In the fight game, you can never be 100 percent sure, but Fedor Emelianenko—arguably the greatest MMA heavyweight of all time—says that this weekend’s clash against Ryan Bader will be his last. He said something similar back in 2012 after he polished off Pedro Rizzo, but that retirement ended up being nothing more than a three-year hiatus. This time, at the advanced age of 46, he really seems to mean it.
Fedor’s gloves are finally coming off on Saturday night in Los Angeles at Bellator 290, signaling the end of an era in MMA. Want to put things in perspective? When Tom Brady debuted for the New England Patriots nearly 23 years ago, Fedor already had three professional fights under his belt, the third of which kicked off his godlike run in Japan. Young Brady lasted until the first Wednesday of February in 2023 before calling it quits (again), while Fedor made it all the way to the first Saturday to do the same (again). Another quiet victory for “the Last Emperor.”
What can you say about Fedor’s mostly understated, particularly improbable run? That reign saw him go on a 28-fight unbeaten streak, win titles in PRIDE FC and Strikeforce, stand up against giants like the 7-foot-2 Hong-man Choi, clobber ruthless opponents like Mirko Cro Cop, survive slams from Kevin Randleman, and take out “Big Nog” Antônio Rodrigo Nogueira, all while the yakuza stood smoking in the shadows of the Saitama Super Arena.
Part of what makes Fedor such an alluring figure is that he’s a throwback to places and times we can’t fully understand, this prehistoric MMA fighter that fans can study in the same way ichthyologists study the gar. Fedor was fighting when MMA was still a barely sanctioned taboo in the United States, a full year before Zuffa purchased the UFC and began to change the perception of the sport. He predates the unified rules. Weight classes. Even Dana Freaking White, who was still an aerobics instructor when Fedor was laying hands on poor Levon Lagvilava at Rings out in far-off Tula Oblast.
At the same time, he’s this displaced holdover from a Dostoyevsky novel, a sober-faced 19th-century Russian who is built of indestructible emotional gray matter. He’s always been stingy with words, and—as far as public records show—has never raised his voice in anger. A God-fearing man, he’s stoic in ways that don’t make sense in the age of TikTok. He possesses reserves of power that his not-all-that-intimidating frame can’t possibly budget. He’s what comes to mind when you hear a word like “Siberia.” Just profoundly cold.
There will never be another Fedor Emelianenko, the greatest mixed martial artist to never compete in the UFC. His demeanor before a fight has always been enough to cast spells. With the cameras swirling and some colossal heavyweight or another mashing their fists together with clear intent to do harm, he’s never been anything other than unnervingly serene. It’s like he’s deadened to the excitement and hype of mortal fools. I’m telling you, that shit goes fathoms deep. For more than two decades Fedor’s had a cathedral calm that plays beautifully against the hysteria, the bombast, and the pyrotechnics of fight promotion. It’s why he’s one of the most beloved fighters to ever do it.
I can still remember being at the Affliction event he headlined back in 2008, when he choked out the 6-foot-8 former UFC champion Tim Sylvia in 36 seconds, as easily as one would subdue a drunk outside a college bar.
Affliction thought it was a good idea to have Megadeth perform at intervals to rev up the crowd in Anaheim that night, yet the band was nothing next to the magnitude of pure power that Fedor possessed. Fedor went harder than anyone. He had more wattage, more amplitude, more payoff. He didn’t need to talk smack to his opponents. He was a soft-spoken reckoning that turned live events into near-religious experiences. When Brett Rogers wobbled him in his Strikeforce debut in Chicago, a hush fell over the crowd that was immediately followed by a collective groan. Would the mighty Fedor fall?
Of course not. Fedor survived the onslaught like he did countless times in Japan and knocked Rogers out in the second round. It was as close to an out-of-body experience as I’ve had at a live sporting event. There was something cathartic about what we were witnessing. Even the pair of long-bearded orthodox priests whom Fedor traveled with from Stary Oskol were high-fiving each other as Fedor extended his unbeaten streak to an impossible 28 fights.
Fedor is a part of MMA’s history, its mystique, and probably a few of its regrets. We never did get to see him stand in there against Randy Couture during Couture’s title run in the mid-aughts, nor did we get to see him fight Brock Lesnar when Lesnar was breaking UFC pay-per-view records as its heavyweight champion. It’s a shame it didn’t happen. The UFC made attempts to sign him, but Fedor—who is tied to the Russian-based M-1 Global—never did see eye-to-eye with White and UFC brass.
Still, Fedor did things in MMA that may never be done again. He fought in times that can never be duplicated. He snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat like it was the game within the game. He didn’t even really try to evolve over the near quarter-century he competed. His game plan was to fight you, to knock you out, or to submit you, depending on how things went. I doubt he even knows what a gogoplata is. When presented a fancy menu, he was always content to order a hamburger. Sometimes it looked like he didn’t have a plan at all, that he just intended to take your best punch and to figure out if you could take his.
Of course, in MMA nobody who fights 23 years comes out in mint condition, and that mindset would eventually catch up to him. Fedor lost and lost magnificently down the stretch. When he got submitted by Fabricio Werdum in San Jose, I saw people crying in the stands. The magic had run out. Did Werdum dupe him into that submission by playing hurt? Maybe, but when the reign finally ended, the talk of Fedor’s legacy picked up, because we knew where it ended. He had a decade-plus run where nobody could beat him.
After that he got just hammered by Antonio “Bigfoot” Silva in what might have been the ugliest, most-lopsided beatdown of his career. He lost his next one to fellow PRIDE legend Dan Henderson, who drank a gallon of water just to make the heavyweight minimum. Then came some twilight fights against washed-up names like Jeff Monson and Rizzo, then the retirement, the return, and the robbery of a decision the partisan judges gave him against Fabio Maldonado in Russia. He has been knocked out twice since returning, the last one coming live on Paramount Network against Bader—the man he faces once again in his retirement fight.
Will a section of the audience watch through their fingers as Fedor trades blows with Bader? Definitely. He’s 46 years old, a little slower, a little flabbier. There are very few graceful exits in MMA, and as we’ve seen with legends like Frankie Edgar and Mauricio “Shogun” Rua recently, retirement fights have a way of turning melancholy fast. Both were brutally knocked out and unceremoniously push-broomed off the stage.
But when the great Russian makes that walk one last time at the Kia Forum in Inglewood, he’ll be carrying a great deal of MMA history with him. There will be arguments as to who the best heavyweight of all time is, and names like Francis Ngannou and Stipe Miocic will get the loudest claims.
Yet anyone who was there will not have to raise their voice to be heard when they say the name, Fedor Emelianenko.