In the end, Nick Diaz simply sat down.
In many ways, it was a simple solution to a complicated situation. Should he go out on his shield? Allow himself to be beaten even bloodier in an effort to show a warrior spirit he was already the physical manifestation of? Should he continue to the bitter end, hoping to change an outcome that was already appearing more and more certain?
In the midst of combat, mind racing with a hundred options, Diaz, in true Diaz spirit, refused the conventional and rejected the expected. Instead, he left the fight game on his own terms.
Nick Diaz sat down and decided he didn't want to get back up.
Robbie Lawler won the fight, a vintage old-man battle reminiscent of Chuck Liddell and Wanderlei Silva turning back the clock in a similar bout at UFC 79. But he won it on Diaz's terms, the sneaky genius from the 209 choosing his own path as he always has, a true ronin in a world of corporate conformists.
If not exactly sad, it wasn't awe-inspiring either. These were old men who would have been just as happy sitting in rockers in front of a Cracker Barrel talking about old times as they were rearranging each other's faces inside a steel cage. The fight, if we're honest, was conducted in third gear, two older warriors with a pace and skillset that belonged to another time and place.
If the main event between Alexander Volkanovski and Brian Ortega featured two Ferraris tuned to perfection, this was an El Camino and a vintage Mustang. Still plenty fast, but also vehicles from our youths, complete with all the feelings that nostalgia brings, a mixture of comfort and sadness, a reminder that the ravages of time will come eventually for us all.
If not vintage Diaz, it was a clear echo of the man fans have grown to love over the years. "Don't be scared homie" still rang in the air, faint at times, but its reverberation always present. He threw his weird, limp-armed combinations with gusto, targeting the body especially, languid alterations of speed and fistic cadence allowing him to land punches in incredible numbers.
There were flashes of the old Nick Diaz last night, wattage bright enough that the true sadists will try to get him inside an Octagon again.
I hope that doesn't happen.
Diaz has long seemed ready to walk away from the pressures and pain of the fight- but we wouldn't allow it, selfishly wanting one of the sport's most idiosyncratic warriors to continue to entertain us with his one-of-a-kind energy. But Diaz has done enough and deserves to move on with a life absent anxiety-inducing cameras, a life with no microphones thrust in his face, a life where no one demands he explain himself or share his feelings with a million curious strangers watching him like he was on display at a zoo.
Leaving the game is the final battle all great fighters face. Nick Diaz deserves a chance to find peace and to walk away with dignity and grace.
I pray he can.