"The Half-Guarded Truth"

By: Mike Coughlin

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"Fedor the Liar"

Lying makes life easier. You tell your wife she looks skinny, your boss he's competent, and the police officer that you didn't know the speed limit. You don't want to lie, and you could probably get through the day if you didn't, but it sure smooths out life's road, doesn't it? However, what if you had to lie? What if instead of making things easier, lying was the only way to make things possible? I'm not talking about little white lies either, but the big ones. Instead of a "you don't look fat," you lie "I do love you, really." Would you still do it? Or would you figure out a different way to live your life?

Fedor Emelianenko is a liar. Every day, he has to lie to the media, to his friends, to his family, and to himself about how dangerous is his next fight. Brett Rogers is the latest lie Fedor has to tell. Fedor will earnestly tell everyone that Rogers is a quality fighter, one that he respects, and a man whom Fedor feels is a truly worthy challenger. Fedor will tell this lie, not to hype the fight and drive people to watch, but to ensure that he fights again.

There's an odd pattern to the life of elite professional fighters. They start strong, look dominant, and then they start to believe their own hype. Once that happens, they enjoy the spotlight a bit, maybe head out to a few more clubs than usual, and sacrifice a day or two of training here and there. As sure as the sun always rises, these fighters then lose a fight they shouldn't have lost. Many grow from the experience, some don't, but they all have a moment that knocks them back down the ladder for a bit. It happened to Georges St. Pierre, Anderson Silva, and BJ Penn, to name three of the sport's current upper echelon. But it hasn't happened to Fedor.

It seems impossible that someone could be as good as Fedor, for as long as he's been on top, and not somehow realize he's the greatest heavyweight of all time. And yet, no fall. No slip. No loss to someone "unworthy." How can he do this? How does a man this good find the will - every day - to get up and run with no company but the bitter cold and a gray Russian sunrise? How can he still slam a sledge hammer into a tire with the same passion he did a decade ago? How big a lie do you have to tell to make this all possible?

It's fear that drives a fighter to get better. They fear encountering a situation they're unprepared for and so they train and they train and they train. But at what point does a fighter stop having fear? For Fedor, what's left? He beat arguably the greatest heavyweight striker in MMA history in Mirko CroCop, the greatest heavyweight wrestler in MMA history in Mark Coleman, and the greatest heavyweight submission artist in Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira. He's defeated former UFC champions. He's won grand prix tournaments. He's come from behind to deliver stunning one-punch knock outs. After 31 professional fights, is there anything Fedor hasn't seen and done?

In Brett Rogers, we have a man groomed to be a challenger. He was the first man to ever fight (and win) on network television. He's finished every opponent, using nothing but his fists. Only one of his fights has gone past the first round. At a perfect 10-0, Rogers looks good on paper and he's been pushed, long and hard, as a top non-UFC heavyweight. But he's still someone that Fedor should have no trouble getting past. Rogers hasn't proven himself to be anything more than a big guy that hits hard. He has no athletic pedigree and no noticeable skills that set him apart from other heavyweights. He's big. He's mean. He hits like a refrigerator. That's it. Fedor has beaten men like this before. He's beaten better versions of Brett Rogers and he's made it look easy. Forget about beating Fedor, Rogers hasn't even proven himself worthy of fighting Fedor.

Modern fight fans, raised on years of meaningless boxing titles being fought over by everyone from Mike Tyson to the guy working at 7-11, probably don't remember a time when merely being a contender - let alone a champion - was something of which to be proud. In the classic movie On The Waterfront, when Marlon Brando utters the famous line, "I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it." he wasn't being melodramatic, he was referencing something that everyone back then knew: to just be a contender was an honor, it meant you were special, it meant you were a somebody.

On Saturday, there's no title on the line. Fedor doesn't wear a belt; he is the belt. Should Fedor lose, it will be an event so rare and so incredible and so important in the history of MMA that it is arguably bigger than any single belt. If Rogers wins, it will rightfully be called the biggest upset in MMA history. Shouldn't such an opportunity only be given to somebody worthy? Rogers may be a challenger, but he's hasn't earned the title of contender. He's good enough to fight many, but should a guy whose career highlight was a 22 second fight with Andrei Arlovski be allowed to even accidentally defeat the sport's greatest fighter? I can say No. You can say No. But Fedor? He can only answer Yes. He has to continue living the lie.

Fedor projects the image of a humble man, but humility is the lie told in order to avoid complacency. He'll tell himself anything to avoid the trap that has snared so many others. So, he lies. He tells the lie so often that even he believes it. He lies because he must. For Fedor the Truth is the end of his reign. And therein lies the great irony of it all: the moment Fedor stops lying and accepts that he truly is the greatest of all time, he won't be.

Mike Coughlin is the host of Five Star Radio and Five Star TV, recently voted the internet's most listened to podcast and most watched internet-based TV show. He's a known liar.