Clanging Cajones
The Top Five
Jake Rossen Jan 23, 2007
5) Dan
Henderson (Pictures)
No weight classes? No problem.
At 193 pounds, Dan
Henderson (Pictures) has fought middleweights, light
heavyweights, and bona fide heavyweights. And while five losses mar
his record, not a one was an outright steamroll.
Henderson’s success as a light heavyweight has long been a source of consternation among fans: if he can cut the weight, why not? He’s giving up close to 30 pounds come fight night. Only recently has “Hollywood” cut the water, with a predictable result: the PRIDE 183-pound championship.
4) B.J. Penn (Pictures)
Like Sakuraba’s ambitions, Penn’s aimless wanderings through weight classes have been another perpetual sore spot in this column. Could he just pick a road and stick with it?
Irrelevant. As a beefed-up welterweight, Penn took on the heavier Rodrigo Gracie (Pictures). While Gracie wasn’t known for his devastating striking, his strength in jiu-jitsu coupled with his size could’ve posed a significant problem for Penn. No go: B.J. won the decision.
Empowered, he shot up to the light heavyweight division to take on Ryoto Machida (Pictures), a legitimate threat to anyone in that class. (Just ask Rich Franklin (Pictures), Vernon White, or Stephan Bonnar (Pictures).) While Machida earned the judges’ nods, it was by no means a blowout: despite his genetic disadvantages, Penn hung in there and traded shots.
By way of perspective, can anyone imagine, say, Din Thomas (Pictures) exchanging blows with a middleweight? (Answer: Amar Suloev (Pictures) says no, he cannot imagine that.)
There are, of course, the fights with Matt Hughes (Pictures), which proved that Penn had talent that far outweighed the lightweight class. Unlike his predecessors, Penn’s size mismatches have come in the current era of well-equipped athletes.
“There are no weight classes on the street” is Penn’s mantra. While it’s alpha male in the extreme, it’s also admirable as hell.
3) Renzo Gracie (Pictures)
Beating two former UFC heavyweight title holders is a factoid worthy of anyone’s resume. If you happen to weigh 180 pounds with your winter coat on, it’s certainly worthy of a No. 3 slot on some random boob’s Internet column.
The most motivated of all the Gracies, Renzo has been taking daunting challenges since the mid-1990s. He knocked out Oleg Taktarov in a memorable ’96 contest; in ’99, he submitted Maurice Smith (Pictures) via armbar. (The bout came after Smith’s elongated war of words with the family in martial arts magazines.)
When Royce and Rickson were busy negotiating convoluted rules and record salaries, Renzo was gladly accepting fights in RINGS that prohibited striking on the ground. (For a Gracie, that’s like asking Tank Abbott to please not punch people in the head.)
Nearing 40, when most athletes are content to take on middling opposition, Renzo accepted bouts with B.J. Penn (Pictures), Pat Miletich (Pictures), and Carlos Newton (Pictures), going 2-1 on the stretch. Now he’s slotted to face Frank Shamrock (Pictures) in a bout that’s been discussed for a decade now, and where Renzo again seems the odds-on loser.
It’s a role he’s all too happy to embrace; the smile says, “Just wait and see.”
2) Royce Gracie (Pictures)
To write about Royce Gracie (Pictures) prior to November of 1993 was to be preparing a eulogy. He was the smallest, weakest, least formidable looking entrant in the inaugural Ultimate Fighting Championship. Stories circulated about his family’s peculiar submission game, but to the fan weaned on Chuck Norris movies, he was about to be eviscerated.
It’s the timing, not the performances, that make Royce so respected as a warrior. Yes, his family had been accepting challenges in dojos for decades; yes, they had complete faith in their art. But this was the first time a global search had been conducted for various styles, their practitioners having the exact same belief in their own abilities. On top of that, they were built like action figures.
Royce entered a cage when there was no precedent for doing so. He did it, in fact, after witnessing teeth flying through the fence during the first bout. There were strikers and submission wrestlers, judo players and bar brawlers. And then there was Royce, who had literally nothing beyond his family’s jiu-jitsu.
Enter the Octagon now and, while it’s still an overwhelming experience, you at least have the benefit of 75 events and 800 fights that prove, “Hey, nothing that bad happens in here.” There’s a lineage that can calm nerves.
But at UFC 1? 2? Nothing beyond the previous fight — one that usually ended in someone bleeding profusely and nursing a broken orbital bone.
Royce belonged to a different era, one that seems like the Wild West of the sport. Things were more dangerous, more lurid, more violent. And yet he still walked in like he owned the place.
Balls.
1) Yuki Nakai (Pictures)
SHOOTO veteran Nakai was immortalized in the Rickson Gracie documentary Choke, nearly stealing the show from the enigmatic royal family of MMA during a 1995 Japan Vale Tudo tournament.
Coming in at a wispy 150 pounds, Nakai used his submission pedigree to crank the heel of infamous Gerard Gordeau, but not before getting eye-gouged by the dirty Dutchman.
Nearly blind, Nakai went on to survive a brutal ground-and-pound from densely-muscled Craig Pittman, finally snagging an armbar submission. By way of an encore, a bruised, battered Nakai strutted out to face Gracie in the finals. Of course he lost — Rickson, after all, isn’t 400-1 — but it didn’t matter. Nakai gave up 30-60 pounds during each of his three trips to the ring that night; worse, he could barely see.
The next time you’re fretting over a dentist visit, pop in a copy of Choke. Perspective is everything.
