Bellator MMA & Boxing - The New Era

[PWC2017]

Chapter 1 - Setting the Scene - 2023
​

The first real conversation didn’t happen in a boardroom.

It happened in a quiet corner of a private lounge in Las Vegas, early 2023—halfway between celebration and calculation. The Birmingham City F.C. acquisition was still fresh enough to feel like momentum, not legacy. For Matthew Manson, that mattered. Momentum meant leverage. And leverage meant expansion.

Bill Ackman had flown in that morning.

They didn’t exchange pleasantries for long.

Manson leaned forward, fingers loosely interlocked.

“Football was step one,” he said. “Stable. Global. Predictable.”
A pause.
“But it doesn’t give us dominance.”

Ackman said nothing.

“Wrestling gives us control,” Manson continued. “That’s what New World Pro-Wrestling is solving—structure, legitimacy, a sport-first product that still delivers content year-round.”

He sat back.
“That’s step two.”
Ackman nodded. “And step three?”
Manson didn’t hesitate.

“Real competition. MMA.”
Ackman exhaled slightly, shifting in his seat.
“That’s a different game.”
“I know,” Manson said. “That’s why it matters.”

Ackman studied him. “So what’s the landscape?”
This time, Manson didn’t pitch—he broke it down.
“At the top?” he said. “Untouchable.”
He let the word sit before continuing.
“Ultimate Fighting Championship. Market leader. Brand leader. Talent leader. Broadcast machine. They’re not just ahead—they are the category.”

Ackman nodded. That much was obvious.
“And beneath them?” he asked.
Manson’s expression tightened slightly.
“That’s where it gets interesting.”

He leaned forward again, more analytical now.
“Professional Fighters League is positioning itself as number two,” he said. “Season format. Smart investors. Different model.”

A beat.

“But it’s not landing the way they want.”
Ackman raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t feel premium,” Manson replied. “It feels experimental. Fighters aren’t fully bought in. Fans don’t treat it like must-watch.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“It’s not failing. But it’s not breaking through either.”
Ackman gestured slightly. “And outside the U.S.?”
“ONE Championship,” Manson said immediately. “That’s the other serious player.”

He nodded to himself.

“They’ve built something real in Asia. Different presentation. Different culture. Big audience in the Far East.”
Another pause.
“But it’s regional dominance—not global control.”
Ackman leaned back, processing.

“So the market is…”
“Top-heavy,” Manson finished. “One giant. A few contenders. No true global number two.”
“And you think there’s room?”

Manson shook his head.

“I think there’s inevitability.”
That caught Ackman’s attention.

The Los Angeles meeting, three months later, was more direct.

No small talk. No soft entry.
The NWPW projections covered most of the table—but again, there was a second deck.
Ackman tapped it.

“MMA again.”
Manson nodded. “Because it doesn’t go away.”
He opened the file.

“GLOBAL MMA LANDSCAPE – 2023”

• UFC – Dominant leader
• PFL – Capital-rich, identity unclear
• ONE Championship – Strong in Asia
• Others – Fragmented, regional

Ackman skimmed it quickly.
“No clear challenger,” he said.
“Exactly,” Manson replied. “And that’s the opportunity—and the warning.”

Ackman looked up.
“You’re not suggesting we start from scratch and take on the UFC.”
Manson shook his head immediately.
“No. That’s a ten-year war.”

He stepped closer to the table.
“You don’t build from zero in this space unless you want to burn capital indefinitely.”
“So what’s the play?”

Manson pointed to one name on the slide.

“PFL.”

Ackman’s expression didn’t change—but his attention sharpened.
“You just said they’re not breaking through.”
“They’re not,” Manson agreed. “But that’s exactly why they matter.”
Now the tone shifted—from analysis to strategy.

“They’ve already done the hard part,” Manson said. “Regulation. infrastructure. fighter contracts. broadcast relationships.”
He tapped the table lightly.
“They’re just missing identity. Scale. Direction.”

Ackman folded his arms.
“You’re suggesting… acquisition?”
“Not yet,” Manson said. “Observation.”

A beat.

“Positioning.”
Ackman walked to the window, looking out over Los Angeles.
“And if they don’t improve?”

