Crude. Reckless. Undefeated.

These three words are common enough in the realm of combat sports, but rarely are all three appended to the same fighter at the same time. The first two usually get in the way of the last, you see. “Crude” implies a lack of technical refinement, and a reliance on physical strength. “Reckless” suggests a hard chin and the willingness to use it. “Undefeated” explains itself, but defeat comes sudden and unexpected when every fight is a brawl.

So it was already something of a miracle that Justin Gaethje entered the UFC with a 17-0 record. While every successful fighter gets sucked into a donnybrook or two over the course of his career, Gaethje is the rare embodiment of a true brawler: nearly every fight on his record has been a war. He likes exchanges, and looks for them. And the closer those exchanges are, the closer to 50-50 each clash comes, the better Gaethje does overall. He will eat 100 punches to deliver just one, and he usually ends up landing a lot more. He also tends to knock people out, which means that even when Gaethje’s fights are razor thin, in the end he leaves no questions as to the victor.

Watching Gaethje work really is something. His UFC debut was a violent fireworks display that left me riding high for hours afterward, knowing I had just witnessed something unlikely, and special. In a desperate bid to keep the buzz going, I turned to the classics, and whether consciously or unconsciously, my mind gravitated time and again to one name: Rocky Marciano.

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Though his name is as good as gold now, there was a time when Rocky Marciano seemed impossibly far from a shot at the heavyweight throne. Marciano was one of those fighters who seemed destined to lose at some point. Trainer Goody Petronelli famously summed up Marciano’s style: “Rough and tough, but no finesse.” Of course, that was not entirely true, but then it wasn’t entirely false, either. To fans of Marciano’s time, it must have seemed impossible that a style like his could work against the likes of Walcott, Charles, and Moore, legends all. And yet, it did.

So now I’m watching Rocky Marciano’s last ever fight. The challenger is Archie Moore, one of the greatest light heavyweights of all time. At one point, having a battered Moore at his mercy, Marciano launches a forward onslaught that never seems to end. Though part of me wants to, I cannot look away. It is hypnotizing in its brutality. The camera tracks with Marciano as he pushes Moore backwards, both men framed by the ring ropes, spotlit against a background of black. Marciano swings away--right, left, right, left--no tricky moves or feints. He just loads up, sights his target, and drops a sledgehammer on it. Moore hits back, and gets in a few crunching blows, but Marciano proceeds unchecked, literally walking through punches without a flinch. Finally the turnbuckle appears in frame. Moore is cornered at last. Marciano redoubles his assault, a surprising quickness to his punches now. Like leaden weights, Marciano’s fists smash through Moore’s legendary defense, sweat and snot starting to fly with each impact. Archie finally gathers the will to throw back, loading up a counter just as Marciano’s own right hand crashes into his cheek. A dazed Moore lets the punch slip, but Marciano glides out of the way, surprising his foe with an unexpected display of skill. For a second, Archie Moore hangs in space, teetering, off-balance, with his chin dangling in the air, ready to be plucked. Instead, Marciano raises his right hand high and smashes it straight down on the back of Archie’s head.

He’s down. The camera fixates on Moore, who sits, dazed, on the floor. He does not groan in pain, but neither does he grin in a vain attempt to brush off the assault. Instead, he sort of squints, shakes his head, and stares into space for a few seconds before struggling back to his feet. If anything, the expression reads bewildered, disbelieving . . . and maybe even a little impressed.

This late-bloomer from Brockton, Massachusetts was pretty damn good, after all.

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Rocky Marciano put on a few stinkers of his own. As an amateur, his record was an unremarkable 9-4. And though Marciano’s schedule is often underrated, his pro career was bolstered by some careful matchmaking. He faced no top contenders for his first 20 or so fights, and it was not until his 24th pro bout that The Rock squared off with anything like a “name” opponent. This is not to imply that Marciano was protected--after all, those 20 fights occurred within the space of two years, and Rocky was facing all-time greats about five years after his boxing debut. The point is, everyone knew Marciano could beat a bum, and even a decent journeyman, but before his big break there was nothing to suggest he could do to the best in the world what he usually did to nobodies.

It was never impossible that Gaethje could beat Michael Johnson and forge a successful career in the UFC. There were, however, some reasons for concern. In 2014, Gaethje went to split decision with Melvin Guillard, a veteran nearing the end of his career. He was 3-6 with one no contest in his last 10 fights, and banking more than ever on the unlikely prospect of a surprise finish. He also came in overweight. Yet Gaethje seemed hesitant, and Guillard kept him cautious with the occasional burst of speed. Gaethje won, but did not impress. If speed was Gaethje’s problem, then Michael Johnson was sure to test him.

And yet when that July 6th UFC debut finally came around, Gaethje managed to force his fight. Michael Johnson’s speed advantage was profound, and Justin was badly hurt twice by punches he never saw coming. In landing them, however, Johnson convinced himself that he could finish Gaethje. He couldn’t, but it took exhausting himself in the effort to find that out. The bout became a fight, and the fight became a war. And as they tend to do, the war became a win for Justin Gaethje.

