mma / Columns

BJ Penn: What is There Left to Prove?

April 19, 2016 | Posted by Evan Zivin
BJ Penn

Hey, remember when BJ Penn, former UFC Welterweight and Lightweight Champion and one of the greatest natural talents to ever step inside an MMA ring or cage, got beat up and decided to step away from the sport?

Remember when he decided to come back, only to get beat up again and decide to step away from the sport, again?

Remember when he decided to come back, again, only to get beat up, once again, and decide to step away from the sport, again? AGAIN?

Well, guess who’s coming back….

Oh BJ. BJ, BJ, BJ…you just don’t know when to walk away, do you. You don’t know how to quit, even when there is absolutely nothing left for you to do in the sport other than risk lowering your future quality of life.

You’ve accomplished so much in MMA. You came into the sport with an array of accomplishments already, earning your black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu after training for only three years and proving it was earned legitimately by medaling at the Mundials and becoming the first non-Brazilian to win gold in the black belt division at the World Jiu-Jitsu Championships.

That is impressive stuff. If anyone had the potential to have success in MMA, it was you, Baby Jay.

And MMA success you had. You entered the UFC in 2001 and immediately became a contender in the lightweight division. In only eight months, you were fighting for the title, losing a very close and very controversial decision to Jens Pulver. You even had a chance to become champion again a year later but the judges kept the gold out of your reach again by scoring your rematch with Caol Uno a draw.

It didn’t deter you, though. You kept fighting. You kept winning, eventually earning the chance to face Matt Hughes for the welterweight championship. Sure, you mainly got the fight because the UFC couldn’t find anyone else for Hughes to face, but you were game. You were willing to go up against the bigger man, the most dominant force the young sport had seen to that point.

And you beat him. You shocked the world and choked out the wrestler and validated yourself as one of the best fighters in the world.

You then proceeded to give that up, since this was back when the UFC was still hemorrhaging money and could only afford to pay fighters in buffet coupons and bootleg copies of Bloodsport, but you continued to face top competition and you did so at any weight.

You fought Duane Ludwig at welterweight. You fought Renzo Gracie at middleweight. You fought Lyoto Machida at 191 pounds (and he weighed over 200). It didn’t matter what it said on the contract or on the scale at weigh-ins. As long as they came to fight, you came as well.

Your willingness to fight whoever and wherever paid off after your return to the UFC when, after losing a close title eliminator to Georges St-Pierre, you were given the opportunity to fight for the title anyway after GSP suffered an injury. The rematch with Hughes didn’t end the way the first fight did (quite the opposite, actually) but it gave you the realization that the welterweights were much bigger than they used to be and, with your reputation well known at this point, they weren’t going to sleep on you like Hughes did in the first fight.

It was okay because welterweight wasn’t where you belonged anyway. Not when you still had unfinished business to take care of 15 pounds below.

And you took care of that business in record time. One fight after the Hughes rematch, you got your revenge on Pulver. One fight after that, thanks in part to Sean Sherk’s drug suspension, you got to fight for and win the UFC Lightweight Championship, the belt that alluded you years earlier.

You then went on to become one of the most dominant, most successful lightweight champions the sport has ever seen. You only reigned for two years but you defended the title three times, which is the most any one man has defended that belt, and you even took time during your reign to call out and take on GSP in what is still the only instance of two active champions in two different weight classes competing against one another.

(We’re waiting, Conor…)

You didn’t win the GSP fight, but, in many ways, you didn’t need to. The fact that, while being a champion yourself, you were willing to challenge yourself and prove you could compete with the best fighters in the world, no matter what weight they fought at, showed the value of your character and how much you love this sport.

And proving yourself is what it’s always been about, hasn’t it? It’s the main motivation for most athletes. It’s that competitive drive that keeps fighters pushing through tough workouts and hard sparring sessions where they lose more rounds than they’d like to admit, all for the opportunity to say they’re the best when it matters most; when the bright lights are on and the cage door closes and Bruce Buffer does that weird spinning muscle spasm thing he does when he reads the name of a UFC champion.

Because that’s what it’s about. It’s about being the best and proving it to the world.

So, is that what this return is about, BJ? Do you still feel this need to prove yourself? Are you unable to walk away until you can say you’re the best again? Sure, you haven’t won a fight in over 5 years and, the last time we saw you, you were getting thrashed by Frankie Edgar in the conclusion of one of the most depressing trilogies of all time, but few top fighters end their careers on a high note, not if they stick around for too long. You can look to Chuck Liddell and Randy Couture for perfect examples of that.

But, just as the losses Liddell and Couture suffered in their final fights matter little in their lasting legacy and overall contribution to the growth of the sport, the same can be said about you. I mean, who remembers the Rory MacDonald fight? Rory probably doesn’t, or maybe he did before the Robbie Lawler fight…

And people talk about the Nick Diaz fight but not because you lost. They talk about it because the fight was awesome. Just two badasses slugging it out for our entertainment, and that’s what’s important because, for all the wins and losses you’ve had, you provided us with many memorable fights and many memorable moments that we can look back on and tell our friends about as a reminder of why we love this sport. It was a career worthy of a UFC Hall of Famer such as yourself.

BJ, I’m not writing this to tell you that you should retire or stay away from fighting (like we need another writer on here advocating that for someone…), and I appreciate that you seem to be taking this return at UFC 199 as seriously as you should, but, if the point of this return is to prove to yourself or to others that you can still compete with the best, you should realize you don’t need to. If you’re worried how people will feel if you were to go out and end your career on a loss, don’t. Your reputation is more than secure.

Through all the criticism of your mental toughness or how your cornermen have historically been more cheerleader than actual leader or any other allegations that have been thrown around throughout the years, you’re still regarded as one of the best to ever put on the 4 oz. gloves and I hope you recognize that.

Thank you, BJ.

Also, go kick Denis Siver’s ass on June 4. Let us see the BJ of old and let us relieve the good times…before we all slowly come to our senses and realize that a 37 year old whose time has passed him by making a return to fighting, again, to compete in a weight class that he’s only fought in once (and looked horrendous) is probably one of the worst ideas anyone in the sport has had in a long time.

Then again, this is the year of Kimbo-Dada…Good luck, BJ. Don’t do something you’ll regret.

Evan Zivin has been writing for 411 MMA since May of 2013. Evan loves the sport, and likes to takes a lighthearted look at the world of MMA in his writing…usually.

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BJ Penn, Evan Zivin