Chael Sonnen’s Head Games
Jake Rossen Jun 5, 2010
“Guy talk, blah, blah, blah.”
This was Anderson Silva’s assessment of Chael Sonnen while speaking with Fanhouse's Ariel Helwani, and while it’s not all that illuminating, it does a decent job of summarizing Sonnen’s current MO: be obnoxious, get loud, and get paid.
Sonnen has been spending the months leading into his August 7 fight
with Silva antagonizing him in various ways: in interviews, on
Twitter -- where, it turns out, he’s become a master of the
140-character put-down -- and occasionally even to Silva’s face.
(The two apparently exchanged words at this weekend’s Fan Expo: had
it escalated, it might’ve thinned out some of the autograph lines.)
This is not at all out of character for Sonnen, who has perennially
been a dismissive personality, but the volume has gone up. If he
doesn’t currently get a cut of the pay per view proceeds, he soon
will.
For most, Sonnen’s rap is an entertaining diversion. For others, it embodies a disturbing trend in fight sports that dictates opportunities go to the athletes who can come up with the best insults.
Rashad Evans and Quinton Jackson used verbal assaults -- most of them simple-minded and redundant -- to register unprecedented interest for a fight that was otherwise not that intriguing; Dan Hardy famously talked his way into a title shot against Georges St. Pierre; “Tank” Abbott wound up extending a very limited skillset by a solid decade because his persona was too abrasive to be believed. Talking trash is almost a guarantee of future employment.
The biggest danger Sonnen -- or any orator -- runs is failing to deliver on promises of violence. If he is steamrolled by Silva, that library of Tweets is going to take on a whole new meaning. And there is clearly a danger of getting carried away: fighters who have sworn to murder opponents or hurled racial or sexual epithets don’t do themselves any favors. (Already, Sonnen has devolved into some nonsensical commentary: something about “crucifying” Silva’s manager, Ed Soares. More than a non-sequitur, it’s just creepy.)
Do fans really care? Jackson/Evans delivered a sizable live gate and the pay per view business is expected to be tremendous. But the fight itself was mostly slow going: months of talk followed by fifteen minutes of anti-climactic cage-leaning is going to produce jaded spectators. Will audiences buy Jackson or Evans railing against their next opponent knowing it’s not going to result in any more dramatic a fight?
Part of this surge in dialogue is due to the rise of social networking funnels: instead of waiting for an interviewer to pull out a notepad, fighters can -- and are encouraged -- to disseminate their ill will on Twitter, Facebook, or any number of instant-communication tools. The downside is that there’s no common sense pause: an impulse thought comes in, goes out, and can sometimes be embarrassing for the athlete. If Marcus Davis had slept on it, he probably wouldn’t have wished a terminal illness on Dan Hardy.
The most offensive part of the talk is how insincere most of it seems. For a sport selling reality, empty threats and insults don’t seem like a fit.
This was Anderson Silva’s assessment of Chael Sonnen while speaking with Fanhouse's Ariel Helwani, and while it’s not all that illuminating, it does a decent job of summarizing Sonnen’s current MO: be obnoxious, get loud, and get paid.
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For most, Sonnen’s rap is an entertaining diversion. For others, it embodies a disturbing trend in fight sports that dictates opportunities go to the athletes who can come up with the best insults.
Rashad Evans and Quinton Jackson used verbal assaults -- most of them simple-minded and redundant -- to register unprecedented interest for a fight that was otherwise not that intriguing; Dan Hardy famously talked his way into a title shot against Georges St. Pierre; “Tank” Abbott wound up extending a very limited skillset by a solid decade because his persona was too abrasive to be believed. Talking trash is almost a guarantee of future employment.
The biggest danger Sonnen -- or any orator -- runs is failing to deliver on promises of violence. If he is steamrolled by Silva, that library of Tweets is going to take on a whole new meaning. And there is clearly a danger of getting carried away: fighters who have sworn to murder opponents or hurled racial or sexual epithets don’t do themselves any favors. (Already, Sonnen has devolved into some nonsensical commentary: something about “crucifying” Silva’s manager, Ed Soares. More than a non-sequitur, it’s just creepy.)
Do fans really care? Jackson/Evans delivered a sizable live gate and the pay per view business is expected to be tremendous. But the fight itself was mostly slow going: months of talk followed by fifteen minutes of anti-climactic cage-leaning is going to produce jaded spectators. Will audiences buy Jackson or Evans railing against their next opponent knowing it’s not going to result in any more dramatic a fight?
Part of this surge in dialogue is due to the rise of social networking funnels: instead of waiting for an interviewer to pull out a notepad, fighters can -- and are encouraged -- to disseminate their ill will on Twitter, Facebook, or any number of instant-communication tools. The downside is that there’s no common sense pause: an impulse thought comes in, goes out, and can sometimes be embarrassing for the athlete. If Marcus Davis had slept on it, he probably wouldn’t have wished a terminal illness on Dan Hardy.
The most offensive part of the talk is how insincere most of it seems. For a sport selling reality, empty threats and insults don’t seem like a fit.
