There’s no denying it. Fedor Emelianenko, Josh Barnett, Dana White, Scott Coker and many, many more have made these past few weeks some of the most newsworthy in recent MMA history. And yet, yours truly neglected to comment on any of it. Not a word. So what’s my excuse? You see, the UFC was finally coming to Philadelphia, my Philadelphia, and honestly, I couldn’t focus on much else while cloaked in such thick layers of anticipation and anxiousness. I even declined to write up my standard predictions this time around and I’ll tell you why: No expectations.

Though I have covered most every promotion from Atlantic City to San Jose, I had never before attended a live UFC event. Now, one would be taking place in my own backyard. So I decided I was going to do the most simple and logical thing heading into the big fight weekend: Enjoy it like a fan. Get the full experience. Gone were my notebook and tape recorder, in their place were clicky pens and scratch paper in hopes of attacking a wandering fighter for an autograph.

I didn’t know what to expect when the UFC finally rolled into my town, but finding out would surely be worth the wait. I paid no mind to predicting who would walk away the victor or the loser on Saturday night, I just wanted the quintessential UFC fan experience, whatever it may be. Like a burnt out food critic at a fancy seven course joint, I took off my reporting hat, picked up a fork, and let the servers impress me with their finest offerings. After all, I had paid a hefty 300 bucks for this; dessert should really be on the house.

Well that worked out nicely

Luckily, and I mean that in every sense of the word, Justin (better known around these parts as moderator fr702) had flown in all the way from northern California and was staying at the Loews Hotel on Market Street. This just happened to be the same hotel where most of the fighters and other personnel were holding up. Upon meeting Justin in the Loews lobby on Friday the first thing I notice is that he is a giant (at least 6′6″) who towered over me and looked a bit like Gan McGee (remember him?) Frenzy posters beware, Justin is massive and apparently pretty good with the muay thai. Keyboard warriors might want to keep that in mind next time a comment war erupts.

Before we head off for the day I manage to shake hands with Mark Coleman who was rocking a very grizzly gray beard. The camera isn’t adding any wrinkles, Coleman really does look that old in person. Nice guy though. Justin being the foreigner in a foreign land I take him over to South Street for the classic Philly lunch experience: Cheesesteaks and Water Ice. After Jim’s and Rita’s we stroll through humid Olde City past some of the more historic sights and ultimately back to my car which I had left parked in Chinatown.

So that’s what it feels like

Rolling into the Wachovia Center parking lot I already can’t believe how many people showed up just for the weigh-ins. I guess this town really was itching for a real dose of MMA. Since the doors haven’t opened yet there are thousands of us standing in a makeshift line which BJ Penn’s family takes full advantage of by handing out some Penn-brand swag. Never underestimate the power of free water bottles and car decals.

Once the gate finally opens the line immediately collapses with fans rabidly rushing to form a thick funnel of sweaty bodies squeezing through the all too slim Wachovia Center doors. Justin and I fnagle our way to some of the better seats in the house and Dana White is doing overtime Q&A with the fans, draped in a Shane Victorino jersey. Well played, sir. Some of the questions slung at Dana were actually pretty entertaining. One classy gent asked if he could personally fight Frank Trigg at Virginia Tech’s football stadium, another asked if he and his fiance could get married in the octagon. How do you spell romance? U-F-C.

After showing some of the countdown to UFC 101 footage the weigh-ins kicked off and the only notable thing I recall was how ripped Forrest Griffin looked and how light Amir Sadollah came in (166lbs.) To be honest, I spent a large chunk of time staring about the Wachovia Center’s interior, which I had seen time and time again piled high with Sixers or Flyers fans, but never anyone I considered to be my kind of people.

In case it isn’t obvious, I am very much that kind of MMA aficionado, the one who only follows MMA and could care less about the classic big four American sports. Admittedly, a warm, childlike giddyness came over me as I gazed into the UFC plastered arena; scanning across endless packs of devoted followers sporting their very best fight related t-shirts. Though I was in my own beloved city, it was only then that I felt truly at home in the crowds of a major sporting event. I must have stared at that Octagon for 10 straight minutes. I imagine others did as well. And it felt good.

