Humanity’s Last Savior
From noted Cool Guy Scott Harris, comes the following thought experiment — Space aliens are going to invade the planet. They have given us advance warning, and offer one condition to prevent a full-scale assault. Their best warrior takes on Earth’s best warrior in one-on-one, unarmed combat. In this scenario, you are president of Earth and must make the call. Who will defend us from jerks?
The fight goes down next SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY! The aliens are roughly human-sized, ranging between 5 – 7 feet tall, weighing from 100 – 300 pounds, mainly to include everyone from atomweights to super heavyweights.
My pick wounds my American pride, because obviously the President of Earth (my Veep is likely The Rock) should pick an American to show these alien jerks what’s up, but I’m going with a *gulp* French Canadian. Specifically, Georges St-Pierre, because of his ability to wear the alien out and keep him subdued until he makes a mistake, at which point GSP will make a fool of him. But even better than that, GSP will bore the alien audience, making them boo from light years away as they complain about their hero not getting a chance to do what he does best. “Glacknor-7 is a stand-up fighter, your hero is too cowardly to let him strike,” they’ll complain in between Joe Rogan shouting, “GSP is a MONSTER! This guy is KILLING that alien! OHHHHHHHHH!!!” Once GSP wins the Unanimous Decision after 5 rounds, the aliens will retreat and whine to other planets and species that Earth is home to boring warriors. That may be so, I’ll tell my grandkids as I sip NOS energy drinks with them, but we won. We f*cking won.
First of all, how dope is it that I’m President of Earth? Intergalactic trash pile and orange Skittle with hair Donald Trump almost got it done with his immigration policy (especially relevant with the looming alien invasion) too. Thankfully, the rest of the world was able to counteract the misguided United States voters. Myself, Vice President Rihanna, Admirals Downey Jr. and Chappelle, General Diesel, and Lord Kanye West are grateful for the world’s continued support.
There’s only one correct answer to this question and it comes down to who would do whatever it takes to save the planet. The decision was unanimous within our delegation. While we are not experiencing a shortage of great warriors, the only man or woman I would stake our continued existence on is Rousimar Palhares.
I could provide a long list of his grappling accomplishments to sell you on the idea, but you likely already know what “Toquinho” is about: grabbing limbs, cranking them until they can no longer be cranked, and then cranking them just a bit more.
The poor lifeform that was forced to face this man would not only flee the planet with one or more injured arms, legs, tentacles, and the like, but would also serve as an everlasting example of why Earth is the last planet to target for future invasions. The galaxy is on notice.
https://twitter.com/patrick_wyman/status/628661157369229312
You get the sense that Palhares doesn’t have many hobbies or interests beyond inflicting pain and this pleases me greatly. All hail our champion. May he reign forever.
As I sit here next to my three little dogs listening to the ’60s French chanteuse and super hottie Françoise Hardy (on vinyl nonetheless), it occurs to me that very few are as qualified as myself to speak on matters of unarmed combat in any theoretical or actual situation that one could come up with. Originally, when this question was posed to me on Twitter, my immediate reaction was to reply, “Rowdy Roddy Piper” because They Live. Duh. Sadly, between then and now, “Hot Rod” has piledrived his soul into the afterlife. Not that I believe in an afterlife… or am even a fan of pro-wrestling. I don’t and I’m not, respectively. But Piper transcends pro-wrestling just like Johnny Cash transcends Country Music or Françoise Hardy transcends hot 1960s French Pop Singers. But I digress….
Now, I suppose there is no particular rule in an outlandish and merely theoretical situation in which an alien race comes to our planet only to challenge us to a super fight… but as a screenwriter (amongst my one or two talents), I like things to at least be plausible to the theoretical universe that they exist in. So, sadly, Hot Rod will have to take a pass on this one. Of course the premise of this whole challenge — this intergalactic superfight — is absurd. If beings achieve the level of technological advancement that enables them to travel among the vast distances of the universe, they surely would either have become highly-evolved beings that have long overcome their base violent impulses or even assuming they haven’t, they’re surely better at combat than us with so many millennia under their space belts to evolve their fighting techniques.
