MMA Metagame: Assessing Quick Finishes
Photo by Steve Marcus/Getty Images
In my previous MMA Metagame article, I examined the career arc of Will Brooks as a case study in losing sight of training priority, as well as the myriad of other ways the former Bellator champion ignored the sport’s trending meta. This entry in the series is a return to form, as I attempt to provide the evaluation criteria for quick finishes in MMA, and explain how much they really tell us.
In the innermost sanctum of the great combat sports analyst think tank (usually found on Twitter), my colleagues and I find ourselves debating the most pedantic of details in fights on a regular basis. A consistent point of contention amongst us is how to parse a quick finish in an MMA fight.
Early knockouts or club-&-subs are easy for the UFC to market, since they often arrive with a spiffy $50,000 performance bonus, and it becomes easier for fighters to generate traction with a couple of thrilling finishes under their belts. However, finishes become more challenging to accumulate the higher a fighter rises, meaning that eventually, someone just won’t go away when you hit them as hard as you can. Then what? How much can early finishes inform a fighter’s own trajectory (be it from both the winning and losing perspectives), and how much do they tell us as an isolated occurrence?
The focus of today’s metagame article is about answering both of those questions, determining how much information is worth drawing from a quick finish, as well as the dangers in fighters who accumulate nothing but quick finishes.
Showing Your Hand
In an article regarding Conor McGregor after his upset loss to Nate Diaz at UFC 196, Bloody Elbow analyst and friend of The Fight Site, David Castillo argued,
“Nothing will ever take away from his KO over Aldo, but quick finishes do take away slices of narrative: how does Conor react through three rounds against an opponent in his face, and with equal amounts of talent? This isn’t a criticism of Conor’s validity. That’s sherdog.net shit. It’s a question of degree,” (UFC 202: Nate Diaz vs Conor McGregor Toe to Toe Preview - Complete Breakdown).
That question of degree seems like a good enough place to start. Parsing a quick finish can be difficult, so the best way to begin is to simply examine the finish on a technical level. Ask the question, “To what degree is this finish likely to be replicated against further opposition?”
Sometimes, it won’t be. Makwan Amirkhani stormed out of the gate and finished Andy Ogle with a flying knee merely eight seconds into the first round (the Finns’ only win by way of knockout), but it was such an uncharacteristically aggressive and low-percentage tactic that the likelihood of it happening again in that exact way feels remote. Jorge Masvidal’s five second KO against Ben Askren had a bit more probability behind it, since Askren’s only in-fight option is reaching for a takedown and thus leaving his head exposed for a level-changing knee. The likelihood of Masvidal winning this exact way again is still low percentage, however, even if Askren lacks any ability to forcibly change his own approach. Awesome as they both were, neither Masvidal nor Amirkhani have won fights with flying knees since these highlight reel KOs.
However, these both seem like particularly low percentage outcomes, and the majority of early finishes simply aren’t this weird, for lack of a better word. In the case of your more standard finishing affair (punches/kicks), take a look at how the finish materialized.
For quick submissions, did a fighter hurt their opponent on the feet before diving on a choke? Is a fighter’s grappling defense really that awful, that they either completely detonate on the mat or are their defensive instincts and habits terrible in their own ways? Or, did Rousimar Palhares just decide to dive on a leg? For quick knockouts, look at the context. Was one guy just brutalizing the other and he just absorbed too much damage too quickly? Was it the confluence of a fighter walking onto the perfect shot? Was it a positional problem or a durability problem? Was it both? Or, did Rumble Johnson manage to hit Glover Teixeira with another uppercut?
More importantly, you need to decipher how likely a fighter is to achieve that exact same sequence again. When Justin Gaethje pressures his opponents back into the fence, cuts off their exits, kicks their legs out from under them before clobbering them with an overhand right, that serves as a reliable and replicable sequence that many lightweights might be aware of, but will likely struggle with. This is not always the case with quick finishes, though, and sometimes a particularly pretty finishing sequence can provide the opposite effect for the victor, as their future opponents begin preparing for that same specific tactical threat.
Let’s look at an example. Chan Sung Jung absolutely obliterated Renato Moicano in a minute’s time with one of the prettiest cross-counters seen in quite some time. In fact, let’s revisit it:
Jung throws away a left hook and folds over his lead hip to appear closer to Moicano. Rento bites and throws a jab. Jung immediately ducks under the punch, cross-counters the jab with the overhand right, and closes the door with the left hook.
