Yes, pivots work in MMA

Enough of MMA's backwards mindset. We're twirling, twirling, twirling toward freedom.

I am losing my mind.

Over the past few weeks, a debate has raged on social media. On one side, clever people like Miguel Class, a fantastic analyst whose work I encourage you to check out on Substack and Youtube. On the other side, a collection of people whom I might generously describe as misinformed, and less generously as a danger to themselves and others.

The topic of this debate: do pivots work in MMA?

The short answer to this question is, “Yes.”

The long answer is, “Yes—obviously. How could you possibly think otherwise? I mean, how is this even a question? What is wrong with you?”

The even longer answer, and hopefully one that will change some of the misguided minds out there, will comprise the rest of this piece.

Pivots are ESSENTIAL

There has long been a sort of video game mindset in the world of MMA technique. Fans and fighters alike treat the vast array of techniques available like a buffet, from which you can pick and choose as you like. “Oh, I think I’ll have the switch kick, the overhand right and… ooh, that flying knee looks really good. Two of those, thanks.”

This way of thinking informs an argument I have encountered far too many times in this debate. Folks will say, “sure, a pivot can work, but you can’t do it all the time.”

Like a pivot is some sort of trick shot, no less situational than a wheel kick or a spinning elbow. No, no, no. Pivoting is, in fact, something fighters should be doing all the time. And I do mean all the time.

Let me put it like this: you can’t do anything on the ground unless you know how to hip escape, right? All your triangles, armbars, and scissor sweeps ain’t worth shit unless you know how to plant a foot and shift your hips to one side. Without that one move, the other moves just don’t work.

Well, what shrimping is to BJJ, pivoting is to striking. Which is to say that it is absolutely fundamental. Pivoting isn’t one of a dozen different dishes to be chosen a la carte; it is a leg of the table on which the whole damn buffet is laid out. It isn’t just that pivots work in MMA: they work in every standup combat sport, even those that don’t employ strikes, like wrestling and judo.

Now I can’t fully blame people who doubt the efficacy of pivots in MMA. They’d appreciate the maneuver more if they saw it more often. But the sad reality is that many, many high level MMA fighters are ignorant of this basic technique. I mean, we just saw one of the most effective strikers in middleweight history beaten by a caveman because he couldn’t remember how to cut an angle without exposing his back. And the setup to this punchline was the fact that, for years, dozens of opponents were so ignorant themselves of the fundamentals of footwork that they completely failed to punish this gaping hole in his game.

You’ve heard the expression “don’t try to run before you can walk.” Well, in MMA there is a whole host of athletes zipping around on motorcycles despite the fact that they can barely walk ten paces sober.

The Everyday Pivot

Miguel Class, the absolute bastard who brought the existence of this debate to my attention, has been posting lots of examples of pivots on Twitter. The most recent featured Jessica Andrade (of all people) hitting a slip-pivot combo on Marina Rodriguez at UFC 300.

Now this is a nice move, and I believe I understand why Miguel would choose it to illustrate his point. It’s an eye-catching pivot, part of a sequence of defensive moves that lead immediately to an effective counterattack. As someone who spends a lot of time trawling through fight footage for examples, I’m always excited to find a clip like this. Plus, it’s Jessica Andrade, so you know the move can’t be that hard to pull off.

It occurs to me, however, that part of the confusion around whether or not pivots work in MMA may stem from the prevalence of such flashy illustrations. People see this and think “Ah—but that’s a big, committal move. Do that too many times and you’ll get punished!”

Let’s set aside the fact that this argument is nothing more than a form of conservatism peculiar to MMA (the same could be said of an overhand right, for example, and no MMA fan under the sun is arguing that those don’t work). The Andrade example does indeed show a big, committal pivot, as do the many clips of Jose Aldo that get thrown around in the same discussions. These all have the look and feel of a “special move,” a trick that you might pull out every now and then. So when I say that pivots are not only an effective tool but a necessity, you may think I mean that every mixed martial artist should be whirling around the cage like Oleksandr Usyk.

But these are pivots.

As are these.

And these too.

None of these are eye-catching moves. No one here is entering bullet-time, running circles around a haplessly swinging foe. These are ordinary pivots. Workmanlike. Everyday pivots. They are preventative, not evasive, having more to do with the maintenance of a good position than the creation of a sudden opportunity. This move right here, along with the humble jab, comprises one half of the two-horse team that pulls the cart of positional striking.

When someone says that pivots don’t work in MMA, these are the kinds of examples I think of first. I think of these simple, useful maneuvers and I laugh, then cry. Because how could anyone argue that this doesn’t work in MMA? Are we really suggesting that the only way to win an MMA fight is to stand directly in front of your opponent at all times? Or are we merely arguing that the only proper way to get out of the opponent’s sights is to leap away and run like poor Israel Adesanya? If pivoting is dangerous, then surely not pivoting is even more dangerous, yes?

Circles, triangles, and straight lines

Let’s delve further into that last question. If pivoting is so risky, then what are the supposedly safer alternatives?

