Jaune Arc is a joke
Jaune Arc is a genuinely nice guy.

Born and raised in the midwest to a farmer he's basically a walking cliche of the area. A former member of the young farmers of America, a C plus student if one with perfect attendance, a volunteer at his church, he started wrestling in the fifth grade and never really stopped. He got a scholorship to small school discovered MMA when he was 19 and   left home and for the west coast after discovering MMA to pursue it as a carrerr. And with him he  brought that mystical midwestern kindness that jaded coast dwellers had only glimpsed in Cohen brother films.

He owns a gym and lets the local high school wrestling team practice there on the weekends. He teaches free classes to underprivlaged youth, never has an unkind word to say about any of his opponents  and the embeddeds sent to his home can never go more than a few seconds without being interrupted by small children in gis that practically live at his home, orphans both literal and figural that he has taken in and cared for.

Born and raised in the midwest he started wrestling in the fifth grade. His gym, Arc BJJ is a safe place in the community, where the local high school wrestling team does their conditioning work and underprivileged youth can go for free classes in exchange for small chores and sparring work. Embeddeds sent to his home can never go for more than a few seconds without being interrupted by small children in gis that practically live at his home, orphans both literal and figurative that he has taken in and cared for.

He's also a joke.

Sticking out like a sore thumb as a blond haired and blue eyed member of the infmaous all Mexican Killa Bs, he's a professional fighter who doesn't like to be shirtless. His customary post fight celebration is to immieditly put on a shirt and cover his nipples and he shows up to weighs in, in a blue bunny onsie refusing to strip down. For years he's walked out to the most random music imaginable, ranging from Taylor Swift to random Mexican love ballads, that was later revealed to be the result of his phone number falling into the hands of a random fan. He once celebrated a win by being carried out of the octagon by a mariachi band and his podcast is infamous for the seemingly odd occurrences that happen on it ranging from on air armed robberies to fist fights with clowns.

Inside the cage it's even worse. He can't fight, or at least doesn't fight in the way we have come to think fighting should be done in the cage. He arm punches, his upper and lower body acting as two separate machines and his kicks more often than not serve to  throw himself off balance rather than do any damage to his opponent. His best punch, his ace in the hole is a flailing leaping right lead that often carries him past his opponent and on occasion face first to the ground. In terms of grappling he's... funky.  Instead of going for takedowns  he counters and makes space. Shots are allowed penetrate to his hips, are reversed and rolled out of. His game off his back is based on triangles and leg entanglements to sweep and throw. Instead of the small precise movements we've come to expect he moves in large gross motor moments that always give off the impression of a flailing fleeing figure.

The subject of countless memes, mocking videos and even songs, the man is a joke. An often repeated and well loved joke, the kind that is never frowned upon or over told but a joke none the less.

Last week he became the Welterweight champion of the world by way of Headkick Ko.

Wait What?

The circumstances leading up to his first title shot were typical Arc shenanigans. He was, as is always the case in his main events, a late desperate replacement for three separate injured fighters, a broken foot, a broken jaw and a split testicle respectively. Originally fighting on the prelims where the hardcore fans were sure to tune in to watch he was pulled up as someone who was not only on weight but had some inherent name value and brand recognition, a semi-respected fighter that the champion could hopefully take apart in front of a home town crowd.

From the beginning however it was obvious that something was off. Never one of trash talking he derailed the champion's moment by just not engaging, instead getting into an  shouted conversation with members of his team over what they were going to eat the day after the fights. At the weigh ins he brought several children with, citing that they had just followed him in and fell off the stage halfway through ruining the champions attempts at a serious staredown. At every turn and promotional attempt by the organization Jaune Arc fucked up in some significant way. Even on his podcast, hyping the fight fell to the wayside of an argument about how weird male nipples are.

The fanbase the champion had brought in with him flooded the internet with crys of he's shook, he's scared. The gifs and memes that flooded the interne tof his various fuck ups were posted again and again as proof of how easy a fight it would. As it turned out things would go a bit differently.

Principle over technique.

L is a thunderous kicker with a technical boxing game. When his bout with Arc was announced the world mostly wrote it off as a small detour on L's journey to the title. A small beating given to a journeyman fighter that would eventually be forgotten only brought up on highlight reels on line.

Instead from nearly the beginning Jaune put him on the defensive. Charging forward he threw out awkward front kicks, flailing right hand leads and wild swings that backed him up against the fence repeatedly.When L would angle off Arc would grab on for dear life breaking away from the clinches with wild flailing that would lead to him chasing L to the fence again, launching himself into the clinch when L would angle off and another flailing chase to the fence again and again and again until finally a lazy take down came from L that ended in a guillotine. Afterwards, L almost looked relieved at finally being free from the whole ridiculous show.

