyweight despite not being at all concerned with a legacy, only viewing himself as a professional and a sportsman whose job was to provide for his family.

The far-ranging tales of Emelianenko’s career -- his successes, failures, strange idiosyncrasies and bizarre bedfellows -- are equal parts drama and comedy. For a man constantly (and foolishly) referred to a cyborg, no MMA figure has ever dominated with such a peculiar, powerful and undoubtedly human mystique.

Greg Savage: Fedor Emelianenko became the stuff of legend during his run in Pride FC throughout the early 2000s. The soft-spoken yet heavy-handed combatant from Stary Oskol, Russia, cut a unique image in a sport dominated by brash, outspoken characters. His unassuming appearance, his reticent demeanor with the media and his humble nature clashed heavily with how many thought the baddest man on the planet should look and act.

Sadly, all those attributes helped foster a long-drawn-out and often very public feud between Emelianenko and the UFC. It was the sad end to what is truly one of the greatest mixed-martial arts careers that the newer fans who joined the MMA explosion over the past seven years will remember him for, and that is a tragedy.

The campaign to discredit what this man accomplished over his magnificent prime has been one of the most disgusting and contrived crusades we have seen in the MMA sphere. The fact that it actually took hold in the media as well is even more disheartening. There is no doubt Emelianenko slipped towards the end of his career, but there is absolutely no way a rational person can diminish his wins over multiple former and future UFC heavyweight champions, nor his utter dismantling of any and all competitors in what was the pinnacle of the sport at that time.

Two wins over Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira and a career-defining masterpiece against Mirko Filipovic were the highlights during a 28-fight unbeaten streak. Sure, there were some less-than-stellar opponents along the way, but Emelianenko can only be compared to his contemporaries and that comparison is mighty one-sided.

So whether or not “The Last Emperor” is really set to ride off into the sunset, if you weren’t fortunate enough to see what he was able to accomplish before the UFC and the sport of MMA took flight, do yourself a favor and go back and watch this artist of violence craft the masterpieces that built his legacy.