…And you don’t stop

As is usually the case with yours truly, I have set off on another journey of musical discovery and rediscovery. Worry not (or simply worry), as I have not abandoned either the long-dormant 2005 project, nor the impending 2006-07 telly project, let alone the sort of impending 1997 reminiscy-fest. Anyway, this one is based around the wonderful world of early nineties (and very late eighties) hiphop.

I have had a taste for the stuff ever since getting into Cypress Hill as a teen, arguably even when friends cooler than I showed me NWA tapes when I was nine (sadly I can’t really count the latter as my being a big fan, even if the Public Enemy ‘target’ symbol was emblazoned on the back covers of a number of my school books.

I like rap of all ages, natch, but the early nineties really appeals to me. Perhaps this is due to a misplaced romanticism of my youth in a middle school of massively varied ethnic make-up, of taping Tribe Called Quest and PM Dawn songs off the radio, and of when The Fresh Prince of Bel Air was actually good. Well, it’s probably entirely due to that, and my twin fixation with the media generated image of South Central LA, perpetrated through the likes of Boyz N The Hood, New Jack City, Death Row records and Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas (which in reality I neither would nor could endure), and my never-ending general California obsession.

Partly due to summer allegedly in authority for its quarter-year, and partly due to another ridiculous message board poll, I have decided to fill in the gaps in my period rap knowledge that are so large as to represent a void, with the actual artefacts of familiarity representing mere molecules of matter that are being sucked into my black hole of awareness. So I thought I might scribble some random thoughts as I go.

We all know about Wu Tang, Cypress Hill, Public Enemy, N.W.A. (and offshoots) and Illmatic. We should know at the very least of the biggest of the ‘cult hits’, such as Eric B & Rakim, EPMD, Ultramagnetic MCs, De la Soul and Gang Starr. The ever-excellent Woebot wrote a great post about some of the lesser-known albums, and this newly-discovered-by-me blog, When They Reminisce, is full of gems and nice writing too.

The big discovery for me thus far has been Ice Cube’s solo breakthrough album AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted. I remember being aware of this when it came out, but I didn’t listen to it when I was ten. And for some reason, I decided I didn’t think much to Cube in general. Maybe I was being unduly influenced by the D.R.E and Cypress Hill, both of whom have had words to say. That and the majority of what I have seen of his film resume (Boyz… excepted, natch). Anyway, this was pretty damn good, a surprisingly intellectual example of what would turn into the bloated, posturing gangsta movement. Judging from her guest spot, I want to get some Yo-Yo in.

I’ve liked what bits I’ve heard of Ice T for a while, but I was recently recommended his Home Invasion set (Crazy Overlord holla!), and I am digging it greatly. I love how he comes at the gangsta angle from a rather arch perspective because it means he can go all-out. The problem with a lot of gangsta rappers trying to seem legit is that they end up blustery and sweary, but with no cool tales to tell. As far as I’m concerned, this particular avenue of rap is all about the characters – and nobody works a gimmick like Ice motherfucking T. His enunciation is also really good: I know this was an era in which perspicacity was prized, and the rappers had the verbal skills lacking from the likes of Diddy and Fiddy, but man alive – T might not have the smoothest flow, but he is on an almost Chuck D level of clarity.

Anyway, I’ll hopefully post thoughts as I go, rather than have this be an obsessive-compulsive treatise on my thoughts about everything I ever listen to. Before I finish, though, Masta Ace is excellent, The Low End Theory is way better than I even thought it was, and Six Feet Deep: better than …36 Chambers? Oooh.

UFC 73 postscript

A few things have come to light since the ‘publication’ of my UFC 73 post, so herein are those aforementioned things.

First off is the detail that I blanked on (and an ever-present issue when a writer gets cocky enough to work off fighter records in his memory as opposed to, you know, actual factual stuff you might get on FC Fighter’s database. Yes, Mirko Filipovic started in the UFC with a win over Eddie Sanchez on the same show Rampage Jackson debuted and not, as I erroneously stated, with the loss that came next against Gabriel Gonzaga in Manchester. And rather than try any ‘whatevz’ face saving, I will cop to that being an embarrassing error, especially as I saw the fight at the time. Mirko entered to the boss Pride FC theme tune and everything. Both thanks and no thanks, then, to my man Dave Walsh.

