UFC Live on Versus: Blogging Results To Jon Jones vs. Brandon Vera

I'm sure it'll come as a huge relief to all my fans out there (both hands worth of them) that I didn't perish on the return flight from Abu Dhabi. Physically.

Mentally?

Well, that's a different story—it was my first 20+ hour flight and my first time on basically the other side of the world. So you'll forgive me if it took damn near a week for my brain to recover. Especially when you toss daylight savings in there.

Anyway, I'm back on my feet for the first Ultimate Fighting Championship broadcast on the Versus Network and I'll be bringing you the live play-by-play action for the evening.

But—in a first for me—I'm not the only Bleacher Report representative here.

I'm sitting next to one of the B/R mixed martial arts heavy-hitters, Brian Oswald. He'll be running some features on the individual fights while I'll be typing frantically trying to keep up with the fighters. Additionally, there'll be a second live blog once the main card starts.

Yeah, we're spoiling you.

Enjoy it.

PRELIMS

Jason Brilz vs. Eric Schafer—Light Heavyweights

Brilz and Schafer start the action off and we get right out of the musical gates on a good note. Schafer rocked some old school punk while Brilz chose "Fade to Black" by The Rolling Stones (uhh, actually that song is "Paint it Black," apologies but I've always got Metallica on the brain).

If it's not metal, you can't go wrong with the Stones, and that's a sweet track. It even fits into the fight motif.

Tom Johnson is our ref.

Round One

The fighters come out, touch gloves, and we're officially off. The two biggish men trade some tentative shots before the scuffle goes up to the cage. Some kidney shots and gentle knees don't appease the crowd as a couple boos start filtering down from above.

Maybe the pugilists heard 'em because they immediately break and move away from the cage.

Nasty exchange shortly after where Brilz scores the first substantive shots of the bout. Schafer looked momentarily stunned, but recovers quickly as the fight goes back to the cage.

The action moves briefly to the ground, courtesy of a single-leg by Brilz before both competitors stand up.

On their feet, Brilz scores a few more solid shots to Schafer's chin as the shorter fighter is picking his adversary apart.

That is, until the Red lands a crushing knee and sends Brilz reeling back to the cage. Schafer's found his range as Brilz begins to fade a bit. Schafer continues to whale away as the clock runs out.

Close one with Brilz dominating early, but Schafer rallied at the end. Call it 10-9 for Brilz.

Round Two

Second round starts same as the first except Schafer gets off the ball early with a huge swing and a miss. Any pretense of going to the ground seems to have been abandoned for the moment as the sweat-soaked competitors throw big and wide.

Nothing much has landed although the crowd seems to disagree.

Now we've stagnated (as usual) against the cage—those little knees from Brilz are fooling nobody.

Lots of punches thrown, but nothing of consequence is landing.

Finally, Schafer gets a nice trip and takes the fight to the canvas. Red lies in Brilz' half-guard, yet hasn't turned it into any advantage on the scorecard. Brilz works for the escape and almost gets it before Schafer re-establishes control.

Schafer throws on an omoplata, much to the crowd's pleasure, but all the rolling and discomfort seems to be for naught as Brilz works free.

Back on their feet, Brilz starts to assert himself with several ringing shots to Schafer's swelling face.

The flurry of action seems to have taxed both men as we're seeing lots of wild arm punches. Schafer's had enough and uses a mild choke to get the fight to the ground where Brilz proceeds to reverse the hold.

With the time gone, Brilz ends another victorious round on top of his opponent.

Another 10-9 for Brilz.

Round Three

I'm not quite sure what Schafer's game plan to start was, but it seems to have devolved into standing in front of Brilz and taking fist after fist to the grill. It's actually impressive that he's still on his feet with any wits about him.

Brilz is simply teeing off for the first 90 seconds of the final stanza with Schafer offering little to no resistance.

Somehow, the fight goes to the ground (seemed like both men simply agreed to fall down) and Schafer mounts his first salvo of the third. Or maybe Brilz was just resting.

The Hitman (that's Brilz' nickname, I just learned) easily retakes his feet and then gets Schafer to the ground in a vulnerable spot. With Schafer on his back, this baby's slipping away.

Schafer tries for a triangle—granted, it was so half-hearted, it could've been any number of submission attempts.

The last 30 seconds are a formality with Brilz grinding Schafer's face with his elbow and then transitioning for a side choke. Now some hammerfists for variety as the horn sounds.