So, why the challenge? Well, either they are total dicks and just want to humiliate us before they then kill us all and plunder our planet for whatever… I’m gonna say arts & entertainment. That’s really our best resource as a species. They heard that The Wire was awesome. So they came here to binge-watch some TV, maybe listen to some Bowie, The Stooges, Aretha Franklin, A Tribe Called Quest, watch a little Breaking Bad… you know… chill. See what kinda entertainment we got going on down here.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand. So, in all likelihood, we have no real chance. But who knows? Maybe they recently rediscovered fighting as a culture and they’re playing catch-up with their fighting skills. Maybe they’re only at, like, Tank Abbott-level of fighting evolution and we do have a chance. Either way, my pick is Nick Diaz. ‘Cause no matter what corner of the universe you’re from, the 209 ain’t nothin’ to f*ck wit! Now if we have no chance, at least we’re gonna go out with Nick Diaz flipping our Alien invader off, slapping him and calling him a little bitch, homie.
Rest assured that whatever advantage the alien has over Nick, Nick will just mock it. “Oh we’re throwing anti-gravity sh*t now? Come on! You don’t wanna fight a real hitter, homie! Space bitch sh*t or whatever.” ‘Cause Nick IS a hitter! And he can submit anyone — Cesar Gracie Jiu-Jitsu WHUT! If these aliens happen to be behind on either striking or grappling, Nick’s gonna expose them or whatever. But either way, Nick is not going to be boring and he’s not gonna go out like a punk-ass bitch. And I for one, as “President of Earth” want to see Nick trash talk a goddamn alien for the most important fight in the history of humankind. Because on that day… we are all the 209. Whut! Thank you, my fellow Earthlings and Don’t Be Scared, Homies.
Look, I know he’s a coked-up, drunk-driving hypocrite or whatever, but when push comes to shove I’m still taking Jon Jones. Now, you might rightly point out that while Jon Jones has been dinged up in a few narrowly-won decision victories, Chris Weidman is 13-0 with no one having really challenged him. Fair point. But Jones has a reach longer than Dhalsim from Street Fighter and unless this intergalactic trial by combat has a 205 weight limit, Jones could bulk up a little and be even badasserer. Plus, who do you want representing us, the ex-party boy screwup on his last second chance, or the nice, boring, humble family man who’s always kept his nose clean? Come on, man, what kind of action movie are you writing?
It is with a tear in my eye that I hark back to the days when we used our airwaves to make jokes about Donald Trump. Simpler times. Of course that was before we realized what we were facing. We had no way of knowing Trump was working with the aliens. Actually, that’s not true. In retrospect, as a society, we are not perceptive.
But I’m not here to focus on the past. We no longer have that luxury. What we need today is a hero, a hero right straight on until the morning motherf*ckin’ light. I’m sorry for cursing. After much soul-searching, I have reached a decision. In reaching this decision, I weighed three factors.
First, who has the strength and skill to handle this unholy battle, no matter how it might unfold? Second, who has the endurance and determination to persevere for as long as it takes, and in the face of extreme fatigue or slimings? But thirdly, and perhaps most conspicuously, who can I most easily picture emerging from this battle, stone-faced and clench-jawed, drenched in red and green and purple viscera, dragging a single severed tentacle behind them? After all, a flying omoplata only gets one so far in a game with stakes this high. There’s no mean mugging or style points here. It is do or do not. Will on will and bone on bone, or whatever these bastards use to give structure to their form.
With that in mind, the choice is clear. Cain Velasquez, the fight is yours. Do, Cain, what you were really born to do. Destroy them. EARTHLING PRIDE.
That’s cute, Scott, but if the aliens choose to land somewhere more than 8 inches above sea level, Werdum-ed.
(I’m checking my watch to make sure that I’ve let the appropriate amount of time pass before I start typing again.)
(Aaaaaand…)
I’m going to be honest with you. My first choice was Cody McKenzie. Why? Because my first choice is almost always Cody McKenzie. McKenzie vs. Alien could only go one of two ways; either his oddity would mesmerize the aliens into submission or we’d all have a really good laugh before the end of civilization as we know it. But, let’s face it, McKenzie either couldn’t make weight or wouldn’t have standard-issue fight attire, and I’m not sure Kmart is open at a time like this.
