29–0
There was a kind of inevitability to watching Khabib Nurmagomedov (Ha-beeb Nur-ma-go-may-dov) fight. Before October 24, 2020 twenty-eight men had tried and failed to defeat UFC’s most dominant champion; including three former or interim holders of the UFC lightweight (155lbs) belt that had become synonymous with him. After a little under eight minutes of work, the tally was at twenty-nine, and it will likely remain there, as Khabib Nurmagomedov announced his retirement from the sport that made him a combat sports icon and a national hero in his native Dagestan, Russia. As the two men came to the octagon I still believed Justin Gaethje (Just-in Gate-jee, more on him in a bit) had a shot. He looked ready, and Khabib, Khabib didn’t look good. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, like he’d been crying even.
Real undefeated records are few and far between in mixed martial arts. Highly touted 9–0 prospects lose in flash knockouts or one-sided decisions to 15–7 journeymen, supposedly elite 20–0 fighters get blown away in embarrassing fashion once they step up from crushing cans in lesser promotions and actually fight someone on their level. MMA is not boxing, you don’t see guys with records of 40–0. The people that truly make names for themselves, become beloved by their fans and respected by their peers, often have plenty of blemishes on their record. Take a guy like Robbie Lawler, one of the true cult heroes of the sport. Beginning his career as a highly regarded UFC prospect all the way back in 2001, Lawler would leave the UFC with a 9–3 record and travel the MMA world as a journeyman fighter, eventually finding his way to nascent UFC competitor Strikeforce. Robbie’s high-action brawling had won him a following but he was never seen as a world title guy. He was a gatekeeper, a mid-carder, a guy who could never quite put it all together despite his obvious talent.
After Strikeforce was purchased by UFC, Robbie returned to the company where he had made his name and went on a legendarily violent run to the welterweight title, where he’d cement his legacy as champion with a pair of iconic five round wars against Rory MacDonald and Carlos Condit. At time of writing, Lawler holds a career record of 28–15, which is actually a fair bit better than it looks, given that he lost 5 of his last 6 since losing the title in a first round knockout to Tyron Woodley. But even at the height of his career “Ruthless” Robbie Lawler had still lost a little more than a third as often as he’d won.
Undefeated records are not unheard of but they are exceedingly rare. Current UFC middleweight champ Israel Adesanya has carved out a 20–0 record on his rise to become one of UFC’s most colorful stars, though it should be noted that Adesanya actually has 4 losses on his resume in his prior career as a kickboxer. Jon Jones is similarly perfect, but with asterisks. In 28 professional fights he has amassed 26 wins, with one loss coming via disqualification when Jones “broke” a rarely invoked rule (basically he was beating up his hopelessly overmatched opponent too well) and one win overturned to a no contest after a failed drug test.
It is a testament to Khabib’s rare greatness then that there are no asterisks, no explanatory paragraphs, no grey areas or controversial decisions. Twenty-nine guys tried to beat this little beardy guy with a furry hat and a lot of similar looking cousins from way up god-knows-where in the Caucasus Mountains and every single one of them failed utterly. Khabib didn’t just never lose a fight, he barely even lost a round. Given all of this, it’s perhaps surprising that many, including myself thought Khabib might be up against it at UFC 254, against what many thought would be the toughest opponent of his career.
Justin Gaethje is an anomaly, a man who makes all the statistics we’ve made up to quantify how good a fighter is at kicking someone’s ass completely irrelevant. He’s a two time All-American wrestler who has never even attempted to wrestle in UFC, instead opting for wild brawling, seemingly ambivalent about his own health. Gaethje had ridden his hi-tempo hi-pressure brawling style to 22 wins and 2 losses, and not a single one had gone to a decision.
Let me tell you a story. Back in 2018, Gaethje, coming off his first two professional losses, was matched up against James Vick. In the traditional press conference testosterone exchange; Vick predicted he would easily knock his opponent out, calling him “punch drunk before 30” and dubbing him “the Homer Simpson of MMA.” All the numbers were on Vick’s side. He correctly pointed out that Gaethje absorbs roughly 10 significant strikes per minute, that’s 50 a round in UFC. Vick could also be said to have a physical advantage, as at 6’3” he’s the tallest man in UFC’s lightweight division by far. None of this mattered. In just under a minute in a half, Gaethje had danced Vick into a corner, cut him off expertly, and uncorked an overhand right from hell that sent all six feet and three inches of James Vick crashing to the canvas, completely unconscious. Justin Gaethje then ran off to do a backflip off the cage. James Vick has not won a fight since.
