From matador to rodeo clown, Anderson Silva’s behaviour was abominable

There’s plenty to appreciate about Saturday’s UFC 112. Frankie Edgar delivered one of the biggest upsets in UFC history as he dethroned lightweight champ BJ Penn in a five-round battle. Demian Maia refused to go quietly into that good night against MMA’s best striker. Mark Munoz survived repeated pummeling and a couple of deep guillotine submissions to pound out an imploding Kendall Grove. And former UFC All Access host Rachelle Leah slipped into her old Octagon Girl booty shorts one last time.

But what of that will inspire a single headline or a single forum thread in the hours and days to come? Instead, we’ll burn up bandwidth reading about how a legendary Gracie was embarrassed, and should be embarrassed, and how Matt Hughes wants another title shot even though he’s done nothing to earn it. Instead of focusing on Edgar’s victory, we’ll dissect Penn’s defeat and how it shakes up an entire weight division in the process.

More than all of that, though, the MMA world will obsess over the biggest display of jackassery by a UFC champ ever (including Brock Lesnar’s post-fight crassness circa UFC 100).

Anderson Silva, a fighter who out-strikes opponents in a manner that draws comparisons to Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, is being – and should be – raked over the coals for how he behaved against Maia.

He disrespected his opponent, his bosses, the sport and the fans. He stepped into the octagon a matador and within minutes showed himself to be a clown at a rodeo. Never again should people speak of Silva’s class and honour and samurai spirit, for he has shown none of that.

Silva is a conundrum. He ducked, dodged and danced, an awe-inspiring, spell-binding display of athleticism equal to a Michael Jordan slam dunk and henceforth known as drunken monkey jazz hands kung fu. At first, his Roy Jones-style showmanship was amusing, then it turned to annoying juvenile mockery and infuriating buffoonery and finally to disgusting egoism.

He refused to put Maia away in the early rounds when he easily could have with stinging jabs and spinning back kicks. He preferred instead to ape and taunt the jiu-jitsu champ like a schoolyard bully, and in the later rounds appeared incapable or unwilling to finish the job he’d started.

Silva is well-known for his playful impersonations of other fighters’ styles and we saw a little of the Muhammad Ali shuffle against Maia. But when Ali called his shot, he followed through and would never think of hiding playfully behind the referee, a giant raspberry in the face of everyone watching.

He added a new impression to his repertoire, as well, brief yet persistent flashes of Kalib Starnes, of circling and avoiding, of running and hiding, that linger like a mouth full of pennies. Silva mounted such little offense late into the fight that I actually scored rounds 4 and 5 in Maia’s favour.

It was the sight of Maia firing punches from his knees at the standing Silva that well and truly won me over. But it was more than that. Throughout the five full rounds, Maia embodied gameness, persistently yet cautiously trying to engage a vastly superior, infinitely more dangerous opponent even as his nose spilled blood and his eye swelled shut. He deserved better than to be scoffed at and made a fool of.

In fact, it was all of the UFC and every fan who watched who should feel foolish for placing Silva on such a lofty pedestal only to have our affection and admiration greeted with such derision and contempt. Heavy sits the crown, they say, but Silva couldn’t care less about anything except himself. He announced his disdain with every shuck-and-jive, every refusal to engage Maia on the ground while simultaneously chastising Maia for not doing more to engage him on the feet, a ridiculous charge to anyone who saw the way the over-matched Maia waded into the fray to land a few stinging blows of his own. Maia was no flopping Thales Leites.

Referee Dan Miragliotta even warned Silva in the fifth round for refusing to engage and threatened to deduct a point if he didn’t start fighting. And UFC president Dana White’s refusal to wrap the middleweight belt around Silva’s waist after the decision speaks volumes for how he felt.

Two weeks ago, I complained bitterly of Georges St. Pierre’s unwillingness to take risks leading to his inability to finish fights, but he does try to finish them and he gives every opponent the same level of respect, whether it’s BJ Penn or Dan Hardy. Not so, Silva.

He obviously felt unchallenged and rightfully so. He’s a Mensa member stuck in the second grade for the third year in a row. We know he’s unhappy with the level of opponents at middleweight, and who could blame him when faced with Thales Leites and Patrick Cote and James Irvin. We know that he wants to fight at light heavyweight (but not for the title as long as it’s held by pal Lyoto Machida) and heavyweight and even welterweight. But that’s no excuse for not doing what he’s paid to do and can so obviously do whenever the feeling strikes. He’s wasting his obvious gifts and they’re his to waste – as long as he doesn’t waste our time and money in the process.

That’s no reason to reward him with a shot at GSP or at the 205-pound title (if and when Machida relinquishes it). Neither should he be given access to the Brock Lesnars and Cain Velasquezes and Shane Carwins of the world, no matter how much I’d love to see him try that Matrix shit on a 265-pound steamroller with fists. Hell, I think either Frank Mir or Junior dos Santos would make wonderful Walmart greeters to the heavyweight division.

No, champion or not, he needs to learn his place. Stick him on the preliminary card. He can share a locker with Jon Fitch.