Enter The Spider

Returning to Justin’s hotel it doesn’t take long to spot a famous face or two. At first we see the other Spyder, Kendall Grove. But before we even get a few steps closer to Grove someone shouted that the real Spider, you know, the one people actually care about, was just outside the lobby. So we immediately ran toward the action and sure enough, Silva was doing his best to appease the swarming mob with autographs, photos, the works. After futilely working to get closer for a signature or decent picture I just about gave up on hounding the middleweight champion, that is until he proceeded to board the elevator where I finally ask him to employ the blue sharpie attached to his hand and sign my shirt sleeve.

Ideally, I would have obtained Silva’s John Hancock on some other type of material, like, I don’t know, paper perhaps, but I was caught off guard and forced to act quickly. So now one of the nicer shirts in my already limited wardrobe has Anderson Silva’s signature on it. Guess its back to Target for me.

I also told this story to my girlfriend later that night who then yelled at me for ruining a perfectly good shirt that she had given me as a present (oops.) I half jokingly explained that I had just exponentially increased the value of said shirt, to which she seemed even less enthused. She’ll come around.

Coincidentally enough Justin and I ended up sharing an elevator with Ed Soares shortly after the Silva run-in and had a brief chat with the manager/translator to the stars. I asked Soares his thoughts on Dan Henderson re-matching Silva at MW, and Soares was surprisingly vocal about being none too happy about it. Seriously, the man does not think Hendo should get another crack at Silva any time soon. Apparently he preferred the Maia/Marquardt winner as Silva’s next MW opponent. I laughed and alleged “Well you gotta talk to Dana, right?” Soares sighed, slightly grimaced, and in a defeated tone said “I have…”

Buffer and Beer…Lots of beer

It’s about 7 o’clock Friday night and Justin and I are in the Loews bar/lounge getting to know some Yuenglings, the finest lager in the world if you ask me. Justin eventually points out a passing by Bruce Buffer and I mark out big time. A short conversation later and I can tell you that Buffer is one of the coolest mofo’s you will ever meet. We talked for a minute about what else but the epic Buffer 360, which sadly will never happen again. Buffer then made his way to a table full of exotic women who fed him only the finest caviar and Remy Martin all night long.

Returning UFC veteran Frank Trigg also passed us by during our tenure at the Loews bar and he seemed less than thrilled to talk to fans, but he still shook my hand with a quick nod to show he wasn’t a total bastard.

A few more beers down the hatch and we decide it’s finally time to hit the town. Hard. Knowing it would be too late to enjoy the nightlife after the show on Saturday (PA bars kick you out at 2am) Justin and I took hold of the precious opportunity and proceeded to get thoroughly inebriated via a haphazard bar tour which ended in Olde City.

Highlights include Justin almost getting into two scraps (though nothing came of it, see everyone, Philadelphians can be civil), a friend of mine asking an Asian couple where the Asian nightclub is located, Justin fending off the advances of a blonde chick nearly as big as he is, seeing Pat Miletich back at the hotel shitfaced with some random floozy on his arm, and of course late night cheesesteaks to soak up some of the lager and liquor. Whiz-with: the only way to go IMO.

Gonna Fly Now

At the crack of noon the next day (a night of hard drinking will do that to ya) I ring Justin up to meet for breakfast/lunch. I’ve got the standard morning after headache and craving comfort food so I took us to Sabrina’s (one of the best spots in the city) for the proper medicine. After gorging some huevos rancheros while Justin attempted to polish off an entire cow (the John Hughes burger, I didn’t even know he had died) it’s a quick tour of the Rodin Musuem and of course, the standard Art Museum run (you might call it the Rocky steps). And then, before we knew it, it was time to head to our first ever live UFC show.

I’ll say this about the Zuffa crew, when they put on a show you know that you’re at a UFC event. About half a dozen massive screens were strategically placed around the top of the Wachovia Center and the graphics, music, and overall production value were absolutely top notch. It was actually difficult to keep focused on the octagon action with those giant monitors distracting you at every angle.

Youth of the Nation

Waiting in various lines throughout the concourse I struck up conversations with folks who traveled from Ohio, Maryland, New York, Virginia, even Toronto just to see a live UFC show. Many for the first time. A 14 year old kid from Delaware told me the story of how he had to sell almost all of his dvd’s and video games to pay for his 101 ticket, not to mention begging his parents for months just to score a ride up to Philadelphia. That’s dedication.

