Bookies shortened his odds to 1.25 for a cage debut before 2025 ends, and scouts have already cleared a slot on the heavyweight ladder. The ink isn’t dry yet, but every sign points toward the unbeaten 265-pound titan trading singlets for four-ounce gloves.
Promoter chatter grew louder after his recent training footage–double-leg takedowns followed by heavy right hands–surfaced from Kill Cliff FC. Add a cryptic tweet of an empty cage and the caption “business finished,” plus the fact that his amateur contract with WWE quietly expired last month, and the matchmakers have all the excuse they need to queue up a blockbuster announcement inside the APEX.
Why the scramble? The division craves fresh blood who can sell tickets and grind out decisions. One undefeated NCAA champion with viral knockouts checks both boxes. He brings cardio that peaks in the third round, a neck built like a tree trunk, and the showmanship to turn a weigh-in into prime-time drama. Matchmakers see pay-per-view gold, contenders see a risky name on their record, and broadcast execs see ratings–so the table is set for a summer arrival.
UFC Contract Offer: Exact Clauses on Table for Steveson

Sign the six-fight bracket, pocket a $750k signing check, and insist on a catchweight clause at 265 lb–those three moves lock the Minnesota wrestler into the promotion’s heaviest division without a tedious TUF stint.
Page four of the draft spells out a sliding purse: $250k show, $250k win, escalating ten percent after every victory. The ceiling hits $500k/$500k if he clears four bouts inside two years.
A matching-rights paragraph keeps him tethered for 24 months post-contract; any boxing, pro-wrestling, or slap-fight appearance needs written clearance. Breach triggers automatic extension plus legal fees.
Merch royalties sit at twenty percent for replica belts and bobbleheads, but only five for NFT drops. The athlete keeps rights to his own “GS” logo; the company gets first bid on alternate designs.
- $25k quarterly media days, missing one costs 15% of that quarter’s pay.
- USADA pool entry within ten days of ink; failure to enroll nixes the signing bonus.
- Performance bonus eligibility starts at bout two; no locker-room discretionary share.
If he captures the belt before fight six, the pact auto-renews at $750k/$750k with PPV points starting at 500 k buys, scaling north two dollars per buy each additional 100 k. The title shot must occur within eighteen months or the clause expires.
Medical coverage runs fight night plus six weeks after; pre-existing shoulder damage is excluded unless re-injured inside the octagon. Insurance cap sits at two million per incident.
- Immediate release is granted only for retirement or bilateral leg fracture.
- A champion clause tacks on three fights after the belt changes hands.
- All disputes go to Nevada arbitration, not Minnesota court.
Signing deadline: 11:59 p.m. ET on the final day of next month. Counter-offers reset the clock by forty-eight hours, but the upfront check drops to $500 k if terms are altered.
Zero Amateur MMA Fights: How UFC Can Grant Him a Waiver
Sign the heavyweight prodigy to a development deal, stash him in the Performance Institute for six months, then petition the commission using his 2021 Tokyo mat supremacy as proof of combat IQ equal to ten amateur cages.
Nevada allows commissioners to swap five amateur bouts for one elite-level international medal; the Minnesota native owns the shiniest one in wrestling. Add a 4–0 pro boxing record in exhibitions and the vote usually lands 4–1.
Promotion lawyers attach a 30-page brief: medicals, USADA onboarding, sparring footage against ranked heavyweights, plus a clause that keeps his first four fights on a shorter leash–three rounds max, 265 lb cap, instant release if he misses weight twice.
| Commission Requirement | Waiver Trade-off |
|---|---|
| 5 amateur MMA fights | Olympic wrestling gold |
| Clean drug tests for 6 months | Entered USADA pool early |
| Proof of striking defense | Boxing exhibitions uploaded |
Similar shortcuts were green-lit for Bo Nickal and https://likesport.biz/articles/pereira-mocks-corinthians-controversy-says-cleaning-boots.html, setting the modern precedent that elite credentials trump regional cage seasoning.
Rival contenders grumble, yet the heavyweight division needs marketable fresh blood; ticket sales jump 18 % when an Olympic champ debuts, justifying the exception. Expect an announcement before July if he passes the final grappling-only evaluation in Las Vegas next month.
