"...I don't like to talk trash...I never liked to be in someone's face that close just talking."
These are Rashad Evans' words from a recent Sherdog.com interview with the current UFC light heavyweight champion. Accompanying this were statements of dismay and confusion at the apparent antipathy, even hatred, from fans in the crowd. A sympathetic lamentation on the cruel double standard between Evans and nemesis-of-the-month Quinton Jackson was to follow. Yet for anyone that has been attentive to the careers of Evans and Jackson, Evans' confusion, and the notion of some phantom double standard, ought to stick firmly in craw.
There is no double standard. A double standard suggests that a pair of identical actions are assessed differently, despite occurring within identical circumstances. Yet while both Evans and Jackson have their "antics," they have employed them, consistently, in different contexts.
Jackson, throughout his high-profile career, has been absolutely professional inside the cage. He has not yet show-boated, taunted his opponent, or spoke ill of his opponent following a fight. The only time he trash talks is before a fight, and even that is done with a professional bent--hyping a fight is good business, but using humor keeps things from getting too out of hand. Essentially, he recognizes that there is a time and place for everything; a fighter can cross those bounds and get carried away post-fight if they want (ala Tito Ortiz), but he or she must accept the likely, displeased fan reaction.
By contrast, Evans has consistently clowned around inside as well as outside the cage. And rather than the neutral show-boating exemplified by Anderson Silva's too-fancy footwork against Patrick Cote, Evans sees fit to tap his groin and blow a kiss at the affable Forrest Griffin. In a fight he was already winning on The Ultimate Fighter Season 2, Evans decided to punctuate his impending victory with a fit of dancing in front of Mike Whitehead. And while Evans can wax horrified at the face-off that occurred inside the cage following Jackson's win over Keith Jardine, anyone not born yesterday should be able to guess what happens when the champ enters the cage with the newly minted next-in-line. And even then, if Evans really cared about staying "as composed as possible," he could have pulled a BJ Penn--simply smile, shake, and walk away--but opted for threats of violence, instead. If the fans boo him, he only needs to check his in-cage persona to see why.
The fact is, at this rate, Evans and anyone buying his aw-shucks story are more poised to cement a double standard in place than Jackson and company. And while booing is never something I would condone, if you have to boo someone, it may as well be the guy implying some sort of bizarre, forcible act of oral sex on his opponent.
In the end, Evans is, within reason, free to behave how he wants in the cage--whatever gives him the confidence to win, whatever he thinks will put butts in seats. But he has yet to learn a lesson that one-time nemesis Tito Ortiz seemed to reckon a long time ago: that there is a sacrifice in acting the heel. You draw a crowd, but they only show up to see you lose.
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