Drugged In Colombia, Escaping Jail & Defeating UFC Wrestling - Craig Jones

Jones insists that wrestling is an incomplete martial art because it ignores ground follow-up. He plans to demonstrate this against Olympic gold medalist Gable Stevenson at CJI 2. His entire gameplan is to not even engage standing, sit down, and attack. He points to recent MMA successes where strikers willingly gave up takedowns knowing they could get up and even submit the wrestler (Volkanovski, Della Maddalena). The logic: a wrestler’s one-dimensional nature means their biggest strength becomes a trap. Once off their feet, they are useless and can be finished quickly.

Jones mentions this as a joke about ‘heavier dating partners’, but the underlying idea is real. If you’re a 77 kg grappler facing a 125 kg Olympic wrestler, you need to experience that weight before fight night. By drilling with heavy partners, you learn where you can still move and which submissions are available even when flattened. Jones implies he has personally sought out larger individuals to prepare, and it’s why he’s confident about submitting Stevenson despite the massive size difference.

Jones explains that his role as a grappling coach for UFC fighters is often to be an insurance policy. The goal isn’t to use grappling, but to make the striker believe they’ll be okay if the fight hits the floor. Once that belief is internalised, they can take more risks standing, commit to combinations, and not panic if taken down. He gives the example of Volkanovski against Islam Makhachev—instead of avoiding all takedowns, they trusted their ability to get up, which ultimately allowed Volkanovski to win rounds and threaten submissions. In contrast, many strike-heavy fighters freeze when the threat of a takedown looms, making them easy targets.

Jones addresses the ongoing debate sparked by coach Greg Souders about ecological dynamics in jiu-jitsu. He argues that the extremes are both wrong. When someone starts, they literally don’t know what moves exist, so showing them is necessary. But once a toolkit is built, creating constrained games where they have to solve problems themselves cements that knowledge. He claims that many top competitors aren’t smart, yet they figured things out through trial and error, so anyone can. The key is that giving someone the answer often leads to forgetting; making them find it themselves builds lasting understanding.

Jones describes going out for casual cocktails with Seth, who had stem cells in his neck. After only a few drinks, he blacked out. The next morning, piecing together security footage, they saw him unable to walk but alert enough to punch in the Airbnb door code. He realised it was scopolamine because it leaves mental arithmetic intact while destroying motor control. The footage showed Seth dragging him to the door, Jones perking up to enter the code, then passing out again. He woke up naked but felt no hangover, a clue that something else had happened.

Jones points out that in individual matches, stalling and inaction are dull. But in Quintet-style competition where the winner stays on, a smaller fighter forced to survive against a much larger opponent suddenly has the audience rooting for him. The team aspect creates emotional investment. He wants to borrow from pro wrestling’s use of storylines to make even a mediocre technical match feel important. He also references Japanese promotion Pride FC’s spectacle, and says that preventing a monopoly will keep such innovation alive.

He argues that a wrestler’s entire skill set is built around the takedown and pin; they are never taught to finish fights from the top or defend submissions. This means once they get a takedown, they are lost—like a dog chasing a car. He contrasts this with jiu-jitsu, where the ground is where the real game begins. He has already proven this with Volkanovski and Della Maddalena, who outgrappled wrestlers by accepting takedowns and working from bottom. Against Gable Stevenson, he plans to sit down immediately, draw him in, and attack a leg lock, confident Stevenson won’t know how to respond.

Jones openly admits he tore down ADCC and Flow’s reputation through social media and rhetoric, creating a vulnerability. Flow then approached him to take over, giving him control of the biggest streaming platform in grappling. His goal is to ensure multiple competing events exist, because if one organization monopolizes the talent, it has no incentive to improve pay or production. He compares it to the WWE’s monopoly in pro wrestling and wants jiu-jitsu to avoid that fate. He’ll keep CJI free on YouTube and use Flow to push creative, story-driven events.