Silva didn’t lose these fights because he abandoned some essential aspect of his game, or because his commitment to swagger and in-cage trolling finally went a step too far.

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The immortal Anderson Silva simply got old.

Aging in MMA doesn’t work the way it does in other sports. There’s no long, gentle decline that takes a fighter from elite competition to productive senescence to retirement.

Baseball, basketball, and football are full of examples of formerly elite competitors who stuck around as productive role players for years after their peak. Think about the San Antonio Spurs’ Tim Duncan over the past several years, Greg Maddux after he left the Braves, or Jerry Rice’s career with the Raiders. Coaches have the option of slotting post-prime veterans into reduced roles that play to their strengths while minimizing the effects of their physical decline.

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That’s much more difficult to do in an individual sport where the spotlight shines on single fighters, and where promotional imperatives require aging fighters with name value to retain top billing against elite competition.

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Moreover, it’s much more dangerous for fighters to experience a loss of raw athleticism and speed, slowed reflexes, and most importantly, an inability to take punches, than it is for a second basemen to lose a step diving for balls in the hole.

The result is a recipe for the kind of viscerally brutal decline that Silva has experienced over the past several years.

That doesn’t mean that veterans are hopeless once their chins and reflexes start to go. Combat sports are full of examples of older fighters whose skill and savvy can partially make up for their physical issues. Silva is a case study in that kind of evolution.

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The version of Anderson Silva who defeated Tony Fryklund in the Cage Rage organization in 2006 to punch his ticket to the UFC was an aggressive and devastating striker who worked at a quick pace and moved seamlessly from range striking to the clinch. The fight is worth watching in its entirety.

The exclamation point on a dominating performance was this stunning reverse elbow knockout:

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That incredible finish encapsulated Silva’s creativity, but it has overshadowed the technical soundness of Silva’s approach. He put together smooth combinations, mixed shots up to the body, head, and legs, and operated both moving forward and on the counter. He was the complete package, and he was obviously the best striker in MMA by a substantial margin.

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This version of Silva didn’t change much in his first few outings in the UFC. He picked off Chris Leben with pinpoint counters, took Rich Franklin apart in the clinch, and sliced up Travis Lutter, Franklin for a second time, and Dan Henderson. A 61-second demolition of James Irvin capped off a streak of seven finishes inside the first two rounds to begin his UFC career.

It’s impossible to overstate how devastating this version of Silva was. He worked fast, throwing a high volume of strikes, but was also exceptionally accurate. Sniper-like range striking, combined with the most devastating clinch game the sport had ever seen, and a venomous arsenal of submissions on the ground made Silva a buzzsaw. Nobody looked remotely competitive in the cage with him.

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Then something changed. Silva had a pair of lackluster performances against Patrick Cote and Thales Leites, and while the outcome was never in doubt, some of Silva’s magic appeared to have slipped away. Always a slow starter who used the opening minute of the fight to gather information, Silva took to circling and moving for entire rounds at a time.

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Silva’s trademark accuracy was still there – he landed 72 percent of his strikes against Cote and 67 percent against Leites, shockingly high numbers – but his formerly quick pace was gone, never to return.

The champion followed these two performances with a stunning knockout over Forrest Griffin in what remains his trademark performance. Silva did his best impression of Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, slipping and rolling under and away from the bigger, slower fighter’s strikes while landing counters at will. He embarrassed Griffin, the former light heavyweight champion, and made it look as though he didn’t even belong in the cage with him.

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In his next fight, however, the unimpressive Silva was back. It was clear that challenger Demian Maia had nothing to offer, but Silva couldn’t capitalize. UFC president Dana White said he was “embarrassed” by Silva’s performance, and it capped a stretch of unimpressive performances in three of Silva’s last four.

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This four-fight stretch has always been confusing to Silva aficionados, particularly because he followed it with one of the all-time great runs in UFC history. His comeback victory against Chael Sonnen, front-kick knockout of Vitor Belfort, one-sided win over Yushin Okami, demolition of Sonnen in their rematch, and unreal performance against the overmatched Stephan Bonnar cemented him not only as an all-time great, but a supernaturally talented legend.

What’s even more remarkable about that streak is that it came after Silva had passed his prime.

