The way he tells it, B.J. Penn regards himself as something of an inspirational figure.

Yes, he’s riding the longest losing streak in UFC history. And no, he hasn’t won a pro fight in nearly a decade. He’s the only person on the UFC 237 fight card who also fought at UFC 37 (where he beat Paul Creighton) and UFC 137 (where he was beaten by Nick Diaz).

But even now Penn still dreams of glory. That’s why he’s here, or so he told TSN’s Aaron Bronsteter this week.

“Of course I love fighting and this and that, but it would be crazy for me to sit here and think, ‘OK, I’m gonna go and get my ass kicked again.’ No, I believe in myself,” Penn said. “We’re gonna go out and we’re gonna go get the belt back. As crazy as it sounds to everybody else, I just want everybody to know, everybody out there, things might be hard? Don’t stop, keep going.”

This is the kind of advice that sounds good in a general sense, as bumper-sticker philosophy that no one can really disagree with in the broadest terms (you should probably not give up on, you know, life), but it is actually a terrible way of looking at Penn’s specific situation.

The fact is, professional cagefighting is the kind of thing that, eventually, one must stop doing. It’s just not a great idea to keep getting hit in the head indefinitely, especially as the body ages and the reflexes slow and nothing heals quite the way it did in your youth. You keep at this too long, and bad things will happen to you. We’ve seen it.

And the thing is, Penn’s seen it, too. He’s not dumb. He must know that there aren’t a lot of fighters who have snapped six-fight losing streaks at the age of 40 and then went on to become world champions.

So when he insists he’s here to get back on top and reclaim the UFC title belt, it’s a hard thing to watch. Does he expect us to believe that? Does he believe it, himself? Could he really be that detached from the reality that the rest of us are witnessing?

Penn was great once, an early visionary who showed us what was to come as this sport grew and evolved. He was a champion in two divisions, a dominant force in one, and he helped pave the way for the lighter weight classes that are now consistently the best source of talent in the sport.

But, as anyone who’s seen him fight in recent years knows, he’s not that guy anymore. Time has caught up to him. The sport itself seems to have passed him by. There are surely still some fighters he can beat, but he hasn’t found any of them in a very long time. If he still looks at himself and sees championship potential, he’s likely the only one.

Then again, there’s always the possibility that this is just Penn telling us what he thinks we need to hear. What else should he say? He’s hanging around to collect paychecks until the UFC has finally had enough of him? No, he’s here to be the best, just like everyone else. To say anything else would be to surrender to the inevitable decline.

Of course the flip side is almost more disheartening. What if he really does believe it? What if he cannot be dissuaded from this goal, and each loss only makes him more committed to pursuing more victories?

Most fighters, as much as they want to be the best, they get to a point where the facts of their performances and the realities of their aging bodies convince them that it’s not going to happen.

But Penn’s always been the uncommonly stubborn type. There were times when it was key to his success. Now it could keep him in this sport far past the point of any good ideas or positive outcomes. Maybe it already has.