“Then they become available,” Manson said calmly.
“And if they do improve?”
“Then we move faster.”

Silence sat between them for a moment.

Then Ackman turned back.
“You’re treating this like an entry point, not a competitor.”
“Yes.”
“And if we pass?”

Manson didn’t hesitate.
“Someone else won’t.”

New York, early 2024, was where the tone changed again.

Less theory. More intent.
NWPW was now real—calendar set, sponsors aligned, Amazon Prime distribution locked. The wrestling side of the vision was moving.
Which made the next move unavoidable.

Ackman sat behind his desk, hands folded.
“Give me the updated view.”
Manson didn’t need notes.

“UFC still leads. By distance,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”
He continued.
“PFL is still searching for identity. Investment is there—but momentum isn’t matching it.”

A slight pause.

“ONE Championship is stable. Strong in Asia. Still not pushing globally at the level they’d need to challenge.”
Ackman nodded slowly.

“So nothing’s changed.”

Manson shook his head.
“No. That’s the point.”
He leaned forward.

“The gap is still there.”
Ackman considered that.
“And your recommendation?”
This time, Manson was direct.
“We keep building NWPW publicly.”

A beat.

“And we track PFL privately.”
Ackman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“How closely?”
“Enough to move without hesitation,” Manson said. “Financials. partnerships. fighter sentiment. broadcast performance.”

He held Ackman’s gaze.

“If there’s an opening—we take it.”
Ackman tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
“And if there isn’t?”

Manson’s answer was measured.

“Then we build our own—but with everything we’ve learned watching them struggle.”

Another silence.

Then Ackman nodded once.

“Football. Wrestling… and eventually MMA.”
He allowed himself a faint smile.
“But we don’t force it.”

Manson matched it.

“No,” he said.
“We time it.”

This time, the meeting ended with something closer to alignment.
Not a deal.
Not a commitment.
But a shared understanding.

The MMA market wasn’t closed.
It was waiting—for the right entry point.
And for Manson and Ackman, the strategy was clear:

Don’t chase the leader.
Watch the space beneath it.

Because that’s where the real opportunity would appear.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 2: Setting the Scene — Mid 2024​

Seattle didn’t feel like fight territory.
That was exactly why Manson liked it.
The glass towers, the quiet efficiency, the understated scale of it all—it was a different kind of power. Not noise. Not spectacle. Infrastructure.

And right now, infrastructure was what mattered.
Matthew Manson sat across from senior executives at Amazon, the conversation already deep past introductions. New World Pro-Wrestling had opened the door—structured content, weekly programming, global reach—but this meeting wasn’t about wrestling.

Not really.
It was about what came next.
“Combat sports scale differently,” Manson said calmly. “But the principle is the same—consistency, narrative, and stakes.”

One of the executives leaned forward.
“You’re talking about MMA.”
“I’m talking about optionality,” Manson replied.

A slight pause.

“But yes—MMA is the clearest extension.”
The room shifted—not in resistance, but in attention.
Amazon had already been aggressive in live sports. Rights, exclusivity, global distribution. They understood the value of appointment viewing.

But MMA was different.
“Where do you see the entry point?” another executive asked.
Manson didn’t answer immediately.

Because the honest answer wasn’t simple.
“Right now,” he said, “the market is still defined by one organisation.”
He didn’t need to say it—but he did anyway.

“Ultimate Fighting Championship.”

A few nods around the table.
“They’re still ahead—brand, talent, production, everything. And what happens next depends heavily on their next broadcast deal.”
That was where Manson had been focusing.

Quietly. Constantly.

Tracking every signal around Dana White and TKO Group Holdings—not just what they were doing, but what they were planning.
Because the next UFC media rights cycle wouldn’t just define them.
It would define the entire market.

“If they go bigger,” Manson continued, “it raises the ceiling for everyone.”
“And if they don’t?” an executive asked.
“It creates space,” Manson said simply.

He let that sit before shifting the focus.

“Below them,” he said, “there’s still no clear global number two.”
He didn’t go deep into names this time—those conversations had already happened.
“This is still a market looking for structure. Identity. Stability.”

The implication was clear:
Opportunity didn’t require beating the leader.
It required owning the gap.
One of the executives tapped a pen lightly against the table.

