It's Fine, I Guess.

I try my hand at sportswriting

The UFC card at the White House is fine. I’m not going to get into the idiocy of the event itself, aside from pointing out that hosting our 11th most popular sport by revenue and attendance in an attempt to trick Americans into associating you with toughness is one way to make up for the fact that you never had the makings of a varsity athlete.

But, if you’re going to hold a UFC event on the grounds of the White House to celebrate the 250th birthday of the United States of America, “not bad” is nowhere near good enough. If this fight were back when the UFC was on Pay-Per-View, I would definitely recommend going to bed early, saving $69.99, and watching the next day on some Moldovan YouTube channel in Cyrillic. Minunat!

The card is fine. It has some recognizable names, a few champions, and no generational talents. There are a few fights hardcore fans will enjoy. Ilia Topuria is one of the most exciting fighters alive and has done it all with superb boxing and counter-wrestling, and his opponent, an aging Justin Gaethje, remains one of the most beloved action fighters in the history of the sport. Alex Pereira is still one left hook away from turning out the lights on any man walking the planet. But if we are being honest, this card is nowhere near one of the great cards in UFC history. It is not even particularly close.

Compare it to UFC 100. Brock Lesnar versus Frank Mir. Georges St-Pierre versus Thiago Alves. Dan Henderson versus Michael Bisping. Jon Jones. A card so stacked it felt like an all-star team, all Hall of Famers aside from Alves and Henderson, who is in the HOF for a bloody slugfest with Shogun Rua. Stacked.

Compare it to UFC 189. Conor McGregor versus Chad Mendes. Robbie Lawler versus Rory MacDonald in perhaps the greatest title fight ever contested. Actually, almost certainly the greatest fight ever. Thomas Almeida. Jeremy Stephens. Matt Brown. Best card ever, watched it in a pub in Coronado.

Or even UFC 217. Michael Bisping. Georges St-Pierre. TJ Dillashaw. Cody Garbrandt. Joanna Jędrzejczyk. Rose Namajunas. Three championship belts changing hands. Insane.

But then there is this: an acceptable way to spend a Sunday night, I guess. Which makes it an oddly fitting symbol for this moment in American politics.

The fight everyone wanted was obvious. Jon Jones versus Tom Aspinall. An American heavyweight legend against a British champion on the 250th anniversary of American independence. The greatest heavyweight of his generation defending his legacy against the man waiting to inherit the throne. History versus the future. America versus Britain. It practically writes itself.

Instead, we got some Brazilians and a (checks notes) Quebecois Zahabi brother, but not the famous one?

Donald Trump has always had a remarkable ability to command loyalty without necessarily demanding excellence. Actually, the last thing he demands is excellence. He doesn’t demand anything close to mediocrity, let alone excellence. This is the guy who let Omarosa into a SCIF and let Pete Hegseth out of one. So over the last decade, an entire ecosystem has developed around anticipating his preferences, indulging his impulses, and providing just enough tribute to keep him satisfied.

My son, who is seven, still likes to press the buttons on the elevator when we’re in it. It makes him feel big and important, too.

The UFC card feels a little like that.

Much of the broader America 250 celebration feels a little like that. It’s not a showcase of the best America can produce or a presentation of the country’s deepest talents. Not a confident declaration that the United States remains hungry, ambitious, and determined to outdo itself. Instead, it often feels like a collection of things Grandpa has seen on television: safe, comfortable, aging stars who will enjoy the after-party at the Crystal City Marriott until around midnight, because they have an early flight the next day and need to take their melatonin and Eliquis.

It’s stuff that can be consumed while eating a baloney sandwich and a Big Mac in bed if your nap during talks with the Prime Minister of Guyana got cut short. Nobody is really trying to create the defining cultural event of a generation. They are just trying to get through the evening.

Outside of Topuria, who sits in his prime, and perhaps Pereira and Gaethje, who remain compelling attractions, much of the event feels past its “Best By” date. The names are familiar because they were great. Some of them still are, but there is a difference between celebrating greatness and relying on memories of greatness.

America did not become America because previous generations were content to replay old highlights. The country became extraordinary because it was relentlessly dissatisfied. Every generation wanted to build something larger than what came before. Every generation looked at existing achievements and asked what came next.

I don’t want to just sit around watching Neal Armstrong clips, I want to see Jonny Kim land on Mars live.

The defining characteristic of a healthy nation is not nostalgia. It is hunger. Hunger built railroads and crossed oceans. It put footprints on the moon and created Silicon Valley. It built the aircraft carriers that won the Pacific, the interstate highways that led to the cross-country rite of passage, the universities, the research laboratories, and the companies that transformed the world and set us on the moon. Hungry societies look forward, and tired societies look backward.

That is why the UFC card is ultimately disappointing. Not because it is terrible. It’s fine.

It is disappointing because it represents a missed opportunity. A nation celebrating its 250th birthday should not be aiming for acceptable, instead, a nation celebrating its 250th birthday should be presenting its future.

Perhaps this is all we can do for the moment. Perhaps this presidency has entered the phase where everyone simply wants to reach the finish line without major incident. Perhaps institutions, corporations, promoters, and politicians alike have quietly concluded that the safest strategy is to smile, applaud politely, and keep the machinery moving until the clock expires.

Apparently, Dana White feels the same, and knows Donald Trump doesn’t know jack about fighting and can’t tell the difference.

The White House UFC card is fine. For a country as great as this one, that’s kind of a waste, huh?