Chuck Liddell-Tito Ortiz 3 was Shambolic, and We’re All to Blame

Tito Ortiz knocks out Chuck Liddell in 2018's neon trash fire. #LiddellOrtiz3 pic.twitter.com/3DdFSoBrH1

— Tanuki Usman (@Hamderlei) November 25, 2018

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There was a feeling of genuine anticipation at The Forum, as Tito Ortiz and Chuck Liddell made their respective walks to the Golden Boy MMA cage on Saturday in Inglewood, California. All it took was Ortiz’s throwback walkout song and Liddell’s iconic blue shorts to allow viewers to believe -- just for a second -- that it was the mid-2000s again. Liddell still possessed overwhelming speed and knockout power; Ortiz was still just a couple of years removed from his time as a dominant champion in a sport that was just getting its due; and they were going to duke it out to determine who was the apex predator at 205 pounds.

Then the bell rang, and that anticipation gave way to revulsion, as we bore witness to an unadulterated reality no flashy video package or confected nostalgia could disguise. From the opening bell, the 48-year-old Liddell moved glacially across the boundaries of the cage, possessing all the mobility and dynamism of a snowman, as a cautious Ortiz followed him in lockstep, almost in disbelief about how easy the task was in front of him. After four and a half unremarkable minutes, Ortiz took what at one time would have been a perilous gamble and stepped into the pocket to swing, planting Liddell on the canvas and earning his first knockout victory since he bodyslammed Evan Tanner into unconsciousness almost two decades ago. In frantically performing his post-victory grave digging routine, the self-proclaimed “People’s Champion” encountered more resistance from California State Athletic Commission officials than he did against Liddell during the formal fisticuffs. Meanwhile, Liddell’s lifeless body seemed to cause genuine alarm among the attending medics and spectators in attendance.

It was a good night for Ortiz, who earned a modicum of redemption over a man who handed him blowout losses in 2004 and 2006 that did much to define his Ultimate Fighting Championship tenure. However, for all others involved, and especially for mixed martial arts as a whole, it was an event that will not be remembered in a positive light. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with watching two guys in their 40s trade leather, but there is something incontrovertibly distressing about seeing a former great get vaporized by a guy he dominated twice in his heyday. From the opening 30 seconds, a Liddell faceplant felt like an inevitability. That “The Iceman” is non-committal about hanging them up for good just prolongs the anxiety.

Apart from the obvious confirmation that 48-year-olds not named Randy Couture probably shouldn’t be anchoring MMA pay-per-views, there are lessons we can take away from what was an objectively shambolic occasion. First, Oscar De La Hoya almost certainly will not become the savior for MMA that he keeps holding himself out to be. Over the past three months since the fight first came together, the former boxing great has made little attempt to sell himself as a serious MMA promoter, showing up unprepared to press events and possessing a veritable lack of knowledge about the sport, his own undercard and the correct pronunciation of his marquee star’s surname. After the fat lady sung, he didn’t even show up to the post-fight press conference -- he left Ortiz to play promoter as he delivered one of his trademark rambling monologues -- and openly pontificated about whether he would invite Liddell back to fight in a non-main event slot.

What that highlights is that it’s an easy thing to criticize the way the UFC does things -- my track record as a columnist is evidence of that -- but it’s another thing altogether to build a viable alternative. Golden Boy talked ad nauseam about disrupting the industry and “giving back to the fighters,” but when push came to shove, De La Hoya’s lack of interest, or aptitude, or both, was glaring. This is to say nothing about the feasibility of implementing the boxing model in MMA -- the jury’s still out on that one -- but the person(s) behind it can’t be on the fence or harbor ulterior motives.

The travesty in Inglewood also served to highlight a truism that hasn’t gotten any less acute since UFC President Dana White started bragging that his company is worth $7 billion: namely, the need for a fighter’s pension of some variety to prevent economic desperation from giving former stars like Liddell reasons to climb their arthritic selves back into the cage. Liddell was one of the few fighters to be extended an olive branch after the UFC no longer required his services as an active fighter -- he was given the title of executive and basically paid not to fight -- but when the company was sold in 2016, that position went the way of the dodos, leading the former figurehead of the brand to openly contemplate what he would do to pay the bills. Two years later, he was squeezing into a pair of shorts so old the hyperlink splayed across them is defunct. You do the math.

This isn’t to say that Liddell’s wasn’t authentically delusional about his abilities -- after all, beefing with Jon Jones has been a staple of his retirement plan -- but the UFC bears some responsibility for the actualization of his most unhinged ambitions. It’s one thing to tell an aging combatant that risking his health isn’t worth the risk of making a return to competition, but it’s another thing altogether to convince him that his mortgage will take care of itself. While it was the right thing for White to persuade Liddell to call it a career in 2010, the risks of his continuing to compete at 40 paled in comparison to those he’s faced with at 48 now that the gravy train has ended. Liddell could have made millions facing scrubs in Strikeforce if he’d had the opportunity in 2010; in 2018, he’s praying the pay-per-view numbers justified the weekend’s head trauma.

Ultimately, Liddell-Ortiz 3 was not a good night for MMA and, in fact, might even be the worst PPV in the modern era. However, the ingredients for subsequent travesties -- unscrupulous promoters, financially insecure athletes, nostalgia laced with morbid curiosity -- remain on the shelf. Perhaps the real question is whether we’ll ever see to clearing out the cupboard and start building something better.

Jacob Debets is a recent law graduate who lives in Melbourne, Australia. He has been an MMA fan for more than a decade and trains in muay Thai and boxing at DMDs MMA in Brunswick. He is currently writing a book analyzing the economics and politics of the MMA industry. You can view more of his writing at jacobdebets.com.