Charles Oliveira thoroughly subdued Max Holloway in unexpected fashion on Saturday evening at UFC 326, delivering a classic, start-to-finish display that nonetheless strayed from the designated intent.
When Nate Diaz put forward the concept of a BMF belt in 2019, those of discerning taste applauded the notion of two fierce, raw combatants releasing all inhibitions. Diaz, making his comeback after a three-year hiatus, had just defeated Anthony Pettis in a standard MMA bout. He secured a decision win on the judges’ scorecards, the customary way such conflicts are resolved if neither participant can achieve a definitive finish.
He informed Joe Rogan that he appreciated Jorge Masvidal’s recent fight, acknowledging Masvidal’s notably high degree of street credibility. Yet, Diaz was quick to highlight that Masvidal, based in Miami, “wasn’t no West Coast gangster,” a key distinction meant to emphasize the rugged existence perhaps better understood by those from Stockton.
Later that night, Diaz outlined what would become the principles of what he termed vying for the distinction of being “the baddest motherf***er in the game,” which the UFC subsequently abbreviated to “BMF” for commercial purposes. This abstract championship aimed to prevent grapplers from “finding loopholes” to win by points, and to deter unremarkable contenders who had indistinctly moved through the welterweight rankings in prior years, naming individuals such as Jake Ellenberger and Rick Story.
Those were the individuals Diaz mentioned. He did not shy away from making sharp remarks, which aligned with the objective of uncovering true tough guys.
In essence, his vision involved “authentic fighters” engaging in “true contests,” the kind of scenario where a lack of vigilance could lead to being bested. No gentle sparring, no reliance on scorecards, no timid, unchanging strategies. And he certainly didn’t want any latecomers, those who lacked the fortitude to endure many years within the cage.
“Fighters who have been here forever and remain at the sport’s pinnacle,” Diaz articulated when discussing his concept. “Now we’re competing for the baddest motherf***er in the game belt, and it belongs to me.”
Masvidal overcame Diaz at UFC 244 less than three months afterward for the inaugural BMF title, which was placed around his waist that night in New York by Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Diaz suffered such a severe battering that medical staff stopped the contest, thus fulfilling the BMF mandate’s initial expectation for seasoned competitors to fight until they could no longer continue.
Much has transpired since the genesis of the BMF narrative, but—as noted in the aftermath of UFC 326—across the first four BMF encounters, there had been only one successful takedown. Just one. This occurred when Masvidal took Diaz down, an instinctive action he might have later regretted. In each of the preceding four BMF contests, two of which featured Holloway, at least one knockdown had taken place.
An unspoken agreement existed to stand and exchange blows, and to assess the authentic toughness of a street fighter. Holloway dramatically redefined this at UFC 300 when, despite holding a substantial lead on the scorecards, he issued a challenge in the final 10 seconds, pointing to the center of the octagon and inviting Gaethje to test his chin. With a mere second remaining on the clock, Holloway delivered a knockout for the ages. *That* truly embodied BMF. The knockout, yes, but also the sheer audacity. The complete disregard for the scorecards.
The overwhelming sensory impact.
BMF? You betcha.
(Jeff Bottari via Getty Images)
On Saturday night, Oliveira emerged as a fighter who satisfied numerous criteria for a leading BMF contender. He remained at the top after a decade and a half in the Octagon, and he possessed an impressive number of UFC records for submissions and overall finishes. His dedicated following, acquired after being labeled a “quitter” earlier in his profession, demonstrated a distinct kind of fortitude, perhaps unique to Oliveira’s persona. That he had previously held a UFC title was secondary to the fact that he was still delivering dominant performances, thus qualifying him for recognition on Diaz’s assessment scale.
However, when Holloway advanced in the initial minute, launching what seemed like the commencement of a spectacular display of raw aggression, Oliveira promptly dismissed the notion. He initiated a takedown attempt on Max, elevated him into the air, and deposited him onto the canvas, where any such striking exchanges would be negated. For the subsequent four minutes, Holloway fended off submission attempts with a relatively dry body, managing to elicit a loud cheer when he humorously raised his eyebrows at the camera, adding a touch of amusement to the proceedings.
Had Oliveira submitted him right then and there, the BMF championship might have transferred hands without contention. As it happened, that was not the outcome. The second round unfolded similarly; this time, Max appeared somewhat bewildered by his inability to keep the contest upright. Was he anticipating a different type of fight from Oliveira? The unspoken gentleman’s agreement? Only Max truly knows, but the unexpected maneuvers were accumulating against him in that moment. In the third round, the pattern persisted, now accompanied by an audible disapproval—a chorus of jeers.
It wasn’t Oliveira’s dominance that was the issue; it was his nullification of the entertainment value of the fight. Holloway’s explosive offense remained unignited. Holloway, who had exemplified the Diaz philosophy so effectively in his bouts with Gaethje and Dustin Poirier, was being systematically dismantled by a cunning opponent who disregarded the implicit conventions. Face cranks? Body locks? *What martial arts were these?* The sheer audacity of Oliveira’s strategy to avoid Holloway’s offensive zones directly contradicted all of Diaz’s principles.
In the fourth round, typically known as the “championship rounds,” fanciful thoughts replaced strict observation. Betting slips were being discarded throughout Las Vegas. The audience’s excitement levels plummeted dangerously low, while Oliveira controlled Holloway’s back, positioning his mouth so close to Holloway’s ear that he could have been whispering trivialities. What was this fair-haired tormentor murmuring?
By the fifth round, Diaz himself, observing his lofty tenets succumbing to the methodical approach of a Brazilian strategist, took to X to voice his disapproval.
“Unexciting Mother F***ers,” he posted.
When everything was concluded, Oliveira had his hand raised, and the BMF title was secured around his waist. His face bore two small scratch marks, just enough to confirm he had been in a fight. It was a 50-45 scorecard that went against the core essence of the title, in what was—under different circumstances—a truly masterful display. Not everyone is suited for that BMF existence, at least not as its proponents have interpreted it.
Just don’t inform the individual currently holding the title.