I asked the kid how he got into MMA to which he replied “I used to like WWE a lot but then it got kinda gay, and you know its fake, but in UFC people are really gettin’ knocked out or choked out or beat up or whatever, it’s like the only thing I watch now.”

Strength in numbers

I wish I could say I didn’t catch any of the customary MMA d-bags at UFC 101, however the usual suspects were out in full force. I don’t know why I expected any different, I guess it was just wishful thinking. Some were harmless and reserved in their skin tight Affliction tee’s, and some were more obnoxious than Gilbert Godfrey. Some shouted “Tito Sucks” every five minutes for no apparent reason, some hollered “kick his ass seabass!” as often as they could, and some were just plain racist (Justin has more info on the “wannabe skinheads” for anyone interested).  More importantly however, for every uninformed, brawling, loudmouth, homophobic jackass in attendance, I found many more intelligent, passionate fans who, like me, were just happy to take it all in and soak up the memories.

If I could explain it, I would

For me, the most satisfying morsel offered from the live UFC animal isn’t anything you can really put a finger on. Moreover, what will drive at least this MMA enthusiast back to the Ultimate Fighting Championship are the intangible qualities. The unexplainable enjoyment of uttering the introductions along with Bruce Buffer; looking around only to see everyone else doing the same. That funny feeling of oozing anticipation as the crowd lights dim and the fighters stare each other down from their respective corners. The unbridled shock and excitement when a fighter miraculously escapes a dead to rights arm bar or pops their head out of an air tight guillotine.

And perhaps the best part, when a combatant falls to the canvas and you can already tell he isn’t going to get up. When a truly defeated and broken warrior taps the others arm in utter submission, at that exact moment when the battle ends, you and fifteen thousand strangers simultaneously jump up, scream at the top of your lungs, momentarily collide, and for a brief window in time all revel in the same finite glory.

The live UFC experience sells just that, an experience. One you’ll likely never forget. One that makes you feel like you’re a part of something, where you can smell the camaraderie among the ravenous crowd. Yes, my vocal chords still rasp. My nostrils still smell the smell of stale beer. My shoes still wreak of public bathroom urine and my back still aches from the unforgiving Wachovia Center seats. But I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. You’d be crazy not to.

Any fan worth their weight in pay-per-view dollars can tell you the problem “Rush” now faces after thoroughly cleaning out the 170lb division. Albeit this “problem” is probably the best (or worst, if you’re a cynical bastard) type that a fighter can have. Joining the ranks of Anderson Silva and BJ Penn to a whinier extent, Georges St. Pierre has simply performed too well for his own good, or at least division.

The GSP who still has to prove himself among the best in the world is officially gone. Here to stay is the French-Canadian world beater who utterly destroys everything in his path including the “toughest challenger yet”, a phrase which almost seems laughable in hindsight. Undeniably, there is just a massive talent gap between St. Pierre and every other struggling minnow in the welterweight pond. Some of those little fish may grow and mature enough to prove a formidable challenge to GSP one day, but not any time soon.

Generally speaking, I’ve never been too keen on the notion of St. Pierre indulging some extra coq au vin and testing the waters at middleweight. My reasoning, as St. Pierre himself has hinted before, is a simple matter of ounces and distribution. Now I sound like a drug dealer. Nevertheless, while GSP is obviously a physically terrifying welterweight, his height and lean body-type lead me to believe that he isn’t ideally equipped to hang with the fiercest shark in the 185 pound tank. I’m speaking of course about one particular predator, The Spider.

I’m not about to lie to you and state that I wouldn’t be all shades of curious to see how St. Pierre fares against some of the top dogs in the middleweight order. But without challenging Anderson Silva in the superfight to end all superfights, is GSP delving into middleweight once or twice even worth the trouble?

I say this because, as much as I like St. Pierre, I do not believe that he should bother challenging Anderson Silva. As great as GSP is, Silva is just a terrible, terrible match up for him. Though to be fair Anderson Silva is a terrible match up for just about everyone, however GSP makes no exception.

