When the UFC was in its infancy, its goal was to find the deadliest and most effective martial art for use in a real-life combat situation. And Royce Gracie’s dominance, whilst introducing the western world to the wonders of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and submission grappling, also introduced MMA’s classic rivalry – the contest between strikers and grapplers. These perennial matchups are an icon of the sport, and have provided some of the most exciting and hotly anticipated bouts in MMA history. Khabib’s victory over McGregor is perhaps the most recent case in point, but Silva VS Sonnen, Overeem VS Lesnar, and Machida VS Couture are just some examples of MMA’s favourite stylistic matchup.
Obviously, there are countless reasons why these fights generate so much interest. But generally speaking, it is the clash of these contradictory styles that makes these fights so interesting. They almost take us back to UFC 1, where the focus was not so much on the individual as it was the style and the art that they represented. Yet, throughout all combat sports, there is a more fundamental and almost philosophical difference that underlies competing styles, and defines great fights.
No matter their martial art, combat sports athletes often excel in one of two ways – either in creating control over their opponents, or in creating and exploiting chaos. This is of course an over-generalisation, and some of the greatest athletes have found a way to do both. But as an example, consider the difference between Floyd Mayweather and Mike Tyson. Two of the greatest boxers ever to step through the ropes, Mayweather excelled through technical perfection, using clinical timing and disciplined defensive strategies to dictate and predict his opponents’ movements. And in doing so, Floyd is not only able to control the pace and range of the fight, but his opponent himself.
Tyson, on the other hand, used his terrifying power and speed to overwhelm his opponents. His relentless artillery barrages, by posing a significant threat in and of themselves, forced his opponents into a panicked and untechnical response. But Tyson was a master at finding and capitalising on the openings presented in these moments of panic and uncertainty, and it was his ability to create and benefit from such exchanges that made him such a dangerous fighter.
The key point here is that each of these incredible boxers found greatness pursuing an entirely different strategy. Mayweather’s stems from his ability to predict and control his opponent’s movements, while Tyson came from his ability to be entirely uncontrollable, and to capitalise on the chaos he created with his terrifying athleticism.
A similar dichotomy also appears when we take a look at the grappling world. Although saying this, the fundamental premise of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Wrestling is, in one way or another, to control one’s opponent, so I would wager that a control-based approach is somewhat more common in the grappling world.
Nevertheless, certain fighters embody this strategy most fully, building their game around controlling their opponent on the ground, advancing their position, and working systematically to either maintain top position, or isolate their opponent’s limbs and attack with a submission. Carlson Gracie did this to great effect, using his crushing pressure and glue-like top game to break down his opponent, and work towards a finish. And in recent years, the Danaher Death Squad has used a similarly control-based, systematic approach to dominate the grappling world.
But on the other end of the spectrum there are grapplers who specialise in spotting their opponent’s mistakes, and quickly jumping on these opportunities with their own attacks. These openings often present themselves in transitions and scrambles, when the chaotic struggle for position can lead to panicked and technically imperfect reactions. As a result, such fighters often look to create these moments of uncertainty in the hope that they can capitalise effectively if and when their opponents expose themselves. Marcelo Garcia for example, one of the most successful BJJ practitioners in recent years, was exceptional at using his Z-guard to sweep his opponents. This unorthodox style helped him create scrambles against bigger opponents, and Garcia excelled at using these opportunities to take the back and, more often than not, secure a choke.
As you might expect, these contrasting philosophies have also found their way into mixed martial arts. Justin Gaethje, particularly in his earlier fights, is a perfect example of a fighter finding success in MMA by embracing and pursuing chaotic exchanges more so than technical dominance. Somewhat similarly, Brian Ortega’s unique selling point is his ability to catch less-technical opponents with a range of submissions as they try to transition on the ground, and their hurried responses leave them open to his attacks.
On the other end of the spectrum, Israel Adesanya uses his world-class striking ability and the predictive vision that comes with it to control his opponents, using his feints to dictate their movements and direct them into his own attacks. Whilst on the ground, wrestlers like Kamaru Usman look to dominate and control their opponent on the mat so as to land the brutal ground and pound that has become a staple of their game, while BJJ practitioners such as Damien Maia look to slowly and strategically advance their position, maintain control over their opponent while they hunt for a submission.
But if you’re looking for two fights who most obviously embody the philosophies of control and chaos, look no further than Khabib Nurmagomedov and Tony Ferguson. And it is the fundamental difference between these two fighters that makes this fight such a pyrotechnic matchup.
Khabib is perhaps the most intimidating control-based fighter ever to compete in MMA. The way he visibly breaks his opponents will, controls their movements, and dominates every position, is nothing short of terrifying. Although he has always employed fairly chaotic stand-up and takedown entries, his style and game-plan revolves entirely around controlling his opponent on the ground so to land his brutal ground and pound, or work towards and submission. By adopting this style, and by employing it at such a high level, Khabib has not only cemented his status as the most dangerous lightweights in the world, but one of the greatest control-based athletes ever to compete in MMA.
Ferguson, on the other hand, excels at being near impossible to control. In the stand-up he is as unpredictable and unorthodox as they come, combining off-rhythm boxing with digging kicks, sharp elbows, and unbelievable cardio to create an aura of uncertainty around every moment of the fight. Even when he gets hit, as he tends to do, the spinning elbows and crazy forward rolls he uses to avoid danger drag his opponents into the exactly the kind of chaotic exchange his unorthodox, scramble-centric style benefits from. On the ground, his Granby rolls, savage elbows from bottom, and unorthodox 10th planet techniques force his opponents into positions and transitions they are less familiar with. These chaotic phases of the fight provide the perfect opportunity for Ferguson to employ his tricky submission game and, in particular, the D’arce chokes that are constantly made available by his freakishly long arms, and that make takedown attempts and the resulting scrambles particularly dangerous for his opponents.
This is why this fight has to potential to be the greatest in MMA history. Perhaps this is my casual side showing, but I struggle to remember a fight between two fighters whose philosophies are as different as Khabib and Ferguson’s. For maybe the first time in history, chaos and control are about to go to war.
When writing about this fight, I’m trying my best to avoid the “immovable object versus the irresistible force” cliché I can feel myself sliding towards, but it really does feel like a yin vs yang, or a fire vs water type matchup. In truth, I have no idea what happens when fighters as fundamentally different as Khabib and Ferguson meet, and anyone who says they know for certain how this plays out is not to be taken seriously. But when matter and anti-matter collide, the one thing we can be sure of, is fireworks.