Win or Learn: MMA, Conor McGregor and Me: A Trainer's Journey

by John Kavanagh

  The only obstacle in arranging this fight was weight. Owing to the short notice, Diaz didn’t want it at 155lb. At first, a catchweight of 160lb was suggested, and Diaz seemed happy with that initially. But then he changed his mind and asked for 165lb. At that point in the negotiations, Conor was done with the back-and-forth.

  ‘Tell Nate to get comfortable,’ he said. ‘I don’t want him making any excuses. Let’s do it at 170lb.’

  And that was that. In the space of twelve weeks, Conor was going to fight in UFC main events at both featherweight and welterweight, jumping right over lightweight. ‘Unprecedented’ was beginning to feature regularly in his vocabulary. His mind was in a place where he felt nobody could touch him. The who, where or when of the situation didn’t matter.

  The build-up to this new match-up was brief but enjoyable, as two witty guys exchanged insults during the press conferences. However, it was disappointing and quite baffling for me to observe Diaz’s accusations that Conor had used performance-enhancing drugs. Considering that a couple of Diaz’s own teammates had been penalized for PED use previously, it seemed particularly bizarre. It was probably little more than an attempt to get under Conor’s skin. But if Diaz was hoping to wind Conor up, he didn’t succeed. I’ve always thought that clean fighters recognize each other. I believe Diaz is a clean fighter and that, deep down, he knew there was no substance to what he was saying.

  Conor had just arrived in the US, accompanied by Artem Lobov and Ido Portal, when he learned of the withdrawal of Rafael dos Anjos. Again, Los Angeles was the initial base before moving across to Las Vegas. I followed them out for fight week, landing on Monday. With nine SBG fighters competing on a show in Dublin for British promotion BAMMA on the previous Saturday night, I had been unable to travel out any earlier.

  When I met the guys in LA, they were incredibly calm. Even compared to the José Aldo build-up, it was a very laid-back atmosphere. It felt like we were preparing for a fun exhibition fight, not a UFC pay-per-view main event. With no weight to cut, Conor was certainly enjoying a more flexible diet and that was reflected in his mood. I had never seen him in such good spirits in fight week.

  Removing the need to cut weight actually made it a very strange time because those last few days are ordinarily focused almost entirely on the number on the scales. Without that, I found that I almost had to remind myself that we were actually preparing for a fight. That change to the routine really threw us off. When we were backstage, waiting to walk out for the weigh-ins, I realized that I didn’t even have a bottle of water with me. We didn’t need one, because Conor was fully hydrated and well under the weight limit at 168lb, but I searched around and found one anyway, because that’s just how we usually do things.

  I’ve always felt that having a relaxed mindset going into a fight is a positive, but maybe there’s such a thing as being a little bit too relaxed. Both backstage and in the arena itself, it seemed like there was a party atmosphere at the MGM Grand for UFC 196. It didn’t feel like any other UFC event I had been involved in. Even in the changing rooms beforehand it was difficult to process the fact that there was a fight ahead. From Conor’s perspective, everything was fine. The warm-up was good and he was looking as sharp as ever. But this was our fourth time in these changing rooms in the space of eighteen months and this time it just felt different.

  This was the first time at the MGM Grand that we walked out after the opponent. As we waited for our turn to go, I had my eyes on one of the TV monitors backstage. For a split second, I actually said to myself: ‘Oh, cool. Look, Nate Diaz is fighting.’

  I quickly checked myself and remembered that I wasn’t sitting at home watching a UFC event from the comfort of the couch. Yes, Nate Diaz was fighting, but we were the ones in the opposite corner.

  When we walked out and positioned ourselves beside the octagon, I was excited. These were two alpha male warriors going toe-to-toe. There were no belts on the line, no drama over weight-cutting. It felt like old-school prize-fighting. One martial artist testing his skills against another. This was purely about ability. As a spectator, I was eager to find out what would unfold. This contest was going to be a privilege to watch.

  The first round played out pretty much as I expected. At the end of it I was relatively satisfied, but not completely happy. While Conor landed plenty of good shots, I noticed early on that he was winding up a lot on his left hand. He was sort of falling into shots, which is something he usually would never do. He connected well a couple of times and sensed that Diaz might be about to fade, which is what usually happens when he lands those punches. He felt that a finish was imminent, which only served to convince him to wind up that left hand more and more in order to pursue it. He was investing a lot of energy in those punches, instead of using the clean technique that he has become renowned for.

  Late in the round, Conor gave up a single-leg takedown. However, he reversed it well by using the type of jiu-jitsu that he never seems to be given credit for. It was beautiful work against a BJJ black belt to finish the round on a positive note. That was one round in the bag, 10–9 to Conor.

  I made my way into the octagon at the end of the round. When Conor sat down on the stool, I was taken aback. His mouth was wide open and he was breathing heavily. Okay, I thought. I haven’t seen that before. That was a concern. He had put a lot of energy into searching for a knockout punch and it was evidently taking a toll on his gas tank.

