T IME & PUN ISHMENT
A life in the ring leaves marks on the body. And while he can’t remember how he got them all, Monson carries more than most
Ukrainian border with Russia. He then flew to Oregon where he took on Warren Brooks, a man with a weight advantage of more than 27kg. After just one minute of over-time, Monson dragged Brooks into a rear-naked choke to score another win.
Most recently, Monson brought his talents to bear in an unofficial capacity, shaking down a fight promoter who Monson believes purposefully scuppered his grand exit from the sport by fluffing what was to be a light warm-up match. Monson had been scheduled to fight a native opponent in the Russian city of Yekaterinburg. Shortly before the fight, Monson suffered a bicep tear. Instead of pulling out, the promoter persuaded Monson to take part in a ‘show match’. His opponent was to be briefed of Monson’s condition, therein allowing the two men to explain the nature of the injury to the crowd, perform a sequence showcasing both their abilities, and then return for a re-fight once Monson had recovered. But it seems the promoter neglected to inform the other fighter. Monson does not speak Russian and his opponent flattened The Snowman immediately. Afterwards, when Monson spotted the shady promoter exiting the establishment, even a painful bicep tear could not stop him accosting the man, an encounter he gleefully describes as a “bitch slapping”.
WAR AND PEACE
Unscrupulous promoters are not the only thing standing between Monson and his final foray in the ring. After a drawn-out negotiation, Monson’s last fight, which had been scheduled for the end of 2016 in Ukraine and had warranted MH’S presence, is called off. Unfortunately the nose- dive in diplomatic relations between Russia and Ukraine doesn’t exactly complement the ticket proposed by the promoter; the event collapses.
News of his final fight’s cancellation hits Monson with what he terms “slowburning rage and raw disappointment, combined with a resolve to train even harder”. To an outsider, it may seem that Monson is desperate to leave the sport that made his name, but at 46 years old and nearing his 61st professional win in 87 fights, Monson says he simply wants to end his MMA career in a blaze of glory.
It’s a strange situation. In the aftermath of the cancellation, two fight promoters tender three alternative opponents. Monson would bank a seven-figure sum simply for stepping into the octagon with one, but as far as Monson is concerned, none are worthy of a career-capping fight. “All I’m offered are lamb-to-the-slaughter type wrestlers. It’d make massive money, but I’m a communist and don’t do theatre. I need a guy who will throw everything he’s got at this.” But with his fights often taking place against men at least 10 years his junior, and with many recurring ailments, Monson is running out of time as he awaits the perfect opponent.
Then there’s Monson’s unique interest in politics. He has declared his support for pacifism, communism and anarchism at every juncture of his career. Whether or not these are compatible is open to question. Yet with the finalisation of his citizenship nearing, Monson thinks it sensible to quit “fighting for communism in the ring [and] transition into activism – or even involvement in politics, proper, if the people want it”.
One thing the Russian people clearly do want is more Jeff Monson, be that Monson the vicious and largely victorious MMA fighter, or Monson the dancing bear of primetime television. Monson admits to having “adored” his time on Dancing with the Stars and several primetime series are now on the table. Major networks have punted survival shows and even cookery ideas. A Jeff Monson-styled sportswear range is being discussed. Unofficial bids have been tendered to produce a Jeff Monson biography, while a restaurant conglomerate has come forward with tentative plans for a Jeff Monson restaurant chain. Even as he frets about his final fight, Monson is already thinking about the menu. And besides light entertainment and dining franchises, Monson’s role as a political pundit on Russia Today has recently been formalised, making him a contracted talking head for the Russian government’s latest media project.
At present, it is unclear how the final chapter of Monson’s storied career will pan out. But whether he exits the sport with a glorious win or bows out defeated, he will leave a highly controversial legacy in his slipstream. He is sui generis among fighters of any discipline. He enjoys a greater regard from Russia than all but a handful of his fellow Americans. He has a future in another world, literally and metaphorically. Monson need not be worried by the grubby end game that faces the majority of ex-pro wrestlers.
As we cram into a taxi – Monson lying across the entire back seat to ease the pressure on his back – the wrestler becomes suddenly reflective. “I’ve got a lot of things to figure out,” he says in response to a question about his future. “But the next fight that faces me is a political fight. A fight for Russia. I’m wrestling for Russia. Why am I wrestling for Russia? Well, right now, Russia needs a wrestler on its side.”
Then, during out last moments together, a striking development occurs. Alexander Emelianenko – a hirsute and heavily tattooed bruiser, who happens to be the younger brother of the man who pulverised Monson in front of Putin – enters negotiations. A showdown appears probable. Most men would be frightened. Monson is very excited.
"THE NEXT FIGHT THAT FACES ME IS A POLITICAL FIGHT. A FIGHT FOR RUSSIA"