UFC Fight Night: Kattar vs. Ige

Liana Jojua   vs.   Diana Belbiţă  


You know, I'm often fairly Hyperbolic when it comes to assessing WMMA but what I'm about to say is said in all earnestness and sincerity: This is going to be one of, if not, the worst examples of a fighting contest ever experienced and it's quite possible that this fight collectively represents the shallowest net skill pool of any fight ever made.


Jojua throws hands like an arthritic eighty seven year old obese retired seamstress who has just eaten a dozen pound cakes and is defending another one from three flies. With a sore shoulder. She is a singularly slow, horrifically disinterested fighter of zero urgency or initiative. Don't believe me? Pick a fight. Any one of the tentpole circus bouts she's featured in, belly-stamped with the brand logos of Russian cat-food, like a spoiling ham patched over with price reduction stickers a day before expiry.


Belbita might be the worst fighter I have personally ever seen. Her awfulness is so spectacular that her presence inside the cage itself is a kind of disturbing, acid-riddled  juxtaposition. It is like watching a Goat compete in the 100M Butterly. I am very comfortable in saying that she was probably sourced in a Romani slum and was traded by her drunkard father to a Kazakhstani sex trafficker masquerading as a manager for some smallgoods, a few hens, and a crate of whisky.


In summation, whoever wins.....you lose. This is an atrociously low-quality fight whose existence is not merited even in the lean times of a pandemic--indeed, there are probably no conditions whereby such a bout could be justified. Yes, food was rationed in WW2, and people had to improvise and adapt. They ate curried carrots and mock cream Pudding. But they didn't eat their own limbs and feces.


UFC should not be proud of this.....thing. That would be like the new father of a Trisomy 21 baby, getting on Twittter and proclaiming 'Great News Folks: I have sired a Mongoloid!"