The world of combat sports thrives on contradictions, but few figures embody them as unapologetically as Craig Jones. The Australian grappling icon recently declared that TUF-style reality shows have “been dead for 12 years”—just as he announced a new partnership with FloGrappling, the same company that tried (and failed) to reboot the format in 2022.
The kicker? Jones starred in both The Ultimate Fighter and Flo’s failed knockoff. So when he trashes the reality TV model, it’s not idle commentary—it’s a strategic rebrand from someone who’s seen both sides.
The Provocateur
On a recent episode of On Borrowed Time with Craig Jones, the B-Team leader didn’t hold back:
“Like I said on Instagram, [that format] has been dead for 12 years. McGregor brought the numbers up, but even with his charisma, it couldn’t save the show. So for an organization to try that with grapplers who don’t know how to speak—it’s a terrible investment.”
Hard to argue, especially given his own experience. Jones gained hundreds of thousands of followers from his TUF stint under Team Volkanovski. But when FloGrappling tried to replicate that magic with their 2022 series, the result was a forgettable flop that proved his point.
From Breakout Star to Format Skeptic
Jones’ rise from niche grappling figure to mainstream personality began with The Ultimate Fighter. According to coach Joe Lopez, Volkanovski’s team picked him directly:
“We were going over names and I just said Craig Jones. He’d be the best.”
The season proved to be a turning point for Jones’ popularity. Lopez noted that Jones “got a couple of hundred thousand followers after that.” The entertainment value Jones brought to the show, combined with the Australian humor that contrasted with the American team’s approach, resonated with viewers.
He delivered—not just in coaching, but in screen presence. His dry Australian wit and chaotic energy made him a fan favorite.
But FloGrappling’s 2022 reality series couldn’t capture that same magic. It lacked star power, struggled with pacing, and exposed how difficult it is to make grappling compelling through a scripted lens. The result was a quiet, costly embarrassment.
Jones vs. ADCC
Craig’s recent pivot to working with FloGrappling is especially juicy considering his high-profile spat with ADCC. The fallout was serious enough that Flo—who reportedly paid seven figures for ADCC’s streaming rights—found themselves in the middle of an escalating turf war.
“I do have to apologize to absolutely no one,” Jones said. “It’s still going to be free on YouTube, and I’m working with FloGrappling. What a massive liability it is for me to sign a contract with them. I think their lawyers and HR department are aware of that—but I am the chaos the sport needs.”
His partnership with Flo comes after launching his own event series—the Craig Jones Invitational (CJI)—on the exact same weekend as ADCC 2024. The message was clear: if ADCC won’t play fair with athletes, he’ll build something better.
Strategic Repositioning
The CJI format ditches the forced drama and leans into pure competition—a philosophy likely sharpened by witnessing Flo’s reality TV flop firsthand. And now, with Flo’s budget behind him, Jones is using their platform without buying into their failed formulas.
“My goal is to really grow the sport,” Jones said. “Now I can blow it up even further on a massive company’s budget.”
That’s not just about money—it’s about leverage. The UFC has started locking top grapplers into exclusive contracts to prop up its own content ambitions, enlisting names like Gordon Ryan and Mikey Musumeci. But Ryan’s health issues seem career-ending, and Musumeci weighs about half of a healthy Gordon—making their inevitable showdown little more than marketing fiction.
What Flo Got Wrong
FloGrappling’s 2022 reality show didn’t flop because of poor editing or weak marketing. It failed because the sport resists the reality TV formula. Grapplers don’t fit neatly into TV tropes. The stakes aren’t scripted. And without stars like Jones carrying the format, the whole thing collapses under its own awkwardness.
Now under new general manager Ben Kovacs—who previously partnered with Jones on CJI via Guardian—Flo seems to be repositioning. The aim: drop the exclusivity, increase athlete freedom, and steer clear of another content disaster.
“We’re really trying to save people from being locked down into exclusive contracts,” Jones explained. “That’s what’s holding back a lot of sports.”
Jones’ criticism isn’t hypocrisy—it’s growth. He thrived on TUF because it worked then. But the game has changed, and he’s not pretending otherwise. He’s leveraging media experience, not clinging to it.
His self-awareness—even when he admits to “occasionally taking things too far”—is part of the act. He’s not flip-flopping. He’s evolving in real time.
The Bigger Battle
At face value, Jones’ media contradictions are entertaining. But beneath them is a real concern: the creeping exclusivity infecting the sport. The UFC wants to dominate the pipeline. Jones wants it blown wide open.
Reality TV might be dead. But the fight over grappling’s future is just getting started.
