Demetrious Johnson‘s legacy in MMA is up there with the best ever to do it. He reigned with the UFC flyweight belt through a record 11 consecutive title defenses, and in 2022, he became ONE Championship’s 135-pound champion.
When news broke on Friday that the 38-year-old Johnson was retiring from MMA with 25 career victories, praise came pouring in from many of the sport’s greats. Known as ‘Mighty Mouse’ in the MMA world, his run as champion was both trailblazing and, in some ways, underappreciated.
ESPN’s Andreas Hale, Brett Okamoto, and Jeff Wagenheim have watched Johnson since he was a young bantamweight, starting at World Extreme Cagefighting in 2010, and through his dominant UFC campaign and his championship end at ONE. Here are some of their enduring memories of his career, along with an assessment of his elite status within the sport.
Mighty Mouse’s place among the GOATs
Okamoto: As in any sport, the “GOAT conversation” is a funny one in mixed martial arts because there is no correct answer. We can (and will) debate Johnson’s place amongst the greatest in MMA history until the end of time. I tend to put the various GOATs into separate categories of greatness, rather than rank them against each other.
There are five MMA GOATs, in my opinion: Jon Jones, Khabib Nurmagomedov, Georges St-Pierre, Anderson Silva and Demetrious Johnson. Jones has the best resume. Nurmagomedov was the most “unbeatable” on any given night. St-Pierre was ahead of his time in his skill set, preparation, mindset, etc. Silva was the “greatest” in the same sense Muhammad Ali was the “greatest,” as he was art-like inside the Octagon. And Johnson? Johnson is the most technically skilled fighter I have ever witnessed.
And he had to be. He competed at the smallest weight, where every technical deficiency is magnified. A dominant heavyweight can still be flawed, because it’s just a different game when you’re talking about 125 pounds versus 265 pounds. Brock Lesnar would have never been a UFC champion in a lower weight class, where second-to-second execution and skill are essential. Johnson’s fight IQ, endurance and expertise at blending all martial arts into one cohesive style is arguably unmatched in the sport’s history. If you want someone to run a clinic on MMA skills, Johnson is the No. 1 pick.
The reason why you will probably never see Johnson at the very top of most GOAT rankings is the level of competition he fought. But there’s context to that. When he was with the UFC and breaking records like consecutive title defenses, the knock on his resume is that he wasn’t beating “former champions,” which was always ridiculous because there weren’t “former champions” for him to beat — because the flyweight division was brand new to the promotion. However, his accomplishments always flew under the radar compared to someone like Jones, who made a career out of dominating former light heavyweight champs.
When Johnson was traded from the UFC to ONE Championship in 2019, that may have further hurt his case for all-time GOAT. As much as it was viewed — fairly or not — that he was facing a lower level of competition than his UFC champion counterparts, it was considered that way even more so when he went to ONE and fought relatively unknown, unseasoned opponents. His case as all-time GOAT might have been bolstered had he fought TJ Dillashaw in 2017, but Johnson stuck to his guns regarding financial demands that the UFC ultimately balked at. And the fact that he lost his last UFC fight via a split decision with Henry Cejudo could ding his case a bit more.
However, the fact that Johnson didn’t necessarily “chase” fights that could have helped his GOAT status runs perfectly with how he conducted his career. He was a student, who was always more obsessed with the competition itself than any accolades or outside praise. He was comfortable with his standing in the sport, almost defiantly so (especially under the pressure to fight Dillashaw in 2017). He is, unquestionably, the greatest flyweight of all time, and it would be nearly impossible for anyone to change that. In terms of his placement amongst the GOATs, he will never receive many first-place votes. Still, if you ask any real martial artist who they look up to most from a perspective of pure skill. It’s Johnson.
The uphill battle for Mighty Mouse
Hale: In a combat sports world where personalities can be more marketable than actual fighting ability, Johnson presented himself as a fighter’s fighter who never needed to create a character, manufacture a rivalry, or drum up controversy to generate interest in his fights. “Mighty Mouse” carried himself with respect and treated his opponents in high regard until the cage door shut. Once locked inside with his opponent, he let his fists and feet do the talking.
Johnson struggled to find mainstream appeal as an African-American fighter of diminutive stature and never seemed overly concerned with his popularity. He didn’t have an entire country backing him, wasn’t a devastating knockout artist, nor did he showcase a larger-than-life personality. One could argue that his persona inside and outside the ring caused him to leave money on the table. He could have gone the Floyd Mayweather Jr. route and played the villain just so people would pay to see him lose, but that wasn’t in Johnson’s character. Simply put, Johnson was just really good at fighting. He was so good that the UFC considered shutting down the division he dominated for five years because they couldn’t find a rival to match him inside the Octagon.
To his credit, Johnson was never petulant about the lack of notoriety and financial gain. In fact, Johnson found new ways to grow as a fighter — leaving the UFC for ONE Championship and winning their 135-pound title in 2022 — and as a YouTube streamer. The “Mighty” channel has over 728,000 subscribers and blends video game streaming sessions with detailed breakdowns of all things MMA.
All he ever cared about was entertaining inside the cage. If you didn’t find him exciting, you missed out on witnessing the greatest flyweight to compete in mixed martial arts.
Johnson’s memorable and magical moments
Wagenheim: Watching Johnson show off his marvelous skill set in MMA was always a thrill, but along with the excitement came bewilderment.
Wait a second, what did “Mighty Mouse” just do there? How did he accomplish that move?
I was cageside in Toronto on the night in 2012 when “Mighty Mouse” became the UFC’s inaugural flyweight champ. I remember two things about that fight with Joseph Benavidez at UFC 152: one, that it was all-action and breathtaking, and two, that the crowd booed. Those fans’ failure to grasp the supremacy they were witnessing baffled many, including an annoyed Dana White, who went on an epic post-fight rant. “If you didn’t like the flyweight fight, please, I’m begging you, don’t ever buy another UFC pay-per-view again,” the UFC president told reporters at the post-fight press conference. “I don’t want your money. You’re a moron. You don’t like fighting. You don’t appreciate talent.”
If any fans heeded White’s words, they missed out on many a spectacular moment to come. Johnson was seconds away from a lopsided decision win against Kyoji Horiguchi in 2015, but opted not to settle for that. Instead, he scored his 14th takedown of the night and quickly transitioned to an armbar to elicit the tap — with one second left in Round 5. “That’s a new record [for latest submission]!” a breathless Joe Rogan said on the broadcast. “You can’t beat it!”
I remember showing my pre-teen son a replay of that finish the following day. He was becoming drawn to spectator sports, and when he watched MMA with me, he found himself drawn to one fighter above all others. “Dad, is ‘Mighty Mouse’ fighting this week?” he would ask, full of hope. It made perfect sense because my kid loved superheroes who did things mere mortals could not. We stayed up late together on the night in 2017 that Johnson was making his record 11th consecutive title defense, and when “Mighty Mouse” pulled off the greatest submission ever — picking up Ray Borg, throwing him to the canvas and, in the same motion, clamping on an armbar before they’d even hit the ground! — we just sat there, silently staring at each other. There were no words for what we had just seen — or thought we had seen. Then the replay came on, and as the boy and I soaked in the no-wasted-motion details of how Johnson had, in a flash, got the tapout, we simultaneously blurted out, “Wow!”
I often wished I was viewing not live but on tape, so I could switch the video to slow motion and see his magic unfold frame by frame. Watching in real time felt like experiencing a classic work of literature through Cliff Notes. You’re just skimming the deeper essence of a 125-pound marvel who was larger than life.