Nick Diaz is the best (bareknuckle) boxer in MMA
Headkicklegend.com has an awesome piece that traces the striking employed by Nick Diaz back to the bareknuckle days. For many…
Headkicklegend.com has an awesome piece that traces the striking employed by Nick Diaz back to the bareknuckle days.
For many fans, it seems incongruent for Nick Diaz to be labeled the best boxer in MMA when so little of what he does in the cage can be qualified as being “good” boxing; leaning too far forward in his stance while leading with his face; keeping his hands far out in front of him where they can’t be used to protect the head; feet planted instead of light on the toes; very little movement of his head.
And yet, the results speak for themselves, with his most recent display of prowess coming at the expense of the previously labeled “best boxer in MMA”, BJ Penn. How can Nick Diaz be the exemplifier of the “sweet science” when everything he does runs counter to what entails “good” boxing?
The answer lies with the fact that everything he does is exactly what “good” boxing calls for, and the only reason we fans fail to acknowledge this is because we have narrowly focused on the sport as fought under the Marques of Queensbury rules, ignoring the lessons left to us by those who competed during the earlier reigns of London Prizefighting and Broughton’s rules.
It is most likely that you never heard of Daniel Mendoza, which is of no surprise since his last public match took place in 1820, but if ever there was a kindred spirit to Diaz it was him.
A descendent of Spanish Marronos, he was the father of scientific boxing, whose success helped elevate the position of jews in 18th and 19th century English society. And much like Diaz, he seemed incapable of understanding finances while also being notoriously quick tempered with a propensity to fight whenever he felt slighted in the least, having once famously gotten into three altercations while on his way to be a spectator for a match (the three reasons being that someone’s cart had cut him off in the street, he felt cheated by a shopkeeper, and he didn’t like how a man was looking at him). Most importantly he was an amazing boxer, the best of his era, being the 16th man to hold the English (World’s) heavyweight championship (possessing the title from 1792-1795), and the only middleweight to ever accomplish that feat.
The ruleset that Mendoza fought under during his time was the one divised by Jack Broughton in 1743, the very first codified set of rules in the history of the sport, which were fittingly named Broughton’s rules. They were very simple, numbering seven in total, dealing with such things as the size of the ring, the holding of the purse, and the choosing of umpires.
The only thing banned was the hitting of a downed opponent or any wrestling below the waist. Everything else – hair-pulling, grappling above the waist, wrestling or tripping your opponent to the ground, and, of course, striking with the bare fists – was allowed. And since no gloves nor hand wrappings were used, throwing with all one’s might or aiming blows to the head was naturally discouraged lest you break your hand. In fact, striking ability often rated below wrestling ability with regards to importance in gaining a victory.
Throws to the ground were something like the body-blows of their day, where damage would be accumulated over time with the goal being to eventually wear down your opponent from hard falls to the earth time and time again.
Another trick which has been used very successfully by some boxers when contesting under London prize ring rules is when wrestling with an opponent to make it a point to fall heavily on top of him, crushing the wind out of him as much as possible.
Since Mr. Mendoza was often much smaller than his opponents, and excelled in the technical striking department, he developed a stance that allowed him to not only attack but also assisted in negating his opponents attempt’s to grapple and throw him.
From this position he could also launch a wide variety of offensive maneuvers. He could strike with either hand, with the preferred targets being the face, stomach, and side. And if one wanted to be less than gentlemanly they could sneak in an elbow for good measure. The outstretched hands made it simple to sieze an opponent who entered into range, after which he could trip, throw, or fib (fibbing was the art of putting the opponent in a headlock and then punching away).
Diaz’s methods for evading his opponents attacks mirror the advice given by Mendoza.
The other great similarity between Diaz and his 19th century prizefighting predecessors is found in his movements. Since being thrown to the ground was of paramount concern, fighters did and could not use the same amount of bobbing, weaving, and dancing we’ve become accustomed to, and instead had to make sure they remain balanced, so as to not give their opponent the opportunity to put them on their backside. This desire to always remain on solid footing spilt over into how one advanced on their opponent.
Of course, I don’t want to imply that Diaz’s fighting is based exclusively on 19th century prizefighting techniques, nor that Nick DIaz and his coach, Richard Perez, have even intentionally set about to mine and recycle the methods used by past pugilists. But I do find it interesting, intentional or accidental, that in trying to adapt boxing to the cage, that we find many of the same tried and true methods of the past re-emerging.