This finish is indicative of a few things, some of which are quite obvious and some of which aren’t. First of all, it highlights that fighters like Jung (i.e. quick starters) will always be a danger to the slower, more cerebral approach of Renato Moicano. It highlights the danger in committing to offense early that you’re unsure about, which is part of the reason why burning some fight time early with feints/feelers is of value. Questions surrounding Moicano’s durability and Jung’s punching power are appropriate as well, especially since this was Moicano second consecutive stoppage loss and Jung has earned a fairly convincing assortment of early KOs during his UFC tenure.
However, this finish also highlights a more subtle truth that was borne out in Jung’s recent loss against Brian Ortega. Moicano has a great jab, and against Jung, that jab got him swiftly disposed of. Now that everybody in the division is aware of this anti-jab cross-counter threat, the chance that Jung is able to replicate this exact finish is lowered. The main lesson here seems to be, “Don’t jab at Jung until you’re completely sure of your own distance.” If a comparable jabber at featherweight (say, Max Holloway or Sodiq Yusuff) approaches Jung with just a bit more patience and awareness of that specific cross-counter threat, their ability to navigate around it is probably sufficient. They will likely take a bit more time in the early going to feint out responses, measure the distance, and play with the timing to dull Jung’s senses before sitting down to establish a committed jab.
Brian Ortega was clearly cognizant of this exact threat early in his bout with Jung, which is why he jabbed and fenced so cautiously from the outset (from southpaw, no less, further denying Jung the standard lane for the orthodox cross-counter). A lot of my colleagues picked Jung on the assumption that the cross-counter would wipe Ortega out, but my skepticism wound up coming to pass. After showing the rest of the division that this very specific tactical threat exists, the probability of finding it decreases after someone has been made an example of. Jung was left hunting for an elusive opening that wasn’t available, and I’d wager it wouldn’t be available for him against consummate jabbers like Alexander Volkanovski or Max Holloway, either. Jung showed his hand to the division, and now smarter opponents will know what they’re supposed to avoid. This is an example of how earning a quick finish can prove detrimental in terms of finding it again.
When Conor McGregor knocked out Jose Aldo in 13 seconds at UFC 194, the word ‘fluke’ was thrown around even before Aldo hit the canvas. For the uninitiated, let’s take a closer look at the most iconic KO in UFC history.
McGregor stays at the absolute peak of his range, pawing and measuring with his lead hand, and establishing the threat of his left hand by throwing a long straight punch down the pipe from range. Aldo is forced to pressure to close down the longer striker. A short oblique kick pushes Aldo back and impedes his forward movement. McGregor takes a few hop-steps, in-&-out, as he subtly drifts over to his right side. He invites the orthodox Aldo to take the outside angle on him, whom obliges him. Aldo feints a 2 and attempts a 3 as he steps to the outside angle, but McGregor has already retracted his lead leg a half-step. Conceding the inside angle to Aldo, McGregor (trigged by Aldo’s distance, as opposed to his feint) nails the Brazilian with a crossing left hand on the chin as Aldo moves into the punch.
Jose Aldo is MMA’s single greatest defensive fighter ever and a reserved starter, so this aggressive sequence from him is uncharacteristic to say the least. I’ve watched every single one of Aldo’s fights and this is the only instance I can recall offhand in which his first committed offense is a marching power combination in the first ten seconds of a championship bout. I’m not calling what happened at UFC 194 a fluke, but I don’t think it is slanderous towards McGregor to say that the moment clearly got to Aldo and as such, his approach was more than a bit unusual.
That said, I don’t think this example is quite the same sort of ‘hand-showing’ that Jung’s victory over Moicano was, simply because Conor McGregor is a much deeper striker than Jung and possesses a greater wealth of technical sagacity. Preparing to counter an opponent’s jab is fine enough, but this sequence goes a few steps further. McGregor clearly keyed in on the distance Aldo would need to bridge to land, as well the punch entry itself. As I pointed out, the distance was the trigger for the crossing left hand counter here, not the feint. A lengthier opponent controlling the distance, forcing the hand of a shorter fighter, gifting them the beloved outside angle, all before immediately punishing them for taking the bait is substantially more specific than baiting a jab to land a ducking cross-counter. To take it a step further, check out how McGregor practiced this exact same sequence for Aldo just hours before the fight.
Everything, right down to the small retracting half-step with the lead leg, was identical.
