12

Conor McGregor’s career in the UFC may have been on hold as a result of the ACL injury, but several of his teammates at SBG were getting closer to their own dreams of fighting for MMA’s premier organization. In 2013 Paddy Holohan, Cathal Pendred and Chris Fields all competed on The Ultimate Fighter – a reality TV show geared towards unearthing new fighters for the UFC.

Cathal, in particular, saw it as one last shot at earning a UFC contract. In my view, he should never have had to rely on The Ultimate Fighter to get into the UFC. He had already proved that he was worthy of a place on the roster by beating several of the best welterweights in Europe en route to becoming the Cage Warriors champion. I lost count of how many times I contacted the UFC about giving Cathal a shot, but the answer was the same every time: He needs to start finishing his opponents in order to be considered.

That was Cathal’s problem. While he was winning his fights comprehensively, he was mostly doing so via decision instead of knockout or submission. Even though his record was good, that aspect of it went against him because the UFC ideally like to see exciting stoppages.

Cathal joined SBG late in 2008, not long after we had moved to the Long Mile Road. He was a novice at the time because he had only recently taken up mixed martial arts, never having trained in the sport before. He was actually a pretty promising rugby player, winning a Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal with Belvedere College alongside guys like Cian Healy and Ian Keatley, who went on to play for Ireland.

Because he was only starting out, Cathal needed a lot of work, but he certainly had the right attitude. He was incredibly keen to learn and improve. Aware of the fact that his opponents generally had a head start on him when it came to skill and technique, Cathal knew that he needed to level the playing field by working harder than them and wanting it more. And nobody wanted it more than Cathal. Just a few weeks after joining the gym, he took a fight. He was a learn-on-the-job type of guy. He threw himself in at the deep end and defied his lack of an extensive background in MMA by displaying remarkable resolve to grind out results. After every win, Cathal told me the same thing.

‘I want to fight someone better next time. Get me the best opponent you can find. I want to be fighting the top guys in the world in the UFC as soon as possible.’

It quickly became evident that Cathal was a pretty special guy. I used to call him the Billy Goat. You could leave him on a mountainside for a few weeks, eating nothing but grass, but he’d still be thriving when you came back. He had the kind of mindset that meant he always got by, regardless of the circumstances. Toughness is probably a prerequisite when you earn a living by fighting men in a cage, but Cathal brought new meaning to the word. He was absolutely bulletproof. Before he fought Danny Mitchell in Jordan, he did eight hours in the sauna – without a break – to make weight. I’ve seen guys break and end up in tears after eight minutes in a sauna, let alone hours. That’s Cathal Pendred. Whatever had to be done to succeed, Cathal did it. In terms of his mentality, he’s absolutely unique. I doubt I’ll ever coach somebody like him again.

During one of his earliest fights, I came into the cage at the end of the first round and Cathal was on his hands and knees, searching for something on the mat.

‘Cathal,’ I said, ‘what the hell are you doing? Get over here and sit down!’

‘Sorry, coach,’ he responded. ‘I’m just looking for my teeth.’

Cathal had picked up many big wins before he competed on The Ultimate Fighter in 2013, but the fight that stands out for me when I look at his career was the one against David Bielkheden at Cage Warriors 47 in June 2012. It was probably overshadowed by the fact that Conor won the featherweight title later in the evening, but Cathal’s bout with Bielkheden was absolutely incredible – one of the best MMA fights ever to take place on Irish soil.

When you looked at the respective credentials of the two guys, the fight probably shouldn’t even have been allowed to happen. It seemed like a total mismatch on first inspection. Bielkheden was a Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt who had been fighting professionally for over ten years. He had already competed for the biggest organizations in the world. Cathal was fourteen when Bielkheden made his MMA debut. When Bielkheden moved to the UFC, Cathal had yet to walk through the doors of SBG. Weighing all of that up, this was a fight in which Cathal shouldn’t have stood a chance. But that’s what Cathal had been told on countless occasions before. He may have been a newcomer to MMA, but as soon as he started, Cathal never stopped. He was constantly in the gym. Although he didn’t have the years and years of training behind him that his opponents had, Cathal’s heart and determination were attributes they could never match.

