Last night was another bittersweet night for Jens Pulver, the lightweight trailblazer who was the UFC’s first champion at 155 pounds. The loveable Pulver was once again a crowd favorite-and once again was blown over by the athletic equivalent of a stiff breeze. Make no mistake: Diego Garijo was not brought in to beat Jens Pulver. Jens wasn’t being used as a stepping stone by cynical promoters looking to build a new star. Garijo was there as a patsy. Unfortunately, Pulver is no longer capable of knocking them out of the park-even when the promotion throws it meekly right over the heart of the plate for him.
Like Ken Shamrock’s sad spectacle against Pedro Rizzo last month in Australia, this was a sad moment for long time fans of the sport. To prepare for an interview with Pulver early this year, before what turned out to be his last fight with the WEC, I rewatched every Jens Pulver fight. Comparing the energetic, emotional, and angry Pulver of the early Zuffa era with the shell of a fighter who stepped into the cage last night is more than a little telling. This isn’t a sport where athletes age gracefully. Mixed martial arts has eaten Pulver alive and spit him out whole.
The Pulver story is more typical than Shamrock’s. After all, while it is sad that Ken is still living check to check into his 40’s, he’s also won and lost two fortunes in his lifetime. There is some level of personal responsibility there for his situation. By all accounts Shamrock has made enough money to support his family into old age-but what about Pulver?
As a fighter, Jens has been everything we asked him to be. He’s never given less than his best, sells his fights in the media, and is engaging and personable with fans. Yet, for all his success, Pulver never took home that million dollar pay check, never hit the jackpot. He’s given his youth, his life really, to this sport. Done it on a bigger stage than most-but at the end of the day can do little more than continue to fight. He explained to me earlier this year, in the typical Pulver no BS style, why he keeps stepping in there time and time again:
People ask me why I’m still fighting. Why? I’ve got to. S— man, don’t kid yourself. I ain’t rich. I got a family to support. I’ve got to suck it up.
And that’s the sport in a nutshell. One day your jet setting around the world with Dana White on a private plane. The next you’re fighting in front of a sparse crowd in Irvine, California, getting knocked down and embarrassed by a kid you would have beaten without breaking a sweat five years earlier.
What’s the answer here? I wish I had one. But as years go by it will become more and more common. A lot of our favorite fighters will end up worn down, physically incapable of manual labor, mentally unfit after years of brain trauma to work in an office. Besides, after a decade of fighting professionally, can we really expect these young men to step into a corporate environment and thrive?
My advice to fighters would be this: save half of everything you earn. You don’t have a 401K. There’s no pension waiting for you. And your peak earning window is only open for a handful of years. Live responsibly, spend responsibly, remember that your income won’t be at this level forever. Ask Jens Pulver.