So, my second choice was Nick Diaz. Why? Because my second choice is almost always Nick Diaz. He’ll fail the post-fight drug test, though, and I’m not sure what a no contest does for humanity.
Who, then? Who could we turn…oh.
What about the person who, like McKenzie, has one move that everyone knows is coming, yet no one knows how to stop? What about the person who’s like a Diaz, but in a beautiful f&#king body? The groundbreaker. The pioneer. The last scion. The savior, trumpeter, and champion of Earth’s vagina-bearers…
Miss. Ronda. Jean. Rousey.
I know that my choice suffers from recency bias, but, when #TheTimeIsNow, we have to stick with what we know, and what we know is this: Ronda Rousey is a world-class athlete, she has at least one almost unstoppable move, and her sneer radiates with the heat of a thousand suns. Plus, if the invader’s gladiatorial choice has more than one tentacle, the likelihood of Rousey walking away with it is exponentially higher. You know alien parents don’t awaken their progeny via tentaclebar.
Get the Fresh Prince or Jeff Goldblum to project a .jpeg of Meisha Tate onto one of the aliens’ forehead(s) and, s#%t, son…me, you, Mochi, Ronda, and Ronda’s level 70 Night Elf hunter will be eating chicken wings and singing “Bad Reputation” before midnight.
Honorable Mentions: Post-Eye Poke Anthony Johnson, Non-Title Shot Urijah Faber.
Wow. Here I am surrounded by a group of supposed MMA fans, and not a one of you had the common sense (or blind, unquestioning love for Pride FC) to even mention Fedor Emelianenko as a candidate for savior of Earth. Shameful.
But seriously, if aliens were to invade Earth, you could damn well rest assured that they wouldn’t let their fate be decided by some orthodox form of fighting that their opponents (us) were already familiar with. Am I supposed to believe that a group of beings so highly intelligent that they possess interstellar, perhaps even interdimensional traveling capabilities beyond our wildest dreams haven’t found a fighting style superior to this? Or this? All of your choices, while logical in their own right, would almost certainly lead to the end of life as we know it. If GSP can’t wrestlef*ck this shapeshifting apparition to a decision win? We’re dead. If this hydra-esque space demon grew two arms for every arm Ronda Rousey broke off? Goodbye humanity, nice knowin’ ya (except for you, Kanye).
You see my point? The fighting styles we’ve developed here on Earth would be no match for the super-evolved abilities of our martian marauders, even when executed by our most talented athletes. We’d essentially be the Art Jimmerson to their Royce Gracie — flopping around with our one boxing glove on like a hapless asshole — so in order to defeat a shapeshifting, Hydra-esque space-monster demon, we would need someone who thinks think like a shapeshifting, Hydra-esque space-monster demon.
Enter Matt Horwich.
Matt Horwich, aside from being a UFC, Bellator, Strikeforce, IFL, and KSW veteran with 50 fights to his credit, is perhaps the only man on Earth who would know *exactly* what an alien would bring to the table, fight-wise. He’s already the Champion of the Multiverse, a quantum-physics expert, and a cosmic poet to boot. FACT: Matt Horwich once “went berzerker-Wolverine rage” on a homeless man and punched him through a surfboard for trying to steal his cheeseburger. He’s delusional, spastic, and borderline incomprehensible, and therefore, completely unpredictable to our extraterrestrial adversaries.
Just listen to this Horwich interview, or this one. The man clearly operates on a wavelength not of this Earth, which is precisely what makes him the man to defend it from a potential alien invasion. And at the very least, he’ll probably speak their language.
