In the 1990s it would’ve been nearly impossible to explain to someone what mixed martial arts was. Big, burly men fighting in a cage hardly appealed to the ruling classes in America and organisers of cage fighting struggled to find venues. True, the movement grew with some early superstars, and the phenomenon of fighting itself has always captivated the instinctual interest of a broader, largely male, public. But still, it remained a predominantly niche interest. That all changed when Conor McGregor entered the stage, and with it an attention to Christianity and its central message of forgiveness.
Conor McGregor, a brash and highly talented young Irishman, rose to prominence in the UFC after a series of dominating wins in his first few fights within the organisation. This was followed by some even more spectacular wins against seasoned veterans, securing him the coveted titles of world champion. In the UFC – the largest mixed martial arts organisation – he was the first to win two titles across two different weight classes. On May 17 this year, McGregor’s life became the subject of a Netflix documentary for the second time. The first documentary on the fighter followed his career from its early beginnings to his loss and later rematch and “redemption win” against the American fighter Nate Diaz in 2016. This documentary, called McGregor Forever, starts with his most famous fight, a biting and uncharacteristic loss against Russian superstar Khabib Nurmagomedov.
The documentary showcases never before seen behind-the-scenes footage and takes us back to the weeks leading up to the now (in)famous clash. Conor, usually a happy, energetic, jovial athlete, had taken on a sinister veneer. Part of the reason was that this fight was personal, perhaps in a way that few fights in the athletic ring ever have been. Conor’s teammate, another Russian by the name Artem Lobov, had encountered Khabib and his friends and, after being cornered by them, was slapped by Khabib. This spurred Conor to avenge his friend, throwing a trolley at a bus in which Khabib and other athletes where sitting, causing glass to shatter and injure several of the fighters inside. Conor was taken to court and pleaded guilty on a reduced sentence of community service. With all of this in the background, the official fight between Conor and Khabib was announced.
The press conference held in New York was a wild affair. Conor drank his whiskey Proper No. 12 on stage and directed a range of expletives at the strikingly cold Russian. Some commentators described it as like seeing a good king who had turned to evil. The fight in Las Vegas ended with a loss for Conor but this was far from the last word. After forcing the Irishman into submission, Khabib jumped over the case and attacked Conor’s team, with other team members from both sides entering the cage and wreaking havoc.
A distraught athlete, a broken man in any ways, Conor returned to New York where he was due to fulfil his community service. This was when this rather unedifying tale takes a promising turn. Greeted by a sign on the wall of the Presbyterian church that he was assigned to clean he read the words “Glory to God in the highest and on Earth peace good-will towards men”. Some years earlier McGregor had vowed he could beat God in a fight. Now, humbled by defeat, he sang another tune.
The rest of the documentary traces Conor’s career to today. He has fallen and publicly humiliated himself, crossed the boundaries of the law and acted in self-righteous ways. Yet he remains an inspiration to millions of people across the world. How can this paradox be explained?
The answer lies in his ostensible faith, which resonates in his actions, not perfectly, but persistently. He has risen up from his falls, apologised, sought redemption, and atoned for his trespasses. We can be quick to pass judgement on figures like McGregor because it is much easier to see the flaws in someone of a bold temperament – someone who has the spotlight shining brightly on him has his flaws exposed in sharp relief.
Our own sins are, usually, harder to see. And, perhaps, committed less publicly and with less drama. Yet there is a message in McGregor’s life, and his willingness to admit his falls and embrace redemption. It is one that is mirrored in the general character of martial arts as a sport. The fight is not the end in itself. It is not this one (usually 10-15-minute) event that justifies the life of the martial artist. Rather, it is his or her continuous effort to improve themselves. It is the same in the Christian life. Though his actions are sometimes shocking and tawdry, the current Netflix series suggests that McGregor’s appeal may lie in his strikingly Christian willingness to admit his flaws and pick himself up to try again every time he falls.
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