“And you’d want this on Prime?”
Manson’s response was immediate.
“It fits perfectly.”

Now he leaned in slightly.

“Regular events. Global footprint. Weight classes, rankings—real stakes. It complements what we’re building with NWPW, but stands entirely on its own.”

A beat.

“And most importantly—it’s live.”
That word mattered.
Live meant retention. Subscriptions. Habit.
Amazon understood that better than anyone.

But Manson wasn’t finished.
Because there was another angle—one he was still working through himself.
“There’s something else you should be aware of,” he said.

The room stilled again.
“Dana White is exploring boxing.”
That drew a different reaction—less certainty, more curiosity.
“Boxing?” one executive repeated.

Manson nodded.
“Early stages. But serious.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“This is where it gets complicated.”

He stood, walking slowly toward the window, hands loosely in his pockets.
“Boxing isn’t MMA,” he said. “It’s fragmented. Multiple governing bodies. Multiple promoters. No single structure.”
He turned slightly.
“No central control.”

The executives exchanged glances.
They knew this.
Everyone in sports media knew this.
“That’s always been the problem,” one of them said.

“And the opportunity,” Manson replied.
Now he turned fully back to the room.
“If someone can unify even part of it—if someone can create consistency in scheduling, promotion, distribution…”

He let the sentence trail off.
They understood the rest.

“But you’re not convinced,” an executive said.
Manson gave a small, honest smile.
“I’m not convinced it’s simple,” he said. “Or even likely in the short term.”

A beat.

“But I am convinced that if it does work—it becomes very valuable, very quickly.”

Silence again.

This time, thoughtful.
Manson walked back to the table.
“For us,” he continued, “it’s not about choosing one path today.”
He placed both hands lightly on the surface.

“It’s about being ready for either.”
Now he made it explicit.
“MMA is the cleaner entry. More structure. More control. If the right opportunity appears—we move.”

A slight pause.

“But boxing…”
He exhaled lightly.
“That’s a different kind of play.”

Ackman’s name hadn’t come up yet.
But now, it did.
“With the right backing,” Manson said, “with the right capital structure… Pershing could explore it.”

He didn’t overstate it.

“Not as a replacement. As an option.”
One of the executives leaned back.
“You’re suggesting we prepare for both?”
“I’m suggesting you stay flexible,” Manson replied. “Because the market’s about to shift.”

And that was the real point of the meeting.

Not a deal.

Not yet.
Positioning.

As the meeting wrapped, one final question came.
“If something moves—MMA or boxing—how quickly can you act?”
Manson didn’t hesitate.

“As fast as you need.”
Outside, Seattle remained calm. Controlled. Predictable.
Inside, the strategy was anything but.

Because Manson wasn’t just building New World Pro-Wrestling anymore.
He was aligning something bigger—

Tracking TKO Group Holdings…
Watching Dana White…
Preparing Bill Ackman…

And quietly positioning Amazon for a decision it hadn’t made yet.
The fight space wasn’t settled.

It was shifting.

And Manson intended to be ready when it did.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 3: Setting the Scene — Summer 2024​

By the summer of 2024, the idea had moved beyond theory.
It wasn’t just about markets anymore. Or timing. Or watching what came next.
It was about people.
Matthew Manson had always believed the structure would come.

Capital, broadcast, strategy—those were solvable problems.
Leadership wasn’t.
The conversation with Shane McMahon didn’t start as a pitch.

It started as alignment.

They met in Los Angeles, away from the noise, away from anything that felt like performance. Manson didn’t want theatrics. He wanted honesty.

“I’m not building a wrestling company,” Manson said early.

McMahon raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Then what are you building?”

Manson didn’t hesitate.

“A sport system.”

That answer landed.
Because McMahon understood both sides of it—spectacle and structure. He’d lived it. Seen what worked, what didn’t, and what could evolve.
“You want this to feel real,” McMahon said.

“I want it to be real,” Manson replied.

They spoke for hours.
About presentation. About discipline. About what professional wrestling could look like if it stripped away excess and leaned fully into legitimacy.
But eventually, the conversation shifted—just slightly.

“This doesn’t stop at wrestling, does it?” McMahon asked.

Manson smiled.