Within the first minute of the fight, Cathal almost knocked Bielkheden out with an uppercut. That set the tone for a memorable performance from Cathal. He dominated the first two rounds and showed a gritty resilience in the third and final round to withstand a desperate comeback from Bielkheden. The win was undoubtedly his biggest yet and it was a statement that he was capable of going all the way. When we decided to accept the fight against Bielkheden, we knew that this would determine whether Cathal had what it took to compete with fighters at the highest level, or if he was destined to be confined to the regional circuit. He delivered an emphatic response to that question. After that, there was never any doubt in my mind about what Cathal could achieve. If his work ethic had already paved the way for him to defeat guys who had been fighting at the highest level since before he had ever even thrown a punch, there was going to be no stopping him from realizing his dreams now.

One of the striking things about the win against David Bielkheden was that it took place at the Helix arena on the Dublin City University campus – where Cathal had been doing his exams just a couple of weeks earlier. In the build-up to the fight, he’d come into the gym very early in the morning to train, dash off for the day to do exams and then come back in the evening and train until the gym closed. Cathal later graduated with a degree in Analytical Science. Whenever any of the guys in the gym would complain about finding the time to train, I’d just point at Cathal and tell them to stop moaning.

Within a year, Cathal was the Cage Warriors champion and had cleared out the entire welterweight division. He was itching for a chance to fight in the UFC, but the call just didn’t look like it was going to come. That’s when an opportunity arose with another big organization in the US called World Series of Fighting. They were offering Cathal $10,000 to fight and another $10,000 to win. That was life-changing money for him, and approximately ten times what he was earning with Cage Warriors. However, the problem was that a clause in his Cage Warriors contract allowed him to leave for the UFC but for no other organization. Reluctant to lose one of their biggest stars, Cage Warriors wouldn’t budge on the contract. It was a frustrating situation because Cathal, who was about to turn twenty-six, was at a stage where he needed to start earning money from fighting. He had graduated with a degree and there was pressure on him to use it – similar to the situation I was in all those years ago. There was a chance here for him to finally make a good living from the sport he had been pouring his heart and soul into for the past few years, but a line in a contract was preventing him from taking it.

Chris Fields got married in July 2013. Cathal and I got talking at the wedding. He was really upset about the World Series of Fighting situation. I brought him outside to the car park for a chat and he burst into tears of rage and frustration. He told me that maybe it was time to call it a day; that perhaps this was a sign that he should retire from fighting. At times, he had been so strapped for money that he had stayed at my apartment, or on the floor of his brother’s bedroom. He was often just living out of his car. But there was no way I was going to allow him to walk away now that he was within touching distance of his objective. The UFC had announced a season of The Ultimate Fighter for middleweights and light-heavyweights. Although Cathal was a welterweight, I was absolutely confident that he could be successful fighting at fifteen pounds heavier.

‘The tryouts are in Las Vegas,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to go all the way over there.’

I insisted on lending Cathal the money because I knew that he’d repay me – not just financially, but also with the satisfaction of finally seeing him in the UFC. It was the bones of €1,000 so he was reluctant to accept it, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer.

‘Cathal, there’s no risk for me here whatsoever,’ I said. ‘You’ve overcome much bigger challenges than this already. I know you’ll make the most of this opportunity.’

After Conor McGregor came back to Dublin for the opening of the new gym in January 2014, he was able to do most of the remainder of his rehab in Ireland. Within a couple of months of being back at home, it was as if he had never been injured at all. He was bigger, stronger and faster, and his movement was just so much more fluent. Not that I had any doubts about it, but it was obvious that he had been working phenomenally hard while he was in the US. Conor was desperate to get a fight booked, and when the UFC revealed some significant news regarding Ireland in March, he had a date to aim towards for his comeback. The organization would be returning to Dublin for a show on 19 July – their first Irish event since Tom Egan competed at UFC 93 five and a half years earlier. Even though he still hadn’t been medically cleared to compete again, we knew the UFC weren’t going to come to Ireland without putting Conor on the card.

It wasn’t until the end of April that further details of the show were finally announced. Conor was headlining the card. He was set to face an American fighter named Cole Miller, a contest the fans were seemingly excited about because the two of them had been trading insults in interviews and social media.

When we were told that Conor was going to be the star attraction at UFC Fight Night 46, there was a mixture of shock and relief. After he picked up the injury, part of me was concerned that Conor’s progress in the UFC might be undone and that he would have to go back to the end of the queue. There’s probably a perception that before he went under the knife, the UFC put an arm around Conor’s shoulder and told him not to worry, that he’d be catapulted straight into a main event in his home town as soon as he returned. But that certainly wasn’t the case. No such assurances were given. For all we knew, he’d be returning on a preliminary card on a small event somewhere abroad. But this was something very special. Headlining a UFC event in the town where he grew up – the stuff dreams are made of. That’s why Conor’s media activity while he was injured was so important. If he had retreated into anonymity, there’s no way he would have been given such a high-profile slot. In spite of the layoff, he regularly made the headlines with his interviews and continued the process of making himself a superstar. Having been injured in a fight on the prelims, now he would be returning in a main event. An absolutely remarkable achievement in itself.

