UFC 232 Fiasco Complicates Jon Jones’ Legacy Despite Impressive Win

Josh Hedges/Zuffa LLC/Getty Images

When it is completely written, the story of Jon Jones will be a wistful one. It will focus on his greatness, to be sure. Any look at Jones’ career would be empty without notation of his otherworldly skills and dominance over the best fighters his division had to offer.

But his story will also be one of greatness and potential squandered.

This is the frustrating thing about Jones. He is easily the most talented fighter the sport has ever seen, using an array of technical wizardry that continues to amaze even after a decade on the big stage. Modern-era fighters like Tony Ferguson and Max Holloway are just now starting to utilize the kind of techniques Jones sprung on us back in 2011, and they’re being heralded for it as though they are innovators. Jones was the innovator.

But he has also given us moments of utter frustration, including questionable decisions on matters that affect his in-cage work: his fondness for recreational drugs; his penchant for getting behind the wheel of a vehicle when he should be calling Uber; and his multiple failed tests for performance-enhancing drugs.

All of that was brought even more under the microscope after everything that led up to his second victory over Alexander Gustafsson in Inglewood, California, on Saturday night at UFC 232.

Christian Petersen/Zuffa LLC/Getty Images

The build to the rematch was focused almost solely on Jones and the latest weirdness surrounding him. This time, the weirdness again involved a suspicious drug test result, but it also involved a complete change of venue and city with just six days’ notice. The card was originally scheduled for the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas; it ended up at the Forum just outside Los Angeles after the UFC revealed that a December drug test contained picograms of Turinabol, the same drug Jones failed a test for 17 months ago.

The Nevada State Athletic Commission declined to approve a license for Jones due to the testing abnormality, but its California counterpart was willing to let him fight. 

In fact, the UFC and its drug-testing partner, the United States Anti-Doping Agency, said the Turinabol in Jones’ system for this latest test was a carryover of sorts from the original test failure. They claimed the science backed up their decision, but Jones’ history has justifiably invited skepticism. 

And that sort of suspicion will continue to trail Jones for the rest of his career, because that is the burden he has earned for himself. No matter how many times he or Dana White or his other enablers scoff at the criticism targeted at him, one fact remains: Jones will always be known, at best, as someone who skirted alongside the edges of the rules.

For now, though, he is the UFC light heavyweight champion once again. It is a title he never lost in the Octagon and yet has lost multiple times. Daniel Cormier relinquished the belt on Friday, rather than be known as someone who had the championship stripped from him, and now Jones has it back in his possession. Whether it stays there is anyone’s guess. It’s hard to imagine anyone beating Jones in the octagon, but it’s very easy to imagine Jones beating himself.

Jeff Bottari/Zuffa LLC/Getty Images

The first meeting between Jones and Gustafsson was a classic that is widely hailed as one of the best fights in UFC history. The second? Not so much. It was more of a clinical performance from Jones, who systematically (almost certainly working off a game plan created by Mike Winkeljohn and Brandon Gibson) chopped away at Gustafsson’s left leg with oblique kicks and creative kicks to the ankle until the Swede was clearly hobbled.

That’s when Jones struck. Early in the third, Jones took advantage of Gustafsson’s reduced speed and took him down. From there, it was entirely predictable; nobody in mixed martial arts is as historically dangerous as Jones. I was sitting 20 feet away the night he broke Brandon Vera’s orbital socket with an elbow and, let me tell you this: It’s a sound I’ll never forget. When Jones started landing those elbows on Gustafsson, it was only a matter of time before Gus started looking for safe harbor.

He didn’t find refuge. But shortly after, he found a way out.

After the fight, Jones took the moment to send a challenge to Cormier, and he did it with the air of a man who has done no wrong, who has no idea why the world thinks he’s a cheater. And just as he has done for much of his career, Jones thanked God and offered up a prayer and thanks to the Almighty for helping him win a cage fight.

It’s a nice sentiment, but then you remember the kind of things Jones does when the cameras are off. We’ve seen it for years, and at this point it is comes off as little more than mawkish grandstanding.

And that’s the saddest thing about all of this: That we should be appreciating Jon Jones for what he does on the world’s biggest stages, and instead we are unable to forget what he is when the world isn’t looking.