“No.”

That was the moment it became something more.
Manson leaned forward.
“If we do this right—NWPW becomes the foundation. Not the ceiling.”
McMahon nodded slowly. “And above that?”
“A full sport arm,” Manson said. “Football. Wrestling. And eventually… MMA.”
McMahon didn’t respond immediately.

But he didn’t look surprised either.

“You’d want someone front-facing,” he said eventually. “Not corporate. Not hidden.”
“Yes.”
“Like a commissioner?”

“Like a leader,” Manson corrected.
There was a brief pause.
Then Manson said it plainly.

“I want you to be that for NWPW.”
The air shifted slightly.
Not tension—weight.
“Like what?” McMahon asked. “An operator? Or a figurehead?”
“Both,” Manson said. “The way Triple H runs creative and direction… the way Dana White represents the Ultimate Fighting Championship.”

He held McMahon’s gaze.

“Visible. Accountable. Trusted.”
McMahon leaned back, considering it.
“You’re asking for ownership without ownership.”
“I’m offering influence with structure,” Manson replied.
That made McMahon smile slightly.
“I’m interested,” he said.

It wasn’t a contract.

But it was enough.
While that conversation was unfolding, another piece of the puzzle was already in place.
Quietly. Efficiently.

John Martin had been in post as CFO of NWPW for several months by then.

Unlike McMahon, Martin wasn’t front-facing. He wasn’t there for presence.
He was there for precision.
Manson valued that more than anything.

Because Martin understood something most didn’t:
Combat sports weren’t just about events.
They were about margins, contracts, risk, and timing.

And critically—he had experience.
MMA wasn’t foreign to him.
It was familiar ground.

In internal meetings, Manson had already begun testing the idea.
Not publicly. Not formally.
Just in conversation.

“If we moved into MMA,” Manson asked one afternoon, “how quickly could we stand up operationally?”

Martin didn’t hesitate.
“That depends,” he said. “Are we building—or acquiring?”
Manson noted that.
Because it was the right question.

“Either,” he replied.

Martin nodded.

“Then we don’t start from zero,” he said. “We identify leverage points. Contracts, commissions, broadcast partners. The infrastructure already exists—we just need to control it.”

It was exactly the mindset Manson wanted.
Over the following months, that clarity only grew.
Martin wasn’t just a CFO.

He was optionality.
Someone who could remain exactly where he was—stabilising NWPW financially—
Or step seamlessly into something bigger, if the moment came.
By late 2024, the structure was starting to take shape.

Not publicly.
But internally, it was becoming clear.
Manson now had two pillars he trusted.

Shane McMahon — the face, the operator, the bridge between sport and audience.
John Martin — the strategist, the financial architect, the one who understood how to build—or buy—at scale.

Two very different profiles.
One shared understanding.
And most importantly—both capable of extending beyond wrestling.
In a quiet moment toward the end of the year, Manson sat with that reality.
NWPW was no longer fragile.

It had leadership.
It had direction.
It had credibility forming around it.
Which meant something had changed.
For the first time, the MMA conversation wasn’t just theoretical anymore.

It was executable.
And Manson knew it.
“If something comes up in 2025,” he said in a small internal meeting, “we’re not starting from scratch.”
He paused.
“We’re ready.”

There were no grand announcements.
No press releases.
No declarations of intent.
Just quiet confidence.

Because now, if the right opportunity appeared—whether it was a struggling organisation, a strategic acquisition, or a market opening—
Manson wouldn’t be figuring it out alone.
He had his team.

He had his structure.

And he had two people he trusted to help carry it forward.

The system was forming.

And for the first time—

It looked like it could scale.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 4: Under Wraps — Late 2024​

There were no headlines.
No leaks. No speculation. No “sources close to the situation.”
Because there was nothing to report.
And that was exactly how Matthew Manson wanted it.

---

Every conversation happened behind closed doors.
No unnecessary attendees. No paper trails beyond what was essential. Meetings were spaced out, locations rotated—Las Vegas, New York, Los Angeles—but never in patterns that could be tracked.
Even internally, information was controlled.
Not secretive for the sake of it—strategic.
Because until there was something real to announce, there was no advantage in being seen.

