UFC 263 Aftermath: Leon Edwards, Nathan Diaz, and the Cult of Personality
One fighter dominated, but the other has been the bigger story, which is par for the course when you're talking about Leon Edwards and Nathan Diaz.
Leon Edwards dominated the first four rounds of his UFC 263 clash with Nathan Diaz.
Dominated.
For 20 minutes, he had his way with Diaz — out-boxing him, out-grappling him, out-classing him. He landed low kicks and body kicks, sharp jabs and swift left hands, cheeky sweeps, and a series of blows from top position that gave Diaz his familiar crimson mask.
While Edwards dominated, Diaz did what Diaz Brothers do: he postured, talked, congratulated Edwards on the clean shots that landed, and connected with a smattering of his own in return, but ultimately, he got pieced up and picked apart.
Even in the fifth round, when the Birmingham native clearly took his foot off the gas, wholly confident he’d done more than enough to earn a decision and wary of getting sucked into some exchange that could go terribly awry, Edwards was ahead as the clock ticked towards one minute remaining.
Standing in the center of the Octagon, Diaz followed a open-handed slap to the jaw with a clean left hand down the pipe, transforming Edwards’ feet into roller skates without his knowing.
The volume in the arena instantly jumped to deafening levels, as if someone had just pressed play on the stereo when the volume was already turned up as loud as it would go. One second, you could hear the announcing crew singing Edwards’ praises on the broadcast, and the next, they were being drowned out by a crowd that came to life like they’d all taken a shot full of adrenaline to the heart like they were Mrs. Mia Wallace at the exact same time.
Diaz immediately did what Diaz Brothers do, pointing at a dazed Edwards and giving him the finger before opting to follow up and look for the finish. He did press forward and land a few more blows, but the British contender was able to avoid anything too serious, scurrying away as Diaz chased, riding out a tense final minute to emerge with a unanimous decision victory.
The result pushed Edwards’ unbeaten streak to 10 and gave Diaz a second consecutive loss, but none of that seemed to matter all the much in the immediate aftermath, as Diaz’s clean combination that put Edwards in peril was the primary, secondary, and tertiary thing people wanted to discuss about a fight where he was on the wrong side of things for roughly 96 percent of the fight.
Following the bout, Diaz arrived at his post-fight media availability and said exactly what everyone that has followed his career and the career of his older brother Nick knew he was going to say (shouts to ESPN MMA for putting it together nicely):
This is the Diaz way and it’s a big part of what people absolutely love about them.
Despite taking part in a sport with rules and rounds and established scoring criteria, every loss is a chance to opine about how things would have gone had it been “a real fight,” and that’s only if they even concede they lost the fight in the first place. Everything Edwards did in the first 24 minutes of the fight is reduced down to a dismissive, “Yeah, but was Nate ever really hurt?” and the only thing that matters is that Diaz landed one outstanding combination and had Edwards in a bad way when the final horn sounded.
It doesn’t matter that he didn’t get the finish. It doesn’t matter that he probably should have pounced immediately instead of taking a beat or two in order to strike his customary “I gotcha with with that one” pose as Edwards wobbled away like a fella tumbling out of the pub onto the high street after having two or three too many.
That singular moment is all Diaz, his fans, and countless others want to focus on because when it comes to Diaz, none of the usual metrics and parameters we use to discuss fighters ever seem to matter, including, but not limited to results and factually correct information.
To hear Diaz tell it, he’s one of the best fighters in the history of the UFC — a conquering figure that has accomplished everything there is to accomplish inside the Octagon; a legend who has risen to the top of multiple divisions, turning in countless breathtaking performances while either being robbed by the judges or clearly the better man had it been a “real fight” whenever things didn’t go his way.
Make no mistake about it — Diaz is, in fact, a legend and one of the biggest superstars in the sport today, but he’s also a journeyman who has gone 10-11 in his last 21 fights and is 15-11 overall inside the Octagon.
His supporters will tell you results don’t matter and call you lame for caring more about records than moments, and innumerable columns will sing his praises without providing the full context of his career.