  Nate Diaz is not easy to put away. He had already proven that over the course of his nine years in the UFC, during which he had been stopped just once in twenty-one fights. I encouraged Conor to slow things down in the second round; to work his jab and fire off some leg-kicks while staying on the outside to reduce the intensity that we had seen so far. You can afford to do that against Nate Diaz. He won’t look to maul you. There’s scope to hover outside of range for a round to get your breath back, if necessary. That’s what I wanted Conor to do. We weren’t in any hurry to win this fight. With a potential twenty minutes still remaining, the opportunities for a stoppage would eventually open up.

  Within the first few exchanges of the second round, however, Conor was loading up the left hand again, picking up where he had left off. Maybe he felt something in there that I didn’t – I trusted him – but I knew that approach was taking a toll on his energy reserves. I could only hope that it wouldn’t backfire.

  Conor was still in the ascendancy early in the round, but the tide soon began to turn. Just beyond the midway point, Diaz landed a nice straight left square on Conor’s face. Then I saw something I had never seen before: Conor’s legs wobbled. I had never once seen him rocked by a punch. He was hurt. We’ve been working together for ten years and this was the first time I’d seen Conor hit so cleanly. Ordinarily, if he’s hit by a punch, Conor’s default response is to smile at his opponent, walk forward and send three or four back in return. But there was nothing to smile about here. He was in trouble and it startled me.

  A situation like that is a challenging one for me. The coach in me wants to steer the fighter back into the contest in pursuit of the victory. But as for the friend, the brother, the guardian? His protective instincts are heightened and the priority is the safety of the fighter. For that side of me, when I see one of my fighters hurt like that, the result ceases to matter.

  Conor did his utmost to keep himself in the fight, and he was able to catch Diaz with a couple of good shots in spite of the pressure he was now under. But with little over a minute remaining in the round, he put himself in danger with a laboured takedown attempt. Diaz was able to sprawl before attacking with a guillotine-choke attempt. Just as he had done against Chad Mendes, Conor sought to use ‘The Heartbreaker’ to squirm free, but he was unable to complete the roll – probably owing to fatigue – so he couldn’t make it out. Diaz maintained top position and moved into full-mount, while landing heavy shots. It was an ominous situation for Conor. Exhausted and at the mercy of a high-level BJJ practitioner, he tried once more to break f
ree but ended up exposing his back momentarily. Diaz needed no invitation to seize the opportunity. He locked in a rear naked choke and there was no way out. Conor tapped, referee Herb Dean stepped in to confirm the biggest win of Diaz’s career, and a deafening silence at the MGM Grand greeted Conor McGregor’s first taste of defeat in the UFC.

  While the rest of the world began to come to terms with the implications of such a shocking outcome, the result was the furthest thing from my thoughts at that moment. I needed to know that Conor was okay. That straight left had hurt him and he’d taken a few more after that too. Even if he had won, my initial thoughts would have been the same. He had shipped his fair share of damage. It was much later, when I thought about the impact of the defeat, that I said to myself: ‘I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure I never see him hurt like that again.’

  When I entered the octagon in the aftermath of the fight, I was relieved that he seemed okay physically, but the emotional pain he was enduring was written all over his face. I hugged him and delivered a message.

  ‘Who else is doing what you’re doing? Who else would move up two weight classes and fight a top guy on less than two weeks’ notice? You could have backed out of this when dos Anjos pulled out and nobody would have said a negative word, but unlike what everybody else would have done, you didn’t even give it a thought. You hold your head up high and speak positively when you’re on that microphone. Be proud of what you’re doing because I know I am. Remember what Fedor Emelianenko said: “Only those who never stand up, never fall down.” ’

  Next, Conor spoke to Joe Rogan. For the first time, he was doing so as the defeated fighter. It was a bitter pill for him to swallow but he handled it with grace and humility. People appeared to be surprised by that afterwards, but I expected nothing less. He had experienced losses earlier in his career. He had been here before. This time, the difference was that the entire world was watching.

  ‘I took the chance going in at 170lb but Nate came in and I felt I took him in the first round, but I was inefficient with my energy. But I’m humble in victory or defeat. I respect Nate. He came in, he took the fight at short notice and he done the job. He was efficient, I wasn’t efficient. That was it, I feel. It is what it is. I’ll face it like a man, like a champion, and I’ll come back and do it again.’

  In spite of the outcome, Lorenzo Fertitta continued what had become a tradition afterwards when he brought a bottle of Midleton Very Rare whiskey into the dressing room. There was no win to celebrate this time, but we all had a drink to toast a memorable contest. Having said that, Conor wasn’t paying much attention. He already had his head stuck in a phone, watching the fight back.

  What people seem to forget about this whole thing is that Conor just loves to fight. Everything else – money, belts or fame – is just a bonus. It’s important that people understand that. He puts himself in dangerous, risky situations by accepting late changes of opponent and exploring different weight classes. Who else would do that in the same way he does? He keeps doing it because it’s all just so much fun to him. He takes those chances because he knows he’ll end up regretting it if he doesn’t, irrespective of the consequences. A strategy error in round two was the difference between victory and defeat on this occasion. Nevertheless, the sun still rose the following morning, just as it would have done if he had won.