Gaethje gets weary. If it weren’t for the incredible amount of effort he puts into every action, you might even criticize him for tiring out too easily. But the kind of power Gaethje possesses has nothing to do with speed, or surprise. He has what fight fans call “heavy hands,” natural power that enables him to stretch people out on accident. And when he gets tired, his fists don’t get any lighter.

So when Michael Johnson began to peter out, his greatest advantage--his speed--abandoned him. He slowed down to the pace of his opponent. By the mid-point of the second round, Gaethje was swaying on unsteady legs, his chest heaving, his hands dropping more and more quickly after each exchange. But the power was still there, and, along with a granite chin and an iron will, that’s all Gaethje needs.

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A big part of what made Rocky Marciano great was his uncanny ability to fight up to the level of his competition. His style was never particularly pretty, but Marciano surprised many a foe with his sharp counter punching, and his ability to predict and adapt to his opponent’s moves. For example, Marciano knocked down Ezzard Charles, truly one of the greatest boxers of all time, by throwing away a left hook only to pivot on a dime and follow with the right. The punch landed with shocking speed, and caught Charles flush as he was still busy avoiding the left. You might not call it perfect technique, but Marciano proved that he was more than a rude slugger when he needed to.

Heart, though. That’s what separated Marciano from the rest. Rocky possessed supernatural self-belief. He was famed for his ability to absorb punishment and come back late. Like Gaethje, his power was always there for him, and no one ever seemed capable of knocking him out. Those who tried often ended up worse for it: they found out (too late) that they had invited themselves to a brawl with one of the hardest men to ever set foot in the ring.

Jersey Joe Walcott knocked Marciano down in the first round. It was Rocky’s first chance at a heavyweight title, and the first time he had ever been floored. Though Marciano got up and did well to keep himself in the fight, Walcott proceeded to build on his lead with the confidence of an old pro (which he was). By the start of the championship rounds he was ahead on all three scorecards.

Then, in the 13th, Marciano got him. Inching forward, pawing with his lead hand, Rocky was looking for the thunderous right, his famed “Suzy Q.” Walcott knew it, and feinted Marciano to get him to throw it. He threw it. Walcott responded with a counter, his right hand smashing into Marciano’s chin and freezing him in his tracks.

But Rocky landed first. That right hand flew straight to the target, and while Walcott’s counter was still inches from its mark, “Suzy Q” kissed him on the lips. Marciano survived the exchange, blinked to clear his head, and looked down to discover that Walcott had not been so lucky. Jersey Joe dangled from the ropes, knees sagging and head lolling. Rocky decked him with a short left hook for good measure, and the champion slumped to the floor. When he awoke, several minutes later, he wasn’t champion anymore.

In the rematch, Rocky knocked Walcott out in the first.

Though fight fans were not wrong to doubt Marciano’s skills, no one could have known the contents of his heart. So Marciano won, and kept winning, and then retired. A short, hard career, but one filled with unforgettable moments, and one in which he never once lost.

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Who can know what Justin Gaethje is capable of? One night he struggles with the speed of a shopworn, overweight Melvin Guillard. Another night he outworks and outmaneuvers one of the fastest strikers on the UFC roster, and a ranked contender, to boot. Many thought Gaethje wouldn’t make it this far. Some--including myself--thought Johnson was too quick, too sharp, and too athletic to give Gaethje the war he needed. But war is the only thing Justin Gaethje does. Almost every one of his fights is a wild, violent brawl, and it’s starting to look like that isn’t an accident.

Does any of this guarantee Gaethje success against the other members of the UFC’s lightweight top 10? Certainly not. But Justin Gaethje claims to be unbreakable, and so far he looks it. As he warned in the post-fight interview, future opponents would be well-advised to “put me out, because if you can’t I’m coming for your head. I’m coming for your body, and I’m coming for your legs.”

Tough talk, but not so easy to discount. Fans have seen Michael Johnson knock men out with lesser punches than the ones he planted on Justin Gaethje’s chin, and yet Gaethje only ever stopped moving forward long enough to gather his senses for the next assault. Johnson hit Gaethje with the exact punch that rendered Dustin Poirier insensate last September, and Gaethje didn’t even go down. His legs thought about it, but the man wouldn’t fall.

It may not be satisfying to end a piece on a question, but that’s all I have. How far can Justin Gaethje’s crazy style take him? How good does the opponent have to be to escape his endless attacks, and what does it actually take to knock him out? These questions are hard as hell to answer, and maybe they never will be. No one ever found Rocky Marciano’s limits, and so far Gaethje’s remain unreached. So who knows?

After stopping Johnson, Gaethje ran to the fence for his signature celebration: a soaring backflip from the top of the cage. Attempt one was a comical disaster. Gaethje leapt up to mount the fence, and suddenly realized that his arms would not bear his weight. He slipped, banged his chin on the cage, and fell to the ground. It would’ve made for a classic pratfall, but as a victory dance it was underwhelming. Attempt two barely got off the ground, and neither did Gaethje. He was too exhausted even to lift himself, and had to walk away.

Most people would have quit after attempt one. Most fighters would have quit after attempt two. Justin Gaethje, however, took a moment to shake out his arms and laugh at himself. Then he went for number three. And while I sat at home, watching through slitted fingers, sure that this man was about to break his neck just after his most impressive win, Justin Gaethje climbed the cage, stood up tall, and did a damn backflip.