Another 10-9 for Brilz and it should be the North Dakota native by unanimous decision. It is.

Brilz by UD (all three judges had it 29-28).

Julio Paulino vs. Mike Pierce—Welterweights

Yeehaw, Paulino promises a knockout in "spectacular fashion" tonight. The Dominican Demon is actually fighting out of Alaska—there's something you don't see everyday. Pierce reports nothing of note in his hype piece; he's sure he'll win.

And no music for these two. Let's hope the fight is better than the run-up.

Round One

We're off and have foregone the initial feeling out period as Pierce shoots immediately, scoring a takedown for his troubles. Perhaps I spoke too soon; the feeling out period is now taking place with both men on the ground as opposed to the more typical "on the feet" setting.

My thoughts on a feeling out process from two men lying down, one on top of the other? I have none and I'm sticking to that story.

Pierce seems to have had enough of the exploratory period and begins pounding away. I use "pounding" in a liberal sense as these are not the most vicious of blows.

Nevertheless, Pierce is controlling the action on the ground despite Paulino's writhing attempts at escape.

Pierce works to pass Paulino's guard and manages to take half-guard, but that's where the progress stops for the moment.

Still waiting for something to happen...

Still waiting...

Nice elbow from Pierce; the Dominican Demon's no worse for wear as the ref (who shall remain nameless since I don't recognize him—it was Tim Mills) stands 'em up.

Good call. A couple passing exchanges ends up against the cage where Pierce hoists his adversary up and sends him for a ride. The horn sounds before he can turn it to further advantage.

Easy 10-9 for Pierce.

Round Two

For those scoring at home, the Octagon Girls are the biggest hit of the evening so far. Rightly so.

Paulino seems to be a little more comfortable as he lands his first shots of the night. Nothing too remarkable, but it's at least something.

Maybe the "spectacular" finish is still in the offing, but not at this rate.

The action grinds to a halt against the cage as Pierce dutifully works for a single-leg.

In one of the more bizarre pauses I've seen, the ref breaks the fighters apart as Paulino's foot gets caught between the cage and the canvas.

Oof, the momentary stoppage didn't work to the Demon's favor as Pierce comes charging across the open space and slams a couple fists into Paulino's dome.

The New Jersey native fighting out of Alaska doesn't have his feet underneath him as he tries to blink away the cobwebs.

Before Paulino can fully recover, Pierce flies in for the takedown and continues to punish his antagonist on the ground.

Pierce—born in Oregon and fighting out of Vancouver, Wash.—delivers some more abuse from half-guard before Mr. Referee stands them up.

This pattern isn't working for Paulino as he eats some more trouble on his feet. The round dies with Pierce on the defensive for the first time tonight.

Another 10-9 for Pierce (although Paulino's corner tells him it was a "great, great, great round."

If you say so, fellas.

Round Three

The pair start the third with some meek sparring in the center of the cage before Pierce registers his third big slam of the evening. As Brian leaned over and said, "that's one for every round."

Pierce is flat-out dominating this bout.

It'd be shades of B.J. Penn against Diego Sanchez except Paulino isn't bleeding all over the arena. Honestly, I think Paulino's scored one substantial connection—that's it.

I guess his definition of "spectacular fashion" is different from that used by the majority.

The festivities are still on the ground as Pierce seems content to coast to victory while Paulino just can't get away. He finally gets to his feet...for about 15 seconds...then Pierce takes him back to the mat.

The ref stands 'em up again and Paulino scores with some nice front kicks. Unfortunately, with about 30 seconds left, he needs MUCH more than that. He almost gets it with a big blow to Pierce's head, but it's too little and way too late.

The closest round of the battle was still 10-9 for Pierce and the decision should be his unanimously.

Pierce by UD (all three judges had it 30-27).

Chase Gormley vs. Brendan Schaub—Heavyweights

As far as I can tell, Versus has eschewed the musical intros or maybe we're just running late with the first two fights both going the distance. For whatever reason, no tunes.

No surprise, the Hybrid is the crowd favorite as he's born just a few minutes from the arena and fights out of Denver. Good GOD, the place is going nuts, and Gormley got booed like a child molester who kills puppies.

The referee is another unknown (he is now known—Adam Martinez).

Round One

The pace off the block is feverish and Schaub is riding the crowd to a dominating performance. The big fella, ex-NFLer, is having his way with the bigger, but softer adversary.

