5 Lessons Learned from UFC 281

In November of 2016, the year in which MMA first fell under the regulatory auspices of the New York State Athletic Commission, the Ultimate Fighting Championship booked Madison Square Garden in New York City for a pay-per-view event, the landmark UFC 205, headlined by the biggest star in the sport at the time, Conor McGregor. It has since become a tradition; with the exception of COVID-derailed 2020, the UFC has returned to the fabled arena each November. Those annual New York City cards have all been headlined by a blockbuster title fight, and often more than one, even when the promotion had to invent a belt for the occasion.

The UFC’s latest pilgrimage to the venue its announcers invariably, if accurately, dub “the fight Mecca,” UFC 281, was a worthy entry in the series. With a pair of title fights, a near-guaranteed “Fight of the Year” candidate and the swan song of one of the most beloved fighters of his era, Saturday’s card was calculated to hit all the right notes and it delivered, even if some of those notes were shocking and others merely painful as expected.

In the wake of an instant frontrunner for “Event of the Year,” here are five lessons we learned from UFC 281.

Alex Pereira Wields the Dim Mak

Or, if you prefer, the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique from “Kill Bill: Volume 2,” the Golden Gun of Nintendo 64 Goldeneye infamy, Mass Effect’s M-920 “Cain” nuke launcher, the gom jabbar from the “Dune” universe or any other weapon of instant death from the fictional milieu of your choice. The point is that in Saturday’s main event, “Poatan” showed that he actually possesses the kind of fight-altering, fight-ending power that fans and media are often too quick to attribute.

“Fighter A may be outclassed, but he or she only needs to touch Fighter B’s chin once!” is such a combat sports cliché that we ignore it when we hear it. It is the first resort of a promotion trying to sell a ho-hum headliner—anyone else remember Georges St. Pierre vs. Dan Hardy?—but should be the last conclusion of any serious observer of the sport. True one-shot power is a factor not of simple physical size, or how hard one can blast a pad holder or heavy bag in the gym, but of the will and mental fortitude to pursue finishing opportunities under conditions of serious adversity. Fighters who can deliver a knockout strike are legion; those who can reliably turn defeat into victory in an instant are rare. One of them is Derrick Lewis, who headlines next weekend’s Fight Night card in Las Vegas, and whose lazy jokester persona belies his status as the UFC’s all-time leader by far in knockouts in Round 3 or later.

We must now include Pereira in that select club, as he was minutes from dropping a straightforward decision to Israel Adesanya before rocking him in the final round, then pursuing the finish with enough power and accuracy to spur referee Marc Goddard into action for a standing TKO stoppage. While attention will now focus on whether Pereira and Adesanya should have an immediate rematch, and will certainly mention a career rivalry that now stands at 3-0 in the Brazilian’s favor, it is worth noting that in two of those three wins, Pereira was well on his way to losing before knocking out “The Last Stylebender” late. It should serve as a warning to a UFC middleweight contenders’ pool that is surely licking its collective chops over the relatively green new champ.

We Don’t Deserve Dustin Poirier...or Michael Chandler

And we don’t deserve Justin Gaethje either, if we’re being completist here. Poirier has been a contender for over a decade, dating back to his featherweight days in World Extreme Cagefighting. Ditto for Chandler since his beginnings as Bellator MMA’s first and greatest homegrown star, and Gaethje’s slightly more recent ascent from World Series of Fighting. Name me a boring Poirier, Chandler or Gaethje fight. I’ll wait. Unlike other legendary fan favorites who might thrill or disappoint depending on their opponent’s style and approach, the UFC’s dynamic trio of lightweight action heroes of the last few years have delivered classic fights every single time out, win or lose. Being exciting is easy when the stakes are low, but to do so while remaining in the title picture of one of the deepest divisions in the sport is a ridiculous achievement, kind of like having three Robbie Lawlers at once. Enjoy them while you can, because once they’re gone it may be a long, long time before any division, in any promotion, is blessed in similar fashion again.