As described here it's sounds impressive but to watch it live was an entirely different matter. It was an ugly fight. Arc kept getting tagged his form was horrible and his footwork drove god knows how may analysts to tears but it worked. Of the two ways to snuff a kickers game Arc chose the one that was about crushing the distance and figured out a way to stop the reactive boxing L had developed after years of fighting against pressure fighters who thought they could win by simply walking through his kicks.

Ugly to watch but sound in execution. An example of principle over technique.

Against the almost memetically dangerous top game artist K Jaune ran. In his most disciplined showing yet he angled off as soon as he remotely came near the fence, only fought take downs out into the open and kicked at the knee and stomach to the stop K's advances. Again described flawlessly here but ugly to watch live. He fell on his face at least six times in the course of a 15 minute fight, none of which were knockdowns, just him tripping over his own feet and at one point climbed up the fence and jumped off it to avoid a shot.

A descition win, one that produced countless memes and gifs for the humor pile but a fight none the less that gave us a very clear idea about Jaune Arc. There is something there. Hidden deeply and brought out inelegantly but undelable in it's existance. There is something dangerous about Jaune Arc.



The main even rolled by and the fight began with the champion rushing out from his corner to the screams of thousands of fans before uncorking a bomb of a right hand.

Jaune ducked to the side, tripped and caught himself on the the fence. He pulled up his pants which had fallen a bit, they circled each other before the champion feinted again before launching himself forward.

Arc nearly fell on his ass in his hurry to back up but the blow missed the champions fate was sealed in the first two minutes of the fight.


If against the thunderous kicker Arc chose to rush in and against the skilled wrestler Arc ran, against the power punching and explosive champion Jaune played the game of baiting and dodging. Standing just in range for the champion to feel confident enough to swing and expend valueable valueable energy in depserate rushes that did nothing but hit air.

Again described beautifully here but ugly to watch live. Jaune Arc isn't the perfect fighter. He's not even a good one. He was caught once or twice by clean right hands that sent him stumbling, he stalled on the fence after getting hurt. The grappling in the fight was boring retentions of guard and posture breaking and he actually turned tail and outright sprinted away in the third round as the desperate champion decided to throw caution to the wind and chase after him.

Jaune ran the length of the Octagon's permiter for close to a minute while the champion chasing him screaming madly. The crowd booed as the ending bell rang but come the fourth round Arc's strategy was vindicated. The champion emerged from his corner exhausted, hands down and chest heaving. Jaune in turn emerged from his, not fresh, but not as tired. He could still fight as he always did, badly but in it.

The kick that ended the fight was  a formality. It came from somewhere close to Africa, it called ahead to announce it was coming and gave the champion the opportunity to form a focus group, test it's value in the modern market and confirm that yes Arc was throwing a headkick. But he was tired and it doesn't matter if someone can see a kick if they can't block it.

They hit the ground at the same time. Jaune from falling over from his badly thrown kick, the champuion from the shin that was lay across the side of his head.

Afterwards, after Arc had been carried around the octagon by his team, the mariachi music played and the crowd went completely silent from shock, B announced the champions name instead of Jaune's correcting himself immediately afterwards. but having obviously said the wrong name moments before.

Jaune Arc the undisputed Welterweight Champion of the world.

Jaune Arc is Happy

Nobody really knows how long Arc is going to be able to hold on to the title. He has his weaknesses. While smart and capable of diligent and at times brilliant gameplanning he's still a horrible striker. He excels against specialists, can muck up the game of a tenuously built all terain fighter  but a well rounded and most importantly disciplined fighter can outpoint him. He may be white and good looking and kind of charming but he is to put it frankly too weird to head the most prominent weight class in the organization. A more appropriate fighter that can beat him will be found and set up to depose him. His title reign will be in all likely hood short.


I don't think Jaune really cares though. His legacy in his eyes is found in the children he trains and the people he loves. After the fight and newly crowned as the king of the deepest division in the organization he sat in his usual corner of the press conference table, a random children riding on his shoulder and a horde of Mexicans talking among themselves in rapid Spanish.

He talked about his podcast when the media asked him questions about he He talked about his academy, his neighborhood and his friends and about ten minutes in ran off the stage screaming wildly about how one of his students was going to have a grappling match in less than an hour.

The weight of a belt is a heavy thing. It makes some great, ruins others but nonetheless leaves a distinctive mark on the men that carry it.

Jaune left his belt on the table, forgetten and stained already by what looked like beer and fruit juice. The snacks and buffet laid out for the press and fighters was picked clean by his team, Jaune in the lead carrying a bowl of organic cookies out of the stadium.

He looked weightless.