Big shot after big shot is landing and Schaub is chasing Gormley all over the cage like the Californian native stole something. Gormley flees from side to side and then to the canvas to zero avail.

Mercifully, the ref puts an end to the massacre after a particularly rough upper cut sends Gormley back to the mat.

Schaub by TKO at 47 seconds of the first.

Gormley walks by and to say he's moving gingerly is to say Schaub just eked out that fight. Schaub follows shortly after and a wave of cheers/standing ovations follows him out the tunnel.

Daniel Roberts vs. John Howard—Welterweights

Ahh, the music is back and it's a welcome addition...even if it is rap.

"Ninja" Roberts enters to Drake's "Forever" while "Doomsday" Howard waltzes in to something that sounded like DMX. Don't quote me on that.

Tom Johnson is back to officiate the action.

Round One

If looks could kill, neither of these guys makes it to the cage because they are absolutely ripped up. The action starts with a flurry, but advantage to nobody.

Roberts uses a kimura attempt to cartwheel both fighters to the ground where Roberts starts raining shots down on his fallen opponent. They're on the other side of the cage so it's tough to tell, but nothing critical has landed.

Howard suddenly pulls one of the more impressive reversals I've seen as he picks Roberts up largely by one leg, spins him around, and then sends him to the ground unceremoniously.

Quickly, the Boston-born fighter ends Roberts' promising evening with several enormous shots from above. Then, he seals the victory in spectacular fashion (paying attention, Julio Paulino?) by tumbling into a back flip in the middle of the cage.

We're waiting on the official word and Roberts only now sits up. It will be another couple minutes before he gets to his feet and another several before he knows where he is. Brutal knockout.

Howard by KO at 2:01 of the first (the first of THREE Knockouts of the Night).

Doomsday is one to watch if you buy into a super athlete with heavy hands and a brash-yet-respectful approach. I'm a buyer.

We had a mini-break that I used to visit the john, which means a trip behind the magic curtain that hides the fighters and their entourages.

On my way back, they were attending to Roberts right behind the cloth barricade—my man is still in another world.

That big shot was no joke—consider it the early leader for KO of the Night.

Darren Elkins vs. Duane Ludwig—Lightweights

Huh, this fight wasn't on the vital sheet they gave us about each bout. Wonder if that means one of the below ain't happening.

Regardless, this one's about set to tip and thankfully so because Elkins (about whom I know nothing) enters to a country music abortion while Ludwig chooses what sounds very much like Michael Jackson.

Only it's something from the King of Pop that I've never heard. Maybe it's new.

Ludwig is another Denver homeboy and the crowd responds appropriately. Not like for Schaub, but I can't believe it has too many ovations like that one left in it.

Tim Mills is our referee.

Round One

The little guys always get after it fast and furiously; these two are no different. After a couple seconds of frenetic action, Elkins shoots in for a takedown and gets it.

Big time.

Ludwig's left ankle gets caught underneath his own posterior and that sucker is broken. At the very least, it's dislocated badly. I mean, it was turned around 180 degrees and STUCK there for a good three or four seconds.

Enough time for the camera to capture it perfectly. And graphically.

Yikes.

And the most incredible thing?

"Bang" Ludwig barely even grimaced, just tapped "The Damage" on the shoulder as if to politely say, "Excuse me, but my appendage is pointing the wrong direction. Could you please cease and desist? Thank you."

Elkins by TKO 44 seconds into the first.

After that ugliness—the injury, the fight looked like it was going to be a war—we've got another 10 minute respite during which we are regaled with this hybrid genre of music to which the UFC seems partial.

Currently, it's Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" mashed up with Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina." Unless I'm mistaken, this atrocity is a staple of UFC events.

Why?

Your guess is as good as mine—I know the bar at which I used to bounce LOVED Journey's anthem and it was always a sure-fire way to get the entire place singing along. But I don't imagine too many Journey faithful swear by Tone Loc.

Very odd.

Vladimir Matyushenko vs. Eliot Marshall—Light Heavyweights

OK, we're back and slated for one of the more intriguing match-ups of the night.

You must never underestimate a 39-year-old Belorussian that goes by the unforgettable name of the "The Janitor." For the record, Matyushenko enters to something metal-esque that I don't recognize. Maybe it was from Belarus.

What makes the bout so intriguing is that Vladimir is a stiff opponent for the home-standing "Fire" Marshall.

