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By: Mike Coughlin
MichaelCoughlin@f4wonline.com
For the week of 10/14/07
“UFC 77: Rich Franklin”
Imagine you’re Rich Franklin. A year ago this month, you were as good as it got in the UFC: you’d won the middleweight championship, successfully defended
it twice, been prominently featured as a coach on The Ultimate Fighter, had an eight-fight win streak, and were clearly one of the main stars the company
was pushing to the general public. When a mainstream outlet was looking for a spokesperson for the sport, the UFC repeatedly turned to you for help.
Bright, well spoken, tough as nails, with an exciting style, you were supposed to reign over your division for years.
Then, two weeks before Halloween, you found yourself in the midst of something approximating a horror film. One minute, thirty seconds into the first round,
your opponent, Anderson Silva, largely unknown the American public, grabbed you behind the back of the head and started to batter your body with knees.
To the uninitiated, it might have looked like Silva was playing nice, not trying to break your face, and giving you a sporting chance to fight back. But
you knew better. He’d throw a shot to the right side, so you’d switch your stance to block, then he’d turn his attention to the left side, and once again
you’d react. Silva did this twenty straight times. Deep down, you knew what he was doing. You knew he was trying to get you to bring both your hands
down so he’d have unfettered access to your face. You knew you shouldn’t accommodate him. You did anyways. The next knee landed straight on your jaw.
No one thought Silva was playing nice.
This is when the terror kicked in. There is no worse feeling than knowing you’re a beaten man, but having no choice but to soldier on. Your instinct must
have been to run, and for a moment it seemed as if you wanted to do just that, but your pride forced you to stand and fight. Funny thing about that pride,
sometimes it’s a blessing – this time it was a curse. You staggered back. Silva threw four more knees to your body. In an act of desperation, you lunged
and threw a right hook. As if he were insulted that you even tried to fight back, Silva once again locked his hands in a vice around your neck and let
loose a knee. This one landed square on your nose. The uninitiated never understood, but you did: Silva was always trying to break your face, he was
just taking his time. You’d need surgery to fix the damage done from that last knee.
Silva rushed in, threw a high kick, and finally, poetically, launched a final knee to your head, this one causing you to drop. Silva was no longer unknown
and you were no longer champion.
Life was different after that show, wasn’t it? Your next fight, against Jason MacDonald, was on the undercard of an event taking place in your home state.
After that, you got to fight the ever dull, Yushin Okami at UFC 72 – a show the UFC prized so much that it aired in the middle of the day on PPV. You
go from top billing on three straight PPVs to this?
And then there were the whispers. Maybe people didn’t say it right to your face, but everyone was talking about whether you were a fraud all along. Champions
can lose, but they shouldn’t look lost? You didn’t look competitive and what’s more, for a fighter known for his intelligence, no one could believe you
had no idea how to handle the Thai clinch. Every accomplishment of your career was called into question from that moment forward. When you lose like
that, people don’t even bother looking before they jump off the bandwagon.
And what about MacDonald and Okami anyways? Both were quality opponents, either in or near the top ten rankings, yet your victories were never over them,
were they? You’d finish MacDonald in ten minutes, and instead of getting praise for your win, you’d hear questions about Silva. When people saw you clinch
with Okami, their minds instantly flashed to Silva. It was all about Silva.
“Have you worked on your clinch?” “Do you think this fight will help you prepare for Silva?” “When do you want a rematch with Silva?” “Did this fight
give you any insight into Silva?” “How does MacDonald/Okami compare to Silva?” “Can you beat Silva?” “Can. You. Beat. Silva?”
Can. Knee. You. Knee. Beat. Knee. Silva. Knee.
Two minutes and fifty-six seconds of fighting had forever changed your entire life. When you fought then-middleweight champion, Evan Tanner, had you lost,
you could have moved on with your life. Maybe you wouldn’t be an all-time great, but people would remember you as, “Rich Franklin, professional fighter.”
Had you put in a competitive few rounds with Silva before losing, you’d have been, “Rich Franklin, former world champion.” Now it’s different, isn’t it?
Unless you win, you’re always going to be, “Rich Franklin, the guy who could never beat Anderson Silva.”
Every day, for one full year, you’ve had to wake up and think about that night. Before you went into surgery to fix your mangled nose, you thought about
Silva. When you were recovering, you thought about Silva. Beat MacDonald – doesn’t matter that you outclassed him, think about Silva. Beat Okami – that’s
a long plane flight back from Northern Ireland to America, plenty of time to sit and think about Silva. Every time you woke up early in the morning, and
it would have been so easy to roll over and hold your wife instead of running; every time your foot landed on the pavement; every time your fist crashed
into a heavy bag; every time your training partner punched your once-broke nose; every time you had to forego that slice of pizza and drink a protein shake
instead; every time your knee touched the mat and you felt the strain on your thigh as you shot in for a takedown; every time you looked at yourself in
the mirror, you thought about Silva.
Anderson Silva loves being the middleweight champion. It is a certainty that he wakes up and is happy to have that belt. On Saturday, October 20, 2007,
from the US Bank Arena in Cincinnati, Ohio, he will defend that title with all he has. But he is still just fighting for a belt. Rich Franklin is fighting for so much more.
Find more of Michael Coughlin at
F4WOnline.com
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