UFC 320: Cory Sandhagen Was Onto Something
When I’m analyzing UFC events, it’s not always the headliner that grabs me—it’s the fights that offer something to dissect. At UFC 320, that fight was Merab Dvalishvili (c) vs. Cory Sandhagen for the men’s bantamweight title. In fact, the fight itself serves as a useful lens for looking at Alex Pereira vs. Magomed Ankalaev (c) and Jiřà Procházka vs. Khalil Rountree Jr.
At first glance, Dvalishvili vs. Sandhagen looks like a familiar Dvalishvili beatdown. When a champion is that dominant, the question becomes: what combination of opponent, game plan, and execution can actually beat him? You’re watching to see who can solve the puzzle—or at least show you a piece of the solution—even in defeat. Sandhagen is a thinker who approaches MMA as a problem-solver. He’s long, wrestles well, and is an excellent striker. Add Coach Trevor Wittman, a better mind than even Sandhagen. Even Wittman’s Onx gear shows how deeply he considers the sport, down to identifying flaws in equipment design.
Sandhagen took Round 1. That’s not unusual; Dvalishvili’s confidence often produces a low-urgency start. The outlines of Sandhagen’s plan showed up early: push the champion back, punish level changes, stuff the shot, and if taken down, give up the back to stand. But when Dvalishvili decided to ramp it up in Round 2, the pace overwhelmed Sandhagen. He got hurt badly, nearly finished, and much of the plan fell apart—except for Plan Z: give up the back to get up. That piece held throughout the fight. But what does it buy you? It gets you standing again. If you’re Sandhagen, will you beat Dvalishvili by decision? Unlikely, especially after round 2. The only remaining option, aside from the even less likely submission, is to finish on the feet. Unfortunately, Dvalishvili is absurdly durable and seasoned against elite strikers in the sport’s deepest division. Sandhagen is a high-level striker, but he doesn’t carry Alex Pereira’s power.
That’s the key difference. Every second Pereira is upright, the fight can end. Pereira essentially used the same fundamental strategy—take it to the champion—but with different physics. Sandhagen landed hard shots, but they didn’t dent Dvalishvili. Pereira landed one hard shot, and it marked the beginning of the end for Ankalaev. Additionally, Dvalishvili is a better wrestler than Ankalaev. If Sandhagen had Pereira’s power, and if Merab’s wrestling were less airtight, the blueprint might have worked. With the information we have, Sandhagen just didn’t have the horsepower to put the champion away.
You can see the same dynamic in Procházka vs. Rountree. In round 3, Procházka moved forward and took it to Rountree—but in the first two rounds, he was passive and getting outstruck. Still, like Pereira, Procházka carries lights-out power. That changes every exchange. Procházka ate Rountree’s best shots and stayed upright; he wasn’t winning those stretches, but he could absorb them. The reverse didn’t hold. If you can’t finish a puncher like that, you’re in danger every moment on the feet. Sandhagen is an outstanding striker; he’s just not that kind of one-shot threat.
Sandhagen was dominated yet not finished, despite repeatedly exposing his back. Why did that part work so well against Dvalishvili? Getting to hands and knees is the fastest, most structurally sound way to stand (a critical component of the LMA curriculum). The risk is the choke, but Dvalishvili never jumped on the back to attack it. Why? If you jump and get reversed, you’re suddenly on bottom. As far as grappling, Dvalishvili appeared to prioritize top control over submissions, even if it meant letting Sandhagen stand. For Team Sandhagen, it’s a calculated risk.
When there are no recent losses to study, and the old ones are too dated, you look for successes within failures. In Sandhagen’s failure, there’s a success: a repeatable way to stand up against Dvalishvili. If you turn your back to him—even while standing—he stops striking and starts grabbing. If he does start striking, now he’s no longer locking his grips. Sandhagen showed it can be easier to get away by turning away and breaking grips than by pummeling while facing him. But defending isn’t winning. However, it can be a piece of a winning plan.
Sandhagen earned plenty of opportunities. He defended, broke away, and got to his feet. The piece he couldn’t execute was hurting the champion, which was the crux of the plan. He put himself in position to win, according to his game plan, but winning required fight-ending punching power. Chasing the finish with kicks risks playing into the champion’s game. In the UFC, with hard and thin MMA gloves, punching is often the most reliable means of finishing a fight, and real punching power makes it that much more effective.
Traditionally, coaches warned never to give up your back because of the choke threat. As MMA has evolved—and as strikers and wrestlers have rounded out their grappling—that rule is less absolute. Welterweight champion Jack Della Maddalena, for instance, uses this tactic to return to his feet. It remains to be seen whether giving up the back will help solve the challenge of defeating Dvalishvili, or if the champ will adapt by finishing opponents from that position. Evolving strategies like these are what make MMA so compelling.
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