The first Denver rep (Schaub) got what looked to be a tomato can in Gormley. Ludwig, the second Denver-ite on the night, got what had the makings of a better challenge.

So, continuing with the trend (which is obviously ironclad logic) this should be the most sincere threat to the crowd favorite. And he is the crowd favorite, but still not approaching Schaub.

Adam Martinez is back on the scene.

Round One

Marshall must've studied up on the Janitor because he is wisely deploying caution in the form of outside shots. Nothing's landed until a stiff leg kick from The Fire finds a soft spot.

The Belorussian likes the idea and chops back with leg kicks of his own; two hardy ones land.

Marshall backs up to the cage where a nice right from Matyushenko is waiting. The older gladiator is getting the better of the early going; showing that Eastern Bloc poise and patience.

Ahh, there's that jinx to which I'm so accustomed—Marshall feints a superman punch and secures a home for a shot straight down the pipe. That seems to have loosened Colorado's third son a bit as some big paws are flowing more freely.

Of course, Urijah Faber's taken a seat right behind us and that seems to be more to the crowd's liking than the action in the cage.

A head kick from Marshall is blocked as the horn sounds. I'll give that one to Matyushenko for the early domination, 10-9.

Round Two

As the second round gets under way, it's clear that Marshall is the faster and quicker participant. That's not too surprising considering the age difference (the Janitor has a full decade on the Fire Marshall).

What is surprising is that Marshall cannot find a way to translate that considerable advantage onto the scorecard. He's locating his shots better so the tide may be turning.

However, his advantage so far is merely the product of staying more active in the second.

In other words, I can't say Matyushenko is absorbing too much damage while losing the second.

Just as I type that, the Janitor catches a kick from Marshall and slings the younger fighter to the ground. Now, the Belorussian stands over his downed adversary to no harm.

Marshall springs back to his feet as the last seconds tick away. The round ends with both men in the center of the Octagon, right where they started.

Give that one to Marshall, 10-9, simply for being more active.

Round Three

My scorecard says this round is for all the marbles and that might be bad news for Marshall. Matyushenko's leg kicks appear to be bearing some serious fruit from the Fire Marshall's left leg.

Likewise, The Ultimate Fighter alumnus can't seem to stop the Janitor's left hook. Another slapping kick lands to Marshall's left leg as he immediately takes weight off it and spins to avoid further agony.

That's never gonna look good to the judges. Especially when it sounds so bad.

The calm on Matyushenko is splendid to watch—it's not as if Marshall is laying back. He's coming forward with lunging kicks and punches, but the Janitor calmly weathers the storm or deftly sidesteps it.

A rarity as Matyushenko shoots for a takedown and is semi-successful before Marshall shakes free.

Give Marshall an "A" for effort and an "F" for execution as Matyushenko scores another takedown. The crowd surges to carry Marshall to a last-second miracle, but it ain't happening.

The Janitor is too savvy for that—10-9 for Matyushenko. It should be close, but I say it's a unanimous decision for the Belorussian. Wow, it doesn't matter because the Janitor takes a split decision, but you've got to wonder what the one judge was watching.

Maybe he/she is also from Denver.

Matyushenko by split decision (30-27, 28-29, 30-27).

Marshall is now blatantly favoring that leg.

Judge Curtis Thrasher was the guilty member of the panel—29-28 for Marshall?!? Really?

Shannon Gugerty vs. Clay Guida—Lightweights

Hmm, the Carpenter gets the biggest ovation for a non-local fighter we've heard yet and in the hype reel, no less.

I've never really understood the mania for Guida except that he's a whirlwind of action every time out. On second though, I think I just answered my own (implicit) question.

Gugerty enters first to some thrash punk or close thereto—Google says it's "Prayer of the Refugee" by Rise Against. Okie-dokie. Guida opts for Red Hot Chili Peppers "Can't Stop"—despite their Cali connection, I've never been a particular fan.

The crowd loves Clay Guida; it's an impressive endorsement of his appeal.

I'm still partial to Arianny...

Sweet, Herb Dean makes his first appearance.

Round One

The crowd is now chanting for Guida—that's a benediction they didn't even bestow upon local hero Brendan Schaub.

Incidentally, the chanting is falling on deaf ears as the competitors have yet to engage. Shockingly, the Carpenter is the first to wade in and he finds himself in a choke. No sooner does he bang his way out of the choke than he finds himself in another of the triangle variety.