If we’re honest with ourselves, Matt Horwich is as close to the correct answer as possible. He does indeed have keys to the chachki-infused jalopy that is the multiverse, but in a fight with a near 8-foot alien? As much as I love Matt he likely doesn’t stand a chance against the best outer space has to offer. No. No, in fact we need someone who transcends fighting. Who, through sheer ego, hair product, and fancy glasses can look any foe, at any weight, dead in his frikin eye and say, “I got this, you f*cks.” A man who has both built his body up (literally as a bodybuilder) and broken it down as a fighter in no less than four weight classes. A man who has already declared himself “the best EVA!” Friends, look no further than Phil “The New York Bad Ass” Baroni. Not convinced? Let’s examine the facts:
EXHIBIT A: He’s from New York. If movies have taught us anything its that New York City is always the battleground for an alien invasion, natural disaster, or a group of disgruntled squatters breaking out into song. And more than likely a scrappy New Yorker finds himself charged with saving humanity from its latest and often dance-infused threat. He has a tattoo with the letters “NYBA” on him, people! Do I have to spell it out for you? I guess I just did.
EXHIBIT B: He doesn’t give a f*ck! This is often packaged with being from New York but Phil has this “I don’t give a f*ck, lemme at em’ ” in spades. The man has never backed down from a fight. There’s never been an excuse, an injury, an opponent so vastly more talented than he, that he rethought stepping in the cage. Its almost paradoxical how much ego, yet how little preservation of said ego exists for Phil. So he slept in his car last night, “Does the gig pay?” Why yes, Mr. Bad Ass, it does. Winning a fight that saves humanity would qualify Phillip “Bad Ass” Baroni as Permanent World Champion, a title he has long claimed to hold if only there were such an outlet from which it could be harvested. World Savior is probably on his list of “sh*t I gotta do dis week” right under getting a spray tan.
EXHIBIT C: BAM! Documented proof! In yur figgin face!
If you’re not convinced then please observe this: Abs, sunglesses indoors, bravado — possibly Mark Coleman as his backup? I think that’s all the hero you’re pining for.
Or, for some reason, this picture of Phil photoshopped with piles of cash:
Friggin, CASH, bro!
Ladies and gentleman of the jury, if you haven’t chosen Phil Baroni as your savior then I am truly sorry. Why? Because you are going to watch a host of talented and able-bodied fighters get destroyed by some juiced-up alien (the athletic commissions in his planetary system are laxed, like CABMMA laxed). Why not have a man represent you who has no concept of losing? No concept that he will be steamrolled within mere moments? He will give it his all, winging his meat hooks for at least 30 solid seconds before quickly gassing and stumbling around the theoretical quantum cage like a drunken — well, like a drunken Phil Baroni at a nightclub in Ronkonkoma, Long Island. And as that mammoth alien fist raises up to deliver a death blow to Mr. Baroni and in essence, humanity, our man — nay, our hero will look up and give it one last “You think I give a f*ck?” sucking all possible joy from the victory of our alien nemesis.
I have thought long and hard about this topic. I briefly consulted with my brother to get some advice, and he said to counter the extra-terrestrials with one of their own, and enlist Bernard “The Alien” Hopkins. The only problem is that B-Hop is 19 billion years old, which also stops me from selecting Dangerous Dan Big Right Handerson.
If I knew that the aliens had no ground skills to speak of, I’d probably go with Gennady Golovkin, because not only is he a horrifyingly powerful puncher, he is also one of the most adorable and charming fighters around. I can imagine him exploding an alien’s head, then saying, “This alien is good boy, but people of Earth, look at me, I have many glorious robes!” Sadly, I fear that the aliens would send their best wrestler, and Triple G would be on his back and tapping out, dooming all mankind.
So, with the people I really wanted to pick but had to discard for various reasons out of the way, it’s on to my for-realsies selection. After careful consideration, I have decided that the fate of Earth should rest on the strong and capable shoulders of Adlan Amagov. Look, I know he retired to spend time with his family, but he’s still a young guy, and I’m pretty sure thwarting an alien invasion would lead to more family time, since the alternative is complete molecular incineration.
Amagov is so f*cking scary, you guys. He just kicks people and they barf out their souls. Also, he once said that fighting a man is no problem, since he spent a year living in a tent in Chechnya, with Russian helicopters strafing the area with machine-gun fire. I think he can handle one Glip-Glop with weird tentacles and chittering mandibles and whatnot. It’ll be a wheel kick and then CAUCASUS DANCE PARTY!
So, what do you think? Does the human race survive with any of our picks? Anyone we forgot that would obliterate the alien horde in an instant? Let us know in the comments!