If it pleases the UFC to throw “Rush” into a couple MW contests to keep casual fans from forgetting his name while other welterweights develop, I’ll understand and tune in as usual. But I also won’t lose any sleep if GSP announces tomorrow that he’ll be staying at welterweight for the rest of his career. The man has already proved to the world all he needs to as one of the finest mixed martial artists to ever put on a pair of four once gloves. The determining question will surely be, is Georges St. Pierre content with a career that doesn’t include taking a crack at The Spider? We’ll find out soon enough…

In other musings:

-While were on the subject of St. Pierre, I couldn’t help noticing that between rounds Greg Jackson spoke to GSP like a fragile child on his first day of kindergarten. I don’t mean to mock the methodology because clearly, it works. But did anyone else find it just a bit unsettling to see a grown man address his fighter in such a matter? Maybe I’m just an insensitive jerk.

- Its funny how Dan Henderson, who readily admits that he knowingly went the extra mile (air bomb punch) on an unconscious Michael Bisping, gets so little flack for doing so- mostly because everyone hates Bisping and has a certain respect for Henderson. I guess I can’t really argue with that.

-Mark Coleman defeated Stephan Bonnar…legitimately…what? Yea, that just happened. I’ve watched the fight three times now, and three times I still can’t believe what I’m seeing. Does Coleman really have something left in the 44 year old tank or has Bonnar fallen off something awful? It could be a combination of both. But you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity, Mark.

- Its so common to criticize UFC judging yet they keep giving us the ammunition. A 30-27 call for Akiyama against Belcher, really? Was there a meth sale going down by the judging booth?

-I’m glad Jon Fitch proved that Paulo Thiago is good, but he ain’t that good.  Way to play mythbuster, Jon.

-I would really have loved to see any number of other fights on the UFC 100 telecast. Jones-O’Brien, Coleman-Bonnar or Danzig-Miller all would have done nicely. I know the ppv timing is a sticky science, but it was UFC 100, wasn’t it? Do we not get anything for our previous 99 events worth of good behavior?

-For some reason I could not receive UFC 100 in HD when I ordered it from Comcast. I called Comcast and they said it wasn’t being broadcast in HD and there was nothing that they or I could do. Anyone else have this problem? Should I just switch back to DirectTV?

-Lastly, in case you forgot, Bruce Buffer pulled off the once in a lifetime Buffer 360! Shake and bake!

Most of the articles I’ve been reading around the blogosphere (including some serious debate from you guys) have focused primarily on whether or not Lesnar’s ever-present professional wrestler attitude is good or not so good for mixed martial arts.

Personally, I subscribe to the semi-popular belief that Brock can do no further damage to the sport than what has already been done via TUF antics, the Diaz brothers, or Dana White tirades.  Make no mistake: Nobody, not even Brock Lesnar, can be bad for MMA if they perform and draw the way that Lesnar does. Was Tito Ortiz bad for MMA when his shtick was carrying the UFC hype machine? The guy was a jackass, sure. But he drew. And more eyes felt the warm glow of UFC pay-per-views just to see what would happen to the punk you loved to hate so much.

I say let Brock be Brock. I genuinely don’t care. Maybe its the apathetic nihilist in me, but come on, do you really care that much about what Brock Lesnar says in his post-fight soliloquies? I know I know, this is MMA and the WWE theatrics should be left to McMahon and company, I concede that such remains a legitimate argument. However on the flip side, if a man chooses to play the heel yet continues to compete at the highest level of the sport without becoming too much of a prima donna, I simply do not see the harm.

I don’t work for Budweiser, I don’t care if Frank Mir’s feelings were hurt regarding the eloquent horseshoe comment, and from what I can tell Lesnar’s wife was none too upset at the mention of her champ “getting on top of her” all neander-style. “I beat man, have good drink, take woman to cave.”  It’s primitive, but it’s also fairly accurate in Brock Lesnar’s case. The man ain’t a neurosurgeon, people. He’s an alpha-male, whether he knows what the term means or not.

Here’s a thought, or conspiracy theory rather, so take it for what you will. But I believe there remains an antiquated concept of what mixed martial arts should be that is driving at least some of the latest Lesnar criticism. UFC 1 saw Royce Gracie prove that technique schools size and strength, and it was a glorious thing to revel in.