This is the point in the telecast where Joe Rogan usually points out this is bad since the fighters haven't worked up a sweat yet i.e. it's tougher to shirk the submissions. Notwithstanding the lack of slickness, Guida powers out of the submission attempt and takes a more dominant position.

The grapplers are still on the ground as a third round of "Guida" chants crests and dies. Gugerty's maintaining nice control from the bottom, but the Carpenter's winning the round from his adversary's half-guard.

Finally, Guida slips out into side control, but there might not be enough time left for him to take advantage. A couple short shots to the head, followed by some elbows, and then the horn.

That's 10-9 for Guida.

Second Round

The second round starts much like the first ended—with Guida in control.

Gugerty comes out a touch more aggressively, even landing a leg kick, but the Carpenter quickly establishes the upper hand using a hip toss. Gugerty manages another guillotine choke, but the fan favorite wrestles out of it with little trouble.

The escape is followed by some more short shots from Guida as he has his opponent trapped up against the base of the cage right in front of us. A little ground-n-pound is interspersed with a brief kimura attempt, but Gugerty almost uses the window to extricate himself so Guida lets it go.

Now, Guida's back in full guard and throwing down double hammerfists like a gorilla in the jungle. Gugerty's not enjoying them and gives Guida the full mount in his panic.

That's a mistake you won't surive—the Carpenter exploits the opening like lightning and finishes the fight via side choke (aka arm triangle choke).

Guida by submission (arm triangle choke) at 3:40 of second round (Submission of the Night).

MAIN CARD

"Baba O'Riley" from The Who means the Main Card is imminent...as does the 10-fold increase in the bass levels. We're back in the territory where your entire body reverberates from the sound system.

It's impressive, but can't be healthy—don't GIs sustain serious damage from explosive concussions rattling their bodily organs?

Yes, I'm comparing watching a live UFC event to being in the proximity of a rocket exploding. So what?

With the second live blog entering the fray, my mission objectives switch—my orders are to back off the play-by-play and leave the technical stuff to those better equipped to handle it.

No problem there.

James Irvin vs. Alessio Sakara—Middleweights

This is probably not the time to go to the fridge or restroom—the Sandman hasn't been out of the first since 2006 and the same could be said for Sakara until his three round decision over Thales Leites last year.

Furthermore, Irvin put out the lights on Houston Alexander in eight seconds while the Assassin did the same to Sakara in 61 seconds. That's not to say Irvin will win since we all know the transitive property only works in math, but don't bet on a long fight.

Whoa, "Enter Sandman" by Metallica only sounds better the louder you play it. Consequently, the tune would be best described as orgasmic coming from these speakers.

If they play "Master of Puppets" or "Creeping Death" at this volume, I might not have much left to write.

Legionarius (awesome, awesome nickname—why don't more warriors borrow from their forerunners?) is Italian. He was born, according to Sherdog, in Rome—can you think of a better back story for a modern day gladiator?

His intro is no less chill-inducing, but it's that symphonic number that opens every epic battle scene you've ever seen in Hollywood. Sadly, I don't know the name.

Josh Rosenthal gets the action. Don't blink.

Round One

Both men look a little softer than usual, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense since they're both competing at a lighter weight than we've seen previously. Not much in the way of hostilities until Sakara goes for a kick and winds up on his rear (through no fault of Irvin's).

Good lord, you see a lot of tattoos in the UFC, but Legionarius takes it to a whole new level. He looks like one of those dudes whose life ambition is to cover his whole corpus in ink.

I guess that's one way to go.

Irvin's got his share of body art, but he looks like he spends more time in a tanning salon. Sacramento ain't that sunny.

Whoo, stinging hooks from Sakara find their mark and simultaneously give testament to the Sandman's chin. Another left hook from the Italian catches about 90 percent of Irvin's face, but the other 10 percent caught the American's eye.

The powers-that-be check the Sandman's vision as the crowd urges them to fight. The crowd's gonna go home unsatisfied because this bad rider is o-v-e-r.

Ugh, what a let down.

For those scoring at home and upon further review, it didn't look like too much of a poke. Looked more like a solid fist to the orbital that gave the Sandman pause. No matter.

Sakara by TKO at 3:01 of the first round.

Guess I put a serious hex on that one with my build-up. Oops. In my defense, they didn't make it out of the first...

To get the crowd back in a good mood, the big screen shows a cherubic Uriah Faber in the crowd. Too bad he's no longer sitting behind me otherwise I would've gotten my 15 seconds of fame.