I’m contrasting these two examples against each other, because in a hypothetical rematch, one finishing sequence feels a bit more like a proverbial coin toss than the other. With the knowledge that Jung was searching for an immediate counter to his jab, Moicano possesses the tools to ensure his range earlier before establishing his precious jab. While Aldo never got an opportunity to rematch McGregor, he would have a few more questions to answer in dealing with this specific problem. Bridging the distance is a tumultuous ask for any McGregor opponent, because it is precisely in these instances when an opponent is left reaching that Conor finds them at their most vulnerable. Plenty of counterpunchers fumble their responses when an opponent insists on feinting, but as I pointed out, this is much harder to accomplish against McGregor. There is a level of specificity to this knockout that feels both uniquely attuned to Aldo as an opponent, yet deliberate enough that plenty of other opponents might haphazardly find themselves in a similar position if they’re not careful.
If you are still having trouble believing me, maybe this will convince you.
Conor McGregor’s ninth professional fight against Paddy Doherty. Look familiar?
The Power of Belief
I approach every fighter who nets a series of early finishes with a moderate degree of caution. As I will extrapolate on later, these wins are not without meaning, but they do subtract something from a completely accurate portrait of a fighter’s profile. Any time a fighter earns a streak of quick finishes, you need to ask this necessary question: “What happens when this guy can’t get someone out of there quickly?”
At the highest levels, contenders who meet (or better yet, clear) the athletic and technical minimum become commonplace. In a perfect world, the higher you move up a division, the more the fighters get better and the more the individual matchups become closer. Thus, earning quick finishes becomes more challenging. This can be a good thing! If a fighter habitually knocks their opponents out inside of two rounds, then the inevitable opponent tough enough to hang in there with them can ask some questions regarding their gas tank, patience, and depth of skill should an early finish not materialize. On the other hand, netting a series of early finishes against helpless opposition often instills some very bad habits in fighters. They visualize every fight with finishing tunnel vision, often phasing out of a bout if that one dynamic moment doesn’t roll around. They might even find themselves discouraged when an opponent takes their hardest shots and refuses to go away to the point where their own confidence tends to erode quite badly (see; Henry Cejudo vs Marlon Moraes).
Paulo Costa is arguably the most notorious example of this trend. As one of the most physically imposing middleweights in the division’s history, Costa outmatched virtually every opponent thrown his way in his regional and early UFC career. The Brazilian was a whirlwind of pressure and body punches, clobbering his way through the likes of Garreth McLellan, Oluwale Bamgbose, and Johny Hendricks with little to no resistance. With each shiny new TKO, Paulo’s confidence emboldened his fearsome approach, peaking with the Brazilian fearlessly marching down Yoel Romero without so much as blinking. It didn’t amount to a finish, but against the ostensible #1 contender, Costa demonstrated that in the face of adversity, he would simply double down on what worked and continue to hunt for the knockout. There is a lot to be said for that sort of focus and tenacity.
When he entered a title fight with Israel Adesanya, Costa sported a shiny 12-0 record with 11 finishes and that one decision victory over Yoel Romero. However, his relative lack of depth as a striker caught him out horribly against Adesanya, who swiftly and clinically dismantled the undefeated challenger inside of two rounds without earning so much as a scratch on his face. It was one of the most shockingly lopsided title fights I can recall, and it didn’t say anything positive about Costa’s prospects against fighters smart enough to prepare for his initial onslaught. Suddenly, all of Costa’s previous victories needed to be recontextualized.
In hindsight, Costa’s victory over Yoel Romero should’ve been a more instructive fight for analysts. All of Costa’s previous finishes occurred within a round and a half. In keeping with this timestamp, Paulo offered most of his effective offense against Romero throughout the first round and a half. Usually, this leads to a finish for Costa. It did not against Romero, and instead led to Costa taking a moderate beating in the second half of that fight, as Yoel gradually found more entries off his jab and managed to outlast the young prospect. I’m sure the decision win continued to build Costa’s confidence, but I’m not sure it necessarily helped him, either, since it demonstrated some concerning trends for the Brazilian when quick finishes don’t materialize. Namely, when opponents figure out something that works against Costa (often the jab), they can almost always ingeminate that specific tactic for as long as they want, since Costa isn’t the type to adjust what isn’t working.
Connor Ruebusch has referred to this narrowed focus as the ‘puncher’s path’ and, by and large, I agree with this prognosis, as well as some of the cautionary side effects that come with it. Fighters who accumulate a lot of quick finishes tend to believe in their own power, and this is fine to an extent, but it becomes a problem when these same fighters begin sacrificing their technique, depth, and mechanics for the sake of punching as hard as they possibly can. Similarly, fighters who believe in their own power often start believing in their own indestructibility, as well, meaning that they often become more willing to take two to give one, if it means they’re close to landing that one perfect shot.
