Opinion: How ‘Cro Cop’ Became the Symbol of an Era's Ugliness

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Editor's note: The views and opinions expressed below are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Sherdog.com, its affiliates and sponsors or its parent company, Evolve Media.

Even with a drug test failure at the age of 41 ousting him from an Ultimate Fighting Championship co-headliner, it’s uncertain whether or not “Cro Cop” Mirko Filipovic will actually stay retired, with this being no less than his third public declaration of hanging up the gloves. Despite being 2-6 in his last eight fights and coming off another first-round head kick knockout loss to Vitor Belfort, 45-year-old Dan Henderson says he still plans to fight out the last fight on his UFC deal and perhaps beyond that, in spite of the fact that the vast majority of the MMA universe would love to see “Hendo” exit the cage with a level of dignity befitting arguably one of the 10 best MMA fighters ever. Filipovic is “gone” and Henderson is still “here” but only in hollow semantics.

Fighters of yesteryear fading, even being torn asunder, is a rite of passage in prizefighting, and at this point, even the most ardent, nostalgic Pride Fighting Championships fans have gotten used to this bitter fact of life. Even if you accept the fighting circle of life, there remains something fascinating about the casual remembrance of fighters from that first modern era of the sport, especially the contingent that fought on the other side of the Pacific Ocean in its heyday. It’s not just that the UFC-Pride rivalry is an important part of MMA history; it’s that, as time rolls along, the rivalry becomes the lens through which we interpret that very history itself and its participants.

The Sherdog Fight Finder can tell you who won a fight, who lost it, when, where and why. It tells you what happened; it’s about facts. “UFC vs. Pride,” in its de facto use as an analytical tool, tells you how to make sense of what happened, how to feel about the whole damn mess; it’s about creating what we more richly understand as “history.” They say history is written by its winners, but the UFC-Pride aftermath reminds us it’s not nearly so simple.

If a layperson asked you for a quick and dirty history of MMA, when you get to 2007 or thereabouts, you might quickly distil that timespan by saying something akin to, “All the Pride guys came to the UFC, but with actual PED and drug testing and not facing Japanese pro wrestlers all the time, they weren’t as successful,” depending on how acerbic you wanted to be. You wouldn’t be “wrong” per se, but it’s an imprecise, broad brush with which to paint. In the near-decade of MMA since that epoch, those labeled “Pride fighters” have not only had wildly different levels of success but have authored, unwittingly or not, vastly different legacies for themselves.

It may seem hard for a fan to believe now, but there was a time when if Filipovic wasn’t the most popular MMA fighter in the world -- he actually probably was, accounting for his international profile -- he was undoubtedly the most passionately beloved. Even in the wake of him being knocked out by Kevin Randleman in all-time shocker fashion, “Cro Cop” fans were an ardent bunch in robust numbers, dead certain he was the man to beat Fedor Emelianenko. “Cro Cop” had a video library of left head kicks on hapless foes, a penchant for terse quotes -- “Right leg, hospital, left leg, cemetery” remains one of the greatest lines in MMA -- and a steely charisma amplifying his Croatian anti-terrorist police bad ass gimmick. If you’re the kind of person who was magnetized to MMA because it represented “real pro wrestling,” “Cro Cop” was that concept personified, combining spectacular violence with an over-the-top but honest-to-goodness persona, right down to the checkerboard trunks. He is still one of the 10 best heavyweights this sport has seen, so it’s surreal to step back and consider the inhospitable historical space this man now occupies.

As mentioned, Filipovic is far from the only Pride mainstay that has failed to live up to unrealistic, superhero-esque expectations in the last eight years. However, the nature and magnitude of his shortcomings have made him the most emblematic of these failures; and now, his admission of using human growth hormone to recover in preparation for his Anthony Hamilton fight has catalyzed the reaction. The fact that he has admitted to using PEDs -- the stereotypical charge against almost any former Pride star -- is the ignominious icing on a sad, stale, s---cake. “Cro Cop” already represented so many of the ills that were part and parcel of kakutogi boom and Japan’s time as the nexus of MMA, and he is now the ultimate poster boy for everything uncomfortable, ugly and upsetting about Pride.

Again, Filipovic is not alone in his role as a Pride star and favorite of then-parent company Dream Stage Entertainment, nor is he the only athlete in that role who got preferential matchmaking. However, his tune-up opponents and sacrificial lambs were frequent enough and so profoundly mismatched that they’ve come to overshadow his real, legitimate achievements in the ring. If there was any confusion about how to correctly apportion blame for those bookings, it became more and more obvious in the wake of Pride: No former Pride star got an easier ride in the UFC than “Cro Cop,” as Zuffa bent over backwards to give him softballs like Eddie Sanchez, Mostapha Al-Turk and Anthony Perosh at the churlish behest of Filipovic and his team.

