Ronda Rousey's Greatest Hits: The 9 Moments That Defined the UFC's Biggest Star
Ronda Rousey is the biggest star in MMA history, and that didn't happen overnight.
Since the first interview before her first fight, Rousey has been working to get herself noticed. That started all the way back in 2011, where she called out Gina Carano and Cris "Cyborg" Santos ahead of her professional MMA debut opposite future Invicta FC staple Ediane Gomes at King of the Cage: Turning Point and ever since, she has made the most of every opportunity to get her name out there.
That hustle led to a slew of unique opportunities, and those opportunities resulted in a level of exposure never before seen for a UFC fighter. With all eyes on Rousey year-round, she has been able to deliver memorable moments by the truckload.
With Rousey set to face off with Holly Holm at UFC 193 this Saturday, it's worth taking a look back at the moments that defined her as an athlete and elevated and separated her from the rest of the pack. Here are Rousey's greatest hits, as brought to you by the Bleacher Report MMA crew.
Ronda Rousey Makes a Splash in Strikeforce: Challengers Debut
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The UFC's parent company had purchased its biggest competitor, Strikeforce, and the former local kickboxing promotion from San Jose, California, was running an event for the first time in Las Vegas. I'd moved to Sin City earlier that year, mostly to see the world but also to avoid the monthly trips to Vegas I'd been making since I started working full-time for my old employer.
"Strikeforce Challengers 18" was at the Palms, which is probably the best venue in Las Vegas and perhaps the entire world for watching fights. It was headlined by Joe Duarte vs. Jorge Gurgel, but the fight I was there to see—the one I'd driven all the way from my home to the Palms for—was Ronda Rousey vs. Sarah D'Alelio.
I'd seen Rousey fight twice for a local amateur promotion in Vegas. No need to get into those two here; they're the stuff of lore, just like everything else she's done since. But this was the first time I was seeing her fight as a pro.
In the Palms, the fighter entrance was a stage, elevated above the rest of us in the audience. The media table was nuzzled up against the stage, and I'll be honest with you: Most of us there that night were bored.
But then Rousey started walking to the ring. She had what I could best describe as a glower across her face. I didn't remember her mean mug from her amateur fights; perhaps she hadn't perfected it back then. But now, on this night in 2012, she had. She strode to the cage with her mean face and her now-trademark boots, and she just looked like she had...it.
Whatever "it" was, she had it. In spades. And then she submitted poor D'Alelio quickly and violently. In my recap that night, I noted that she was the master of the armbar.
Yeah. That, and about a million other things.
Ronda Rousey Takes the Strikeforce Title by Snapping Miesha Tate's Arm
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Today Ronda Rousey stands astride the MMA world a colossus. Her skills are unquestionably superior to those of her colleagues, her stardom is unmatched.
But Rousey wasn’t always Rousey. In a biological and legal sense, fine. But there was a time when she was just another prospect, one fighting in a largely neglected women’s featherweight division at that.
Attempting to pin down a single transformative moment for Rousey’s ascent is feckless; stars of such magnitude are rarely made in an instant. But all stardom has a primordial juncture. For Rousey it was a Strikeforce bantamweight title fight opposite Miesha Tate.
Tate was regarded as no small task, even for an Olympic bronze medalist that had steamrolled previous opponents. The champion was skilled, marketable and coming off a big win over Marloes Coenen. Rousey didn’t care.
Prior to the match Rousey drew the eyes of MMA fans by talking trash with the vigor and tempo of the incomparable Chael Sonnen. These efforts not only lent a sense of intrigue to her upcoming bout, but also allowed Rousey to cultivate a fighting persona that distinguished her from other highly talented fighters.
Of course, she still needed to win, which she did via first-round armbar, dislocating Tate’s elbow in the process. After that Rousey defended the Strikeforce title before stewarding her female colleagues over to the biggest MMA stage in the world, despite UFC President Dana White previously stating his organization would never host women’s divisions.
The First Angry Walkout
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The first time we really met Ronda Rousey in her current incarnation wasn't in the Octagon; it came in her last fight in Strikeforce. By the time she faced Sarah Kaufman in the penultimate event before Zuffa shuttered its doors and sucked its talent into the UFC, Rousey had transformed her image from golden-girl Olympian to something much more layered and complex.
The metamorphosis was completed that night when Rousey stepped out into the spotlight, alone, black hoodie zippered up, face scowling, to the strains of Joan Jett's classic "Bad Reputation."
"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation/You're living in the past, it's a new generation."
This was in-your-face subversion of the highest order, a call to arms, an announcement of some greater mission that would never be denied. Ronda Rousey was going to revolutionize a sport. You sort of knew it then. All you had to do was look at her face.
That mean mug was immediately world class, the dipped head in focus, the narrowed eyes radiating ferocity. And on her feet, battle boots, because who goes to war in bare feet?
With all apologies to the contenders of 135, Rousey has become so dominant, so quickly, that in some ways her walkout has become the most intense part of her night. It is almost always the longest (Kaufman fight: 54 seconds; Kaufman walkout: 97 seconds). But that is fine. At this point, people are mostly paying for her presence anyway. Her walkout is largely symbolic of everything she is. Dynamic. Rebellious. Powerful. In. Your. Face.