Those who witnessed the victorious undersized Brazilian could rejoice knowing that the stereotypical schoolyard bully no longer posed the same threat. That dopey bastard would have no idea how to fend off a simple arm bar. It would almost be too easy.  Admittedly, when my MMA addiction first began to take root I was highly taken in by the concept of someone my size (very short and scrawny at the time) being able to force a physically imposing jerk to tap out from some crazy leg lock that I pulled out of nowhere. Sucka.

Ninety-nine UFC’s later; Brock Lesnar comes along and momentarily disproves the core principle of modern mixed martial arts, which early UFC events had largely created. This time the less polished, overpowering, grunting gorilla, who could certainly never maneuver his legs for a proper gogoplata, dominates the smarter, sharper technician. Darwin would not be proud.

And so, some of us freak out feeling as if we have just entered the plutonium fueled DeLorean back to the heydays of Frye, Coleman or Randleman- guys who only made a buck because they were bigger and stronger (and juiced.) Uncivilized, unsophisticated, testosterone-driven men who were all too happy to ground and pound like a pack of wild cro-mags unaware of any other weapons in the MMA arsenal.

But I say fear not to those clinging to fighters like Emelianenko, Machida, Penn and A. Silva. There are plenty of these crafty devils to go around, and when their time has passed others will spawn. Brock Lesnar on the other hand is a mere genetic anomaly. We cannot copy and paste more of them, not that the government wouldn’t try if they thought it possible.

So let’s all take a step back for a second. Let’s relax. Let’s appreciate that the UFC heavyweight division has a champion who creates compelling match ups across the board. Let us wait another fight or two to see if Brock Lesnar’s “era” has truly begun before we start burning down jiujitsu schools and dead lifting until nauseous.  Let us admit without inducing a panic attack that even in 2009, a big oaf with limited technique can rely heavily on his physical gifts to destroy decorated black belts.

It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a jerk who can hit hard and smother people. He happens to come from professional wrestling, and you can tell. But the man is no more harmful to mixed martial arts than any other larger-than-life athlete was to their respective sport. Brock Lesnar’s rise, while controversial, only threatens those who fear change, which is painfully ironic since evolution is precisely what makes MMA the beloved, complex animal that it is. Now can we please talk about Georges St. Pierre for a minute? Alright, next time.

Courtesy of the funny folks at lookoutwhale, a little treat for all you Bisping haters who no doubt relished every minute of Dan Henderson’s bone crushing knockout of “The Count” last evening.  Enjoy, and thank me later.

Remember that time Brock Lesnar got all up in Frank Mir’s grill even after battering him worse than a filet-o-fish sandwich? Well here’s a short clip from the countdown show that might help explain why Lesnar just had to take things so personally. “Weights and my doubles’ all I need for MMA!” Classic.

Last up, TUF 10 coaches Rashad and Rampage get into a little tiff cageside during UFC 100.  Legitimate beef or mere TUF hype? You make the call.

Heavyweight unification title bout: Frank Mir vs. Brock Lesnar

Prediction: Lesnar via TKO, round 2.

I believe the 500 pound-plus main event will showcase yet again that while technique can often overcome size and strength, it will inevitably fail you if your name is Frank Mir and the particular mammoth hammer fisting your dome is Brock Lesnar.

Let’s face it, good old Ken Shamrock figured out a long time ago that even if you can’t submit the submission artist you can hold off subs all night long with a strong base and a willingness to stall like it ain’t no thang. Albeit both fighters have naturally progressed since UFC 81, I’m still largely basing my prediction off of their first meeting, where an imposing Lesnar was but a few punches away from ending Mir’s evening had a fateful mustache not stepped in and changed history forever…

Of course, it’s naïve to presume that Lesnar is now unbeatable without any exploitable weaknesses, quite the contrary in fact. However it will not be Frank Mir who exploits the gaps in Lesnar’s game. Not this time, at least. That honor will likely go to one of the newer, stronger breeds of UFC heavyweight on the horizon.

