Cejudo apparently told his brother he was going to win the Olympics with this specific move. Mission accomplished.

After netting the gold medal in ‘08, an unexpected wrench was thrown into Cejudo’s freestyle wrestling career. In an upset loss, he wound up losing in the 2012 Olympic Trials to Nick Simmons, who took 5th place at the 2011 World Wrestling Championships (placing behind Radoslov Velikov, whom Cejudo defeated in ‘08). Cejudo lost to Simmons, who himself didn’t even end up qualifying for the Olympics. Immediately following the match, Henry tearfully retired from wrestling, stating, “There’s so much sacrifice that’s done in the sport of wrestling, most people don’t realize. To us, it’s not every four years. It’s every day, it’s every minute, it’s every second...it’s made me who I am, but now I’m ready to move on.”

Cejudo has always emphasized how much his story is meant to inspire. Even as he was leaving his lifeblood in wrestling behind, he remained optimistic. For Henry, the gold medal was never meant to be the apex of his accomplishments. It was to tell his story to those less fortunate in hopes of inspiring something similar. This immigrant son of a drug-addict gritted his way to the top of the athletic mountain in one of the most physically grueling sports in the world, and that didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as simply getting the opportunity to compete. The word “humbling” comes to mind, but so does the word “expectant.” After all, there is a chance Cejudo was simply saving face after shortchanging his preparation.

A lack of motivation was a major talking point surrounding Cejudo long before his failed Olympic bid in 2012, and it stuck even as his MMA career was getting underway. After failing to make the finals at the 2007 Sunkist Open, Henry felt so dejected that he forewent the opportunity to compete for third place, instead taking an entire week off from Olympic training and laying low in San Diego with his then-girlfriend. After the 2008 Olympics, Cejudo spent two and a half years off the mats altogether. Even his bond with Brands seemed to deteriorate as Henry seemed too preoccupied with too many distractions (including two books being written about him and a play about his life, staged in Arizona).

Henry’s success was considered a classic American story of determination and heart, and everyone, including Cejudo himself, seemed to internalize it as such. Biographies, articles, films, and the aforementioned play were all being openly discussed, and it’s not difficult to see why. In a vacuum, the story was quite a remarkable one. Cejudo’s heritage, upbringing, training situation, underdog flair, age, and his ability to battle his way back from adversity...everything cues. Cejudo’s story played like an Oscar-bait Best Picture nominee.

Herein lies the problem, trying to tell the story of a 21-year-old: his story wasn’t anywhere close to being over. The loose three-act structure that trended through Cejudo’s childhood, training, and Olympic victory was inspired, but unfinished. The great American story wasn’t bookended. Winning the gold medal shot Henry into the stratosphere, but the failed 2012 qualifiers shot him back down to earth. After walking off the wrestling mats for good, Cejudo was forced to reconcile with himself.

For most casual observers, Cejudo’s Olympic pedigree would be enough to inspire confidence towards an MMA career, but people who knew of Henry’s motivational hindrances were understandably skeptical. When Cejudo’s move to MMA was announced, Mike Riordan wrote a lengthy article about his reticence,

“Unfortunately, Henry's preparation for the 2012 Olympic trials showed a decided unwillingness, or even an incapability, to make the choices necessary to maintain his status as a world championship level combat athlete. I also believe that some of his choices in association should at least raise questions. For these reasons, I would be somewhat dubious of Henry Cejudo's long term MMA aspirations until he signs with a major organization and gets a few fights under his belt,” (Olympic Gold Medalist Henry Cejudo Comes To MMA, Why He'll Make A Big Splash, And Why He May Not).

This reputation preceded his entry into MMA, as well. When he turned pro in 2013, he struggled making weight in four out of his first eight fights. In two of his six regional fights, Henry missed weight at 125 pounds, and his first UFC fight was at bantamweight. He couldn’t even make it to the scale in his first fight against Scott Jorgenson, originally slated for UFC 177. Before he even stepped foot in the ring, the UFC was threatening to cut him if he refused to fight at bantamweight.

Cejudo’s personality didn’t buoy his standing either.

‘The Messenger’ was never a natural personality, and over time, he seems to have embraced this as his personality. When a meandering camera lands on him in the audience during UFC PPVs, he grits his teeth and stares down the camera. It looks ridiculous, and even he seems to be biting back a laugh as he plays up the persona. His promotional schtick appears to be a slightly more self-aware runback of Tito Ortiz, with the self-appointed moniker ‘The King of Cringe.” It’s rarely funny, but at the very least, it’s become consistent. In the rare moments when Cejudo is just talking with the media (as opposed to ‘at’ the media), he is surprisingly candid and even a bit awkward.

After becoming only the fourth fighter in UFC history to hold championships in two divisions, Henry Cejudo addressed the media with genuine modesty. When asked about winning his second title, he answered, “That was almost never my goal. My goal was to just win the Olympics, be a UFC champion, and that’s it! But, then I saw my improvement as a mixed martial artist. The mind, the people around me, and that all changed. I went, you know what, I can do this. Why not me?”

Henry’s general clumsiness in front of cameras and during UFC promotional shoots is indicative of a deeper revelation; this is someone who has spent their entire childhood and teen-years between an impoverished home and wrestling institutions. Forgive the man for not being particularly well-adjusted.

Vying By Nature

“The reason why I became the best in the world is because I was just his student. I was his soldier, and he was my general,” -Henry Cejudo on Terry Brands and winning the gold medal.

Henry Cejudo has the heart of a soldier in the body of an Olympic competitor. This might be the most mercurial, yet fundamentally vital component of his profile. It’s one thing for a fighter to demonstrate themselves as coachable (Lee), adaptable (Dillashaw), or disciplined (Volkanovski). It’s another for a fighter to show themselves to be...devoted. Tireless obedience. Often times, fighters can be thrown off a gameplan if they’re forced to fight against type or if they don’t feel it immediately working. Cejudo doesn’t just carry out orders. He carries out orders that he himself doesn’t even seem to fully understand.

This kind of approach would be disastrous if either side of the fighter/coach duo were anything less than completely confident in the other. Staying at kicking range with Marlon Moraes for a round and a half in order to gas out the kickboxer was a shockingly dangerous approach, and yet Cejudo did exactly as he was told. The moment his corner told him to collapse the distance and punch with his opponent, he blitzed and bombed with terrifying alacrity. He’s used to fighting out of a deficit. It’s more than simply impressive. It’s important.

Certain fighters have that switch, and you know what it looks like when they flip it.

It is no coincidence that all of Cejudo’s greatest sporting accomplishments have been reinforced by diligent coaching. Even when Cejudo’s focus and commitment in training were tenuous and sources of friction between him and his team, the results of a completely dialed in Cejudo are undeniable. I don’t know how much thoughtful craft exists within Cejudo in a vacuum. He needs a coaching staff specifically tailored to his initiative as a fighter.

There have always been flashes of greatness within Cejudo as early as his dominant decision victory over the aptly named submission specialist, Dustin Kimura. Even as an unrefined compacture of violence and athleticism, Cejudo always understood what it meant to throw back, see punches coming, and leveraging his strength. Analysts joke about athleticism being the best base for fighting or athleticism as cheating, but Cejudo doesn’t just represent how far athleticism goes in the sport of MMA. He is someone who understands fighting, and can shift his gears on the fly.