Of more import to the actual world of MMA is the recent revelation that both participants in the recent lightweight title fight, champion Sean Sherk and challenger Hermes Franca, tested positive for steroids. Given that the show ran in California (off the top of my head!), and they are very strict in their jurisdiction over the state’s recently regulated sport, this was hyper foolish. It should be assumed that, if one is fighting a title bout, one will be subjected to the wee-wee test, so I have no sympathy for either man. No, not even for the hyper-sympathetic Franca, who at least came clean in advance, so kudos for that.

Sherk is apparently going to challenge the finding. Good luck with that.

As the California State Athletic Commission rules dictate, both fighters are subject to a ban of a year and $2500. While this doesn’t really affect a fighter like Royce Gracie, who also tested positive recently and is hella rich and, by his own admission, only fights once a year anyway, this has big repercussions for the fighters and the UFC as a whole. Someone like Franca, who fights regularly and, one imagines, for low five figures if that (more mid four figures), is in a lot of trouble because of this. Unless he gets a lot of sponsor support, he’s getting a day job.

The Sherk issue is another tough one. He gets paid more than Franca and is (was?) one of UFC President Dana White’s golden boys. One would hope this strips him of the belt: if not for the Nandrolone positive, it stands to reason that the not-fighting-for-a-year deal would get him stripped. Then again, he was recently injured for the best part of a year and retained the belt for the duration so Jebus only knows. A year of inactivity is enough for me to remove someone from my personal fighter rankings so, if it’s good enough for me, it should surely be good enough for company owners Zuffa.

So what now for the division? Well, it’s safe to say the lightweights in UFC haven’t had the best of it as a division, what with Jens Pulver walking on a pay dispute, high profile matches ending in draws and the division not even existing for the longest time; I warned in my earlier post that Sherk’s reign could spell another death of the division, but I didn’t realise that would manifest in such a heinous manner.

Obviously it would be poor form for UFC to ditch the division again, especially as the last Ultimate Fighter series was all-lightweight, they are pushing Roger Huerta as far as he can go, and the commentators bang incessantly on about how exciting these fighters are. So what now?

I think, without wanting to delve too far into the murky depths of fantasy booking, a mini-tournament would be the best idea: have maybe four first round fights on one show, with semis and final on later shows. That way, whomever wins would have had decent exposure, and would be more qualified than Sherk was when he won the title, with his one fight in the division. The silver lining would be Sherk not being the champ any more. I know, I’m horrible.

Dana’s Next Top Model

In the fifth cycle of Dana White’s Next Top Model, we lucky viewers were privy to all sorts of entertainment. From impromptu haircuts, worries of expanding waist-lines, fear about contestants’ lack of height and talk of colonic irrigation to catfights in the garden and contestants hiding each others bedding, this season of DWNTM had it all!

Perhaps I am overreacting a tad, but the parallels are most definitely there: both TUF and the …NTM franchises feature egoists with varying degrees of talent competing for that infinitely important contract (less so for TUF, from which even middling performers find at least temporary future employment with UFC), being whittled slowly away, week after week, with the obligatory teary farewell (I hope and pray that TUF6 features the weepy letter-to-remaining-contestants idea), while professionals appear to help their charges but actually undermine them whenever possible. I eagerly await seeing TUF contestants in their pink nightdresses shriek with excitement upon finding that days Dana Mail. Perhaps I have revealed too much.

To the matter at hand, though, that matter being the recently aired Ultimate Fighter 5 programme, which was of course the most controversial yet! Well, it pretty much had to be after TUF 4 sang sad songs of declining viewer-ship amid such changes as the ditching of team coachers and the inherent rivalry stemming from bickering authority figures.

