MMA Kingpin is a funny responsibility. It's an entirely fictional position, sure. But it's one with no small level of import. Filled by a single fighter at a time, it's the man with the combination of accomplishment, skill and pure swagger that makes him, unmistakably, the sport's top dog.
For most established sports that's not a big deal—baseball is still baseball, no matter how classy Derek Jeter is or whether Yasiel Puig is hustling enough on the way to first base.
But for MMA, a sport still being introduced worldwide, the man on the throne makes a big difference. It means, like it or not, the Kingpin sets the tone for what mixed martial arts is and what it might be. He represents all of us and our sport.
After Saturday night's humbling of Daniel Cormier at UFC 182, Jon Jones sits alone at the pinnacle—but it's a seat still warm from the seven years Anderson Silva reigned with such grace and impish vitality, a strange combination, but one he pulled off with style.
You remember Silva, right?
For six long years, he was the sport's top middleweight, the kind of fighter who didn't just beat his challengers—he dismissed them, with a disdain fans alternately found off-putting or thrilling. But no matter where you fell on that spectrum, at some point, not even his biggest critics could deny that, whatever you thought of his sportsmanship, Silva was a special talent.
| Record | Finishes | Title Defenses | Length of Title Reign | |
| 33-6 | 26 | 10 | 2457 days | |
UFC.com
That Silva is no longer with us, a casualty of age, injury and the humbling fists of new middleweight stalwart Chris Weidman. Who exists in that same set of skin and bones, wearing an Anderson Silva suit? It's a question worth considering.
It's never clear how a great athlete will choose to face his physical mortality, how he'll respond to signs he's no longer the man he once was. For Silva's contemporary Kobe Bryant, the answer was simple—though diminished, he brings the same drive and power of will to the court nightly—despite shrinking returns.
Pete Sampras, the tennis great, chose another path. He walked away, not at his absolute peak, but when he was still more than capable of competing with the best. Following his 2002 U.S. Open win over Andre Agassi, he never laced them up again. The idea of not being the best was too much for him to process.
Like Sampras, Siva's been great enough long enough that the idea of him walking away after consecutive losses doesn't feel right. He needs to prove that he's still got it—to his fans and to himself. Only then could he leave with his head held high.
That's what makes Nick Diaz such a great opponent for the once-great Spider. Diaz, for all his beautiful boasts and despite his fan-friendly style, is a man born for Anderson Silva to clown.
Undersized and outgunned, it's unclear exactly what kind of threat he poses. He can't knock Silva out. Nor can he take him to the mat without a full-fledged miracle. That leaves constant attack, five rounds of attacking the lion, hoping the old man doesn't have the energy to take a swipe at you anymore.
What Diaz presents is opportunity. It's a chance for Silva to regain his swagger against an opponent with a name and little more. Only then can the once-great man walk away into immortality—where he belongs
