Justin Gaethje stood in the Oval Office, staring quietly at the Declaration of Independence. Wrapped in a US flag, and sporting a beanie hat and flip flops, he turned away and began the long walk through the White House and to the South Lawn, where the UFC cage – miraculously – awaited. “There ain’t no grave can hold my body down,” were the lyrics echoing around the grounds as Gaethje made his march. And if a grave could not, then a body shot certainly wasn’t going to.
That was the apex for Ilia Topuria on this night, see. When the defending lightweight champion plunged punch after punch into the soft flesh over Gaethje’s ribs, late in round two, the American challenger dropped to the canvas. Perhaps if Topuria had opted for more strikes, as opposed to a grappling exchange, the next 30 or so minutes of his life would have looked drastically different. Perhaps his face would have looked drastically different; perhaps it would have been recognisable by the end of the bout.