That wasn’t the only good news for SBG. Gunnar Nelson was booked to fight in the co-main event on the night, and there were a couple of debutants too. Paddy Holohan was handed the chance to kick things off by competing in the opening bout on the card. And finally there was a long-awaited call-up for Cathal Pendred. Both guys had obviously made a good enough impression during their appearances on The Ultimate Fighter to earn UFC contracts, although Chris Fields wasn’t quite so fortunate. Cathal had been in limbo since filming for his season of The Ultimate Fighter had wrapped in October 2013. His contract prohibited him from competing anywhere else until the show aired the following spring, so Cathal had to wait around five months until he finally learned that the UFC was going to give him a shot in Dublin. It was a tough time but the outcome of the fight made it all worthwhile.

It was shaping up to be a massive night for the team, with four fighters competing on a UFC card in Dublin. One of the first things Conor said when he signed with the UFC was that he was going to break down the door for his teammates to follow. It was starting to look like he had been true to his word. When the UFC last came to town we were begging for the ‘token Irish guy’ spot on the card. This time it was them approaching us to carry the show, with SBG featuring in four different bouts – including the top two on the bill. We were there on merit. The circumstances couldn’t have been any better for Conor’s return to the octagon. As his popularity continued to grow, so too did the profile of mixed martial arts in Ireland. UFC Fight Night 46 was going to be one big celebration of that.

Conor had been on the sidelines for a long time, but I had no concerns over his readiness to return. I had been watching him closely in training, observing how his rehabilitation had left him in better shape than he had ever been before. Some fans and sections of the media doubted if he could be the same fighter again, and they were right – because he was even better than the guy they had seen previously. When I saw those questions being asked I just smiled and thought to myself: Just wait and see. You have no idea what you’re about to witness.

The gap between Conor’s surgery and his return to action was going to be 315 days – seven days shorter than Georges St-Pierre’s hiatus.

The build-up to the event was a lot of fun. There seemed to be press and TV crews in the gym nearly every day, looking for access to Conor, Gunni, Cathal and Paddy. Irish journalists and reporters who had never reported on MMA before were suddenly looking for a piece of the action. Ireland was gripped by UFC fever. There was no escaping it. The tickets sold out in minutes, which ultimately became a bit of a headache. I was receiving messages from people I hadn’t spoken to in years: ‘Two will do fine, John. I don’t need any more than that. Thanks.’

Six weeks before the event, we received the by-now almost mandatory call informing us that Conor’s opponent had pulled out. Those calls didn’t come as a surprise any more. Cole Miller had picked up an injury, so Conor was instead going to face Diego Brandão – who was billed as a Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt and a ferocious striker. Some people said Cole Miller was going to be the guy to finally expose Conor McGregor. Then they said that it was going to be Brandão.

As usual, the change made no difference to us. Conor was going to be there on 19 July 2014. Whoever the UFC put in front of him, I was convinced that person would be disposed of convincingly.

In the days leading up to the fight, Brandão seemed really up for it. Conor had already started to divide opinion in the MMA world. The people who admired him got behind him fervently. Those on the opposite side of the fence couldn’t stand the sight or sound of him. They wanted to see him beaten and they weren’t shy in letting his opponents know. Brandão was receiving social media messages asking him to ‘Put some manners on McGregor’ and ‘Shut that Irish guy up’ – that sort of thing. But perhaps he was feeling the pressure of that because when he squared up to Conor at the open workouts in front of the fans in Dublin a few days before the fight, he looked extremely worked-up. Tense. He was like a dog on a leash, but I knew he had more bark than bite.

‘He’s emotionally invested in the contest already,’ Conor said to me afterwards. ‘This isn’t going to end well for him.’