Ironically, certain fighters who struggle to find finishes in their early careers often wind up becoming more dangerous finishing threats later down the line, because the good habits have already been instilled in them and building off that basic groundwork becomes easier if you’ve secured enough experience. Max Holloway was mostly a volume puncher in his earliest UFC appearances, but as his skills deepened and as he accrued more time in the ring, certain calculated risks began making their way into the fold. Sitting down on a certain body shot here, finishing combinations with a kick there, lengthening exchanges, systematically ramping the pace up as fights progressed, etc. By the time he won the featherweight belt, he had finished Anthony Pettis and Jose Aldo successively without so much as entering the fourth round. It was precisely because Max wasn’t furiously hunting for the early finish that he became such an overwhelming finishing threat later on. This is a commendable trend, but a frustratingly uncommon one in MMA.
Knockouts Anonymous
What does this all mean from the opposite perspective? When assessing a fighter who has recently been mopped up early, what is the protocol for evaluating the loss and where the fighter might be heading in the future?
The main piece of advice I’d give is take them all case-by-case. To parse a quick finish, you need to scrutinize the following questions:
Who delivered the finish? In other words, are they a prolific finisher? Are they the type to present a quick-starting minefield for an opponent, or is the finish itself a bit out of character for them?
How did the finish materialize? Was it cumulative? A tactical mistake or a legitimate flaw in someone’s game? One dynamic shot?
Did the finish look replicable? Are future opponents likely to find that same mark? Are there lessons for future opponents to draw from?
When did the finish happen in the fight?
When did the finish happen in the fighter’s career?
Was the finish symptomatic of a fighter’s tendencies or a seemingly unique outcome?
Prospect submission losses are extremely common. Young fighters often find themselves in transitional positions they’re used to escaping from, and so they attempt their usual defensive maneuvers before finding themselves trapped in a choke they didn’t see coming. Cory Sandhagen was effortlessly pushed into the fence by Aljamain Sterling, and so he relied on giving up his back to escape. A common practice for Cory wound up being a fatal mistake as Sterling obtained back mount and swiftly choked the prospect unconscious. This was such a textbook submission loss for a fighter merely five years into their professional career, there’s really no reason to be overly critical about it. Cory gave up a position he’d been used to escaping with and it got him submitted.
Early knockouts are a fair bit more concerning, because it indicates that a fighter probably has a ceiling on their physical durability. If a fighter suffers a quick knockout loss early in their career, it might point to a few different root causes. For instance, maybe the fighter just wasn’t prepared and they tensed up in an exchange. Maybe they were hit with a clean shot from a bigger fighter that would’ve put anybody down. Or, maybe they do legitimately have a lower threshold for damage, and that could be a concerning trend down the line. Either way, there are valid questions to ask when assessing a fighter with an early knockout loss somewhere in their career, because more likely than not, that type of loss will rear its head again at some point. I am firmly of the belief that fighters can (and often do) improve from their losses, but I will also be the first to admit that outrunning a bad loss in MMA is extremely difficult.
But, what if a fighter isn’t in their early career and they still find themselves on the losing end of a quick finish? This tends to be a good deal more ominous. Michael Chandler is one of the most physically overwhelming lightweights I’ve ever seen in my life, and he has found his way into some of the sport’s greatest and most violent duels, including two incredible wars with Eddie Alvarez. In defiance with Schwan Humes’ #1 rule for MMA (“don’t push a pace you can’t keep”), Chandler would knowingly assault opponents in the opening round with insane pace and volume, likely aware that plenty of fighters simply couldn’t hope to match Michael physically. For the opponents who could hang in there, Chandler would often oblige them with a violent, grueling, and relentless war as Michael’s defensive holes opened and his pace slowed. Will Brooks and Eddie Alvarez both managed to drag some serious fights out of Chandler, and it saw Michael accumulating a hellacious amount of punishment in a very short period of his career.
Imagine my concern when career featherweight, Patricio Pitbull flattened Chandler with one punch in the first round of their 2019 bout. It is hard for me to overstate my concern regarding these types of losses. It is one thing to be a fighter who gets into a lot of grimy wars. Even as the damage accumulates, some guys learn a certain comfort in this sort of environment (including Eddie Alvarez himself) and they frequently finds ways to manage their pace better. It is another thing to be a fighter who gets into a lot of grimy wars, and then gets swiftly disposed of. Now, Chandler’s freak pace and durability are visibly waning, and I have to assume that these wild fights Chandler comfortably partook in nine years ago are no longer sustainable for him in 2020. The ungodly amount of punishment Chandler absorbed from 2011 through 2017 would be enough to give me pause about his prospects in the UFC, but in his current iteration, he is also a knockout concern.