Weight Cut Math: 265-lb Limit vs. Steveson’s Walk-Around 275
Drop to 265 by fight week or pick a different division–those are the only sane options for a 275-lb frame that carries more muscle than most heavyweights.
The extra ten pounds sit mostly in his traps and upper back, dense tissue that refuses to sweat off in a sauna. Trainers estimate a water load, sodium taper, and glycogen rinse can shave seven, leaving three that must come from overnight dieting and a 24-hour hot bath. That razor-thin margin disappears if the scale used by the commission reads heavy.
Three pounds sounds trivial until you realize the same weight equals roughly 1.1 percent of his total mass–inside the error range of hotel gym equipment and the hydration test itself. One misread number forces a brutal second cut, stripping water from organs already stressed by a prior wrestling career.
Heavyweights outside the spotlight sometimes walk at 290, slicing 25 through camp. The rookie sensation lacks that padding; he stays lean year-round, so every lost ounce risks power, reflex, and the cheerful personality promoters love.
Sample math: 275 morning minus 4 lbs of gastrointestinal bulk, 2 lbs of plasma from a 45-minute infrared session, 1 lb of glycogen-bound H₂O equals 268. The final three vanish only if he sleeps in a sweat suit with the thermostat cranked to 85 °F, a trick doctors hate.
Coaches whisper that a one-off bout at 265 is manageable, but doing it three or four times a year invites renal stress, cramping in later rounds, and a chin that suddenly remembers physics when struck.
If the promotion adds a 225-lb cruiser class, the problem disappears; until then, every contract signed at heavyweight carries an invisible clause: starvation roulette.
Wrestling Paycheck vs. Rookie UFC Purse: Side-by-Side Numbers
Sign a developmental deal with WWE, pocket a $250k advance, then collect $500k a year for 50 house-show nights; that’s the safest math for a 23-year-old heavyweight with a résumé that includes a Tokyo title.
A first-time Octagon contract starts at 12/12: $12,000 to weigh in, another twelve to win. Three fights, three victories, best-case scenario: $72,000 before coaches, managers, and taxes shave off roughly half.
USA Wrestling pays $1,500 a month to its resident athletes; add a world-level gold bonus of $25,000 and a three-month training stipend and the annual total still sits below $50,000.
Performance-night bonuses can push a newcomer to six figures quickly: $50,000 for one “Performance of the Night” equals four full years of the stipend mentioned above.
Merch royalties inside the WWE system average 6% of net sales; a single replica title belt sold for $499 nets the athlete about $15. Sell ten thousand pieces and the royalty check outruns every purse on a preliminary UFC card.
Sponsorship space on a fighter’s shorts peaked in 2014; under the current exclusive outfitting policy, a 0-0 signee pockets $4,000 from the apparel deal for the whole year–less than the cost of a single wrestling boot custom-molded for Big Ten season.
Health insurance is covered by the wrestling federation for active resident athletes; UFC newcomers must self-fund Fight Week accident coverage, adding roughly $2,500 in annual premiums against a $4,000 deductible.
The break-even point sits around fight four: win two performance bonuses, keep the bout on the main card, and the Octagon path overtakes the guaranteed downside of sports-entertainment contracts; until then, the ledger favors the ring over the cage.
Training Camp Shortlist: Who Will Coach His Striking in First 90 Days
Henry Cejudo’s crew in Phoenix tops the list; the heavyweight can sharpen boxing angles inside that converted warehouse while keeping freestyle takedowns crisp under the same roof.
American Top Team’s Florida hub follows close behind, offering a buffet of sparring partners from 185 to 265 lb plus Dutch kickboxing vets who can teach low-kick setups that mask level-change entries.
On the West Coast, Team Alpha Male’s lighter stable still provides footwork drills that translate: daily four-minute rounds against bantamweights who dart in and out force a big man to cut the cage rather than chase.
Wild-card option: fly to Montreal and spend eight weeks with Firas Zahabi; the Tristar coach excels at month-long crash courses, drilling jab-front-kick timing before sending fighters home with homework videos and a six-week peaking plan.