Let’s say that you are an impressionable young MMA fighter—so impressionable that you have chosen to heed the advice of MMA fans. Pivoting is bad, they say, and you listen. But your coach keeps telling you not to stand in front of your opponent. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Undoubtedly the first thing you will try is to simply back away from the opponent. This absolutely works; distance is the surest defense against any attack your opponent can muster, provided he hasn’t brought a gun. But the opponent will always be able to cover that distance faster than you can create it, by virtue of the fact that he is the one moving forward. Realizing this, you may start covering your retreats, snapping out the jab as you step back. This works too! But say the opponent anticipates your covering fire: stepping forward, he slips the jab, loading up a counter in the process—and where do you end up? Right back where you started: standing in front of your opponent, minus a whole heap of initiative. Repeat this process only a few times, and before you know it your back has hit the fence; you’re trapped.

Worse, there is a psychological component to consider. Retreating constantly will inevitably trigger the part of the brain that MMA fighters share with mailman-chasing dogs. Maybe this works to your advantage if you’re a dynamite counter puncher—but if all you want is a little breathing room, a moment to reset, then you will end up coaxing the opponent into the very fight you’re trying to avoid. This is why the vast majority of MMA fights are won by the fighter going forward. The more a fighter retreats, the more initiative his opponent builds up. The attack conducts itself.

Okay, so backing up on a straight line works, but not all the time. You recall your coach saying something about circling, though. Aha! If you circle around your opponent, then he will be unable to chase straight after you; he’ll have to work to cut you off, and at the very least that means more time for you to enjoy your hard-earned space.

So you start circling the way most MMA fighters do, like this:

Before you know it, though, you run into more problems. Sure, now the opponent has to cut you off rather than simply chasing you, but he has traded his mechanical advantage for a geometric one. See, the circle described by your feet is quite large—it has to be, because you’re moving around the opponent while trying to stay out of his range. His circle is much smaller by comparison. The result is that for every two or three steps you take, your opponent only has to take one. In a smaller ring or cage, he may not even have to step at all: he can simply pivot on his back foot, and bless you with the feeling of taking laps around a tank turret.

And another thing: once you’ve started circling, how do you stop? That’s Edson Barboza in the last example. If you’ve seen a few of his fights, then you’re likely familiar with the downward spiral (outward spiral?) characteristic to his losses. He starts galloping to the side, the opponent works to cut him off. Bit by bit they gain ground, forcing Barboza to gallop harder and harder. Ultimately he stumbles into the fence, and the opponent has his way with him.

This happens because circling via sidestep, like Edson here, is a purely defensive move. Look at Edson’s feet. The first thing he does when he decides he wants to get out of Dodge is take his lead foot back (already a huge no-no in the world of boxing), squaring his stance in order to cover more ground laterally. He loses even the idea of a jab as a result. No lead foot, no jab; no jab, no way to keep the opponent from crashing in. And if you have nothing to keep the opponent at bay, how exactly are you supposed to reset? If you’re Edson Barboza, you hope like hell the opponent is too slow to catch you. If they aren’t, you lose.

Every single one of these faults are addressed by that one move which supposedly doesn’t work in MMA.

Pivots follow a pattern like a spoked wheel. There is a small circle at the center, the perimeter of which is drawn by the toes of the lead foot. This is not a fixed point: each pivot is prepared with a small sidestep—moving the lead foot onto the next spoke—or else you will soon find that you have turned your back on the opponent. You don’t even need a partner to test this out. Find a stationary object and try to pivot around it without changing the position of your lead foot; it won’t take long before you find that you’re no longer looking at the thing you were trying to move around.

The rear foot always occupies the spoke adjacent to the lead. There will always be a straight line from one foot to the other, what with humans only having two feet to work with. This line is a weakness. A blow struck either directly parallel or directly perpendicular to that line will have a terrible effect because the impact cannot be absorbed by both feet together. This is why the feet must be staggered, with the center-line hidden from the opponent behind the lead foot. No squaring up like poor Barboza.

The jab is an integral part of this whole scheme. See, the jab follows the line projected by the lead foot, as indicated by the red arrow in my diagram. Even when it is kept at home, the jab exists as a threat, a dynamic barrier which keeps the opponent at bay and makes it dangerous for him to try accessing your center-line: if he attempts to circle around your lead foot, he has to pass through the jab’s line of fire. Even if he does gain access to that vulnerable center-line, well then all you have to do is pivot and—presto—the center line is tucked away and the threat of the jab is reintroduced.

And that is only one of the threats that can be created by the pivot. Whether retreating on a straight line or circling, circling, circling a la Barboza, you will always be moving away from the opponent. This will certainly keep you safe a lot of the time—remember, distance is the best defense. But defense alone doesn’t win fights. Barring a massive reach disparity, moving out of the opponent’s range means moving out of your range, too, making it damn near impossible to get off any offense.

When you pivot, however, you actually move closer to the opponent. To them it will feel as if you have moved away—they have to reset their feet before they can get to you, just as if you’d taken a step back. Suddenly the opponent is the one moving instead of throwing, almost as if you’re the one pressuring them—and that’s when you smack them with a combination. You don’t sit on the position, because you can’t; this ain’t grappling. Instead you force the opponent to take your angle away, and nail them while they’re distracted.

I don’t know about you, but I find this whole concept sublimely beautiful. The pivot and the jab combine to produce an efficient mechanism, one which, at all times, simultaneously attacks and defends. A perfect system for the zero-sum game of prizefighting.

But not, I guess, for MMA.