Call me a Mir hater, but I’m still haunted by the Frank Mir who came in fat, tired, and battered senseless against opposition far less dangerous than the likes of Brock Lesnar. Mir might not be a pudgy bastard anymore thanks to a new found dedication to cardio and proper diet, but I still can’t put much stock in his gas tank or striking prowess (yes, I say this having seen his Nogueira KO many times).

I say Brock catches Mir with a shot that buckles him, then jumps on for the ground n’ pound, then walks out with a smile and some sort of condescending remark followed by a moonsault from the top of the cage. It could happen.

Welterweight title bout: Georges St. Pierre vs. Thiago Alves

Prediction: St. Pierre via submission, round 4.

As I write this I’m interrupted upon hearing of GSP’s goofy elbow which many are saying is telltale Bursitis, how this will affect the fight I have no idea. I’ll proceed to ignore it for now.

American Top Team product Thiago Alves has the muay thai game on lock, we get that. But GSP isn’t some Tito Ortiz re-incarnate who can only take you down fearing a stand-up battle like it was the black plague. I’m not saying GSP won’t take this one to the canvas because he probably will inside the first round, but St. Pierre’s striking isn’t too shabby either and the man can indeed hang with the Pitbull until the time is right for a takedown, then another take down…and then another one, and so on.

This pattern will likely repeat itself for a while until the fourth or fifth round, when Alves’ gas tank inevitably starts to fume (his past weight cutting issues are still relevant in terms of endurance, IMO) and his takedown defense becomes less and less bankable. From here it is only a matter of time before Alves finds himself unable to escape a mounted St. Pierre raining down blows, picking him apart like a smoked pig at a backyard bbq. GSP via armbar, round 4.

Dan Henderson vs. Michael Bisping

Prediction: Henderson via TKO, round 3.

Bisping’s kickboxing is generally crisp, but not terribly powerful, and like many, I share the opinion that he’s been overly protected by the UFC…until now. Dan Henderson may be over the hill in the eyes of some but he’s still got a granite chin and extremely frustrating wrestling prowess. Henderson doesn’t usually look for the submission when he’s on top of you but he will keep you down, smother your airways, and make your face pay dearly for letting him close the distance and execute any number of takedowns (see Matt Lindland or Randy Couture for similar styles).

The question is, will Hendo be able to stay close to Bisping for three rounds or will “The Count” effectively use Liddell-esque sprawl n’ brawl tactics to keep Henderson at bay en route to decision victory? The latter is a more likely scenario, especially since this is a middleweight contest and I always liked Hendo’s wind much better at LHW, but what the hell. I’ll say Hendo pounds Bisping out in the third. That’ll teach him to squirt water on someone’s face for no good reason.

Jon Fitch vs. Paulo Thiago

Prediction: Fitch via submission, round 3.

Expect another Jon Fitch wrestling clinic. Thiago might be able to keep Fitch on the defensive with submission attempts here and there, but Fitch’s base is uber-strong and leaves little room for opponents to work and create space. Furthermore I highly doubt that Thiago will be able to stuff enough takedowns to keep Fitch at a safe distance for very long. So, Fitch should ride out a decision doing what he does best, but this is UFC 100 so that just can’t happen. Fitch via rear naked choke, round 3.

Yoshiro Akiyama vs. Alan Belcher

Prediction: Sexyama via submission, round 2.

Alan Belcher is so hot and cold he might as well change his nickname to “The Faucet” zing! Seriously though, I’m taking “Sexyama” all the way in his UFC debut. I expect throws, takedowns, and all kinds sneaky submission attempts because that’s what those sneaky Japanese do, right Dana? Sexyama via heel hook, round 2.

Mark Coleman vs. Stephan Bonnar

Prediction: Bonnar via TKO, round 3.

Here’s how I see this one playing out: Coleman shoots for a double several times, finally lands one, attempts to finish via ground n’ pound, realizes he can no longer finish that way because he is older, lighter, tired, and fighters have sadly developed a way to protect themselves from ground n’ pound as this is not UFC 10 and Stephan Bonnar isn’t Moti Horenstein. Bonnar’s scores an inevitable TKO in the third.