---

By the end of 2024, one thing was clear:
New World Pro-Wrestling was working.
Not publicly—yet.
But structurally.

---

Venues were locking in.
Broadcast infrastructure with Amazon was aligning.
Sponsors were committed.
The product was forming exactly as intended—disciplined, sport-first, credible.

---

For Manson, that mattered more than anything.
Because NWPW wasn’t just a business.
It was proof of concept.

---

And now, with that foundation stabilising, the focus shifted back to the next move.

---

New York.
December.
A quieter meeting than most.

---

Manson sat across from Bill Ackman, both of them already aware this wasn’t another exploratory conversation.
This was alignment.

---

“So,” Ackman said, “where are we?”
Manson didn’t reach for notes.
“We’re ready to act,” he said simply.

---

Ackman nodded once.
“On what?”

---

Manson paused for a moment—not out of uncertainty, but precision.
Then he said it.
“Professional Fighters League.”

---

The name had been circling for over a year.
Now it landed with intent.

---

“You’re still confident?” Ackman asked.
“Yes.”
“Even with their current position?”
“Because of it,” Manson replied.

---

He leaned forward slightly.
“They’ve already built the infrastructure. Fighter contracts, regulatory approvals, event operations—it’s all there.”
A beat.
“They’re just not maximising it.”

---

Ackman considered that.
“And you think we can?”
Manson didn’t hesitate.
“I know we can.”

---

He let that sit before continuing.
“But not as it is.”

---

That was the pivot.

---

Manson stood, walking slowly toward the window.
“If we acquire it—100% control—this doesn’t stay PFL.”
He turned back.
“It becomes something else.”

---

Ackman’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Go on.”

---

Manson didn’t rush it.
“Bellator MMA.”

---

The name carried weight.
History. Recognition. Legitimacy—without needing explanation.

---

Ackman leaned back.
“You’d bring it back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”

---

Manson’s answer was immediate.
“Because it already means something.”

---

He stepped closer to the table.
“PFL is still building identity. Bellator already had one.”
A pause.
“Not perfect. But known.”

---

Ackman folded his arms.
“You’re talking about buying one brand… to become another.”
“I’m talking about buying infrastructure and attaching it to recognition,” Manson corrected.

---

That distinction mattered.

---

“It’s the same principle as NWPW,” Manson continued. “You don’t start from zero if you don’t have to.”

---

Ackman nodded slowly.
“And the cost?”

---

Now Manson sat again.
“Approximately $500 million,” he said. “Full acquisition.”

---

Ackman didn’t react immediately.
That number wasn’t small.
But it wasn’t excessive either—not in this space.

---

“For a global MMA platform?” Ackman said.
“For control,” Manson replied. “For speed. For positioning.”

---

He leaned forward again.
“And for what it unlocks.”

---

Ackman’s expression shifted slightly.
“Amazon.”

---

Manson nodded.

---

“If we can bring them a structured, credible MMA organisation—something consistent, scalable, and aligned with what they’re already building…”
He let the sentence breathe.
“It offsets the risk.”

---

That was the strategy.
Not just acquisition.
Integration.

---

“Regular events. Rankings. Clear divisions,” Manson continued. “A product that fits seamlessly alongside NWPW—but stands on its own as real competition.”

---

Ackman tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
“And you think they’d go for it?”
“I think they’re waiting for it,” Manson said.

---

Silence followed.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.

---

Ackman looked up.
“And timing?”

---

Manson’s answer was calm.
“2025.”

---

A beat.
“We start conversations early. Quietly. No pressure. No leaks.”
He held Ackman’s gaze.
“And if the opportunity is there—we move.”

---

Ackman nodded once.
Decisive.

---

“No public positioning,” he said.
“None,” Manson agreed.
“No signals to the market.”
“None.”

---

Another pause.
Then Ackman allowed himself a faint smile.

---

“Under wraps,” he said.

---

Manson matched it.

---

Because that’s exactly what it was.

---

No announcements.
No noise.
No distractions.

---

Just a clear plan:
Acquire Professional Fighters League.
Rebuild it as Bellator MMA.
Align it with Amazon.
And enter the MMA market—not as a startup—
But as an immediate contender.