Competitive Weight Cutting Is Usually Stupid

Since my early days as a weekly op-ed firebrand at Sherdog, criticizing weight cutting as a means of achieving a competitive advantage has been a favorite topic of mine. However, my axe to grind was not about fighters who miss weight—pointing a judgmental finger at them is the easiest thing in the world—but the silliness of weight-cutting culture in general. Over and over again, fighters prove that a modest weight cut that allows them to exert themselves, absorb punishment, and maintain a work rate late into fights usually trumps a massive cut that leaves them looking a full weight class or two larger than their opponent.

UFC 281 featured three fighters competing at lightweight who spent years of their careers underperforming at featherweight: Poirier, Dan Hooker and Renato Carneiro, all three of whom won decisively—while incidentally dwarfing their opponents, who were career 155-pounders. It also included Michael Trizano, who has spent most of his time since winning “The Ultimate Fighter” as a massive, visibly dehydrated featherweight who possesses obvious skills and physical tools, but had yet to put it all together in a single definitive performance. At UFC 281, he delivered the best showing of his Octagon career to date, blasting Seung Woo Choi in one of the wildest one-round fights you’ll ever see, weathering a rare double knockdown to win by TKO. He also happened to miss weight by nearly two pounds. It’s a sign, I tell you.

Happy Endings Are MMA’s Unicorn

Speaking of things I can challenge you to name for me, how about feel-good retirements in MMA? The difficulty top fighters have walking away from the sport was the topic of literally the first column I ever penned for this outlet. Fighters retiring on a win are so rare as to be nearly unique, and form part of the legend of some of the most awesome fighters in the sport’s history. Having said that, Frankie Edgar’s self-declared swan song against Chris Gutierrez at UFC 281 was the worst of all possible outcomes. Faced with a beloved fighter in “The Answer,” whose calling card for over a decade and a half had been his heart and will, the UFC had two basic options. It could have used the 41-year-old as a sacrificial lamb for a red-hot prospect like Adrian Yanez—cruel, but understandable. Cue Elton John singing “Circle of Life.” Alternatively, it could have booked Edgar against an ultra-low-level bantamweight, of which there are relatively few these days, and given the Jersey kid a possible hero’s farewell in front of a partisan crowd.

Instead, the UFC split the difference, booking Edgar to fight the 31-year-old Gutierrez, a tough, talented and much larger modern 135-pounder. “El Guapo” was neither a young phenom nor an easy out, and he ended up knocking Edgar senseless in front of a stricken arena including his wife and young children. Life goes on for the winner, the loser and the organization, but everything about this felt like a missed opportunity.

You Burned the “Meatball.” Let Us Hope It Was Worth It.

I and my co-host on the Sherdog preview and recap shows, Keith Shillan, spent most of last week questioning the reasoning behind Saturday’s Erin Blanchfield-Molly McCann matchup. Over the past year and change, “Meatball Molly” had skyrocketed from an also-ran grinder in the flyweight division, to a fringe contender on a three-fight win streak. More importantly, she had become one of the UFC’s most unexpected homegrown stars in years, thanks to a couple of stunning knockouts in London and a lovable buddy relationship with fellow Liverpudlian Paddy Pimblett. With such a surprising windfall, Keith and I argued, why would the UFC do anything with the 32-year-old Brit besides book her in winnable matchups in the United Kingdom until she either lost, or won enough fights in a row that there was no other alternative than a title shot?

Instead, the promotion booked McCann to fight in New York City, to meet 23-year-old grappling phenom Blanchfield, a patently brutal style matchup, who was from the tristate area to boot. All indications pointed to a quick submission victory for the prospect, so the matchup only made sense if it served as a star-making moment for Blanchfield. The fight played out as expected, with Blanchfield snagging an easy first-round submission. Blanchfield still looks like the future of the division, even if the quick victory didn’t teach us much; only time will tell whether the damage to McCann’s marketability was worth the trade-off.