Thankfully on the latter count, the ultimate in bickering rivalry was at hand with the duo of ‘The Prodigy’ BJ Penn and Jens ‘Little Evil’ Pulver. I was a big fan of the Ortiz-Ken Shamrock feud, before it came time for them to actually fight, with its pool sharkery and general tetchiness, but this season was something else entirely. See, the subtext of TUF 3 was Ken desiring revenge following his massive (blood) loss to Ortiz at UFC 42. As that particular revenge was never going to happen, that narrative strand was somewhat moot. TUF 5 cast Penn as the would-be avenger, which was eminently possible, probable and, some would have argued pre-Upset Year, inevitable.

Underpinning the coach based battling, of course catalysed by that opening moment when Penn asked for a show of hands as to who wanted to be on his team – nearly everybody – was the cast of drunken, violent, borderline deranged gluttons. Needless to say, it was completely fantastic viewing.

I suppose the issue of Gabe Ruediger has to be addressed at some point, so here are my thoughts: He’s technically smart, but also an idiot. I hated the way he strove to have an answer for everything, whether he was talking to Wiman, DeSouza or even when Dana dismissed him. His inability to make weight was a sad state of affairs. If I was ever picked for a competition such as this (heaven forefend), I’d be so desperate to make weight that I would walk into the house at 154, just to be on the safe side. I figured he’d be one to avoid after he said he liked mind games. Unless you’re really, really intelligent, don’t go down that cul-de-sac or you’ll look like a self-important twonk.

And, as predicted, he failed; these mind games revolved around either implying his rivals were gay, or that he was. Great stuff, Cerebro. What’s really sad is that, given this is a house of fighters, such low grade japery actually has an effect. Other ‘it’s OK, they’re fighters’ stuff was the insane controversy caused by someone (Emerson?) crayoning ‘Team Pulver Sux!’ on the wall. Normally I hate the kind of people who think it’s wise to rip their tops off and start flexing when ready for a fight to kick off, but I think Nate Diaz is great so he’s let off. Ditto that being of pure anger, Manny Gamburyan. If it was Team Penn, though, my words of derision would have been harsh and plentiful.

That is not to say I don’t like Penn: quite the opposite, as I was cheering him on during the TUF 5 finale. I just felt sorry for Pulver since that opening episode popularity contest. I didn’t always agree with Jens and his coaching strategies, it has to be said. When Nate Diaz wanted to train a bit with Team Penn prior to his battle with fellow Team Pulver member Corey Hill, Pulver looked to feel as though a dagger had been plunged into his heart. I thought it perfectly understandable that Diaz didn’t want to train with his next opponent. That said, it’s not as if they hadn’t been training together for weeks anyway (would an extra couple of days be tantamount to divulging personal secrets?)… and on top of his Penn training, he still trained with Team Pulver, so… it’s all a tad moot really.

Speaking of Hill, I found the gangly MMA neophyte to be by far and away the most compelling character on the show. I think it was episode three that focused on the man, and it was the most entertaining period of the programme that didn’t directly involve fighting.

I loved the fact that he had no idea who Jeremy Horn was, even though – as an MMA fan – I should have been appalled at such a lack of respect for da bidneth. I loved the fact that he soaked up new knowledge like a sponge, to the extent that he took an off-the-cuff remark from Horn about the guard being ‘your home; your zone’ and turned it into a mantra, chanting ‘this is my home! This is my zone! Nobody comes in my zone or my home!’ – all the while walking with knees and elbows touching like a fantastic, giant BJJ crab. Needless to say I was dying to see him fight, if overflowing with trepidation at such an experience-lacking fighter being thrown in with relative veterans. With Ruediger eating his way off the show, Hill fought Emerson.

Corey ‘Buddy Rowe’ Hill vs. Rob ‘Rob Emerson’ Emerson was a bit of a dud fight, all things considered; especially for someone like me who was dying to see Corey finally fight. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect Corey to come away with the victory after the two pecked at each other for the duration, but then again I didn’t expect anyone to win it. I thought maybe the judges would elect to have massive tubes placed over both fighters that sucked them out of the building and deposited them in a desert with Jeremy Jackson and Bobby Southworth.

