The Synergy of Jackson vs. Henderson

Judging by the auspicious silence from MMA fandom, you wouldn't know that history is about to be made on Saturday, when two current PRIDE and UFC champions meet to determine the sport's first undisputed world champion.

Maybe it's a simple case of exhaustion -- witnessing Randy Couture (Pictures) take his figurative sledgehammer to his umpteenth Grandfather Clock tends to sap one of their spectator's energy.

Or perhaps it's relative disappointment: for years, the first cross-pollinating fight was reputed to be Wanderlei Silva (Pictures) vs. Chuck Liddell (Pictures) in a battle of invincibles.

Quinton Jackson (Pictures) and Dan Henderson (Pictures) had other plans: having knocked out those respective opponents in surprising fashion, they've positioned themselves to be pioneers in what is hoped to be a long line of title unifications.

That the bout is being met with indifference is indicative of an increasingly spoiled audience. How would they have reacted even a year ago to the knowledge that two champions from competing promotions would resolve longstanding rankings confusion -- on free television, no less?

Granted, Jackson-Henderson doesn't have the same mystique as Silva-Liddell.

Jackson is a recent UFC acquisition, and hasn't allowed for fans to produce some territorial excitement over "their" promotion establishing dominance over another. And the UFC's generosity in airing the fight free on Spike might have something to do with Henderson's anonymity in the States.

But regardless of how emotional fans choose to get over the bout, it has undeniable cache in the history books. Until now, the PRIDE and UFC titles were exactly as advertised: the belt holders were the best only in their respective promotion, which left observers free to debate the merits of the various champions scattered across the globe.

For light heavyweights, that debate ends Saturday. The winner is free to brag about his amalgamated championship without whispers from people doubting his chances in another country.

That's not only good for the winner, it's good for the sport: it was boxing's inane alphabet promotion confusion that helped turn that institution into a cultural punchline. People like clearly delineated achievements without the footnotes and asterisks. They want their champions to be the toughest men in the world -- no addendums, no qualifying statements.

Will it be Jackson or Henderson? Who knows? Henderson, though clearly out of his physical element at 195 pounds in a 220-pound world, is a rabid animal of a competitor. He spent the first three years of his career undefeated, eating only the occasional decision loss thereafter. (With exceptions being granted only to the Nogueira brothers, who taught him two lessons in submission.) His wrestling is explosive, and his right hand seems gifted from a previous life as a pro boxer.

Jackson is the more disciplined striker, but good luck trying to get the finish against Henderson on the feet: it hasn't happened yet. Whether he can use his power to control Henderson on the mat is equally suspect, as he fought a seesaw battle with a similarly outsized Matt Lindland (Pictures) a year ago.

The loser will have ample reason to look sullen, but so will fans: regardless of who wins, it's likely to be the last time the PRIDE belt is ever put on public display. The winner will never have occasion to defend it, and no structure exists to sustain its meaning. (Had Silva been able to retain it, he would've been that promotion's first and only titlist at that weight.) Unless PRIDE heavyweight champion Fedor Emelianenko (Pictures) can come to an agreement with Zuffa, this is likely to be PRIDE's last significant presence as an MMA entity.

And while its demise might be depressing for fans that appreciated the go-for-broke business mentality of its organizers, at least it's dying for a worthwhile cause: the sport's first true world champion.

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