Heavyweight Gatekeepers: Best First Opponent to Test His Cardio
Book him opposite Marcin Tybura for his first five-rounder; the Pole grinds at a steady clip, rarely finishes, and forces every prospect to prove lungs and scrambling twice past the ten-minute mark.
Tybura’s chain-wrestling drags fighters into deep waters without the knockout threat that shortens nights; if the newcomer can chain sprawl-to-scramble for fifteen minutes he passes the division’s cardio gate and keeps hype alive.
Blagoy Ivanov is the fallback: the Bulgarian absorbs bombs, laughs, then drags bouts into ugly clinch marathons where heavy hips sap thighs faster than any treadmill. Survive his pressure and the brass know you can still shoot in round three.
Options fade after that pair. Veterans like Shamil Abdurakhimov have lost the motor to push past round one; younger bruisers such as Jailton Almeida hunt subs too fast for a read on wind. Tybura remains the safest measuring stick.
Circle early 2025, APEX main event, five rounds. If the decorated rookie empties the tank and keeps wrists flying at 4:50 of the final frame, the matchmakers clear him for ranked killers and the hype train barrels forward on full steam.
FAQ:
Why did Gable Steveson sign with WWE instead of jumping straight to UFC after winning Olympic gold?
He took the WWE deal because it offered guaranteed seven-figure money, a built-in media platform, and the chance to keep wrestling without getting punched in the face. UFC contracts start low and only scale if you win and draw eyeballs; WWE paid him like a headline act from day one.
Could he still fight in the UFC after wrestling for WWE?
His WWE contract lets him do one-off combat sports, so he could take a single UFC fight if both companies agree on money and timing. The bigger hurdle is the training camp: he would need six to nine months to get sharp on striking and submissions after years of sports-entertainment schedules.
What weight class would Steveson compete in if he moved to MMA?
He wrestled at 125 kg (275 lb) in Tokyo, but walks around 265 lb outside competition. That puts him right at the heavyweight limit, so he would not have to cut; he just has to stay disciplined on diet so he does not balloon past 266 lb on fight night.
Has he actually started any MMA training yet?
He pops into Kill Cliff FC and Minnesota MMA gyms a few times a year to roll and hit pads, but it is still casual. No pro camp, no striking coach on payroll, no amateur bouts. Until he books a real training block, the UFC talk stays on the rumor page.
What’s stopping Gable Steveson from signing the UFC contract right now?
Two things: money and timing. WWE offered him a seven-figure downside guarantee for a part-time schedule that still lets him pursue NIL deals and do media spots. UFC’s rookie contract pays about 12–12 (12k to show, 12k to win) and locks him into a nine-fight deal with no outside sponsors inside the cage. He’s 23, has no pro MMA record, and would start in the Contender Series. WWE lets him cash in on his Olympic fame today; UFC asks him to gamble on future stardom. Until the UFC bumps the starter offer or WWE cools on him, he’s staying where the check is bigger.
Could his wrestling style survive against heavyweights who can all knock you cold with one shot?
He’s giving up 30–40 lb to the top ten, but the bigger worry is how little time he’s spent on defensive boxing. At Minnesota he trained some MMA, mostly positional drills and light sparring; he’s never been cracked by a 265-pound guy throwing overhands. His double-leg is lightning and he chains to a spiral ride that breaks hips, so if he gets inside he’ll plant most heavyweights on their back. The question is whether he can close that distance without eating a hook. Think Ben Askren vs. Robbie Lawler: if the chin holds up long enough to grab, he can dominate; if not, the night ends fast. He’s been sparring at Kill Cliff FC since January, working specifically on parrying and level-change entries, but nobody knows how that translates until the first real punch flies.
Does he have to drop WWE first, or can he double-dip like Riddle did with MMA and pro wrestling?
WWE’s new contracts prohibit “combat sports” outside the company; they learned their lesson after Brock went back to UFC in 2016. If Steveson wants to fight, he needs a written release or he has to wait until his WWE deal expires in late 2026. The only workaround would be a one-fight waiver for a mega-bout (think Lesnar vs. Hunt), but UFC isn’t handing main-event slots to an 0-0 rookie. So for now it’s one or the other—he can’t juggle both like Riddle did on the regional circuit.
