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  • Conor McGregor As A Lived Content Experience: A UFC Cynic On UFC 194

Conor McGregor As A Lived Content Experience: A UFC Cynic On UFC 194

Paul Ring
By Paul Ring
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First off, let's establish one thing. It’s not that I’m totally ignorant of UFC or MMA or whatever they’re calling it these days. It’s just that my knowledge of the sport mostly extends to three things:

  1. That episode of Friends where Joey helpfully demonstrates what a fishhook is and Jon Favreau establishes his ‘zone of terror’
  2. The fact that Ronda Rousey was beaten last month and the whole world, in internet parlance, ‘lost their shit over it’.
  3. That one C. McGregor has lately made my Facebook newsfeed into his own personal newsletter as friends of mine count down days and dedicate entire conversations where McGregor at the end is invariably ‘one up’ on his opponent because of something he said.

Sure, I click on the vines that show the shuddering brutality of the latest poor soul that has taken a roundhouse kick to the ear and I’m aware that combatants enter an ‘octagon’. The bombast and showmanship cannot be avoided either with intense ‘stare-downs’ and seemingly never-ending press tours.

Despite my well-meaning and airy intentions to adopt a neutral stance toward the staggering McGregor rise these past couple of years, I can’t fight the sense that McGregor’s popularity is based on the fact that he’s not merely a supreme athlete (a cursory glance at him defines that) but that he’s the greatest content creator in the sports world right now. He is built for the teaser trailer generation. His fights, when they eventually come around, are a whirling frenzy that can be easily condensed and digested, but McGregor – to this bystander - has mastered the art of content away from the octagon, too. Whether it’s the interviews, the Embedded series, the social media posing or the outlandish statements, he is always relevant and his army continues to tune in.

 

Where McGregor has also excelled is in his call to action. ‘The Notorious’ is one fantastic nickname that looks damn good in print and rolls off of an announcer’s tongue. ‘The Takeover’ perfectly involves his fans and ties in beautifully with the Irish sport fan's unshakable love of being reminded of just how bloody brilliant he is at attending sports events. When McGregor demands that ‘if one goes to war, we all go to war’ the image of an army of man-buns haphazardly leaping over plush seats at the MGM Grand to storm some imaginary force is, I’m sure, a powerful one to the devotees.

I’m fully aware that I’m making grand, pithy assumptions here based on a very small body of evidence so on Saturday night, I, like many others, stayed up to see just what is all the fuss about and whether Conor McGregor is the demi-god he is made out to be or if Jose Aldo - seemingly no more than an extra appearing in the McGregor movie - can shatter the illusion and put an end to the 12-month-long 'Notorious' promotional montage.

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Just before McGregor and Aldo made their entrance, we were told that Vegas had made Aldo the slight favourite based on the weigh-in Friday afternoon. McGregor certainly had a spectral presence at that weigh-in. You couldn’t help but be drawn to the crevice of his cheekbones. His manic stare upon taking the scales retained its impressive gleam, but still, those in the know seemed a little concerned about the sheer gauntness of the interim champ.

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The entrances when they game were more muted than I expected but then perhaps I was expecting some sort of hybrid WWE entrance where McGregor would emerge from a hail of fireworks and a custom song. The two fighters just kind of walked to the octagon in a show of understatement that should make boxing blush. McGregor looked loose and nimble, like a man who wanted more than anything to be there, safe in the knowledge that this was another moment, another mark on the inexorable rise, while Aldo – at least to this untrained eye - looked like a kid who was told to be at a certain place at a certain time after school. He resolutely kept his head down, every so often sending darting looks at McGregor, who was clambering around the octagon with unsettling ease.

The last time I stayed up for a fight, it was the lamentable borefest that was Floyd Mayweather versus Manny Pacquaio. Mayweather ducked and dived and picked off an old fighter with his customary brilliance and scant regard for the casual fan’s entertainment. McGregor though, is a man in a hurry and when thirteen seconds in, Jose Aldo took a tentative step towards him, he exploded a left hand that felled the champion and backed up every single statement, every single pose and every single morsel of hype. McGregor launched two more blows at the stricken Brazilian as he lay defenceless on the ground but it was over. The new champ breezed into a jog around the octagon before leaping onto the top off it to fire money signs and middle fingers at the crowd.

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After he eventually found his feet, Aldo bowed his head as McGregor took the applause, a single slit seeping blood from the middle of his nose, he buried his head in a towel while McGregor looked like he could fight again. The Dubliner wasn’t full of swagger in the post-fight interview, he merely explained the logic behind the detonator that appears to reside in his left hand. Aldo assured us he would be back and demanded a rematch but surely the sheer scale of the loss renders a rematch pointless.

What was comforting about the stunning, exploding star finish was my faith in the Friends version of UFC. Between Joey telling Ross and Chandler a fight was on and he telling them it was over, just nineteen seconds elapses.

Conor McGregor reduced the ten-year unbeaten champion to a standard punchline and he did it in a fight that could be neatly packaged into two standard vines.

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He faced the biggest challenge of his professional life and swept it away with casual destruction. The hype is justified, the talk is backed up.

Add that to the list of things I know about UFC.

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