As for the rest, I’ve got:

Miller over Danzing via submission, round 2
Jones over O’Brien via TKO, round 3
Grant over Kim via submission, round 3
Dollaway over Lawlor via submission, round 3
Grice over Gugerty via TKO, round 2

Frenzy blogger Justin likes:

Lesnar
GSP
Hendo
Akiyama
Fitch
Bonnar
Miller
Jones
Kim
Dollaway
Grice

“Kimbo Slice, the controversial heavyweight who in 2008 headlined the most-viewed mixed martial arts card in history, will be one of 16 contestants on the forthcoming season of “The Ultimate Fighter.”

[Dana] White has called him a “joke,” a “bum” and “not a real fighter,” among other less than kind descriptions…The UFC president has repeatedly insisted he would not allow Slice to compete in the UFC unless he won his way onto the show by competing on “The Ultimate Fighter.” Slice has called White’s bluff and will appear on Season 10 of the highly rated Spike TV series, White has confirmed.

…Unlike in recent seasons where the competitors had to win a fight to earn their way into the house, there will be no such arrangement this time. All 16 fighters – Spike and the UFC are keeping names of the others a closely guarded secret – will automatically move into the house.

..If Slice is able to advance to the live Dec. 5 finale, with a chance to earn a UFC contract with a win, ratings would likely be the largest in Spike history.”

Indeed they would.

So much for chasing those boxing aspirations, eh?

It’s only natural to question White’s decision to feature arguably the biggest flop in mixed martial arts history on the largest stage available for up and coming talent. Then again, as they say in the financial world, it is always best to invest without emotion. Regardless of Dana’s once bubbling distaste for all things Kimbo and what he represented, the man knows a golden goose when he sees one.

At this point I am reminded of a scene from Cinderella Man, where Paul Giamatti’s character convincingly explains to a promoter that win or lose, the promoter stands to make more money with floundering boxer Jimmy Braddock in the ring than without.

The same could not be more true in the case of Mr. Ferguson.  If Slice craps out in his first TUF test, then everyone rejoices at the epic failure of the puffed up youtube brawler who learned the hard way what happens when Shaw & Son aren’t tailor-making your contests.

On the other shoe, if Kimbo manages to succeed and flourish in the Las Vegas-based reality program, its only more eyes glued to the screen each following week. Whatever happens, Dana White is a richer man with Kimbo on his show than without. That much is certain.

What? Like you’re not going to tune in Mr. Skeptic? I havent watched more than a highlight of this seasons TUF (I gave up on TUF after the bodily fluids extravaganza) but bet your grandmothers pearls, I will make sure that I am in front of the couch with a DVR rolling when Kimbo is asked “Do you wanna be a f*&cking fighter?!”

Make your bets now Frenzy readers: Kimbo will last how long on TUF 10?

Will he be picked up by Team Rashad or Rampage?

Will Dana offer Kimbo a UFC fight regardless of how far he gets in the tournament?

And most importantly, how long before one of the other fighters calls Kimbo out in a drunken stupor?

Let the madness begin…

Some folks in the blogosphere have taken a crack at dissecting how champion/underdog Evans can best the elusive Machida with the help of clinch work, Greg Jackson’s master planning, and the ability to keep gas in the tank. Others remain loyal to the ongoing theorem that no one can genuinely figure out Lyoto- not Rashad, Rampage, or any assortment of octagon animal. Surely, the battle between “Sugar” and “The Dragon” will be strategic and curious…but it might also be more disappointing than Waterworld.

So before you crack open that savings account for the $44.95 it costs to order UFC 98 on pay-per-view, think for a second about what you may or may not be missing. And keep in mind that plenty of bars show UFC ppv’s for a reasonable cover charge (I usually go to Champps here in Philly if, you know, you ever want to meet up or something.)

Without getting all Bill Nye on the technical aspects of the match up, I will stand on my soapbox and declare that the most obvious stylistic feature of Rashad and Lyoto are that both force their unsuspecting prey to approach and press the action. We can agree on this, yes?

So, what happens when two fighters who thrive on countering the engaging opponent meet in the center of the octagon? I have no idea, but it could very well result in a back and forth that goes nowhere for 25 minutes. I highly doubt, rather I sincerely hope that such will not be the case on May 23, but it could. And if it does, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Caveat emptor.

Roy Jones Jr.