Another day.

Paul Buentello vs. Cheick Kongo—Heavyweights

We've officially arrived at our requisite head-scratcher of the evening. This would've been a gnarly fight several years ago—maybe more than that for Buentello. As the heavyweight division currently stands, the bout begs the question, "why bother?"

Neither of these guys is going to figure in the championship picture going forward. Granted, that's not the only thing that makes a good fight—it's not even necessary.

Still...

The Headhunter might only be a year older than Kongo, but he's got almost twice as many fights as well as four extra years on his resume. If you're curious, he entered to something in Spanish that had a familiar feel to it.

Kongo completes the all-international flavor to the intros as he strides to the Octagon to (presumably) French rap.

Yeah, French rap—I can't tell you how hard that is to type at the moment. My hunger has me involuntarily typing French dip.

Mmmmm...

Buentello gets an obscene ovation. This crowd appreciates its locals, its high-energy fighters, and (apparently) its history.

Herb Dean shares the Octagon.

Round One

The Headhunter certainly looks the picture of boyish exuberance as he bounces around in front of the jacked Kongo.

Do you think it messes with the fighter's head when he comes in a little soft around the midsection to face a monster who looks chiseled out of granite?

I think it would bother me.

Will wonders never cease? Kongo actually secures a takedown.

And on purpose!

Of course, he then proves why he rarely takes a battle to the ground by doing absolutely squat. Holy lord, another slam from Frenchie.

What the hell is going on here? I thought these fellas were strikers? Somebody tell Kongo.

Here we go again—the action is stopped as it looks like Buentello either broke his finger or did something else equally painful to it. The big man will fight through it, however, much to the crowd's delight.

Still no word on what actually happened and no replays to shed some light on the matter. The Headhunter is certainly ready to go, though, egging the arena on. That's the largest cheerleader I've ever seen.

The cheerleader gets an express ride to the mat for a third time. Either Kongo's turned over a new leaf or he sees a weakness and it's the primary point of attack in his gameplan. I'm not sure it's a good idea because he's not doing anything on the ground after the takedowns.

The round ends with Kongo finally dishing out some brutality.

Definitely 10-9 for Kongo.

Round Two

Ah, here's what we came for—the strikes are flowing from Kongo as the second iteration begins. Buentello might've been really stoked to keep waging battle after the injury in the first, but he certainly doesn't look so enthused now.

The man has a hell of a back pedal, though.

Uh oh, yet another stoppage as the Headhunter gets time off for a knee from Kongo while the former had a knee on the canvas. Needless to say, the televised portion of the card is off to an...unsteady start.

We're about ready to restart as Dean takes a point from Kongo, who seems really broken up about it.

So broken up, in fact, that he's taking it out on Buentello.

Knee after knee to the midsection is followed by several more crisp shots to the Headhunters considerable beard. He won't win this match, but Buentello's proving again how battle-tested he is.

What an exchange right in front of us—Kongo's teeing off on Buentello until a shot catches the Headhunter particularly flush. It's as if that blow angered Buentello, however, because he immediately started tossing back bombs of his own.

One might've even landed.

Cheick finishes the second with another flurry of insult to injury. Call it 9-9 due to the point deduction.

Round Three

Buentello is getting utterly slaughtered, but give the guy some credit—he is an absolute trooper. The gnarled veteran is getting his head handed to him, yet he still looks genuinely happy to start the third.

Hmm, the good feeling doesn't last long as Kongo proceeds to throttle his adversary with all manner of strikes. Finally, after a prone Headhunter has absorbed some evil knees and elbows, the big man waves the white flag.

Or taps out, as it's called in MMA. Pretty anticlimactic end to what had been a thorough performance from Kongo.

Kongo by submission (strikes) at 1:16 of the third round.

The UFC is gonna need these next two bouts to deliver otherwise it's looking at the first pseudo-faceplant of 2010. I'm sure Versus is rooting for the same thing, as should we all.

If for no other reason than the network's use of Metallica's "One" in its commercials. Anyone or anything that deploys Hetfield and company is cool with me, even if it's a manipulated version of a classic.

Gabriel Gonzaga vs. Junior dos Santos—Heavyweights

Let's be honest here, folks. These next two should-be wars are what sold the entire card so the best should be yet to come. Should be. We'll see.