They will fixate on the good and the great — the “double bird” submission of Kurt Pellegrino; the Donald Cerrone win; the Michael Johnson victory and post-fight promo; the Conor McGregor upset — and skim over or completely skip the bad. If it doesn’t fit the Diaz mythology, it doesn’t often get discussed because the only thing that matters when it comes to the former Ultimate Fighter winner are the things that feed into the aura and allure of the 36-year-old iconoclast from Stockton, California.
What I have always found challenging about the whole Diaz cult of personality is that he and his brother might be the only two fighters who are consistently and perpetually viewed through this “nothing matters but the moments” prism.
At some point, everyone else is held to account for their records and everyone else takes a step back in terms of their popularity, their push, their place on the fight card, or the way they’re spoken about based on results and performance.
Even if they remain in the superstar strata, those within the MMA world acknowledge when they’ve lost a step, when they can’t be considered contenders, and when the things that made them great in the past have faded from view, only resurfacing in glimpses and fleeting moments.
Every other fight gets put through the “Who have they beaten?” ringer and has their resume examined from 76 different angles before they’re accepted as a contender, and even then it is rarely unanimous. The arguments that are made to dismiss or diminish Diaz’s setbacks and stumbles are invalid from anyone that doesn’t live in the 209, and the bar everyone else needs to clear in order to get even a modicum of the respect and recognition afford to the veteran fan favourite is exceptionally high.
But after more than a decade of wrestling with it, I think I’ve figured it out for myself. Here’s what I wrote about Diaz in the wake of his loss to Edwards on Saturday night in my 10 Things We Learned column:
Diaz is the UFC version of The Rock in that he can roll in whenever he wants, land in a monster fight, and then bounce for 18-24 months at a time, if not more, without losing any ground, similar to how the former “Most Electrifying Man in Sports Entertainment” could show up tomorrow and be thrown into a program with Roman Reigns on the next episode of Smackdown and no one would bat an eye.
It takes a different level of star power to reach that level and even then, few competitors get there, but Diaz has reached that point and will most likely continue to operate in the that role for as long as he wants to continue fighting. There are fights out there for him that make sense or would be fun — the trilogy with Conor McGregor chief among them — and fans are always, ALWAYS going to be amped to see the veteran get back in there, regardless of how long it’s been or what his record looks like.
I’ve never really understood it, but have always appreciated Diaz’s toughness, tenacity, and willingness to fight tough customers, especially once he hit this point, and look forward to whatever comes next for the former Ultimate Fighter winner and perennial fan favorite.
Let me be clear: it’s never been that I don’t appreciate what Diaz brings to the table and recognize that a huge segment of the fight-loving population view him as some kind of pugilistic deity; it’s just that I’m a “results matter” guy and the coverage and opportunity-to-performance ratio has always felt incredibly off to me, and that sucks for every fighter that plies their trade in the shadows, stacking victories and handling their business in relative anonymity while Diaz and a few select others can parachute into the limelight whenever they’re so inclined, regardless of results, records, or really anything else.
It’s probably because I was never the popular kid, but I feel for fighters like Edwards, who spent 24 minutes crafting a masterful performance and then had all of that swept aside because he got a little complacent, ate a big shot, and stumbled around the Octagon for a minute.
Everything he did prior to that point got brushed aside.
One combination made some question if he’d really done enough to merit a championship opportunity, as if losing that exchange somehow carried more weight than winning the actual fight.
It doesn’t matter that he won or that he’s unbeaten in his last 10 fights; right now, he’s the guy that Nathan Diaz put on roller skates and pointed at on Saturday, as if that is a full and accurate representation of what transpired in that fight.
But when it comes to Diaz, there is never a full and accurate accounting of things — there is his version of events, which instantly becomes gospel, one defended vehemently by Diaz Brother zealots, sung aloud by his devoted followers, and parroted by those who turn up to church whenever its in service.
Speaking out against it is blasphemous, heretical even.
I guess that means I’m a heretic then because for as thrilling as that final minute was, the 24 minutes that came before it were far more impressive and matter infinitely more to me, and that is never going to change.