I traveled from Chicago to Las Vegas almost three years ago to UFC 137 just so I could watch BJ Penn fight. There’s no other men in this world who could motivate me to get into a metal tube and hurtle through the sky only to touch down in the middle of a desert to watch them throw leather for a couple minutes. That night, at UFC 137, BJ (we thought) retired in the Octagon after his fight against Nick Diaz. Then, he came back against Rory, retired again (right?), and now we’re here.
Many of us wondered why this fight was even made in the first place, especially at 145 pounds, and now after watching Frankie Edgar pretty much dominate BJ Penn for a dozen minutes until Herb Dean decided he couldn’t handle watching the violence inflicted upon BJ’s dome, we’re still left scratching our heads.
Why, BJ? Why did you do this?
On the feet, BJ just looked strange out there, throwing arm punches and standing upright in a stance we’ve never seen out of him before. On the ground he looked defensive, scooting on his butt more than Aoki in Nashville, and in the Octagon as a whole, he looked lost and tired. Maybe it was the weight cut?
As BJ fans, we told ourselves everything we could to motivate ourselves to watch this fight. He’s hungry, and he’s also literally hungry. This is a new BJ. Hell, he has a few years left in him after he takes out Frankie. After all, the judges were wrong in the first fight. Where would we be if BJ simply beat Frankie in that third fight?
But we’re here. BJ Penn was flailing in a pool of his own blood as Frankie rained elbows with the might of a thousand meatballs and it’s over. BJ is 1-5-1 in his last 7 and International Fight Week has turned into International Depression Week in a quick 24-hour turnaround.
Please, please, please stay retired this time, BJ.
Thanks for the memories, even if you wanted to drag our heart through the Octagon a few too many times. But we won’t hold that against you.