It was a little over a week ago when Dana White did one of his increasingly rare media scrums, offering the traveling pack an opportunity to pick his brain on a number of news items in need of clarity. There was some examination of whether Ronda Rousey could maybe, possibly, someday return; if Conor McGregor was due back to the cage anytime soon; about how the newly formed Zuffa boxing would love to work with heavyweight boxing champ Anthony Joshua. Superstars are a constant topic of conversation, you see, so of course the discussion at some point came around to Georges St-Pierre.
At that moment, St-Pierre had only been the UFC middleweight champion for about three weeks, but already the whispers that he would vacate the belt had turned to full-throated predictions, and White was none-too-happy with the scuttlebutt.
“That’s not what I want to hear,” he declared at one point. Later, asked to imagine what would happen if St-Pierre followed through, his reaction was personal. “I’m going to be super-pissed,” he said.
On Thursday night, you’d have to imagine White was probably a deep shade of red after St-Pierre confirmed in a statement that he was abdicating the belt, the latest in a series of champions to play a public game of chicken with the UFC and emerge no worse for the wear.
The irony of it all is that this is one time that White and the UFC may well deserve some sympathy, if it wasn’t for their own previous actions that got us here.
Remember, St-Pierre vs. Michael Bisping was a fight that White resisted for some time, only green-lighting it after interim champ Robert Whittaker revealed a knee injury and St-Pierre agreed to contractual language that (allegedly) obliged him to defend the belt at least once if he won it.
As wonderful a fighter, ambassador and gentleman as St-Pierre has been, this exit is nothing short of messy. This is a very different circumstance than his 2013 sudden hiatus, at which point he had been training and competing uninterrupted for 11 years. That GSP was tired, beaten and weary. In that moment, he had nothing left to give the sport and stepped aside to let the division go on without him, without interruption. As a gesture, it was both considerate and magnanimous.
This time around, he was fresh off a four-year vacation, and had spent plenty of time considering all the possibilities of the future. He could continue jet-setting around the world, training for fun, making movies, just living life. But no, he wanted to fight. When he made the decision, he literally had to convince a disbelieving White that he wanted—really wanted—to come back. It took him months to do it. Contractually agreeing to defend the middleweight title was part of the deal he accepted, and his failure to stick to his word is a rare time he’s disappointed.
To be sure, this whole situation has been impacted by the revelation that St-Pierre was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, but if you read between the lines of his statements well before that, it seems likely he never really planned to stay at middleweight.
It started in the immediate aftermath of UFC 217. In the Octagon, literally minutes after winning the belt, St-Pierre was asked by Joe Rogan if he would stay at 185 pounds and defend the title.
“Well, this is not really my weight,” St-Pierre started. “I did it for the challenge.” Without directly answering the question, he said it all.
Whatever side of this you’re taking - and this is an instance where both sides have valid points to make - you have to admit that the UFC also played a role in making it all happen. This situation is an extension of the UFC’s willingness to short-cut its way to bigger shows. From the jump, St-Pierre had no real case for deserving a middleweight title shot. If the UFC had matched him with Tyron Woodley for the welterweight belt, that would have been understandable, or at least made some sense. The all-time divisional king returning in an attempt to reclaim his throne against the reigning champ? There is a certain logic to that. But St-Pierre vs. Bisping was always a nonsensical pairing, even though it was undeniably fun. St-Pierre had never before fought a single time at middleweight, so what was the logic? The logic was cold, hard cash.
Fun may be good to pop a strong buyrate - and the show did well at the box office with around 875,000 pay-per-view buys - but it’s not a long-term plan for building a division. So, sorry Robert Whittaker, but here’s a new belt you kind of won?
While super fights and fun pairings will always be part of combat sports, they have a way of setting things out of order. It’s why you have guys like Stipe Miocic calling out the aforementioned Joshua between fights. It’s why you have McGregor sitting on the sidelines for over a year counting his cash instead of defending his lightweight championship. It’s why you have T.J. Dillashaw campaigning for a fight with Demetrious Johnson before even defending his bantamweight title, and why White is still considering bringing back CM Punk despite a horrific showing his first time around. It’s why Bisping was even a champion in the first place!
It all comes back around, and that’s just the point. The UFC may not like St-Pierre’s decision, but it came about partly because of the system it put into place. Nothing matters but serving the moment. Every fighter for himself (or herself). Disposable belts, replaceable heroes, preposterous pairings. When absurdity is part of the business plan, it’s all fun until it’s not.