I couldn’t really tell, nor did I care, who should have won the fight, but Emerson seemed to throw some effective leg kicks while Hill flailed away a bit. Hill seemed to be the kind of fighter who would be unstoppable if he knew what he was doing. Like maybe if he trained with Anderson Silva for a while and learned about the Thai clinch. Hopefully he takes Jeremy Horn’s advice (now he knows who Horn is) and trains with ‘Gumby’.

I reckon maybe the judges looked for external criteria when awarding this fight to Hill. Like the fact that Emerson had already tasted defeat at the hands of Nathan Diaz and still lacked any kind of fire in this second chance bout. Maybe they were as entertained as the rest of us at Corey’s training rages and ‘nobody comes in my zone or my home!’ walking-guard mantra; Corey equalling more ratings than Emerson equals Corey staying in the competition. I was just glad he was on the same team as Manny, as that Armenian bruiser would be a nightmare for Hill in a fight. Maybe something like Sergei Kharitonov’s pulverisation of Semmy Schilt, but on fast forward.

On the same episode was Joe Lauzon eviscerating one of the random blokes who don’t get much camera time. Mike… Mark… Jim… Geraghty? He seemed to have a smart mouth that rather endeared. Sadly for Geraghty, he was – as we say in Streetfighter-playing circles – perfected. He got taken down, drubbed a bit down there, and got back to his feet, where Lauzon literally pounced on him and choked him out with a sleeper that was applied like it was a real pro-wrestling match. It was amazing stuff and, if you add that to how he mashed Pulver, I figured Lauzon a (the) favourite to win the whole thing.

Which, I suppose, brings us to one Manvel Gamburyan. Despite what Dana said, I always had faith in him; steamrolling one’s first opponent will do that for you. He was just so compact and aggressive with enough skill to make those attributes work massively in his favour that I didn’t see how anyone could be against him. When he won his initial fight, over Noah Thomas, I felt slightly sceptical about what a win over Thomas means in the grand scheme of things; the manner in which he did so, though, was a statement of breathtaking persuasion that was hard to argue with.

As the rounds progressed, wheat duly sorted from chaff, the questions remained: even Dana White repeatedly claimed the stout Armenian was too small to make it past each respective round. While he was indeed short, such a compact build, allied with his respectable skills, made it hard to imagine who would beat him any time soon, and how they would do so. As it turned out, nobody had the answer, as he overpowered and sucked the fight from favourites like Matt Wiman and Joe Lauzon.

…Which brings us neatly to one Nathan Diaz. I have to admit I rooted slightly for him from the beginning due to his being the younger brother of the ever-entertaining Nick Diaz, who has vanquished the likes of Robbie Lawler and Takanori Gomi but remains his own worst enemy. Nate seems to be equally self destructive in his genius. I usually hate people who try fighting others outside an official fighting framework, but I didn’t mind his topless chest beating post-Graffitigate. I also thought his attempt to goad Cole into fighting him, mere tele-visual weeks after the mass cull caused by the sword of Danacles, was both incredibly brave and so dumb that it crossed the line into demented brilliance. Like the musical career of OPM, then. And that’s not to mention his bizarrely-conceived beef with Karo ‘do these people not know I can destroy them?’ Parisyan, which would probably have involved some level of Parisyan grabbing Diaz by his lapels and throwing him onto his own head. Then possibly following with an eye socket lock that has a cool Japanese name.

Long story short, Diaz’s skills were sufficiently bill-paying, and he made it to the final by overcoming Emerson ‘Emerson’ Emerson, the aforementioned Hill*, and made it into the finale by besting a very game Gray Maynard. In fact, as tele-visually uninteresting as Maynard was, he had the better of their fight until a quick choke forced him to tap.

