Alexander Volkanovski: too old to win, too good to lose

You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a hero a second time.

In many walks of life, it is true what they say: age really is just a number. I mean, the world is full of people picking up guitar in their 40s, trying out stand-up comedy in their 50s, getting their first college degree in their 60s. If you, the reader, are approaching some big, scary number in your life, don’t let that stop you from finding a new mountain to climb, a new obstacle to overcome; life ain’t over till it’s over.

However, unless you are a 22 year-old with daddy issues, a background in wrestling, and no other useful skills, I would recommend against fixing your eye on a UFC title. There is such a thing as a young man’s game, and MMA is it.

This is what makes what Alexander Volkanovski achieved at UFC 314 so goddamn impressive. Though universally regarded as one of the best men to ever compete in the featherweight division, it seemed all but certain that Volkanovski’s best days were behind him after a pair of brutal knockout losses. Volkanovski was never known for his iron chin, but it was still quite a shock when Islam Makhachev head-kicked him into oblivion back in 2023. When he returned to featherweight the following year only for Ilia Topuria to snatch both his consciousness and his belt, the thought of seeing him return to face yet another power puncher was not a pleasant one.

Diego Lopes is more than a power puncher; he’s a finisher, through and through. In 26 professional wins, he has scored 10 KOs and 12 submissions. And aside from a few losses much earlier in his career, he has proven all but impossible to knock out.

That’s what had weenies like me so worried about this matchup. And indeed, it turned out to be one hell of a nerve-wracking experience, perhaps more so for me than for Alexander Volkanovski himself. But it was also a stark reminder of just how great a fighter this man was, is, and will hopefully continue to be for some time to come.

Footwork as a weapon

One thing that stood out in this fight was just how much time Volkanovski spent circling to his right. The only other fight in which Volkanovski stuck so steadfastly to that idea was against the Korean Zombie, and the similarities between Zombie and Lopes are obvious: two big men with big right hands. It doesn’t take much imagination to deduce why Volkanovski might be tempted to move away from that punch in both cases.

“Circle away from the power hand” is one of those boxing adages that gets repeated too much and too mindlessly for my liking—like “keep your hands up.” Fighters hear this advice constantly, and yet one look at any random fight will reveal that orthodox fighters spend the vast majority of their time circling towards the opponent’s back hand.

Why?

Well, for one, it’s just easier. In an orthodox stance, clockwise movement is far more natural than the opposite. It also works just fine as a means of avoiding that power hand: a timely pivot to the left not only takes a fighter’s chin off the line of fire, it also brings his own left shoulder into position as a shield. Yes, it will also be easier for the opponent to adjust the trajectory of his cross when he doesn’t have to punch across his own body, but this just means the defending fighter shouldn’t move mindlessly. In other words, circling towards the power hand places more emphasis on the defending fighter’s timing, but good timing is easier to come by when you’re moving comfortably and naturally.

This does not, however, mean that there is never any reason to circle to the right. As noted above, punching across one’s own body is a cumbersome affair. The right hand is already the farthest weapon from the target; all the more so when you keep trying to get a peek at the guy’s left shoulder blade. And the inherent awkwardness of counterclockwise movement goes both ways: if it is awkward for the defending fighter to circle to the right, then it will be just as awkward for the man with the deadly right hand. Since lateral movement literally forces the opponent to adjust his feet before he can throw, it makes a lot of sense to go this way if you think the guy’s got more power than positional savvy.

This is almost certainly the calculation made by Volkanovski and his team. Lopes, like Jung before him, was a big hitter, dangerous in a stand off—but not much of a dancer.

One thing I have always loved about Volk is his keen understanding that footwork is as much an offensive weapon as it is a defensive one. This is pretty obvious on the basic level. If you let someone mosey around to your back, then he can hit you with pretty much whatever he wants. Unfortunately, this threat is so very basic that even brutes like Lopes know not to let it happen. Every time Volkanovski moved one way or the other, Lopes was not far behind in turning to face him once again.

This leads, however, to a second-order threat: if your lateral movement compels the opponent to adjust, then in fact footwork generates a kind of initiative, and it is possible to lead the dance, to set traps without throwing a single strike.

Take a look at this beauty.

Volkanovski’s corner called this an “intercept right,” and it’s a perfect name. At first it sort of looks like a counter, like Volk is reading and punishing Lopes’ own right uppercut. In fact, he isn’t punishing the punch at all, but the step preceding it. Take a close look at the fighters’ footwork. First, Volkanovski takes a step to the right, and a split-second later Lopes goes left to match him. The champ notices this timely adjustment and infers the pattern. He moves again—or seems to—and again Lopes takes a step to the left to cut him off; but actually Volk hasn’t changed angles at all. Indeed, he has made the angle come to him. As Lopes moves in anticipation of the next sidestep, he unintentionally squares himself up, and Volkanovski drops the right hand on him before he has a chance to bail. Of course, Lopes isn’t the type to bail, anyway, but his punches fall a moment late and a few inches short.

Rhythm is an important component of this trick. You can really feel it when you watch the sequence in slow motion. Volknovski’s sidestep has a steady, one-two pulse, which Lopes unwittingly mirrors. Volk’s next movement, which is really just a sort of footwork feint, implies the same rhythm, but the right hand comes a half beat before the expected second step, which is why Lopes basically steps face-first into it.

This is just classic Volkanovski, the kind of high-level tactical awareness that sets him apart from the rest of his division, even if he is a step slower and shade more fragile than he was at his best.

Underestimation

Of course, Volkanovski is slower and more fragile than he used to be; that’s the truth. It is also true that Diego Lopes is a fighter of uncommon power, durability, and above all determination.