No, I do not have particularly high expectations for Michael Chandler in the UFC, thank you for asking.
The Upside
Reading over the last few sections, I am now realizing how negative much of this article has sounded, so let me attempt to rectify that in this last segment before I wrap up. Someone once tried to tell me that quick finishes are meaningless, and this is blatantly untrue. Quick finishes, even of the absolute lowest percentage, at least tell us something. There is always some kind of lesson to learn from a quick finish, and they certainly doesn’t say anything outwardly negative about the winner. These wins should just be received with an appropriate amount of praise and skepticism.
Henry Cejudo crushed TJ Dillashaw in 32 seconds. The flyweight champion crowded Dillashaw with punches and kicks in the opening seconds, out-sped him by at least three clicks, and shoved him over like a small child when TJ tried to plant and return fire. These are the material facts of the fight.
TJ Dillashaw also endured a brutal cut from an already-lean 135lbs to a horrifyingly-gaunt 125lbs. To some degree, he was clearly compromised from the weight cut and this likely had an effect on the outcome of the fight being so uncharacteristically hasty. Did TJ’s weight cut have an effect on the outcome of the fight? In all likelihood, yes. Is that all there is to take away from this brief championship bout? Almost certainly not.
Despite it lasting merely 32 seconds, the fight itself told us a lot about both fighters. For starters, it demonstrated to me that Henry Cejudo is a surprisingly acute strategic fighter. Given Cejudo’s immediate pressure and combination assault, I can only assume that his team watched John Dodson obliterate TJ Dillashaw way back in 2011 (the former champion’s other lone knockout loss, arriving in the first round, no less). The nutshell version is, when Dodson stepped straight in against TJ, he was able to find his chin fairly easily, since TJ lacks much in the way of systematic defense. Similarly, when TJ attempted a more complex punch entry from the outside, Dodson easily countered him on the way in. Following suit, Cejudo committed with similar alacrity early, and when TJ attempted a feint his way into an overhand right, Henry just stood his ground and pushed him off balance. A speedy straight-line attack rips through TJ Dillashaw’s defense like a knife through fabric, and Cejudo is both a nightmarishly powerful athlete and smart enough to play to his strengths.
Maybe the probability of this particular outcome repeating itself is slim, but that doesn’t mean the result itself should be handwaved. Perhaps the Jung/Moicano principle would show its face in a potential rematch. If TJ knows an early blitz is coming his way, he might spend a little more time establishing his range before jumping on the first opening he sees. Conversely, Cejudo clearly keyed in on flaws that have always existed in Dillashaw’s technical game. There is a significant chance that Cejudo brings in the same basic approach in a rematch at 135lbs and wipes TJ out once more.
Henry Cejudo destroyed one of the most consistently proven championship fighters in the sport in 32 seconds, and no amount of context can possibly erode the shine of that victory. Nor does TJ’s slightly emaciated frame provide him a foolproof scapegoat for his loss, much as he’d might prefer it to.
Conclusion
People are biased, so the conclusions they draw regarding a fighter who either earns or suffers a quick finish can vary dramatically based on personal opinion. As much as I’d like to say that a more coherent diagnostic exists to run for every quick finish that could provide concrete insight, the reality is you have to look at each case individually.
Beneil Dariush earned himself a sizable amount of concern when he found himself on the losing end of a 42-second KO at the hands of Alexander Hernandez, but he has since earned himself five victories in a row (including four finishes). For the most part, it has been a remarkable rebound. On the flip side, James Vick seemed to recover well after a nasty KO loss to Dariush in 2016. However, the moment Justin Gaethje so much as touched his chin, Vick’s confidence and durability were so badly compromised that he lost three more fights in a row before being unceremoniously released from the UFC.
You never quite know how a fighter is going to react to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it loss, particularly early in their careers. For some competitors, they genuinely do learn from it, taking strides to improve their defense and positioning to avoid being forced into bad positions in the future. The lesson might just be as simple as learning to calm down. For others, a single knockout loss can signal a dramatic drop-off in confidence to the point that they never recover. No matter how you slice it, these admittedly limited sample sizes are often rife with useful information if you’re willing to look closely.
As a general rule, I think it is silly to judge a fighter off of one fight. By that same token, I also find it downright stupid to ignore the results of a potentially instructive loss, as well. There should be a middle ground between probabilistic outcomes and material analysis, but assessing these kinds of results still need to be parsed on an individual basis, because every fight has its own context. At the very least, Michael Bisping’s upset KO victory over Luke Rockhold definitely signaled something.