---

As the meeting ended, nothing outward had changed.
No one outside that room knew what had just been discussed.

---

But internally, everything had shifted.

---

Because for the first time, there was a number.
A target.
A timeline.

---

And a decision.

---

2025 wouldn’t be about exploring anymore.
It would be about executing.

---

And until then—
It stayed exactly where it needed to be.
Hidden.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 5: Due Diligence — Early 2025​

By early 2025, the shift was undeniable.
The conversations were no longer theoretical.
They were active.

The first outreach had been quiet. Controlled. Exactly as planned.
No intermediaries beyond what was necessary. No signals to the market.
Just a direct line opened between Pershing and Professional Fighters League.

And at the centre of it—
Donn Davis.

Las Vegas.
Neutral ground.
Familiar territory for everyone involved.

Matthew Manson arrived first.
Not out of urgency—but intention.
He wanted to set the tone before anyone else entered the room.

When Bill Ackman walked in, the exchange was brief. No small talk.
They both knew what this meeting represented.

Moments later, Davis joined them.
Confident. Measured.
He wasn’t walking into uncertainty.
He knew exactly why he was there.

“Let’s not waste time,” Davis said as he took his seat. “You’re interested.”
Manson gave a slight nod.
“We are.”

No theatrics.
No positioning.
Just clarity.

Davis leaned back slightly.
“Then I assume you’ve done your homework.”

Manson glanced briefly at Ackman, then back to Davis.
“Enough to know we need to see more.”

That was the start of it.

Due diligence.

Over the following weeks, the tone shifted from strategic to surgical.

Pershing’s teams moved in quietly—legal, financial, operational.
Every detail of the Professional Fighters League was examined.

Revenue streams.
Fighter contracts.
Broadcast agreements.
Cost structures.
Liabilities.

Nothing was assumed.
Everything was tested.

Manson stayed close to it—not buried in spreadsheets, but never far from the conclusions.
Because for him, this wasn’t just about numbers.
It was about viability.

One late evening in New York, Manson and Ackman sat reviewing early findings.

“It’s exactly what we expected,” Ackman said.
Manson nodded.
“Strong foundation. Weak conversion.”

Ackman looked up.
“Explain.”

Manson leaned forward slightly.
“They’ve built the system,” he said. “League format. Talent pipeline. Global ambition.”
A beat.
“But they haven’t turned it into must-watch.”

Ackman considered that.
“And that’s fixable?”
“Yes.”

No hesitation.

“Brand, presentation, positioning,” Manson continued. “That’s where the gap is.”
He paused briefly.
“And that’s where we come in.”

Ackman tapped the report lightly.
“And the numbers?”

Manson exhaled.
“Manageable.”

That was the word.
Not perfect.
Not clean.
But workable.

Revenue wasn’t where it needed to be.
Costs were higher than ideal.
But nothing was broken beyond repair.

More importantly—
Nothing required starting over.

Back in Las Vegas, the second round of meetings with Davis carried a different tone.
Less introduction.
More intent.

“You’ve seen the books,” Davis said plainly.
“We have,” Ackman replied.

Davis looked between them.
“And?”

Manson answered this time.
“There’s value here.”

A pause.

“But it’s unrealised.”

Davis smiled slightly.
“I’d argue it’s in progress.”

Manson didn’t disagree.
But he didn’t concede either.

“It needs direction,” he said.

That was the difference.

Davis leaned forward.
“And you think you can provide that.”

Manson met his gaze.
“Yes.”

Silence hung for a moment.
Not tense.
Measured.

Because both sides understood the position.

This wasn’t a distressed sale.
But it wasn’t untouchable either.

It was opportunity—if the terms aligned.

Ackman stepped in.
“We’re not here to disrupt what you’ve built,” he said. “We’re here to scale it.”

Davis nodded slowly.
“That depends on what ‘scale’ looks like.”

Manson answered before Ackman could.
“It looks like clarity.”

That word again.

“Structure. Identity. Consistency,” Manson continued. “A product that fans understand—and come back to.”

He didn’t mention Bellator MMA.
Not yet.

That conversation would come later.

For now, this was about alignment.

As the meeting closed, nothing was signed.
No numbers finalised.
No agreements reached.

But something had changed.