That theme continued at the weigh-ins. Normally how it works is that the UFC line all the fighters up backstage in pairs, so opponents are standing alongside each other while they wait to go out and step on the scales in front of the fans. I don’t really know why they do that. It’s a bit ridiculous, because sometimes they have to wait there for up to thirty minutes. But I knew Conor wouldn’t just stand beside Brandão like some obedient schoolboy, so I brought him up to the front, away from the others. That’s what I’ve since done for every weigh-in, and UFC officials don’t ask him to line up with everybody else any more. They know it’s safer if Conor and his opponent keep their distance.

Still, Conor and Brandão didn’t take their eyes off one another as they both paced back and forth like a couple of ravenous predators sizing each other up in the jungle. Next, Brandão took his T-shirt off and started flexing his muscles. Then Conor did the same, before picking up his Irish flag. Brandão responded by grabbing his Brazilian flag. It was all a bit juvenile, but entertaining at the same time. And I could tell Conor was in control. In these situations, I always know there’s method to his madness. Just before it was our turn to head to the stage, they started to exchange words and that’s when Brandão said something that I felt was really bizarre.

‘When we have the rematch in Brazil, we’ll see how much of a tough guy you are then.’

What the hell? They haven’t even fought yet and this guy is already talking about a rematch? That, to me, suggested that he had already accepted defeat. I really couldn’t get my head around it. Conor laughed.

‘A fuckin’ rematch? I’m going to destroy you so badly that you’ll never even want to see me again, let alone have a rematch.’

It was weird to see how rattled Brandão was psychologically. When I’d seen him earlier in the week he’d been in impressive shape physically, so he had obviously trained extremely hard for the fight, despite the relatively short notice. This guy is definitely ready for this, I’d thought. But his mind clearly wasn’t prepared. He was all over the place emotionally and that became more evident as the week went on.

It reminded me of something my mam always says to me: ‘Why don’t you tell Conor to be nicer to his opponents? Maybe then they won’t train so hard and that’ll be better for him. It’s like he’s always poking them with a stick.’

But that’s exactly what Conor has in mind. He wants to beat the best version of his opponent in order to leave no doubt, uncertainty or excuses. Brandão was an example of a guy who seemed to have done everything right on the physical side, but that wasn’t going to count for much when he was an emotional wreck.

It’s become traditional for UFC president Dana White to bring the fighters together for a sort of pep talk after the weigh-ins. As they entered the room, the verbal sparring between Conor and Brandão was still going on. Brandão was shouting incessantly like a maniac. He had completely lost it. He then picked up a bottle of water and flung it at Conor. It narrowly missed his head but nearly caused a riot. Afterwards, when they were leaving, Brandão was almost having to be restrained and Conor was just enjoying it all. I felt sorry for Brandão at that stage. Fear leads to anger and hatred, and he was in a bad place mentally. It didn’t bode well for what would face him twenty-four hours later.

UFC Fight Night 46 at the O₂ Arena in Dublin on Saturday, 19 July 2014, was the greatest night of my professional life. Nothing has topped it since, and I can guarantee you that nothing ever will.

Several factors combined to make that night absolutely perfect. My dream gym had just opened and was thriving; I had four fighters competing on the card; it was in my home town; and the occasion itself was just unbelievable. What an atmosphere. But perhaps most importantly, my parents were there to watch it. I was able to get them cageside seats so they had a great vantage point for all the action. It meant so much to me to have them there. I was really keen to impress them. After our years and years of disagreements about where my life was going, it felt like this was when I finally got to show them what it had all been for. They didn’t follow MMA in the media, so they weren’t really aware of how big things were getting. This was their opportunity to see it for themselves; to see that I hadn’t wasted years of my life after all.

It was appropriate that it was Paddy Holohan who kicked things off in the first fight of the night. I’d nicknamed him ‘Berserker’ – a type of old Norse warrior. Berserkers were fearless and they were always the first ones into battle, leading the rest of the army behind them. That’s a pretty fitting description for Paddy. As an unbeaten fighter who often fought first on the card, he never failed to lay the foundations for a successful night.

Since he became a member of the SBG team, Paddy has been like a little brother to me. MMA is his life, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu in particular. We have that, among many other things, in common. He also shares my passion for coaching. I can never envisage a day when he won’t be involved in the sport. Paddy was just a young novice from Tallaght when he started training under me, so it was a special moment for me to be able to walk out behind him in such a famous arena just a few miles from where he was born, as he made his debut on the biggest stage in the world before a live audience of nearly 10,000 and millions more watching across the globe. In the changing rooms you could sense that a special atmosphere was brewing in the arena, but I couldn’t have been prepared for the noise that greeted us as Paddy emerged. Veteran journalists who had been covering the sport for years later described it as the loudest UFC event ever. Paddy was the first one to get a taste of it. I don’t even know what song he walked out to, because the noise of the crowd completely drowned out the music. Around the octagon, UFC staff exchanged knowing looks. I imagine they were asking themselves, Why the hell did we wait so long to come back here?