So when Manny met Nate in the Ultimate Fighter 5 Finale, viewers were pretty much treated to the two most impressive fighters of the tournament (aside from Joe Lauzon, naturally, who I would be hard pressed to bet against in his future fights). In keeping with the motif of the season, hyper-motivated dynamo Gamburyan had the best showing of the first stanza. However, in keeping with the other motif of the season, Diaz snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, albeit unintentionally, when Gamburyan’s shoulder suffered from what was later revealed to be a nagging injury.

A tragic end for Manny, then, whose ‘winning is my destiny’ intensity reminded of Diego Sanchez before everybody stopped liking the latter fighter. Hopefully he can heal up properly at some point, as his star should shine brightly. As for Diaz, there probably couldn’t be a more fitting winner. His combination of skills and divisive attitude mark him out as a potential lightweight Tito Ortiz, but with teeth. And a human-sized head. Meanwhile, Maynard and Lauzon performed well enough that they probably have a well-paid future lying underneath Sean Sherk for twenty five minutes soon enough (and knocking oneself out on a takedown is unlikely to hinder that, so the controversy surrounding Maynard-Emerson is neither here nor there in the big picture).

And so ended another season of TUF (with Penn returning to magnificently winning ways, lest we forget), with yet another on the horizon. Many have expressed their weariness at the constant grind of: house of fighters; they get annoyed; they fight in tournament format; someone gets prematurely kicked off; there is a finale. While there is definitely something of a template here, I have to admit that a bunch of jerks beating each other up every week is guaranteed to get me viewing with almost no potential downside. Here’s hoping the welterweights don’t let the side down then.

* It is a shame that after his first big episode the producers decided to look away from Hill for so long; he was incredibly compelling viewing, and his growth in skill would have likely had something of an Educating Rita/Pygmalion effect in the viewing. I cannot believe the ‘this is my home and this is my zone’ and ‘Buddy Rowe shouts at Corey Hill’ were the only bits of bizarre behaviour he exhibited.
I’m actually divided on him, coincidentally enough.

The proud MMA fan in me is glad he lost, because he was new to the sport and I wanted someone who lived and breathed MMA to win, someone who knew who Jeremy Horn is. On the other hand, I was well pleased to see such improvement in his performance, and the willingness to step in there with a proven fighter like Diaz. While the best fighter won in that case, I cannot wait to see what Corey does from here; his short bursts of ground and pound suggest he has an inherent aptitude (are there any other types of aptitude?) for MMA. I just hope the UFC does not keep looking away from Hill now the season is over.

UFC 73: ‘Stacked’

I shall endeavour not to get carried away with the mind-blowing stackedness of this card, despite Mike Goldberg’s grand proclamation that this is the finest card of fights ever formulated; my effort will be made retroactively easier by the actual broadcast PPV belying the paper quality of the show.

Still, viewers were treated to two title fights (a mixed blessing if ever there was one), a grudge match between two stars, the debut of an elite heavyweight fighter and even a freebie lightweight match. As a Bravo viewer, ergo one who didn’t pay PPV rates, this was actually quite the show. Not the best this year or anything (I terms of sheer thrills, that last Pride USA show is still king), but it was the finest Zuffa show in some time.

I had a very grave fear as this show approached: as big name and exciting as it ostensibly was, there was always the very real danger, with the three top matches featuring effective MMA wrestlers, of a touch of lay and pray. With two of those matches being five-rounders, that danger was profound indeed. But before we get into those, there was the little matter of a debuting Nogeira.

Antonio Rodrigo (shame on Buffer for the mispronunciation, and on Rogan for skipping the surname altogether) Nogueira is a fighter who fills me with massive concern. While he is indubitably one of the finest heavyweights this young sport has yet seen, his strategy seems to involve wading into enemy fire until he finds a way to win; this is a strategy that is visibly taking its toll on the man.

Against grapplers like Kiyoshi Tamura this was no problem, as he simply dominated them on the ground. Sadly, his career has not been filled with Tamura-level fighters, so he has endured lengthy assaults from Mirko Filipovic and Bob Sapp before finally overcoming them, not to mention the unreal ground and pound from Fedor Emelianenko, of the brutal kind there is no heroic rallying from.