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Rousey Gets Promoted from Strikeforce Champion to UFC Champion
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There are few groundbreaking and glass-ceiling shattering moments, but when Dana White announced Ronda Rousey as the bantamweight champion on December 6, 2012, that's exactly what we got.
By now I'm sure you've seen the TMZ video of White saying women would “never” fight in the UFC 100 times. In fact, it's a part of the latest UFC Embedded that just aired on Fox this past weekend. That was general feeling until Rousey came on the scene and the UFC purchased Strikeforce.
It's startling how quickly that attitude changed with just one person. The UFC wasted little time in bringing her into the fold once it saw dollar signs.
The press conference that she was announced at was really for the UFC on Fox event headlined by Benson Henderson and Nate Diaz, but all anyone could talk about was Rousey. That's because that single moment meant history. The UFC would allow women to compete inside its famed Octagon. And it is all because of Rousey's star power and presence.
Lost in that moment, however, was the UFC's announcement that she would fight Liz Carmouche. Another groundbreaking moment as Carmouche became the first openly gay fighter in the organization. We should remember that along with Rousey's debut on a UFC stage.
Everything about that moment was special.
That press conference and that moment are history, and the photo of Rousey on stage holding the title is the image that will stand the test of time throughout the history of this sport we love.
Ronda Rousey: Conspiracy Theorist
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Ronda Rousey is clearly a strong, confident personality with absolute conviction in her ability, and once her mind is made up, that conviction extends to her opinions. This refusal to entertain naysayers is assuredly part of the mindset that made her the reigning, defending, undisputed, undefeated UFC bantamweight champion and most dominant athlete in the world (twice!).
Just weeks before her UFC debut—also the highly anticipated, history-making inaugural women's fight in the promotion—and just over a month after the Sandy Hook mass shooting, Rousey tweeted a link to a Sandy Hook conspiracy theory video. It was accompanied with the text, "Extremely interesting must watch video".
Unsurprisingly, the response and publicity was overwhelmingly negative, leading Rousey to delete the tweet and apologize "if anyone was offended." She also tweeted that it was patriotic to question "what we're told" and that "mainstream media isn't the only way to get info," while maintaining that she didn't know what she believed yet regarding the Sandy Hook shooting.
Patriotic, indeed. It's mainstream sources that tell us conspiracy theories appeal in particular to those who are distrustful of authority, more prone to paranoid thinking and prefer simple explanations rather than complex, multi-faceted randomness. Maybe that's why Rousey chooses to consider even the most outlandish, convoluted conspiracy theories. The mainstream sources advising caution also warrant a critical eye.
While Rousey's Sandy Hook tweet incident lacked an explicit stance, she readily weighed in on 9/11, during an appearance on contemporary sage Joe Rogan's show. Without hesitation, Rousey said 9/11 was an inside job. She also said she believes in UFOs, but not Bigfoot. So apparently, her credulity has its limits. False flag attacks waged by the US government on thousands of citizens, endangering millions more? No problem; Alex Jones has proof. A giant, bipedal ape in the woods? That's too far.
You have to love Rousey's unapologetic conviction in most everything she says and does, independent of her depth of knowledge on a subject. Despite the incredible nature of so many conspiracy theories, she goes in on them anyway and boldly owns it, once she's determined her beliefs. Rousey is herself, whether you like it or not, a complex, multi-faceted woman with an inquiring mind and skeptical eye.
Ronda Rousey vs. Kim Kardashian
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Ronda Rousey talks about lube a lot. Personal, sexual lubricant. This is a fact, and it is not in dispute.
I'm not here today to ruminate on her most recent lube-related comments, which were probably ill-advised and certainly not safe for work. Rather, I want to meditate upon her lube-related comments of yesteryear, levied against a certain mega-luminary by the name of Kim Kardashian. If memory serves and I am correct in my interpretations, this was the moment that Rousey, for better or worse, hit the radar of the TMZ crowd, which is to say, the United States of America.
In case you forgot, the comments were uttered thusly, back in 2012:
"I mean, I don't know. [Kim Kardashian is] wrong in every way, and if I had a chance, if I had to pick anyone, yeah of course, I would beat her up. ...This girl should be selling lube or something like that instead. Why is she selling shoes?"
Should Rousey have earned 100 percent of her fame for her primary job, which is being the best MMA fighter on planet Earth? I mean, yeah. Of course. But we all know that her current status as a bona fide global phenomenon is because of more than her fighting acumen. Rousey is quotable, and Rousey doesn't have a lot of filter or patience, especially for those she doesn't like (and there seem to be a lot of those).
This was the first time the mainstream caught wind of the other side of Rousey. Good, bad or indifferent, it struck a chord. And it laid the groundwork for the cultural touchstone she is today.
'The Ultimate Fighter' Season 18 Coaches' Challenge
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For a time it was pretty difficult to process Ronda Rousey. She was glam, but glam with a pair of guns, a cover girl who just happened to be one of the fiercest fighters MMA had ever seen.
