“I f***ing stink,” Tom Aspinall warns me, raising his eyebrows as I tentatively approach the pristine, freshly-laid, black and white mats in his gym. There are graver warnings one could be issued by the UFC heavyweight champion – a status that comes with the moniker “The Baddest Man On The Planet”. But herein lies the great paradox around Aspinall: he is the baddest man on the planet – technically, the most-skilled hand-to-hand combatant on Earth – yet he is one of the nicest people you could encounter.
He is also accurate – in the cage, yes, with the kind of blurring strikes that have helped him break records and win gold – but also in his appraisal of the smell. The stench of sweat has diffused throughout the gym now, particularly noticeable as it was not this way 15 minutes earlier, before I ducked into a side room to speak to one of the Wigan mixed martial artist’s teammates. But with Aspinall and a handful of his training partners having drilled technique with increasing intensity, the atmosphere has thickened. Everyone seems quite used to it.
