Anderson Silva was perched on top of the octagon, arms outstretched triumphantly, as the London crowd roared. He had just climbed up there with spryness that it’s not fair for a 40-year-old to still possess. Moments before, the man who might well be the greatest fighter ever in mixed martial arts was kneeling alone at the center of the cage in serene celebration—of perseverance, of redemption, of enchantment, of victory.
No more than a few feet away in the swirl of madness, Michael Bisping was down was on all fours, staring at the canvas but not really seeing it.