Styles make fights, or so goes the saying. The main stylistic advantage that Khabib was seen to possess over all his opponents was his savantlike wrestling and grappling ability, complimented by a solid if not particularly flashy striking game and the Russian’s inhuman pressure and pace. That’s a too-long way of saying he’s good at everything. Khabib’s seeming invincibility often came down to how well rounded he is. Gaethje, meanwhile, is dangerous in the opposite way. He’s so simple and straightforward it’s unclear how to attack him. His 2019 classic in which he captured the interim Lightweight belt in a fight with longtime divisional boogeyman Tony Ferguson was further proof of this. On paper, Tony is an equivalent wrestler, a far superior grappler, and a trickier, more unorthodox striker. Gaethje didn’t care, he stood right in front of Ferguson and put the kind of beating on him that fans had become accustomed to seeing Tony put on other people.
The idea, then, was that Gaethje was somehow different from all the other dangerous strikers that littered Khabib’s resume. Different from Raphael Dos Anjos, Michael Johnson, Edson Barboza, Al Iaquinta, Conor McGregor, Dustin Porier. Gaethje is a wrestler you see. He’d be able to stay off his back, keep his stamina, make Khabib fight his fight.
Then the bell rang and the inevitability all came back. Gaethje won the first round on paper but at no point did he look like a man who was winning a fight. Khabib simply walked him down, without feints or fancy footwork, totally unafraid of his opponent’s ostensibly dangerous hands. Despite landing the more effective strikes, Gaethje looked flustered, jumpy, he fell back into bad habits, swinging wildly. The result was inevitable. Just a minute and a half into the 2nd round, Khabib had moved to 29–0 via a triangle choke submission performed with the sudden violence of someone turning off a game console in the middle of a round. Not because he was losing, just because he wanted to be done. Khabib Nurmagomedov, the great champion, then walked to the middle of the cage, collapsed to his hands and knees, and started crying. He had been holding it in for so long.
Abdulmanap Nurmagomedov died this spring, another victim of the COVID-19 pandemic. He had been a coach and mentor to a golden generation of fighters from his own underprivileged corner of the globe, including his son Khabib. Men like wrestling whiz kid Islam Makachev and gawky, unorthodox grappling ace Zabit Magomedsharipov have followed in Khabib’s footsteps, and their success has opened doors for others like them. It seemed like no small coincidence that one of UFC 254’s standout performances came from another Dagestani, as Magomed Ankalaev proved his bona fides as a top 15 contender at light heavyweight. Abdulmanap may be dead but his legacy lives on and expands by the day. The question is what role his son and greatest student will play in it.
There is of course the increasingly real chance that this is all premature, that Khabib will reconsider and shoot for 30–0 at some point in the near future. UFC certainly seems to think he’ll be back, as at time of writing he hasn’t been removed from either the company’s lightweight or pound for pound rankings. There are a handful of appealing fights to make, both for fan and fighter. It’s entirely possible this retirement was meant to force UFC management to finally book the long-rumored superfight between Khabib and fellow all-time great Georges St. Pierre before the opportunity to do so is gone. There’s also the opportunity to finally finish cleaning out the lightweight division by fighting Tony Ferguson for the title, especially appealing for dedicated fans as that fight has been booked and then canceled for one reason or another five times before.
For the time being though it appears as if Khabib is gone, meaning the conversation turns, and is in fact already turning, to one about legacy, and that’s where I get off this train. The GOAT conversation bores me in MMA the same as any other sport, and I don’t know enough about the man or the part of the world he inhabits to speak beyond that. I won’t do you the disservice of passing a hasty Google search off as some degree of expertise on Russian politics or Dagestani society. All I know is I hope he finds some solace in his mourning and a life beyond fighting that makes him feel fulfilled. I know as well that I will miss watching him fight, because there was an inevitability to watching it. The inevitability of real greatness.
