The lights went out in an instant.

Daniel Cormier remembers the moment vividly—flying backward off a stage at the MGM Grand, flat on his back, locked in a chaotic brawl with Jon Jones while a UFC security guard collapsed beneath them. What started as a press conference devolved into something primal, violent, and uncontrollable.

“In that split second,” Cormier admits, “there was a thought to bite him.”

It wasn’t just a fight. It was a snapshot of one of the most combustible rivalries in combat sports history—one that, even years after their final bout, continues to erupt in new, unexpected arenas.

A Rivalry Beyond the Octagon

Jon Jones and Daniel Cormier didn’t merely compete for championships. They clashed over identity, legacy, and morality. Their animosity transcended the cage, spilling into hotel lobbies, press stages, and now—bizarrely—onto a Russian reality television show.

According to UFC president Dana White, the tension between Jones and Cormier was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“They weren’t there for photo ops,” White recalled. “Once somebody felt disrespected, there was no stopping them. I don’t care who you are—you’re not stopping that.”

White still remembers the now-iconic image of security guard Dave Scholler frozen in panic between the two fighters during one of their altercations, fully aware he had no chance of holding them apart.

A New Stage, Same Old Wounds

Years later, the rivalry has resurfaced in a surprising setting. Jones and Cormier were brought together on a Russian reality show—an experiment that reignited old resentments rather than burying them.

Jones, reflecting on the experience, described it as deeply disappointing.

“The last season I did was fun,” Jones said. “I was with Diaz, Masvidal, Yoel Romero. It was lighthearted. We hung out. We made memories. This season? It was Daniel Cormier. What a stuffy guy.”

Jones accused Cormier of creating a tense, miserable environment, claiming he surrounded himself with “ten yes men” and barked orders at staff like personal servants.

“Go get me my water. Where’s my this? Why is that like this?” Jones recalled. “He bosses people around. Off camera, he didn’t really connect with anyone. He’s just an asshole—and people who work with him know that.”

Cormier doesn’t deny the friction, but he flips the narrative.

“There were moments we laughed,” Cormier said. “But for the most part, he’s an asshole. Look at how he treats people. He’s not sociable. He doesn’t try to make peace.”

Each man sees the other as the true instigator, and neither appears willing to relinquish the moral high ground.

The Moment Everything Changed

For Cormier, however, the rivalry’s deepest scar has nothing to do with television or trash talk. It traces back to steroids—and what he believes they permanently stole from him.

Cormier is blunt: Jon Jones does not belong in the greatest-of-all-time conversation.

“You can’t chant steroids in fighting,” Cormier said. “This isn’t baseball. This isn’t basketball. Steroids make you stronger, faster, give you endurance and recovery. They let you train hard today, hard tomorrow, and hard the next day. That’s how you grow.”

Cormier contrasts their defining matchup sharply. At 36 years old, he believes he was working harder than ever—pushing his body to the brink, clean, knowing it was his last chance to be ready. Jones, by contrast, was 28, in his physical prime.

That fight later became a no contest after Jones tested positive for banned substances.

“That’s the fight he tested positive,” Cormier said. “You can’t ignore that.”

What makes it worse for Cormier is that he never suspected anything during the fight itself.

“He felt like Jon Jones,” Cormier explained. “Always strong. Always big. Always in shape. Nothing surprised me.”

The revelation came later—and it reframed everything.

“I had accepted it,” Cormier said. “He beat me twice. I was done. I thought, ‘If I can’t beat him, nobody can.’ I destroy everyone else. So I believed I’d never be champion as long as he was around.”

Learning about the failed drug tests turned what felt like destiny into something far more bitter.

Respect Without Forgiveness

Despite his resentment, Cormier refuses to deny Jones’s extraordinary ability.

“He’s the most talented fighter we’ve ever seen,” Cormier admitted. “Length, skill, fight IQ—no one compares.”

He places Jones above legends like Demetrius Johnson and Khabib Nurmagomedov in terms of raw talent alone. But for Cormier, talent isn’t enough.

“Khabib did it with grit and determination,” he said. “DJ did it clean. You can’t have steroids tied to your name and still be the greatest.”

In Cormier’s eyes, Jones is the greatest talent in MMA history—but not the greatest fighter.

The Wrestling Challenge

Now 46, Cormier has found a new way to challenge his longtime rival: wrestling.

“I still coach wrestling. I still wrestle three days a week,” Cormier said. “I don’t understand how anyone thinks I’d lose a wrestling match.”

He’s gone public with the challenge, promising that if Jones steps onto the mat, “I’m teching this dude.”

Not everyone is convinced. Kamaru Usman has cautioned that Jones’s freak athleticism and natural instincts could make any grappling match far closer than Cormier believes. Usman recalls seeing Jones switch to wrestling mid-fight and dominate opponents with ease, despite never competing at the Division I level.

Even so, the challenge hangs in the air—another chapter waiting to be written.

A Rivalry Fueled by Money and Memory

Jones, for his part, believes Cormier has no interest in true reconciliation.

“I tried to make peace many times,” Jones said. “He made it clear he wants us to be enemies forever—because it’s lucrative.”

That accusation cuts both ways. Analysts like Ariel Helwani note that this reunion didn’t happen on a UFC stage but on a Russian reality show—likely because the money was too good to refuse. Helwani speculates both men may have earned more than they would have coaching The Ultimate Fighter.

With Jones reportedly turning down massive fight offers while continuing to appear on high-paying international projects, the financial incentives of spectacle seem to outweigh the risks of real combat.

A full MMA fight appears unlikely. A grappling match? Possible—but far from guaranteed.

An Unfinished Story

Ultimately, Jon Jones vs. Daniel Cormier is no longer just a rivalry about wins and losses. It’s about legacy, ethics, ego, and the cost of greatness.

Cormier sees himself as a clean champion whose prime was overshadowed by controversy. Jones sees himself as the greatest talent the sport has ever produced, burdened by a rival unwilling to let the past die.

They are bound together by history—and by an audience that still can’t look away.

As the rivalry continues to evolve on strange new stages, one question remains unanswered:
Can two men who defined each other’s careers ever truly coexist?

Or will this feud—fueled by pride, money, and unresolved wounds—continue long after the final bell, proving that in combat sports, some rivalries never really end?