This might sound controversial, especially given the legendary quality of Silva’s later run, but the difference between Silva’s streak at the beginning of his UFC career and his later performances is clear. His pace dropped, he came to rely much more heavily on counterpunching rather than aggressive forward movement, and in-cage clowning became a constant part of his game. Even his incredible clinch game faded into the background.

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Silva’s lackluster work against the overmatched Maia, Leites, and Cote take on a much different hue if we view them as attempts by an aging fighter to come to grips with his diminished physical capacities rather than Silva choosing to mess around.

The Griffin fight was the moment where Silva’s new style of otherworldly defense and slick counters clicked. Maia’s refusal to engage put a damper on it, but Silva’s next five spectacular wins showcased just how good he could be even as he inched ever farther from his physical prime.

Why make those particular changes? Why emphasize counters, defense, and clowning?

There are three reasons. First, relying on counters requires a master’s command of timing, distance, and the ability to read the opponent. The same is true for defense, which always comes after offense, if it comes at all. Mastering head movement, parries, and blocks to the extent that Silva did, and integrating that defense with his counters, is the kind of project it takes decades of consistent training to master. While the fighter’s raw reflexes might have deteriorated and he might be slower, the constant training of counter triggers and the understanding of timing can make up for it, at least to a point.

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Second, clowning his opponent isn’t just an expression of Silva’s oddball swagger; it’s an essential tool. Counterpunchers who want to work at a slow pace always run the risk of being overwhelmed by aggressive, active opponents who can drown them in volume and take away the space they need to operate. The constant feinting and playing mesmerized his opponents and suckered them into playing Silva’s game. Against their will, they consent to fight at Silva’s range and at the slow, measured pace he prefers.

Chael Sonnen simply bum-rushed Silva in their first fight and didn’t consent to those terms of engagement. As a result, Sonnen dominated the fight for the better part of five rounds, until Silva pulled off a miracle submission.

Finally, a style built on counters, defense, and the aura of intimidation necessary to keep the fight at a slow pace helps to overcome an aging fighter’s raw physical decline. It’s harder to get into shape. It’s harder to do the miles of roadwork and put in the hours of strength and conditioning. The body simply doesn’t respond the way it used to.

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Throwing the kind of volume that Silva did early in his career and engaging in the clinch with big, strong fighters is exhausting. It takes the kind of cardiovascular capacity that the 35-year-old fighter who danced around Demian Maia for five rounds can no longer muster.

Crafting a game that requires a minimal investment of energy is a rational response to that decline.

Eventually, however, even the great Anderson Silva could no longer keep the remorseless advance of time at bay. The fight with Stephan Bonnar has been remembered as a masterpiece of vintage Silva swagger and superiority, but he got hit far more than he should have against a journeyman light heavyweight.

No fighter’s chin can last forever. In hindsight, Weidman’s devastating knockout of a diminished-but-still-dangerous Silva in July 2013 was the predictable result of a 38-year-old Silva finally passing the point of no return. The injury in their rematch was even worse, and a steroid-aided performance against Diaz only partially salved his wounds while seriously drawing his legacy into question.

Silva’s last fight, a five-round decision loss to Michael Bisping in February of this year, represents the logical culmination of all these trends. The light-punching Bisping knocked him down, exposing once and for all his formerly iron chin; he could muster the energy to actively fight only for the most limited periods; and he relied on clowning and swagger to slow the inexhaustible Bisping.

Fans waiting for the “old Anderson” to come back against Uriah Hall at UFC 198 shouldn’t hold their breath. Silva is now far past the point where any measure of craft can make up for the fact that he’s 41 and has an almost unimaginable amount of wear and tear on his body.

What’s remarkable about Silva, however, is that he crafted his legendary reputation at a time when most fighters are firmly on the decline. He used his decades of experience to craft a game that masked the negative effects of his physical deterioration to the point where he seemed ageless.

Nobody even suggested that aging might be the cause of the sharp turn in his game after the incredible seven-fight run that started his career, and that’s a testament to the true greatness of Anderson Silva.

Patrick Wyman is both a mixed martial arts scout and PhD. student. He hosts the Heavy Hands Podcast and contributes MMA analysis to The Post.