‘The crowd here is like nothing anybody has ever seen before,’ Dana White said afterwards. ‘I’ve been doing this for thirteen years and I’ve never seen anything like it. The fighters have never seen anything like it. The media guys who cover UFC fights all the time have never seen anything like it. It’s so crazy here. It’s just such a different level.’

Paddy’s opponent was a guy named Josh Sampo, from the USA. Having already fought in the UFC twice, Sampo had the edge when it came to experience. Ultimately, however, that counted for little. Paddy is a passionate and patriotic Irishman. There was no way he was going to disappoint in his UFC debut in front of that crowd. Usually for the first fight on a UFC card, the arena would still be mostly empty. That night in Dublin, though, the place was absolutely packed by the time Paddy and Sampo got things started.

It would have been very easy for Paddy to get swept away and caught up in the occasion to the detriment of his performance, but he tapped into that positive energy perfectly. He was having fun in there and Sampo was a little spooked by it. Just over a minute into the fight, Paddy dropped him with an uppercut. While seeking to pass Sampo’s guard, Paddy was able to avoid an armbar attempt before taking Sampo’s back and forcing him to tap out to a rear naked choke. The perfect start. One down, three to go.

It wasn’t quite so straightforward for Cathal Pendred but, then again, Cathal was never interested in doing things the easy way. Halfway through the first round of his middleweight bout against Mike King, Cathal was knocked down with a right hand and King followed up with flurry of strikes on the ground. Cathal was in trouble, no doubt about it. However, Cathal just doesn’t quit and I was confident that he’d be able to weather the storm. King continued to unload, then he tried a rear naked choke. When Cathal withstood that, his opponent attempted an armbar. With forty seconds left in the round, Cathal managed to escape and the crowd nearly lifted the roof off the arena. At that point, King’s demeanour was telling. He had emptied his tank by trying to put Cathal away when he appeared to be on the verge of victory. But when Cathal got back to his feet, King was baffled. As he stared back at Cathal, he wore a look on his face that said: What on earth do I have to do to beat this guy?

As Cathal walked back to his corner at the end of the first round, King was slumped with his hands against the cage, breathing heavily. The guy was absolutely exhausted. Out on his feet. On the other hand, Cathal felt like he hadn’t even started yet.

There are times between rounds when, as a coach, you have to deliver specific instructions. Sometimes it’s technical advice. On other occasions it’s emotional advice. It can also at times be a mixture of both. Here, I had a simple message for Cathal.

‘Look over at him, Cathal. He’s done. He expended every bit of energy in his body in that round. He’s beaten in his own head already. You’ve been here many times before. Just go out there, take the opportunity when it presents itself and show everybody else that he’s beaten too.’

I’m often asked how I know what the right advice to give a fighter is in a particular situation. The end of that first round is a good example. On that occasion, even though he was quite fresh physically, Cathal was still recovering from a tough first round and trying to clear his head, so there was no point in bombarding him with technical information that his mind wasn’t in a position to process. It would have gone in one ear and straight out the other. In a scenario like that, it’s best to connect with a fighter’s emotional side. You’ve been here before, there’s nothing to fear, you’ve got the upper hand now – that’s the kind of thing that will strike a chord in those circumstances. Those lines of communication between coach and fighter don’t just develop overnight. You can’t fake or force it. If Cathal had been a fighter from another team in that scenario, I wouldn’t have been any good to him. The level of trust and understanding needed to make a difference between rounds takes a long time to grow. It’s sort of like a relationship with a partner: when you reach the stage where you’re so familiar and comfortable in each other’s company, a nod or some other similarly minor gesture can communicate a message that you may have once needed words for. In recent years, a lot of fighters have been coming to train at SBG from gyms all over the world. A lot of promising and enthusiastic fighters come through the doors and they’re all welcome, but I always explain to them that it’s going to take about a year before I’m of any real benefit to them. Of course, I can demonstrate some technical things, but the fighter/coach relationship cannot be manufactured overnight. It will come if it’s supposed to, but it takes time.

