Jon Jones Once Again Steals Cormier and Gustafsson's Limelight

The specter of disgraced former UFC light-heavyweight champion hovers over this weekend's title fight between current champion Daniel Cormier and Alexander Gustafsson, like conscience. The winner of the fight may be called the undisputed champion of the 205-pound division, but he won't be considered the true champion, not by us, not even by himself. The specter of Jon Jones knows this and so it hovers, toying with the fight, disguising itself in every reporter's question and every bit of fan speculation. What about Jon Jones?

Unsatisfied with infiltrating and influencing press conferences and junkets it wasn't invited to, the specter (all too aware of PR tactics and the timing of press cycles) decided that this week, fight week, was the right time to announce to the world the punishment it had received for crimes committed last April, crimes described in terms more colorful and sinister and depraved than any mixed martial arts fight could hope for in 2015: "felony hit-and-run," "leaving the scene of an accident," "great bodily harm," pregnant victim," rented car," "marijuana pipe," "handfuls of cash," "returning to the scene of the crime."

How cruel of Jon Jones to let things unfold this way, to turn Cormier and Gustafsson's special week into Jon Jones Week, as if his presence and his influence and his achievements and his athletic genius and the shameful out-of-Octagon marring of his undisputed in-the-Octagon feats weren't already casting an impossibly large shadow, reminding Cormier and Gustafsson, as if they needed reminding, that their achievements this Saturday night in Houston will be tempered by an absence, gnawing at their sense of accomplishment.. This has been Jones' unkindest cut of all, worse even than robbing Gustafsson's hopes and dashing Cormier's dreams in the cage: stealing their spotlight just by walking into a courtroom and begging forgiveness … and receiving it.

At a hearing yesterday in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Jon Jones received a conditional discharge and no jail time for his role in the events of last April 26, just 18 months of supervised probation and 72 charitable appearances at schools and martial arts academies to let kids know about the importance of making good decisions and the way one bad choice can ruin everything they've worked for.

But the spirit of Jon Jones knows that when you're great enough in America good choices aren't actually necessary and one wrong decision doesn't have to ruin everything you've worked for. In fact, in America, one wrong decision will not only keep your name on the lips of fans and influential members of the press, it can actually do your dirty work for you while you're away: ruining the hopes of your two most prominent adversaries, stealing their thunder and diminishing all their hard work, while you sit at home, not lifting a finger. While you wait, your crime and punishment will burrow deeper into their sense of self-worth and rattle their place in the world with every reporter's question.

The only thing we in the American sporting press can't abide in our champions is being boring. Ask Conor McGregor and he'll tell you that the media, like nature, abhors a vacuum and that there simply isn't enough excellence on the field or in the cage to fill our bottomless notebooks. We cry out for scandal and shame and punishment and redemption. So Jon Jones trips and falls and we—the press, the fans, the UFC, the Bernalillo County Second Judicial Court—are there to catch him. Quietly be the best in the world, like José Aldo, and McGregor will still suck all the air out of the room anyway. Always do the right thing, like Cormier and Gustafsson, and you'll still sink under the shadow of a charismatic and felonious champion, especially one whose victories still echo in your brain at night.

Yes, the UFC was there to catch Jones same as us. The promotion knows what it has. Even though it suspended him and took his belt away after his hit-and-run, and even though it hasn't yet re-instated him, company President Dana White appeared in Albuquerque yesterday to support his true champion, sending a clear signal. And now the UFC has asked its lawyers at Campbell & Williams to do their own investigation of the Jon Jones case so that White and company can figure when it's time to welcome him back into the fold, body and spirit.

And by the way, Nick Diaz—like Jones the victim of a self-inflicted fall from grace and a personality more powerful in its absence than most people are in their presence—announced on Twitter last night that the UFC had put him in touch with Campbell & Williams to help him with his appeal to the Nevada State Athletic Commission, which, a month ago, suspended him for five years after marijuana metabolites showed up in his pre-fight bloodstream. One is left to wonder where Diaz would be if he'd had them on his side when he faced the NSAC the first time.

Which just goes to show you what money and influence can get you in this world. Jones runs a red light, smashes a pregnant woman's car, dashes off into the night, leaves behind drug paraphernalia, and gets probation and most likely the quick return of his livelihood. Diaz smokes marijuana and suddenly his options are reduced to almost nothing. Different cases, true, and different circumstances and legal bodies, but in America you always reach the same conclusion: The power of money and well-compensated legal defense teams and the support of institutions equals freedom. Short of that, only fighters looking out for one another will do the trick. 'Twas ever thus.