If he was the boogeyman as a challenger, Khamzat Chimaev is set to be a tyrant as a champion

Yahoo

9 hours ago

It's a tricky business, the fight game, especially when lofty expectations are at the core of it. Everybody knew Dricus du Plessis wanted all the smoke at UFC 319 on Saturday night. He stared down Khamzat Chimaev with an unshakable demeanor, the unsung middleweight champion in Chicago to stop the tyrant of the class from a hostile takeover.
When Chimaev returned that gaze with a wicked smile — flashing unnatural bemusement that only grew darker the moment his devilish eyebrow popped up to signal his bad intent — there was a perfect moment in the fight game. That fleeting moment right before a big fight when anticipation has been brought to the point of bursting, and all that's left to do is find out.
God, it was good. Goosebumps!
Then they moved toward each other and off we went.
Or, more accurately, down DDP went. Chimaev wasted little time in torpedoing in toward du Plessis' legs and dumping him onto the canvas. Soon Chimaev locked an arm down with his knee and the South African sacrifice ended up in a crucifix position. Down came a series of low-impact fists to his ear, as if Chimaev were tenderizing a steak. DDP was forced to try to buck for dear life, to attempt kip-ups with a demon of the industry on his chest, yet it was futile.
And maaaan, how quickly futility became the theme.
Whatever drama fed into UFC 319, which did a record gate at the United Center — just over $11 million — changed to something like awe pretty quickly. Awe that DDP, who'd derailed Robert Whittaker, taken out Israel Adesanya and batted back Sean Strickland on two separate occasions, had nothing for Chimaev. Nothing. He was being tackled, dumped and splattered across the canvas with such ease that half the attention being paid swung toward his incompetence.
The other half marveled at the rampant terror of Chimaev, who came exactly as advertised — a Chechen wellspring of violent impulses. For those of us who assumed Khamzat would fatigue in the second round, we found out we were duping ourselves. If we thought DDP surviving into the third would mean it was his fight, imagine the surprise at tuning in for a 25-minute torture film. And if we thought the fight hitting the championship rounds would look like an act of brilliant defiance, well, maybe it was.
DDP was still there, trying to escape Khamzat's custody. Admirable stuff from a human spirit standpoint.
Yet Khamzat let the will bleed out. He wasn't playing with his food, as a cat might, but it had something in common with the cruelty. In fact, there was something like joy in the onslaught. Fluffy Hernandez, who won his fight with Roman Dolidze last week and was seated cageside, might've been wondering if he could whittle his frame down to 170. Caio Borralho, the Fighting Nerd who fights next month in Paris against Nassourdine Imavov in what's expected to be a title eliminator, had to have been doing some hard math in his head a few seats down.
Twelve takedowns + nearly 22 minutes of control time = total misery.
How's that for incentive for an upcoming main event? The winner gets Khamzat! It can be said the world's toughest lamb will still struggle against the slaughterhouse, but, well, that's all for tomorrow …
That's. All. For. Tomorrow.
For Saturday night it was an arrival of a tyrant who's inviting anybody to stop him. Chimaev is daring the middleweight field to try their damndest to thwart his takedowns. He is telling all comers to prepare their silver linings, just as DDP had to.
Did du Plessis have heart? Hell yes, he did. Did he have courage? No question. Did he have confidence in himself, that he could keep the fight in his world? That he could debunk the existence of a boogeyman for the world to see? Of course. Yet seeing fighters divested of their delusions is what UFC pay-per-views are all about.
Against Chimaev you can't bring heart and courage as your intangibles. If you can't stop the takedown, it's going to be a hard night. Simple as that.
Those who were disappointed in Saturday night's main event were upset that the drama couldn't hold up. In a dominant striking performance, somebody gets knocked out. In a dominant grappling fight, somebody usually taps. There's an abrupt end to whomever is being outclassed.
In a hellacious wrestling display, like we witnessed at UFC 319, there's a sustained sense of helplessness. Of watching a man sink in quicksand over the course of 25 minutes, a visual that's not for everyone. DDP was smiling at the end of the first round, as he and his corner were keeping things as light as they could. He'd experienced what it's like to stand in there with Khamzat. And there was a realization in that smile, too, like he was coming to understand what was already apparent for most of us who were watching.
As much as we wanted it to be the case, a competitive fight was not in the cards.