They say desperation is the easiest thing to smell on a person. Perhaps it is radiating from once unstoppable pugilistic powerhouse Roy Jones Jr. When Jones Jr. was denied his offer to step out of the ring and into the UFC octagon with Anderson Silva, I thought little of it and assumed that Jones would stop there in terms of his MMA pursuits.

I was wrong.

Apparently, Jones has also been turned down from the only other major thriving MMA promotion in the country, San Jose based Strikeforce. Jones Jr.’s second attempt at competing in mixed martial arts was met with similar disdain after rumors swirled about him meeting veteran Nick Diaz under the Strikeforce banner.

While Strikeforce CEO Scott Coker seemed at least indifferent to the notion of R.J.J. stepping up to the MMA challenge, the idea was thoroughly squashed after Showtime executive Ken Hershman voiced his distaste for playing host to the 40 year old boxer’s foray into the cage. Via teleconference, Hershman was quoted that he believes it is “an insult to the integrity of mixed martial arts to think that Roy Jones or any professional boxer could just come in and fight Nick Diaz in a mixed martial arts context.”

Color me pessimistic, but I get the distinct feeling that Jones Jr.’s recent cross-combat quest has less to do with discovering a new love for MMA and more to do with padding an offshore back account. For those who are more in the know about boxing feel free to answer this question, did Roy Jones blow through all of his cash a la Mike Tyson or something? Because that would explain a lot.

John Hackleman and Chuck Liddell

Talk about a love triangle. After getting wind of John Hackleman’s thoughts on Chuck Liddell retiring (or not retiring rather), UFC president Dana White, in typical Dana White fashion, held back little in response to the Iceman’s longtime trainer:

“Obviously, John Hackleman didn’t pay his house off yet. John Hackleman needs some money, because anybody who claims they care about Chuck Liddell even a little bit would not be making these f–king statements…How many great, talented guys do you see coming out of John Hackleman’s place? He’s no Greg Jackson. He’s no Mark DellaGrotte. He’s no American Top Team. He’s not one of the great camps. Chuck Liddell made him.”

White and Hackleman also seem to have very different ideas about what Liddell’s life after fighting would look like. According to Dana, Chuck will “be with the UFC forever” and will hopefully “do regulatory stuff with Marc Ratner.” Whereas Hackleman believes that if in fact Liddell wants to call it quits (which he still contends is unnecessary at this time) then he will spend his days teaching at Hackleman’s gym, The Pit. Hackleman also did not rule out the notion of Liddell competing for another promotion “if he has to.”

As a child of divorce whose parents had joint custody, I know all too well how out of hand things can get when two people who think they have your best interests at heart disagree so profoundly. Perhaps the war Dana mentioned previously is looming after all…

Of course it would be nice if Liddell just came forward and officially dispensed his own thoughts on his future, but it looks like that won’t happen until it absolutely has to, if at all.

The problem here is bias. Both White and Hackleman call themselves dear friends of Liddell’s, yet both have personal interests at stake. Dana White would like to protect a bona fide UFC legend from tarnishing his legacy like so many other foolish hangers-on have and continue to do. John Hackleman, as White so eloquently spouted, has no other marquis fighters in his stable to bring recognition to his gym, which is essentially his livelihood.

Maybe Hackleman truly believes that Liddell can continue his MMA career without damaging his body or his name, or maybe he’s just trying to earn an extra buck while he still can. And maybe Dana White truly believes that Liddell should retire because it’s simply too hazardous for him to compete at this point, or maybe he’s just holding that last contracted fight over Liddell’s head (a la Tito Ortiz) to make sure that Chuck cannot draw crowds outside of the Zuffa banner.

Whatever the case, I think Liddell should keep in mind that even the best of friends can become vultures when there’s money involved, especially this kind of money. Just ask Don King’s many friends.

Ah, the UFC 100 poster. You know looking at this, I almost forget that UFC 98 and 99 even exist…

And here we have a snapshot of Rich Franklin working hard with none other than Anderson Silva in prep for Franklin’s UFC 99 meeting with Wanderlei Silva. You remember Wanderlei, hes that other Brazilian who also used to knock people out a lot. Any way, despite this ambiguous report where The Spyder sort of pleaded ignorance regarding Franklin training with him, the above pic proves the old adage “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”