Does Your Record Really Matter?

Whenever people find out that I fight, they almost always ask me about my record, and I can’t blame them. It’s often the first question people ask a fighter.

As it stands, the number of wins on my record is currently equal to the number of losses. This doesn’t bother me, as I’ve never really thought of those numbers being definitive of my skill, ability, or identity as a fighter. Since I began fighting, my main focus has been to gain as much experience as I can, so other people’s opinions of my record have never been a priority. But I realise that this view isn’t shared by everyone. When I was recently asked about my record by a Thai trainer, my response was immediately met with laughter. Another fighter at my gym claimed that if he ever became a ‘fifty-fifty fighter’, he would quit fighting altogether. These interactions lead me to think about what a fighter’s record really means.

While it is easy to criticise someone’s record, it doesn’t define the fighter. Those numbers say nothing about the experiences that came with those fights, and convey no information about the opponents or any contributing factors.

In a short documentary, ‘Fighting the Dream’, Sylvie von Duuglas-Ittu also addressed this topic. “It’s not about perfection, it’s not about your record. It’s about adjusting from piece to piece, from game to game, to see what your holes are and how you want to change”, she says. 

I was reminded of this during a recent boxing sparring session with one of the Thai fighters at the gym who’s currently preparing for an upcoming boxing match. In Muay Thai sparring, I usually feel fairly confident with my boxing, but when it comes down to boxing alone, this guy blows me out of the water. At the end of one of many difficult rounds, my trainer reminded me that I was improving in small increments each day. “Don’t think about the things that you’re not doing right, just think about the things that you’re getting better at”, he said. If I approached it any other way, I would find training frustrating and disheartening, and I apply the same outlook to fighting. While you might strive for perfection in every fight and a perfect record, it’s impossible – and that’s great, because each fight shows you where you are and what you need to work on. The small victories, like being able to execute a certain technique or overcome a mental barrier, are far more important to me than the result of the fight itself.

Sylvie went on to discuss common perceptions of fight records in America. “It’s strange because it’s not the case of all American sports and it’s not the case of all international sports that you completely lose interest in a team when they lose”, she said. “But when it’s an individual game; when it’s a fighter, for some reason, it becomes a value judgement of that person.”

In the West, there seems to be an emphasis on perfect records, with undefeated status being perhaps the ultimate achievement for a fighter. While being undefeated may well be the mark of a great fighter, that doesn’t mean that a fighter with a less impressive record may not also be great.

In Thailand, fighters seem to be much more accepting of defeat, and less focused on their records. In fact, many Thai fighters are unable to recall their exact numbers of wins or losses. Of course, this is because the experiences of fighting in Thailand and the West are worlds apart. Many Thai fighters compete so frequently and from such an early age that it is impossible to keep track. Crucially, many fighters do so to make a living, which means an unblemished record is not only unimportant, but not something that they can afford. In the lead-up to my fight in the UK, I was surprised to see how many fighters had pulled out of the show, some due to injury, some for reasons that seemed frivolous, and others without giving any reason at all. Cancellations happen everywhere, but in my experience of fighting in Thailand, there is usually another opponent willing to step in at the last minute. At home, we often have the luxury of not having to go into a fight that we don’t feel ready for or comfortable with. Here, it’s not quite the same.

It’s hard to adequately explain the experience of fighting, and why it’s so much more than winning or losing, to someone who’s never done it. I’ve struggled to do so with friends and family in the past, and this gap in understanding leaves a chasm between us. I’m learning to accept that I don’t need to fill it. While they may struggle to comprehend my desire to keep fighting, the experiences, challenges and growth that fighting has given me go worlds beyond any outside influence. Sylvie said it well:

A flawed record may seem unimpressive on paper, but those who view it as such don’t see the various contributing factors. Those numbers don’t convey the times a fighter has fought through injury or sickness, when they may have had many fights in quick succession, any disparities in experience, skill or weight, or fights taken at short notice. All these factors are part and parcel of fighting in Thailand. Melissa Ray, a now-retired world champion who writes at Muay Thai on the Brain, also raised the same topic in an interview. When asked which question she most hated answering, this was her response:

The interview also opens with a fitting quote by Theodore Roosevelt: “Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure… than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat”. Fighters who are unsatisfied with their records can find comfort in this.

Melissa also raises a point about those who pad their records by fighting sub-par opponents. I’ve known fighters who’ve only gone into fights under the knowledge that their opponent was someone over which they had some sort of advantage, or whom they were sure they could beat. That’s OK if you’re just looking to protect your record, your image and perhaps your ego, but it won’t help a fighter grow. A great number of losses doesn’t necessarily mean a bad fighter, just as a great number of victories doesn’t always mean a good one. It’s much more nuanced than that. No matter how your record stands, you should be proud of each of the fights that made it. Additionally, being a remarkable fighter doesn’t mean always winning. Taking on challenges, accepting losses and setbacks, overcoming them and then coming back stronger are things that build great fighters.

Don’t sweat your record, or anyone else’s. I say this not to make excuses for my losses or to take anything away from fighters with impressive records, but to emphasise that there’s so much more to fighting than tallying up matches in numbers. Although it’s no fun to lose, I don’t mind marking a loss in my book if I’ve been able to take something positive away from it, and I’m willing to admit that some of those have certainly come down to bad performances on my part. While I still come up against negative opinions of my record, I’m not ashamed of it.

Records aren’t meaningless, but they’re not the be-all and end-all, either. Anyone can judge a fighter’s career, but only the fighter knows what it truly means. The fact that I’m fighting at all still amazes me, and I accept that losing is part of a constant learning curve, as well as the beauty of the journey. I’m sure every fighter would prefer to have a top-heavy record. For me, that may (or may not) come with time. A fighter’s record doesn’t tell their whole story. Losses are part of mine, and that’s OK. I’m enjoying every experience along the way. 

Marq from Wombat Sports wrote this article, ‘What’s in a Number? The Ins and Outs of Wins and Losses‘ in response to this post. 

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