The greatest fighting Englishman of a generation is close to tears because a dream is dead. Everyone can see. It is spring 2014 in the heart of Australia, and Michael Bisping is alone, stuck on a dais opposite the man who nearly choked him unconscious inside six minutes, replaying his mistakes into infinity, struggling with a reality that was never supposed to come true. He does not cry, though. No, at least right now he is too strong for that, or too stubborn. Instead he just stares, a sad stare that stretches over a thousand miles, punching a hole through the back of the room and carrying across time and the Indian Ocean back to those early days in East Lancashire. His first question at the post-fight press conference comes next, and it is an expected one, but still so cold.



After once again failing in what may be a final bid for UFC contendership, this time in such decisive fashion against Luke Rockhold, what is next? It’s been 10 long years; what could possibly be...