Photo by Josh Hedges/Zuffa LLC
Michael Bisping grew up down the road from me in the house on the corner. We would run into each other at the pub from time to time and we would always exchange a nod. We were never close but we knew the same people, ran in the same groups, even dated the same girls. In fact the haircut he has now was mine first. When I heard jammy Mike had blagged his way into a fight for the UFC middleweight title on short notice I called him up. I said “Michael, I know you’ve probably got your own ideas, but why don’t you try sitting down on your punches just this once”. Later, when he winked and pulled on his ear just before the camera cut away to check on the fallen Luke Rockhold, that was him saying “Thanks, Jack.” These are among the many, many lies I will shamelessly tell my grandchildren in years to come now that we finally have a British UFC champion.
Yes, today you find your humble servant sipping Earl Grey tea from his celebratory china and smearing a crescent of clotted cream across the bottom half of a scone on a Charles and Diana “Together Forever” commemorative plate. Pull up a chair and I will be more than happy to regale you with the tale of how His Fistic Majesty, Michael Bisping walked off of a film set and into the biggest fight of his life, starching the American playboy, Luke Rockhold for blighty.
Of course I’m being flippant. Whether you’re a Briton booing anyone from another country, an American chanting “U.S.A, U.S.A” at the first opportunity, or a Brazilian chanting, “you’re going to die,” you should probably knock it off. This is an individual sport, and everyone ends up ….View full article