For comments, email [email protected].
No weight classes? No problem.
Advertisement
Henderson’s success as a light heavyweight has long been a source of consternation among fans: if he can cut the weight, why not? He’s giving up close to 30 pounds come fight night. Only recently has “Hollywood” cut the water, with a predictable result: the PRIDE 183-pound championship.
Career highlight: accepting a fight with “Minotauro” on just a
couple weeks’ notice. And while Nog eventually snagged an armbar,
he had to work for it.
4) B.J. Penn (Pictures)
Like Sakuraba’s ambitions, Penn’s aimless wanderings through weight classes have been another perpetual sore spot in this column. Could he just pick a road and stick with it?
Irrelevant. As a beefed-up welterweight, Penn took on the heavier Rodrigo Gracie (Pictures). While Gracie wasn’t known for his devastating striking, his strength in jiu-jitsu coupled with his size could’ve posed a significant problem for Penn. No go: B.J. won the decision.
Empowered, he shot up to the light heavyweight division to take on Ryoto Machida (Pictures), a legitimate threat to anyone in that class. (Just ask Rich Franklin (Pictures), Vernon White, or Stephan Bonnar (Pictures).) While Machida earned the judges’ nods, it was by no means a blowout: despite his genetic disadvantages, Penn hung in there and traded shots.
By way of perspective, can anyone imagine, say, Din Thomas (Pictures) exchanging blows with a middleweight? (Answer: Amar Suloev (Pictures) says no, he cannot imagine that.)
There are, of course, the fights with Matt Hughes (Pictures), which proved that Penn had talent that far outweighed the lightweight class. Unlike his predecessors, Penn’s size mismatches have come in the current era of well-equipped athletes.
“There are no weight classes on the street” is Penn’s mantra. While it’s alpha male in the extreme, it’s also admirable as hell.
3) Renzo Gracie (Pictures)
Beating two former UFC heavyweight title holders is a factoid worthy of anyone’s resume. If you happen to weigh 180 pounds with your winter coat on, it’s certainly worthy of a No. 3 slot on some random boob’s Internet column.
The most motivated of all the Gracies, Renzo has been taking daunting challenges since the mid-1990s. He knocked out Oleg Taktarov in a memorable ’96 contest; in ’99, he submitted Maurice Smith (Pictures) via armbar. (The bout came after Smith’s elongated war of words with the family in martial arts magazines.)
When Royce and Rickson were busy negotiating convoluted rules and record salaries, Renzo was gladly accepting fights in RINGS that prohibited striking on the ground. (For a Gracie, that’s like asking Tank Abbott to please not punch people in the head.)
Nearing 40, when most athletes are content to take on middling opposition, Renzo accepted bouts with B.J. Penn (Pictures), Pat Miletich (Pictures), and Carlos Newton (Pictures), going 2-1 on the stretch. Now he’s slotted to face Frank Shamrock (Pictures) in a bout that’s been discussed for a decade now, and where Renzo again seems the odds-on loser.
It’s a role he’s all too happy to embrace; the smile says, “Just wait and see.”
2) Royce Gracie (Pictures)
To write about Royce Gracie (Pictures) prior to November of 1993 was to be preparing a eulogy. He was the smallest, weakest, least formidable looking entrant in the inaugural Ultimate Fighting Championship. Stories circulated about his family’s peculiar submission game, but to the fan weaned on Chuck Norris movies, he was about to be eviscerated.
It’s the timing, not the performances, that make Royce so respected as a warrior. Yes, his family had been accepting challenges in dojos for decades; yes, they had complete faith in their art. But this was the first time a global search had been conducted for various styles, their practitioners having the exact same belief in their own abilities. On top of that, they were built like action figures.
Royce entered a cage when there was no precedent for doing so. He did it, in fact, after witnessing teeth flying through the fence during the first bout. There were strikers and submission wrestlers, judo players and bar brawlers. And then there was Royce, who had literally nothing beyond his family’s jiu-jitsu.
Enter the Octagon now and, while it’s still an overwhelming experience, you at least have the benefit of 75 events and 800 fights that prove, “Hey, nothing that bad happens in here.” There’s a lineage that can calm nerves.
But at UFC 1? 2? Nothing beyond the previous fight — one that usually ended in someone bleeding profusely and nursing a broken orbital bone.
Royce belonged to a different era, one that seems like the Wild West of the sport. Things were more dangerous, more lurid, more violent. And yet he still walked in like he owned the place.
Balls.
1) Yuki Nakai (Pictures)
SHOOTO veteran Nakai was immortalized in the Rickson Gracie documentary Choke, nearly stealing the show from the enigmatic royal family of MMA during a 1995 Japan Vale Tudo tournament.
Coming in at a wispy 150 pounds, Nakai used his submission pedigree to crank the heel of infamous Gerard Gordeau, but not before getting eye-gouged by the dirty Dutchman.
Nearly blind, Nakai went on to survive a brutal ground-and-pound from densely-muscled Craig Pittman, finally snagging an armbar submission. By way of an encore, a bruised, battered Nakai strutted out to face Gracie in the finals. Of course he lost — Rickson, after all, isn’t 400-1 — but it didn’t matter. Nakai gave up 30-60 pounds during each of his three trips to the ring that night; worse, he could barely see.
The next time you’re fretting over a dentist visit, pop in a copy of Choke. Perspective is everything.
For comments, email [email protected].