Filipovic’s great, shining achievement is usually considered his 2006 Pride open weight grand prix win, but even that is fraught with the same kinds of foolishness: He hard-balled DSE for money and preferential matchmaking throughout the first rounds of the tournament, going on vacation to Pula and telling the Croatian media about how he needed to have nose surgery and might -- gasp! -- retire. As a result, he got to massacre inflated middleweights Ikuhisa Minowa and Hidehiko Yoshida in the first two rounds, and on the night of the finals, he got to face Wanderlei Silva first while Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira and Josh Barnett beat the holy hell out of one another in the other semifinal. It’s a tournament, and matchmaking is seldom “even” or “fair” in these pursuits; and this doesn’t undermine the entirety of Filipovic’s grand prix win, but it does illustrate the systemic spoon-feeding he has enjoyed throughout his career.

This is where that broad stroke with a big brush doesn’t give us historical accuracy. After all, Henderson got to fight infamous Pride ham-and-eggers like Akira Shoji and Shungo Oyama, and like “Cro Cop,” he has admitted to using a PED in the past. On the other hand, Henderson routinely and thanklessly fought a murderer’s row of Pride's best opposition regardless of weight, just as he did in Rings prior and in the UFC and Strikeforce subsequent. For the vast majority of his career, he had the same in-shape-but-unspectacular 200-pound body, even when fighting at heavyweight, and famously made jokes like, “I’m sure I’ve fought guys on steroids; I fight for Pride.” Later in his career, when Henderson opted to get in on the testosterone replacement therapy bandwagon, he was easily the most candid and honest about his decision of any notable fighter -- sorry, Vitor Belfort.

The fact that Henderson clobbered many of his notable victims while on testosterone is historically sticky and complicated, but right or wrong, the MMA community does not consider him a “cheater” and feels comfortable with that assessment given historical evidence. Filipovic’s promotionally pampered past plus lengthy laundry list of injuries, in conjunction with his HGH admission, has mostly led to people shouting “Aha! You see? I told you all along!” -- in spite of the fact that the United States Anti-Doping Agency doesn’t even have official paperwork on his failed test yet.

Look at the aforementioned Silva. Other than “Cro Cop,” no legendary MMA fighter has quite so thoroughly shamed and sabotaged himself. He has gone from being received as a beloved fighting icon hardened by the most brutal of wars to a cheating crackpot and huckster, incoherently ranting in dimly lit YouTube screeds. However, even when people mock “The Axe Murderer,” even when people question whether he was on steroids throughout his Pride 205-pound title run, they don’t look to assassinate his career. Juiced up or not, we’ll never know, but there’s still a reverence for Silva’s actual fight achievements that just doesn’t seem present for Filipovic any more, even with a potential asterisk.

Honestly, apart from the freshness of the wounds, I can’t quite account for it. What is it about Silva laying out Quinton Jackson across the ropes, blood volcanically squirting from his head, that still retains a measure of legitimacy, while “Cro Cop” hammering Barnett seems somehow fraudulent? The first thought that comes to mind is the media’s role in disseminating these narratives. Silva was a massive favorite with English, Brazilian and Japanese media for years and truly enjoyed and relished moments in front of mics and cameras. “Cro Cop” would be near the top of any “Fighters Media Members Hate Dealing With” list, regardless of their country of origin. Silva developed a reputation the world over as one of the most fan-friendly superstars, while “Cro Cop” has always had a reputation as a complete hard case that would stonewall a terminally ill kid with a Sharpie.

Once more, I’m not sure it’s so simple. It’s not like me or any other MMA media egghead sits around looking to invent fighter narratives out of the ether. Some public figures are turned into media scapegoats unfairly, but this isn’t one of those cases, as “Cro Cop” spent years “earning” these stripes, transforming his legacy for the worse. This is a narrative he crafted himself, by his own hand.

Maybe it’s that the people we’re mentioning in passing -- the Hendersons, the Silvas, the Nogueiras -- are fighters that quite simply and obviously love to fight and always made it explicit and palpable, whether it meant the effort they gave in a fight, being a professional and trying to work with the media or the general thrill and joie de vivre that came across in their bouts. As Nogueira reminded us recently, these are the type of fighters whose attachment to the game, and maybe money, too, runs so deep that they need to have retirement forced upon them. Meanwhile, “Cro Cop” is the one constantly dipping in and out of retirements, the man who told referee John McCarthy in the Octagon, “I’m too old for this s---,” after Cheick Kongo kneed him in the scrotum eight years ago.

Often when the absurdity and decadence of Pride is broached topically, someone will bring up “Cro Cop” head kicking Mexican pro wrestler Dos Caras Jr., the man now better known as Alberto del Rio, while he was clad in his luchador mask. The irony: “Cro Cop” was always the man in the mask when it came to Pride. Pride had the promotional and production prowess of DSE, the men behind the curtain who were always acutely aware of how to shape a star and help it shine, how to turn fighting athletes into larger-than-life superheroes in the minds of the masses, from the theatric entrances to well-selected can opponents. When Pride died, so did that beautiful illusion machine and all the masks that it created.

History is fluid and Filipovic’s prolonged fall from grace is the latest reminder of how yesterday’s folk legend can so easily be tomorrow’s myth to be murdered. Not only does “Pride never die,” but it’s still finding new ways to kill its own heroes.