Review

The violent fall of a great American sports star

Our Fight, the second memoir by former MMA champion Ronda Rousey, is a tale of industry norms that range from sad to frightening

Ronda Rousey, then undefeated UFC champion, in 2015
Ronda Rousey, then undefeated UFC champion, in 2015 Credit: Getty

Ronda Rousey’s name doesn’t hit as hard on this side of the Pond. In America, however, she’s one of the most significant sports personalities of the 21st century. Not only was she the first female superstar of the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC), the world’s biggest mixed martial arts (MMA) league, but she was also a key name – possibly the key name – in the increasing mainstream prominence of women’s sport

Rousey’s undefeated streak as UFC champion, between December 2012 and November 2015, made women’s MMA an attraction. Rousey headlined her debut UFC pay-per-view event, which attracted 450,000 paying viewers. For her final UFC fight just three years later, she drew 1.1 million pay-per-view viewers and a record 18,000-strong Las Vegas crowd. “I ushered MMA into a new era,” Rousey writes, “where it was understood that women not only deserved a spot on the fight card, but atop it.”

But as she describes in her new autobiography, Our Fight, when she lost her title to Holly Holm in 2015, her fighting career was all but over. The result of that defeat was more than a mouthful of loosened teeth; it struck her as a life-changing catastrophe. She describes days of sobbing, hiding away while paparazzi lie in wait outside, and thoughts of suicide. She had been the champion, she writes – “But now, without that, I was nothing.” (She adds, a little over-dramatically: “At least when you’re dead you don’t have to feel how much it hurts.”) Rousey made a comeback attempt in December 2016, and was decisively beaten in 48 seconds by Amanda Nunes. She was clearly finished as a fighter.

Our Fight is Rousey’s second autobiography, following the 2015 best-seller My Fight, Your Fight. The first book followed her troubled childhood and journey to UFC glory and fame, from the perspective of a still-undefeated champion. Our Fight, by contrast, begins with her loss to Holm. It’s a book on the defensive. Rousey doesn’t make excuses, but seeks to explain the reasons for losing: even a dodgy mouthguard takes some of the blame. At the time, there was a feeling among some UFC viewers that Rousey had gone into the Holm fight too arrogantly, and that Holm exposed the holes in her game. But Rousey reveals the physical and mental toll on her at the time: the grind of near-daily concussions, repeated injuries, dehydrating herself to the point of agony to make weight.

Our Fight details Rousey’s battle to overcome the loss, but it’s also about combative relationships with toxic coaches; the weight of self-imposed expectation; and her segue, after her UFC defeat, into wrestling, with World Wrestling Entertainment, or WWE. She touches on her own problematic behaviour, but without specificities, namely that she has been accused of transphobia for taking shots at transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox – “She can try hormones, chop her pecker off, but it’s still the same bone structure a man has” – and was criticised for sharing a conspiracy video about the Sandy Hook school shooting. “I believe I’m a good person capable of doing some dumb s--- at times,” she writes here, but leaves it at that.

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In addition, Rousey’s stories of marrying UFC heavyweight Travis Browne and becoming a mother after a punishing course of IVF may not even be so interesting to those readers to whom this book will undeniably appeal the most: hardcore MMA and wrestling fans. For, it’s fair to say, Our Fight requires at least a rudimentary understanding of those two disciplines. Rousey doesn’t quite explain the more-complex-than-they-seem pleasures of watching people fight – or pretend to fight. The wrestling-business terminology and the descriptions of its inner workings may remain impenetrable to the layman. 

In-the-know fans, nonetheless, will be fascinated by the moments in which Rousey does pull back the curtain. A lifelong fan of wrestling, she borrowed her “Rowdy” moniker from the 1980s star, “Rowdy” Roddy Piper, and Our Fight underplays just how good she was at WWE’s choreographed fighting. Admittedly, she has something of a selective memory. There are times when she recalls having a great wrestling match, or getting “the biggest pop of the show” – a loud cheer, in wrestling parlance – which might be contested by fans who were there live in the arena (me included). The “pop” for Rousey at London’s O2 Arena in July 2023, for instance, was dwarfed by the reaction to WWE champion Roman Reigns.

Rousey gives a particularly damning insight into WWE’s culture of sexism under its former chairman, Vince McMahon. Indeed, she saves her biggest jabs for the latter, whom she describes as having “the appearance of a seedy Vegas mob boss powered by anabolic steroids and Viagra”; she suggests that he wants to control and suppress women, and that he’d sooner pay for female wrestlers’ plastic surgery than their medical bills. Even so, McMahon’s image is already taking a more serious beating than the one Rousey doles out. He’s under federal investigation, following a 2022 report of him paying over $12 million in hush money over sexual misconduct allegations. In January, a former employee filed a civil lawsuit that accused him of abuse, sexual assault and sex trafficking within the WWE corporate structure. McMahon denies all the claims.


Our Fight is published by Cornerstone at £20. To order your copy for £16.99, call 0808 196 6794 or visit Telegraph Books

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