Gonzaga enters to "Mother" by Danzig while dos Santos (as he did at UFC 108) trundles up to the "Rocky" theme. Too bad such a scintillating warrior tabs such a lame song—oh well, the crowd always loves it.

Rosenthal is back in the cage.

Round One

Napao, Gonzaga's nickname, means "big nose." That's weird—I don't think I'd draw more attention to a prominent target. Why do your adversary any favors...like reminding him to whack that big schnozzola?

There is quite a bit of punching power locked in those eight sides at the moment and Cigano looks very aware of the fact. He's come out more tentative than I can remember seeing him.

The water-testing period of the fight lasts a good 2.5 minutes before the leather (and feet) start to fly. But it's an abbreviated flight as both return to stalking each other rather than standing toe-to-toe.

A couple big shots land from both fighters.

Yikes.

Junior dos Santos has some serious nuclear warheads in his hands. After a brief exchange where both gave as good as they got, Cigano beat Napao's kick to the punch and laid him out on the canvas.

A couple more big heavies from above and this one's in the books.

Very much shades of Shane Carwin over Gonzaga. Not bad company at all for dos Santos and more touch medicine for Napao—the guy has looked pretty good against two of the top contenders at heavyweight.

That is, right up until he was put to sound sleep. Twice.

Dos Santos by KO at 3:53 of the first round (second Knockout of the Night).

Ladies and gents, we have a new leader for Knockout of the Night.

And a growing blip on the heavyweight radar. Actually, dos Santos might as well be a big, fat land mass on that radar.

Jon Jones vs. Brandon Vera—Light Heavyweights

In case anyone was wondering about Bones' mentality—the only reasonable question after witnessing his savage athleticism—he lists as two of his heroes Anderson "The Spider" Silva and Fedor "The Last Emperor" Emelianenko.

Clearly, the fourth youngest gladiator in the UFC has been paying attention. He even scores with his intro music, "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z . Made all the better because he is, in fact, an Empire State native.

Just for icing, he throws in a handspring before the fight.

My nonsexual man-crush only grows.

I think Vera is approaching the Octagon, but I'm too distracted by the Octagon girls dancing to his theme music. For my part, I can take it or leave it and I don't recognize it (I don't even recognize the language).

Meanwhile, Jones has been crab-hopping around the cage. My man has some serious energy. Probably stoked a tad by the war of words engaged in by both men prior to the scheduled pleasantries.

Jones and Vera don't compete in quite the same way, but they still seem very similar. Bones seems like a younger, improved version of the Truth—who once proclaimed he would be the first simultaneous belt-holder in two different weight divisions.

And both rock the Muay Thai shorts, which add a few scary points on my scale.

Jones is the fan favorite in a landslide—Vera actually caught some boos.

Herb Dean's got the call.

Round One

No hesitation from either fighter as Vera comes out with his favored knees in full blur. For his part, Jones immediately scores one of his trips/takedowns—although it was unorthodoxedly orthodox for Bones.

Regardless of which warrior you prefer, both these hombres are supreme athletes and both are showing it as they neutralize each other's greatest strengths. Nevertheless, Bones is gaining the upper hand as he showers the Truth with blows from above.

We've got yet another stoppage as Vera gets the riot act for an illegal up-kick that catches Jones squarely in the mouth. The Truth gets a point deducted and the action restarts with Vera on his back again.

Another up-kick misses (that seems to make it legal) as the younger fighter continues to ride top position.

Well, that didn't take too long.

We go from zero to 60 in about three seconds as Jones rocks Vera with a seismic left elbow that puts the Truth on tilt. A couple more elbows and big fists officially puts the fork in Vera.

It's hard to believe, but the once-promising career of the Truth may now be relegated to the dreaded "Gate Keeper" status after this dismantling. He still looks tremendously dangerous, but his record doesn't justify that characterization.

Jones by TKO at 3:19 of the first (the final Knockout of the Night).

All the fight hasn't left Vera as he trash talks some of the more critical crowd on his way out. Hey, the guy might've just gotten bitch-slapped by another professional fighter, but I'd still say it's unwise and the height of cowardice to mock him from the safety of several barricades.

Me thinks the courage in the stands would quail quickly if face-to-face with Mr. Vera.

I know mine would.

And, on that note, it's time to call it a night, party people.

A pretty entertaining event on the whole despite the unsightly lull to begin the main card. But nobody's perfect.

Not even Joe Silva and the UFC.

**www.pva.org**