This nearly came to a frightening head at UFC 73 in the closing moments of the first round of his fight with Heath Herring, a man he has twice comfortably defeated. That high kick thrown by Herring, which downed Nogueira like few shots have, seemed to be enough for Herring to steal a round Nogueira had handily won until then. Fair enough, as Heath was closer to finishing than Nogueira had been.

What the ‘Texas Crazy Horse’ will no doubt be ruing, though, is his inability to finish a clearly imperilled Nogueira, instead trying to wave the ex-Brazilian Top Team totem to his feet, thereby killing both time and his chance at a massive upset. (Indeed, Herring should have thrown caution to the wind at this stage; a win over Brad Imes will only buy so many lunches.)

With round one in the record books, and Nogueira slowly collecting his faculties, the flow of the fight ebbed irrevocably back in the favour of the former Pride FC heavyweight champion. Nogueira predictably enjoyed the best of the ground action, though it is to Herring’s credit that the Texan wasn’t as open to submissions as last time they fought, which ended with a glorious anaconda choke. By the end of the fight, Nogueira’s cleaner boxing style and majority of the offence meant he would be spared the indignity of the UFC debut loss that has haunted such names as Herring and Filipovic.

Sean Sherk is an incredible athlete. He maintains a sublime body in that it is incredibly thickly muscled but manages to avoid tiring over the five round course of a twenty-five minute fight. Joe Rogan commented that he was the epitome of a champion, an assertion with which, his hard work and high skill level accepted, I will have to disagree quite vehemently.

The main reason why I cannot agree with Sherk epitomising the MMA champion is because I see little inspiring in him, and I firmly believe a champion (certainly the epitome thereof) should be as much about inspiration as dogged perspiration. With that in mind it is hard for this fan to be inspired by a fighter who actually seems intent on working for a decision over a stoppage.

I’m not saying Sherk is lazy in the slightest, nor am I disparaging Hermes Franca. Franca, a representative of the last time UFC had a lightweight division through his battles with the likes of Caol Uno and Yves Edwards, and vanquisher of TUF 5 alumni Gabe Ruediger and Nate Diaz (I suppose Gabe isn’t technically an alumnus due to getting kicked off the show early) seemed a pretty logical opponent for Sherk. He was certainly more qualified as a lightweight than either Florian or, indeed, Sherk were when they challenged for the belt originally.

No, Sherk’s performance was near-constant domination of a very good lightweight veteran; a masterclass in technique and stamina. But for every easy takedown Sherk won, and for every time he passed Franca’s guard like a hot muscle shark through butter, I couldn’t help wondering why the stoppage neither arrived nor even looked like doing so. As outclassed as Franca was, I never actually feared for his safety of consciousness.

Sean Sherk used to be routinely referred to as a smaller Matt Hughes, but that is hard to believe. Against even top notch opponents like Penn, St. Pierre and Trigg, his wins have come inside the distance. While Sherk has the same stoppage rate at Hughes (seven out of their last ten wins), Sherk’s wins over high quality opposition – Diaz, Florian and now Franca – have been awarded by the judges. It is frustrating as a viewer to see a man so eminently skilled, so strong both of sinew and will, so unable to stop his opponents in the big show.

Rogan expressed his amazement at Sherk’s brilliance during the fight, and some writers have expressed the opinion that boredom during this last fight must be due to ignorance; there really seems to be something of the naked Emperor about Sherk. One wonders how much of this is genuine feeling, or whether it is instead an over-protesting reaction to the UFC attendees who boo ground work due to their own ignorance, or even the UFC matchmakers who reward people for clumsily trading punches in a bar brawl-style fight.

I love grappling. I am even a fan of Dean Lister, Ricardo Arona and Paolo Filho; I was bored by that match. I was bored because Sherk averaged one serious submission attempt per round, because his ground and pound was largely non-existent; I was bored because, for a man dominated, Franca made more of an active effort to finish the fight, with his knees and guillotine attempts. As technically great as Sherk is, I fear his reign may hinder the public thirst for lightweight mixed martial arts; that he is such a powerful champion renders the fear quite profound.