Cathal bided his time in that second round, before scoring a takedown, taking his opponent’s back and submitting him via rear naked choke. Given that it was his lack of a track record for finishing his opponents that had prevented Cathal from earning a UFC contract previously, it was very satisfying to see him win his debut via submission. Not for the first time, Cathal was rewarded for his determination and relentlessness. As he soaked in the adulation of an ecstatic crowd, I couldn’t have been happier for him. Nobody deserved it more.

That win over Mike King must surely go down as one of the most profitable debuts in UFC history. Cathal earned $8,000 to fight plus another $8,000 for winning. On top of that, both he and Mike King picked up an additional $50,000 each as a ‘Fight of the Night’ bonus. It didn’t stop there for Cathal. A few weeks later, the UFC revealed that King had tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs, so he was stripped of his bonus and the money was surrendered to Cathal. The most important win of his career – against a guy who was bigger and on steroids – and $116,000 in the kitty? I’d call that a pretty good start to life in the UFC.

Soon afterwards, Cathal repaid me the €1,000 I’d loaned him to go to The Ultimate Fighter – with significant interest.

‘Thanks for believing in me, coach,’ he said. ‘That was a wise investment you made.’

My next duty at UFC Fight Night 46 was to coach Gunnar Nelson in the co-main event against Zak Cummings. Gunni had been training intermittently at SBG for years so the Irish fans already knew that he was worthy of their support, but this was a turning point. This was a night when they truly embraced him as one of their own. Dublin had been his second home for a long time, and it was great to see how the fans got behind him so passionately. He was blown away by the reception, and for the first time ever I saw him display some emotion around a fight.

As for the fight itself, it was classic Gunnar Nelson. A mature, patient build-up, followed by slick jiu-jitsu and a beautiful submission which came near the end of the second round, as Gunni moved one step closer to becoming a title contender.

Finally, the main event. The walk from the changing room to the octagon with Conor McGregor for his fight against Diego Brandão will go to my grave with me. To the Irish people, Conor was no longer just a sportsman. He was an icon. A symbol of national pride. The walk-out was proof of that. In such a scenario, the noise is so loud that your ears don’t even hear it any more. It’s a very strange feeling. You know you’re being engulfed by thousands of screams but it’s somehow still peaceful. For a long time, MMA fans in Ireland had been waiting for the chance to shout for one of their own on the biggest stage. Now that the time had come, they were making the most of it. The noise during Conor’s introduction was like nothing I had ever heard before. It was officially registered as 111 decibels – louder than the sound of a jet taking off.

When the contest began, Conor looked superb. It was as if the injury had never occurred. Brandão sought to use his jiu-jitsu, but Conor had little difficulty in subduing that threat. When his left hand came into play, it was game over for Brandão. Just over four minutes into the fight, Conor had made a winning return from injury, dropping Brandão with a punch before swallowing him up on the ground for a first-round TKO.

‘I said I was going to put him away in the first round and I put him away in the first round,’ Conor said afterwards. ‘It would have to be something special to come over here to my home town and take this away from me. There’s not a man alive who can come on this soil and beat me. I said it last year: We’re not here just to take part. We’re here to take over.’

Even though we’ve had plenty of great nights since then, and I know there are a lot more still to come, I still sometimes daydream and wish I could transport myself back to that night just to experience it all again. It was absolutely amazing.

After each of our fights I made a beeline for my parents and enjoyed a brief moment of celebration with them. Four fights, four victories. That day when I brought them to see The Shed and my mam was in tears seemed like a distant memory now. In many ways, as someone pointed out to me afterwards, the entire event – enormous as it was – had grown from what I had started in that tiny shed thirteen years earlier. My parents were so proud.

When the people around them in the crowd saw me with my mam and dad, they’d ask them: ‘How do you know John?’ After they told them who they were, fans were asking for selfies; and at the end of the night, my mam and dad were nearly carried out of the arena on the shoulders of the crowd. My father told me it was the proudest day of his life. I really can’t put into words how important that was for me. Having had a rocky relationship with him when I was growing up, receiving that level of approval from my dad meant more to me than I could ever explain. Every son probably craves his father’s approval. Now, I finally felt like I had it. If I had become the best engineer in the world, it could never have had the same impact as this.

After the fight, Conor went out of his way to thank me publicly: ‘John has changed our lives. He’s been an inspiration to us all. He is a master of human movement. He’s a genius at this game.’

It was kind of funny that he said I was changing my fighters’ lives, because the way I saw it was that they were changing mine. I guess that’s when you know you’re doing things right as a team.