I was pulling for Chris Weidman to beat Anderson Silva for a second time in a row, and he is rather quickly becoming one of my favorite fighters. It's pretty good timing considering, George St. Pierre, has now just retired, and relinquished his welterweight title, whether it be temporary or permanent.
Again, I was hoping that Weidman would beat Anderson Silva, and retain the middle weight title. I was hoping he would do it in dramatic fashion. I was hoping he would have to dig deep, fight through adversity, and arise victorious in one of those fights where it's a shame that somebody has to be called the loser, and the other the winner, because in a great fight, neither fighter loses. All major fight fans have witnessed such fights (Griffin-Bonner, Henderson-Shogun, and most recently Big Foot Silva-Hunt). Such a fight becoming a reality, with all the hype surrounding UFC 168 would have been indescribably enormous. That's what I hoped for, and even anticipated.
But that is not what we received. What we received was worse than a dud of a fight. I still have a pit in my stomach, because of the way Anderson Silva went out. For those of you who haven't heard yet, I am talking about Anderson Silva's gruesome leg injury.
The pit comes from not only the gruesomeness, but also the sorrow, and empathy that I felt. Anderson Silva is the greatest fighter of all time, and a hero. I use the expression, "larger than life" a lot, and Anderson certainly is that. His injury shows us that although he is the greatest mixed martial artist of all time, who toyed with his opponents on his way to glory, he is also a man, just like all of us.
He is a man, imperfect, fallible, and who is capable of feeling pain. I saw his face in the weigh-ins. During the stare down portion, he was still playing the hero character. He was unflinching, unwavering, and unafraid. When it was over, and it was time to look away from Weidman, I saw a subtle look of ominousness. That unmistakeable look was in his eyes. I saw it also and more prominantly after the press conference staredowns.
The look in his eyes became abundantly clear to me in the walk out, especially after he kneeled for what seemed to be like a really long time, and when he got up to continue walking out, his expression said it all. "I am unable to escape from whatever horrible thing will happen to me today." I saw it in his eyes, because I recognized that particular emotion. I recognized it, because I felt it before myself. When I saw it in his face, I began to feel that same feeling of ominousness with him. I felt it all over again.
As a high school football player at Slidell High in my hometown of Slidell, Louisiana, I was an outside linebacker. During my junior year of high school, one of my teammates fell on my leg while I was chasing the ball carrier. I tore three ligaments in my knee, and also my hamstring tendon. It was a rather severe knee injury, so much so, that I was unable to play football again, and my knee still isn't the same to this day fourteen years later, and it will never be.
In the hours leading up to my injury, I remember feeling that ominous feeling while putting on my shoulder pads. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anybody. I felt it even more when I sat down on the bench outside to lace up my cleats. I remember when I finished, and it was time to walk out onto the field, all I could do was stare out into nothing feeling sorrow and fear, as all my friends were carrying on laughing, and goofing off as they always do before the start of practice. I had a severe pit in my stomach. I knew something terrible would happen, but I just didn't know what.
We were having a major intersquad scrimmage that day, and it was during August camp, and I thought that if I played well, it would go a long way in determining whether or not I would eventually start later in the season. I wasn't a spectacular player, but I really wanted to play with the first team. I thought that ominous feeling was telling me that I would play terribly, feel the coaches ire, and sit on the bench for the fest of the year, because of it.
Maybe Anderson mistook that feeling much the same way I did. Maybe he mistook it as a fear of losing, a fear of fighting terribly, a fear of appearing cowardly, and/or a fear of embarrassing himself in one of the biggest events in UFC history.
Regarding my particular thoughts and experiences, I was wrong about my premonitions, as I'm sure Mr. Silva was wrong about his. I'm fairly sure there is no way he would have known that he would break his leg, as there was no way I would have known about my injury prior to mine happening.
When I got on the field, the terrible pit in my stomach was gone, much the same way, it probably left Anderson Silva the moment the bell rung, and the fight started. I was playing, and playing well, then all of a sudden, *crack*. I was writhing in pain, and my leg was never the same.
Again, prior to the fight, I was able to recognize the look in Anderson Silva's eyes, because I felt that same exact feeling myself. And when I saw the injury, I relived mine. I felt all the same feelings that he felt, and that he is currently feeling.
I just want to say, Mr. Silva, you'll probably never read this, but God bless you. My thoughts are with you, and I'm praying for you.
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