A champion I never fear watching is Anderson Silva. It is safe to say that after dismantling four straight opponents in the UFC, Silva has certainly arrived. I would have said that Nathan Marquardt represented Silva’s sternest Zuffa-based test yet, but then I thought Franklin would be a big test for him, before they fought.

Yes, on a card that fulfilled the promise of both Sherk-Franca and Ortiz-Evans (I’m not even going to bother with that one, other than to say I dread the rematch) bouts going the distance, I dreaded this one. Said dread was based in no small part on the Nate-Salaverry (and if Ivan has really retired, I’d like to wish him all the best, as he was one of my favourite fighters. It is rare that someone can deliver highlight reel submissions in the UFC, then blow kisses to his fans) fight that both still haunts my nightmares and got both guilty parties fired.

The ray of hope came in the vicious beating Nate gave to the tough Dean Lister, but my assumption was that Silva’s aggression would lead to the Nate of the Salaverry fight, rather than the Lister – or even the Doerksen – fight. Thankfully, both Marquardt and Silva came with fireworks in their fists, and Silva displayed the most terrifyingly accurate ground and pound bomb since ‘Shogun’ stopped Overeem at Pride 33. This fandom of Silva comes not simply from the fact that he throws bombs and pleases the great unwashed, but because he takes calculated risks in the heat of battle.

Calculated risks paid off for ‘Lights Out’ as Chris Lytle impressed against Jason Gilliam, though I am unsure to what extent a win over Gilliam should impress. The final moments of the fight were excellent, as Lytle worked two submission holds simultaneously. Though the tap was announced to be from the marvellous reverse triangle from top, it was the arm that Gilliam was gingerly moving post-match.

Lytle is a fighter I never groan about, but it is hard to say I am dying to see him fight again soon given the fact that 170 is so stacked with talent. With nothing against Lytle, i would much rather watch the imminent St. Pierre vs. Koscheck and Fitch vs. Sanchez bouts. A win or two over name competition should see ‘Lights Out’ re-ascend to a PPV position, wherein we viewers can discern what he really has left.

Less impressive was returning fellow TUF alumnus, and friend of Rich Franklin, Jorge Gurgel. Despite a fair amount of TUF hype, writing on his passion for the sport, and his ostensible talent, the Brazilian fighter is still yet to show he deserves placing among the elite in MMA. While he won a unanimous 30-27 decision, I fail to see how he won the second round over compatriot Diego Saraiva, who nailed him with numerous effective, if sloppy, punches to little riposte.

That said, Gurgel did just enough in the slower rounds one and three to secure the decision. He was a tad more consistently offensive on the feet, and delivered ground and pound that, while never particularly dramatic, logged unanswered points in a frustrated and neutralised Saraiva guard.

Though less auspiciously placed on the card than he was a couple of years ago, Stephan Bonnar attained temporary respite from the career freefall that has thus far seen consecutive losses to Rashad Evans and Forrest Griffin (the latter coming by a far clearer margin than their Finale 1 fight, and both hot on the heels of a controversial win over Keith Jardine) compounded by testing positive for horse steroid Boldenone.

While opponent Mike Nickels is far from career-saving in stature, Bonnar’s first round rear choke victory was an impressive show of grappling against a Machado purple belt. The ‘American Psycho’ has an appealing demeanour and, though he is unlikely to challenge the likes of Quinton Jackson or Mauricio Rua, his combination of second-tier skill and charming personality should stand him in good stead. Hopefully this is a sign he intends to keep his buttocks syringe-free.

In all, this was a fine card. Not the greatest PPV ever, as outlined above, but an incredibly solid card from top to bottom; it’s just a shame a couple of the marquee fights were rather damp and squibular. If this was Stacked, it seems rather a misnomer compared to the treats August promises, in the shape of Gonzaga vs. Couture and Koscheck vs. St. Pierre. The UFC seems to be on a roll – as long as they stop screwing UK audiences with TV-level cards, eh?