  We took a gamble and this time it didn’t pay off. That won’t change how we go about our business. We will, however, continue striving to make sure that we’re as well prepared as we can possibly be. That’s what gives us the confidence to face any challenge. We’ll take that risk again if we need to.

  Lessons were learned and changes will be made. Two weeks isn’t quite long enough to spend in the US before a fight like that. We need at least three, ideally four.

  Many fans bizarrely pointed the finger at Ido Portal for this loss, just as some of them had credited him for the win against José Aldo. The reality is that Ido wasn’t responsible for either result. While I was still back in Dublin preparing my other fighters for BAMMA, the fans were watching a lot of footage of Conor going through some light movement exercises with Ido. They couldn’t understand why he wasn’t sparring and working with me, even though we’ve said many times that the final fortnight before a bout is just about staying fresh and loose. When we got to Vegas, people were stopping me in the hotel and asking why I wasn’t Conor’s coach any more. It was ridiculous. Conor’s work with Ido is just something fun for him to do at the end of a long training camp. Unlike some camps, we don’t spar during that period. Late sparring is one of the reasons why there are so many injury pull-outs in other camps. For us, the intensity of the eyes watching us increases during the final two weeks, but the training levels decrease. People didn’t see the eight-to-ten weeks beforehand when we had done some big sessions.

  Frankie McConville, an excellent Muay Thai coach in Belfast, once said to me: ‘Nothing is as boring as training for a fight because you know exactly how many miles you have to run and how many rounds of sparring to do. It’s mind-numbing.’ Every once in a while, you introduce something new and enjoyable to freshen things up. That’s been Ido’s role for those last couple of fights and I believe it has been a success.

  Not having to cut weight for the fight against Diaz was supposedly helpful, but in hindsight it was undoubtedly a hindrance. Cutting weight may not be much fun, but it does serve as a reminder that you’re preparing for a fight. It focuses the mind and has been an enormous part of what we’ve been doing. Without that ritual, things were just weird. It left us all in an unusual state of mind. The routine we had established was suddenly absent. The need to cut weight gets the fighter in the zone and lets them know that a fight is on the horizon. If a person is starving, they’re in survival mode. It focuses the mind and taps into the reptilian part of the brain. When Conor is cutting weight, he views his opponent as an obstacle in the way of his next meal. It’s a primal thing. On the other hand, when you’ve eaten a good dinner, all you want to do is relax in front of the TV. The fire in your belly is replaced by food. Being stuffed isn’t conducive to maintaining a competitive mindset.

  Even for his next welterweight fight, Conor’s diet will be strict. We’ve accepted now that it’s an important element of his preparation, so you can expect him to come in on weigh-in day at around 165lb. No cheesecakes this time! It will be nutrition geared specifically towards performance.

  Conor’s loss was a lesson and it’s one that our next wave of fighters, in particular, will be able to learn from. He’s blazing a trail for the younger fighters coming through. They can study his journey and benefit from every step.

  There were mistakes made and, as the coach, I’ll take ownership of them. We should have travelled out sooner. We should have maintained the same level of meticulous preparation and competitive mindset that we had become accustomed to. We won’t be tucking into desserts, driving around in flashy cars and fucking about. Well, maybe there will still be nice cars, but anything that negatively impacts our usual level of preparation will be knocked on the head. It has to be, and I know it will be, because nobody is more critical of Conor than Conor himself.

  In the aftermath of the defeat to Nate Diaz, it was difficult to sit back and observe what Conor was going through. It wasn’t because so many of his detractors celebrated the result and revelled in the fact that, for once, he was unable to back up his cocky predictions. That kind of public reaction didn’t come as a surprise. Conor wasn’t bothered by it so neither was I. What I found tough was that I was familiar enough with Conor by now to know that the loss, the errors that were made, would be eating him up inside, keeping him awake at night and occupying his mind every minute of every hour of every day. But there was substantial consolation in the knowledge that Conor would emerge stronger and wiser. One of the great things about this sport is that even after you’ve reached the top, you don’t stop learning. In fact, the lessons just become more valuable than they’ve ever been before.r />
  Epilogue

  Shortly before this book was completed, one of my fighters was involved in a contest which resulted in a man losing his life. My fighter, Charlie Ward, was victorious by TKO in the third round of his bout against Portuguese opponent João Carvalho at Dublin’s National Stadium on Saturday, 9 April 2016. It was a very tight contest that could have gone either way. João came close to stopping Charlie on a couple of occasions but the balance tipped marginally in Charlie’s favour in the final round. After knocking João to the ground with a right hook, he followed up with strikes before the referee stepped in to bring the fight to an end.

  Later that night I learned that João had been taken to Beaumont Hospital after complaining of feeling unwell in the changing room after the fight. João ended up in a critical condition and underwent emergency brain surgery. He was dead within forty-eight hours.

  Given that I was in the opposite corner, João’s death hit me hard. The night after I discovered the tragic news, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was in a bad way. João had travelled to Ireland to do something he loved; something he had devoted his life to. Thinking about what his family must have been going through just tore me apart.