Craig Jones never set out to wear a promoter’s hat. The Australian grappler has been blunt about his role in launching the Craig Jones Invitational (CJI), and if it were up to him, someone else could take over tomorrow—so long as the athletes are getting paid.
“I didn’t get in the promoting game, the promoting business to be a promoter,” Jones said in a recent interview. “I got into it to get athletes compensated. So, I’m wholeheartedly not invested in this promoting business. I was just wanting to get athletes paid.”
That’s not just a mission statement—it’s turned into a battering ram aimed straight at the traditional grappling hierarchy. CJI wasn’t just another tournament. It was a signal flare for a sport that’s long been built on underpaid labor and closed-door deals. From million-dollar prize pools to publicly visible YouTube metrics, Jones has built something that exposed the game—and dared everyone else to play differently.
“Part of me showcasing the true views of what grappling can do was to put the power in the athletes’ hand so they can walk over… that’s great for the athlete to negotiate contracts for themselves.”
It’s a subtle dig at platforms like FloGrappling and UFC Fight Pass, where viewership data is treated like nuclear codes.
“It’s not in FloGrappling’s interest. It’s not in Fight Pass’s best interest… for you to tell whatever you’re hosting how many views they get because that brings a lot of leverage to the negotiation table for the other party.”
Meanwhile, Jones just throws the numbers out there. Views. Engagement. Proof that people actually care. And when the UFC entered the BJJ scene, many expected a turf war. What they got instead was classic Jones nonchalance—cut with just enough edge to notice.
“If the UFC comes in, copies what I did, and adequately compensates athletes, awesome. That’s great. If the boys are getting paid, if the athletes are getting paid, that’s sick.”
In other words: Take my blueprint, run with it—just don’t screw over the stars.
But Jones isn’t pretending there’s no ego involved. He admitted it stings seeing his ideas cloned without so much as a nod. When he designed CJI’s unique ruleset, he gave credit where it was due: tempo mass, the pit, the whole format. That kind of intellectual honesty is rare in a business where copy-paste is the industry standard.
The bigger issue, though, is exclusivity. Jones is sounding the alarm on what happens when big orgs like the UFC or ONE start locking athletes into iron-clad contracts. Dream matchups—like Andrew Tackett vs. Kade Ruotolo II—end up as fantasy bookings instead of real events.
“My stress is that the UFC currently for MMA is where the best compete against the best. Had the UFC invested in the sport of jiu-jitsu and signed a bunch of athletes a long time ago to these exclusive deals, then UFC BJJ would have the best competing against the best. But unfortunately, we’re at a crucial moment in the sport where although we have these events that are going to get mass eyes on them, we might not have the best competing against the best.”
That reality hit home when UFC offered Jones a six-figure deal to coach and compete against Mikey Musumeci—but with the catch of full exclusivity. He turned it down. In return, UFC athletes were blocked from competing at CJI.
Still, Jones isn’t losing sleep over it. He’s continuing to run his event for free on YouTube, with profits funneled toward building jiu-jitsu schools for underprivileged kids. His goal isn’t to corner the market—it’s to keep it open.
“CJI is about athlete compensation first and putting power back in the hands of the athletes. I’m providing you an alternative to exclusive contracts. I’m providing you the information of how many people view it and you can use that to leverage sponsorships.”
CJI is Switzerland in a divided sport—neutral territory where athletes from multiple promotions can actually compete. He even worked with ONE to get their athletes in, and supports ADCC for the same reason: it’s a place where politics take a backseat to performance.
Jones’ model has already forced change. Other promotions are having to raise their pay. Transparency is becoming harder to avoid. MMA stars are realizing they can ask for more—because now they have proof they’re worth it.
And Jones? He’s fine fading into the background if someone else picks up the slack.
“If they ultimately do become a monopoly like they are in MMA, but the guys are getting paid and they’re happy, they’re getting the exposure, they’re getting everything they want, that’s incredible.”
The message is simple: He didn’t build an empire. He lit a fire. And if it burns the old way of doing things to the ground, even better.
