Epitaph: UFC 111

I would say UFC 111 was painfully predictable; although as a mock soothsayer for the event, I dont' even think I got the name of the organization correct (evinced in the WEC articles below).

Should Georges St. Pierre and Jon Fitch's performances be construed as "disappointing" or flat-out "boring" because they fitted a saddle to their opponents and sat on them for the entirety of the fight as if incubating a pile of eggs?  Their strategies offered the least amount of potential danger and epitomized the enforcement of a fighter's strength versus the weakness of their adversary, but I couldn't help but feel less than satisfied at the event's conclusion.  Perhaps the issue of more importance is the lack of opportunities generated by their foes.

On that note, how did Dan Hardy, Frank Mir, and Ben Saunders hope to win last night? 

A trip to Fightmetric reveals that Hardy only unleashed a total of 42 strikes (34 of which were jabs) throughout the whole fight, which equates to about 8.5 strikes per round, so his logic, which I partially subscribed to, that five rounds was enough time to touch GSP's chin with a fireball had little chance of becoming reality.

Of course, the fact that he was taken down at will with little to no resistance muffled any chances of him mounting a shred of threatening offense, which is a credit to the champion's vice-like hold on the honors of being the best welterweight to grace the sport.  Hardy's refusal to capitulate and fierce fighting spirit were the most enjoyable aspects of the fight, and I believe the Team Rough House fighter earned some respect from the MMA community for his gritty toughness despite coming up short.

I'm also curious what type of gameplan Ben Saunders had in place.  Absent were the telephone pole punches that I expected him to fend Jon Fitch off with, as were any other signs that he was able to compete on Fitch's level.  I seem to remember Saunders extending both hands outward and retreating on more than one occasion as some sort of defense to Fitch's advances into close range, which served as almost a welcoming embrace to Fitch's double underhooks in the clinch.  That's most of what I remember from the fight, as I was distracted by the more enjoyable pastime of watching an apple core that I was nibbling on slowly start to turn brown.

Fitch wins; it authenticated his status as a domineering welterweight, but it was not a fan-friendly display.  In MMA we have those that win, and those that entertain--a symbiotic implementation of both is the cat's meow, and the former takes the cake if you had to choose only one, but seven-straight decision wins in uninspiring fashion simply dulls Jon Fitch's luster.

The fight that made the biggest splash was Shane Carwin's throttling of Frank Mir.  I mean, it's good to be calm and composed, but Mir looked like he had possibly undergone a last-minute change in supplements from Xyience to Xanax.  Carwin engaged Mir on the feet, clouded his vision with enough punches to pin him against the fence, and proceeded to overcome Mir's perfunctory plan of "looking somewhere else" by blasting him in the head with punches that were forceful enough to convince me that Carwin could extract iron ore from an underground mine with only his fists.

I will plainly admit that I've doubted Shane Carwin, I've referenced how knockouts of Neil Wain, Christian Wellisch, and Gabriel Gonzaga doesn't prove much in the grand scheme of things, and I'm happily eating my words this morning.  Sorry Shane, but I wanted to wait for you to rightfully earn the reputation of a top heavyweight, which you did--and I'm mow on board as a believer.  It's still Carwin's classy attitude that reels me in, such as when Brock took a shot at Shane with his quip about the belt being fake, to which Carwin unflinchingly responded that he couldn't agree more and wanted to fight Brock for the outright title.

Shane Carwin stole the show and made the event most worthwhile.  Thank you, Mr. Carwin.

Another rousing performance was exhibited by Kurt Pellegrino, who endured a ferocious assault from grappler Fabricio Camoes before turning the tables and choking him out.  As we witnessed in his battle with Caol Uno, Camoes starts off like a bat out of hell, but can't sustain the frenetic pace for long.  Although he's not considered the elite of the division, Pellegrino picks up a hard-earned victory over a very game opponent.

Since draws will apparently remain an obscure ruling, I would like to suggest a new addition to the MMA dictionary to be cited when a decision is handed down in a fight where there is no clear-cut winner:  "quasi-win".  I don't think that Mark Bocek should've been granted the victory over Jim Miller in their electric three-round war, but I see no substantial justification that Miller did anything more than Bocek in the third and deciding round to clinch the judges' tally.

Do you?  Unless someone can enlighten me by explaining the tangible elements that stacked the judging criteria in Miller's favor, I don't understand how that fight is not a quintessential example of what a draw is supposed to be.

Bocek's stand-up looked to have advanced by great measures, and his grappling was as sharp as ever.  Miller showed great heart by fighting one-armed while ensnared in Bocek's body triangle, just as Bocek did with his patient submission defense during Miller's locked kimura.  The fight was a treat to watch and a true chess-match of highly technical proportions.

"Snap, crackle, pop" was the tune of Nate Diaz' welterweight debut, as he peppered Rory Markham with the same incessant volume of punches he normally churns out, but this time with a liberal dose of power that seemed to be amiss at lightweight.  Diaz' stout and lengthy strikes penetrated Markham's loose defense at will, and quickly put the overweight Miletich fighter out of commission and ripe for a choke.  The likelihood of Nate Diaz reviving his momentum by becoming a force at 170 pounds is difficult to deny.

Ricardo Almeida also passed his first welterweight test with flying color by beating on the people's hero, Matt Brown, and eventually imposing his top-shelf grappling pedigree for a submission win.  Almeida was relentless and unforgiving with his pressure and takedowns, swarming Brown from the sound of the bell until he found his opening.  Perhaps Almeida's awareness of and capitalization on Brown's intention to throw leg-kicks lends credence to remaining secretive about your strategy in pre-fight interviews.

Rousimar Palhares caused the entire continent to cringe in pain when he ruthlessly cranked a heel-hook on Tomasz Drwal, but refused to release the crippling hold even after the referee attempted to intervene.  Although the official was not immediately on top of the action, the few seconds it took for him to react was on the fringe but completely acceptable; it was Palhares' refusal to yield that crossed the line. 

I agree that the fight is not over until the referee deems it so, perhaps even if your opponent is squealing in pain and tapping furiously, but continuing to wrench the hold after the referee jumps in is unacceptable, and Palhares has been suspended for 90 days for his lack of mercy.

 Jared Hamman and Rodney Wallace concluded the evening with a slobberknocker that earned the pair "Fight of the Night" honors.  Hamman snared the unanimous decision in an outright brawl.

"Submission of the Night" went to Kurt Pellegrino, and Shane Carwin was awarded "Knockout of the Night" for his thrashing of Frank Mir.