Growing up, I never understood football, cricket, basketball or tennis, even though I was surrounded by people who kept themselves informed about all events that took place in these sports. I’ve never had an affinity for sports. I found it baffling, yet intriguing, that people would go to extreme lengths to follow these interests: collecting autographs and memorabilia, reading biographies, or buying the same game every year with a different skin and a different year on the box.

Most of all I could not relate to people who would treat players like family members. I found it surprising that the victories and losses of their favourite teams or players, so far away and so disconnected from their day-to-day lives, made them feel heartbroken or jubilant. This phenomenon is unique to sports, for I have not seen people feel this way about their favourite authors, musicians, or movie-stars. Definitely not in the same manner, most definitely not with the same kind of solidarity.

MMA has changed all of that for me. I’ve been following it for only around 3 years, but then again, this is a younger sport than most. I consider myself early to the scene.

Georges St. Pierre is my favourite fighter, and his retirement has prompted me to think about how he epitomizes all the characteristics of this sport that make me love it so much.

I would say that there are probably three broad areas of interest within MMA for me.

1. Breaking Barriers

MMA fighting is always a matter of life and death, and few other non-combat sports take the toll on a professional athlete’s body that this one does. Training is dangerous, sparring is dangerous, winning is dangerous, losing doubly so, and with each stint in the octagon a fighter is likely to lose months and years of a good quality life. Brain damage from strikes, organ damage from years of unhealthy weight cuts, and the attrition from body shots and other kinds of hits tend to add up over time.

Additionally, due to the wide variety of fighting styles, zones that a fight can go (stand-up, clinch, ground) and the modes used to get there (punches, kicks, elbows, takedowns, throws, rolls, submissions, ground and pound), the game evolves constantly, and fighters must evolve with it or perish (metaphorically speaking). Once the cage door closes, you are entirely alone, so if there is any stone you left unturned you can rest assured you will be given a rude reminder in the subsequent 25 minutes.

In a sport like this, GSP avenged his only two losses in style, defeated three generations of the highest level welterweights (which has historically been among this sport’s most stacked weight divisions due to the fact that it’s where average to above average sized men go), and there is no aspect of his game in which he is sub-par. GSP’s stand-up, submission skills, and wrestling are not only competent, but exceptional, and his mentors are among the best teachers in the world for these disciplines. Throughout his career, GSP has displayed an unwavering dedication to the perfection of his craft, and is as complete as a fighter can ever be. Every fight of his has pushed the sport forward, and cemented the idea of breaking the limits of what a person can achieve on their path towards invincibility.

2. Personalities

Rashad Evans, former UFC light-heavyweight champion, once said that we all fight in different arenas in our life, and that’s what draws people to fighting. To live is to fight.

When we watch these people fight, we put ourselves in their shoes and root for them, because it feels like they are fighting for us. As someone who grew up playing video games, watching cartoons and reading comic books, fighters are the closest thing to superheroes that I will ever see perform in real life.

However, fighting isn’t just about working on one’s martial arts skills: fighters’ personalities form the other half of the game, and what make each fight different from the next. In pro fighting especially, charisma sells tickets as much as skill does, and MMA has no shortage of personalities. Most recently, we saw a bear-wrestling mountain man who talks like a movie villain face off against a brash and loudmouthed red-bearded Irish whiskey salesman. Last year we saw a communist science experiment (who in a different era might have been a templar knight or military saint) knock out a Ralph Lauren model and surfer. We also saw a roid-raging crack addict with limbs like baseball bats defeat a literal Viking warrior.

In a game filled with intimidating and loud characters such as the ones I’ve just described, GSP has always been the closest real life parallel to Goku, Superman, or Captain America that fans have ever seen. He’s one of the key reasons for why MMA became palatable to mainstream audiences: with his professional presentation & tailored suits, polite french-canadian demeanour, and total respect for his opponents. Never once have even his worst jibes been anything short of dignified, nor has he ever been named in a scandal of any sort, inside or outside the ring.

3. Vulnerability

Growing up, I was never physically imposing or impressive, which remains true even today. Coupled with this, I had a somewhat gentle disposition, which made it very difficult for me to stand up to harassment by bigger and more powerful people than myself. While most of the consequences of the same have gone away with adulthood, the thought patterns, memories, and habits I developed due to this have not. I have a strong bias in favour of perceived underdogs, I guard my space carefully, and I sometimes find myself getting combative (or resentful) in situations where I feel I am being treated unfairly.

Boys (and often girls) like me grow up believing that strength and aggression provide agency and respect. We resent ourselves for not possessing those two things. Fear is an ever present spectre in our day to day lives, and in the worst cases, it becomes the primary driving force for everything we do. For people like us, it becomes easy to believe that strength would make it impossible for those who have bullied us and hurt us to keep doing so. People like us aren’t called, and do not call themselves fighters. And because to live is to fight, we feel like we missed the train on a fundamental human lesson. We remain acutely aware of the fact that all the people who have beat the daylights out of us and humiliated us can fight. It is therefore only natural that we see the ability to fight as a source of strength.

Kids like me spend years searching for whatever will make us invincible, because that is how our tormentors have always seemed to us. It is no wonder that strong, fearless people command our admiration as a consequence. The trope of the weak nerd who reads superhero comic books comes out of this tendency.

We dream of combining the dominance, aggression and power that our enemies possessed with the moral compass that we do, so that we may not only protect ourselves but also others. That is what a superhero represents, and I believe that a fair number of fighters are, in a sense, superheroes. Not all of them are role models, of course, but GSP definitely was, and generations of fighters and fans have been inspired by him (Max Holloway’s post earlier today was heartwarming in particular).

However, despite being the greatest fighter of all time, despite being unbeatable, and despite having all the hallmarks of the one thing I have always wanted: invincibility, GSP has always been forthcoming about his vulnerability. In interviews and engagements over the years, GSP has talked about being scared out of his wits in the lead up to each fight, which people in his circle have attested to. He has never slept the night before a fight. He has openly spoken out about his fears: for his health, of losing his legacy, of being KOed unconscious and humiliated, of disappointing the fans and his loved ones, and so on. Never has GSP been secretive about the impact that these fears have had on his well-being. Additionally, since the beginning of his career, Georges has been an anti-bullying advocate, and describes being bullied on a near constant basis as a child. This is what led to him learning karate in the first place, and form the roots of his relationship with fear. GSP brought his fears to every championship fight, and showed the whole world that even the baddest man on the planet at 170 and 185lbs can be vulnerable.

With his example, GSP gave me and millions of other people the confidence to embrace fear. He taught us that vulnerability is not weakness and says nothing about your worth as a human being. Through discipline and routine, GSP became the greatest of all time, and from him, I have learned that my fear cannot decide what I am capable of. My vulnerability does not define me, my values do. To be a fighter, I do not need to resent myself for my moments of weakness. I do not need to be unbreakable in order to be respected and respect myself.

This is what makes me go back to the gym after every sparring session where I get my ass beat and feel weak and pathetic afterwards.

It is what allows me to take risks even when that voice in my head tells me I will lose everything I have ever cared about.

Fighters like Eddie Alvarez, Cat Zingano and Donald Cerrone have all talked about fear in GSP’s wake. But GSP embodies what Eddie Alvarez said when he was calming down one of his trainees who was having a panic attack:

“I’ve won world championships, I’ve lost world championships. I’ve felt crazy glory and crazy disappointment. Our only other option is to feel nothing at all, and I’d be damned if that’s gonna be the way I exist.”

That is why GSP is the GOAT. He was always the model athlete and a force for good, and he is the real life superhero that kids can aspire to emulate. Congratulations on retirement, Georges.