Derrick Lewis is a knockout artist with fists like sledgehammers. Alexey Oleinik is a submission specialist who'd squeeze the life out of a python. When these two heavyweights clashed back in August 2020, it was like watching a grizzly bear fight a boa constrictor.
Lewis, they call him "The Black Beast." He's blessed with bigness and a jawbreaker of a right hand that could knock out the good lord himself. Born in New Orleans, raised in Houston, he's got a story that reads like something out of a pulp novel. Troubled youth, time in the clink, found salvation in the fight game. Now he's knocking guys out for a living and making wisecracks that'd make a sailor blush.
This is a guy who started fighting because he was looking to lose weight. Ended up becoming the knockout king of the UFC heavyweight division. Fifteen times he's sent grown men to dreamland. As WWE impresario Paul Heyman might say, that's not a record, that's a warning label. He's got wins over top guys like Alexander Volkov, Francis Ngannou, and Curtis Blaydes. He even fought for the title, though amateur wrestling great Daniel Cormier showed him there's levels to this game.
Lewis fights like he's got a bus to catch. He'll stand there, looking about as interested as a teenager at a family reunion, then suddenly explode like a powder keg. That aforementioned right hand should be registered as a lethal weapon. When it lands, it's like watching a building demolition. One second a guy like Curtis Blaydes is shooting for a takedown, the next he's wondering why he's looking at the ceiling.
But Lewis is more than just a puncher. When he’s fully healthy, he's got this uncanny ability to just stand up when he's on the ground. Doesn't matter if you've got him flatter than a pancake, he'll just push himself up like he's getting off the couch. It's the kind of thing that makes wrestling coaches wake up in a cold sweat.
Oleinik, "The Boa Constrictor," is a wily old grappler who's been tying men in knots since Bill Clinton was in office. Born in Ukraine when it was still part of the Soviet Union, he's got more mileage on him than a long-haul trucker's rig. He's been fighting so long, he's competed in four different decades. That's not a career, that's a history lesson.
This guy's got more submissions than a literary magazine. Forty-six wins by making guys tap out. He's got chokes you've never even heard of. The Ezekiel choke? For years, he was the only guy in UFC history to pull it off. Not once, but twice. That's like hitting a hole-in-one with your eyes closed. Twice.
Oleinik fights like he's trying to fold his opponent into origami. He's not pretty to watch, but he’s effective. He's got this scarf hold submission that looks like he's trying to crack open his opponent’s skull. It's not flashy, but opponents will attest that it’s agonizing.
When they squared off in the UFC APEX, it was like the ramshackle old days of one-night tournaments when we watched different combat sports collide. Lewis, 265 pounds of meat, muscle, and mean. Oleinik, 227 pounds of grit and guile. Lewis outweighed Oleinik by nearly 40 pounds; Oleinik somehow had him by 2” on reach with those orangutang-like arms.
Round one, Oleinik damn near pulled it off. He had Lewis in more trouble than a mouse in a cat house. Had him in a scarf hold that would've made most men tap faster than a telegram operator. But Lewis? He just stood up. Like a man getting out of an easy chair to grab another beer. That's the thing about Lewis. He makes escaping submissions look as easy as swatting flies.
Oleinik kept coming, though. Like a terrier with a bone, he wouldn't let go. He was on Lewis like a cheap suit, looking for any opportunity to drag the fight to the ground and squeeze him. For a minute there, it looked like the old submission wizard might just pull off the impossible.
But then came round two. Lewis remembered he's got fists like cinder blocks. He caught Oleinik with a flying knee that probably registered on the Richter scale. Followed it up with a right hand that would've felled an oak tree. Then came the ground-and-pound. It looked like a man trying to put out a campfire with his bare hands.
It was over. Twenty-one seconds into the second round. Lewis had his record-setting knockout. Oleinik, no stranger to bailing on fights that aren’t going his way, had a headache that probably lasted till Christmas.
You know what's crazy? These guys are still at it. Lewis is still swinging for the fences, still knocking guys into next week. Just this May, he flattened Rodrigo Nascimento with the kind of punches that make you wince just watching. He's had his ups and downs, sure. Lost to Gane for the interim title, got knocked out by Tai Tuivasa in a fun slugfest. But he keeps coming back, keeps throwing those bombs.
Oleinik? He's a throwback to a different era. A time when men fought because that's just what they did. No flash, no trash talk. Just a quiet intensity to the pro-Putin strangler makes you think he'd be as comfortable chopping wood in Siberia or launching artillery rounds at Ukraine as he is choking out heavyweights in the Octagon. He's the human anaconda, always looking for that next squeeze.
They're not young men anymore. Lewis is pushing 39, Oleinik's closer to 50 than 40. But they keep coming back, keep climbing into that cage. Why? Because fighters fight. It's what they do.
Lewis, he's got that sly sense of humor. Says he fights because his "wife told him to." Always reminding us that he’s still perfecting his wrestling, his back hurts, he still doesn’t have abs. Meanwhile, he's setting records and becoming a fan favorite. Not for his physique. For his heart. And his humor. This is a guy who took off his shorts in the Octagon because "his balls was hot." You can't make this stuff up.
Oleinik? He's a throwback to a different era. A time when men fought because that's just what they did. No flash, no trash talk. Just a quiet intensity to the pro-Putin strangler makes you think he'd be as comfortable chopping wood in Siberia or launching artillery rounds at Ukraine as he is choking out heavyweights in the Octagon. He's the human anaconda, always looking for that next squeeze.
In a world of Instagram models and TikTok dancers, these guys are throwbacks. They're the last of a dying breed. Specialists with very specific ways of getting the job done. Lewis with his knockout power, Oleinik with his submission savvy. They're not pretty fighters. They’re not well-rounded. Neither will win any beauty contests. But they're real. As real as a punch in the mouth, as real as the tap of a hand signaling surrender.
In an age where everything's filtered and airbrushed, there's something beautiful about that kind of brutal honesty. Something that makes you sit up and take notice. Lewis and Oleinik, they're more than just fighters. They're reminders of what most couch potatoes could be if they weren't so afraid to stop seeing the show and start being it.
So here's to The Black Beast and The Boa Constrictor. Here's to the specialists who do one thing and do it well. Here's to the fighters who refuse to evolve yet still make their living in the most unforgiving arena on earth. They may not be role models, but they're something to see. In a sport where youth is king, these old lions are still roaring. And we'd all do well to listen before they’re silenced for good.