In Japan, they have a saying: “No one before Kimura, no one after.” It's a tribute to Masahiko Kimura, the greatest Judoka in history. No one who preceded him can compare. Those who followed, likewise, failed to live up to his standard.
Rousey has a little of that in her. Women's MMA existed before she came on the scene—but it's hard to reconcile it with what has come since.
Her predecessor, Gina Carano, was clearly human, a vulnerable girl-next-door who doubled as a pretty good kickboxer. Rousey was somehow different. You could relate to Carano, who often struggled to survive in the cage, struggled to make weight and struggled to forge a path for women in what is still most definitely a man's world.
Rousey has never struggled, athletic success and the tightrope walk of the mainstream media with equal applomb. She's barely human at all, more feminist icon than flesh-and-blood female. She defies labels, and in a culture that insists on reducing everyone to a one-sentence summary, that's pretty intimidating.
Maybe that's why it was so great to see Rousey revealed to be a mere mortal in the face of reality television's persistent intrusions. When she won a rock climbing contest against arch-rival Miesha Tate and followed it up with a barrage of double birds, we could finally place a label on her that had been missing for so long—jock.
If Rousey were a man, her name would be "Biff," her beautiful, blonde, brash arrogance part and parcel of an easily identifiable archetype. Biff Rousey would have dated the homecoming queen and stuffed lowly journalists into lockers. Biff is walking Americana, a character as old as the nation itself.
Since that telling moment, I've been completely comfortable with Rousey. She's not a line in a history book or a role model for athletic young girls. Or, at least, she's not just those things. She's Biff. And I love it.
The Handshake Snub
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If anyone thought the buildup and fallout of Rousey vs. Tate 1 was ugly, they hadn't seen anything yet. After an injury to Cat Zingano, Rousey and Tate wound up having to spend six weeks together for the taping of the 18th season of The Ultimate Fighter. The season would be relatively standard fair for the long-running reality series (outside how the fact it featured women in the house), with occasional pranks and surprising upsets in the cage.
Rousey, though, wasn't the standard coach for TUF. She took every loss, every prank and every Tate-manufactured hardship for her team personally and when she had the chance to take out those frustrations through a government-approved butt whoopin', she made the most of that opportunity.
To the casual fan and MMA newcomer, Rousey vs. Tate was a reasonably competitive fight. Longtime observers, however, knew that this was human equivalent of a killer whale playing with a seal before swallowing it whole (or making it tap to another armbar). Even after winning, however, Ronda was still unsatisfied.
Tate stood up quickly after the hold was released and extended her arm for a potentially feud-ending handshake. Rousey looked at her hand, looked her in the eye and then turned her back.
The Internet exploded over the the snub. "Unsportsmanlike!" they said. "Bad role model! Petty!"
That's a silly mindset, though. In this world of Georges St-Pierres vs. Nick Diazes and Tim Kennedies vs. Michael Bispings, Rousey gave us something special. An honest-to-goodness, real rivalry.
This wasn't just playing to the camera. This wasn't just selling wolf tickets. This wasn't manufacturing drama to push up the buyrate. These were two fighters who genuinely disliked one another. That's something special.
Rousey Demolishes Alexis Davis in Just 16 Seconds
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Ronda Rousey's first three fights in the UFC marked her out as a special talent and a potentially transformative figure for women's MMA. Her 16-second demolition of Alexis Davis at UFC 175 made her a deity and rising superstar.
The champion charged forward and transitioned smoothly between the various component arts of MMA. She feinted with a jab, nailed Davis with a cross counter and then grabbed a single collar tie and bicep control to slam home a knee to the body. From there she transitioned to an overhook, hit a harai goshi throw and pummeled Davis into unconsciousness.
It was a beautiful melding of the various pieces of Rousey's game.
By July 2014, we'd grown used to the idea of Rousey as an unstoppable battering ram. It took her less than a minute to finish Sarah Kaufman in her last Strikeforce bout, just under a round to find an armbar against Liz Carmouche and 66 seconds to crumple Sara McMann with a knee to the liver. Only Miesha Tate survived past the opening frame, and she too succumbed to the Olympian's trademark submission.
Despite all of that prior success, the Davis fight is what launched Rousey's reputation for absurdly quick finishes. Sixteen seconds—short enough to fit in an Instagram video or a large GIF—was all it took to finish a durable, experienced and dangerous competitor who had every right to be in there with the champion.
And that, more than anything, is Rousey's brand today. Buy the pay-per-view and know that you'll be rewarded with the catharsis of a quick finish. If you don't, well, that's all right too. Your social media feed will swarm with easily digestible bits of video content to catch you up on what you've missed.
It's impossible to overstate how much that has contributed to Rousey's rise to superstardom. Her fights are completely accessible even to a hyper-stimulated audience whose attention span won't last much longer than a minute. She's a superhero, the one-move killer pop culture violence has always celebrated, but whom decades of experience in real fights told us didn't exist.
That part of Rousey's reputation began with Alexis Davis.
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