Access.
Understanding.
Momentum.

Outside the room, nothing had shifted.
No headlines. No rumours. No leaks.

But inside—
Pershing now knew exactly what it was looking at.

A functioning MMA organisation.
A recognisable gap between potential and performance.
And a clear decision ahead.

Proceed—
Or walk away.

For Manson, the answer was already forming.

This wasn’t about whether Professional Fighters League could work.
It was about whether Pershing was ready to take control of it—and turn it into what it hadn’t yet become.

And as the early months of 2025 unfolded, one thing became increasingly clear:
This was no longer exploration.
This was execution.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 6: PFL — The Reality in 2025​

By the time due diligence moved into its deeper phase, Matthew Manson wanted one thing above all else:
Clarity.
Not potential. Not narrative.
Reality.

Because before Pershing could decide what Professional Fighters League could become—
They needed to understand exactly what it was.
Early 2025 painted a precise picture.

PFL wasn’t failing.
But it wasn’t breaking through.

Operationally, it was solid.
The season format—regular season, playoffs, championships—still gave it a clear point of difference. Fighters understood it. Sponsors understood it.
It looked structured.
It looked like a sport.

But it didn’t feel essential.

“It’s consistent,” Manson said in an internal review.
“But it’s not appointment viewing.”

That gap—between availability and demand—was everything.

Broadcast Reality​

Where PFL was strong—on paper—was distribution.

In the United States, PFL had a multi-year deal with ESPN.
Events aired across ESPN platforms—main cards on ESPN or ESPN2, with prelims often on ESPN+.
It gave them reach.
It gave them legitimacy.

But it didn’t give them priority.

“They’re content,” Manson said. “Not the content.”
That distinction mattered.
Because while ESPN carried PFL—
It centered Ultimate Fighting Championship.

And that meant PFL was always operating in second position on the same platform.

Globally, the structure was similar.

PFL had international distribution through partners like DAZN in key markets, alongside various regional broadcast agreements across Europe, the Middle East, and parts of Asia.

Again—presence.
Not dominance.

“They’ve solved for access,” Manson explained to Bill Ackman.
“They haven’t solved for demand.”

What Pershing Was Really Buying​

In a New York strategy session, Ackman pushed directly.
“So what do these deals actually give us?”

Manson broke it down simply.
“Three things.”

“Visibility. Credibility. Flexibility.”

He elaborated.

Visibility — ESPN and DAZN ensured PFL events were seen. The audience existed.
Credibility — Being associated with major broadcasters validated the product.
Flexibility — And this was the key.

“These aren’t lifetime deals,” Manson said. “They’re structured. Renewable options that can change quite early on if taken over.”
He caught himself, then continued.
“They don’t lock us out of repositioning.”

That was the opening.
Because unlike the UFC—whose broadcast future was tied to major, long-term negotiations involving TKO Group Holdings—
PFL was still fluid.
It could move.

The Amazon Question​

And sitting behind everything—
Was Amazon.

The conversations from 2024 hadn’t disappeared.
They had sharpened.

Amazon didn’t need more content.
It needed ownable content.

Something it could position.
Something it could build around.

PFL, as it stood, wasn’t that.
But it could become it.

“If we take control,” Manson said, “we’re not inheriting a fixed broadcast future.”

Ackman looked at him.

“We’re inheriting optionality.”

“Exactly.”

Timing the Shift​

The next question was inevitable.
“When can we move it?” Ackman asked.
Manson had already mapped it out.
“You don’t rip up existing deals immediately,” he said. “You honour structure—then transition.”

A beat.

“Earliest meaningful repositioning?” Ackman pressed.
“Late 2025,” Manson replied. “Soft alignment.”
“Full platform shift—2026.”

That lined up perfectly.

The same window as NWPW’s full rollout.
One platform.
Two properties.
A unified sport offering.
But only if the product justified it.

The Underlying Problem​

Manson summarised the situation bluntly in a later meeting.
“PFL isn’t lacking exposure,” he said.
“It’s lacking identity.”

And identity wasn’t something a broadcast deal could fix.

It had to be built.

Or rebuilt.

Again, he didn’t say it directly.
But the direction was clear.
Not PFL.
Something stronger.
Something that carried weight the moment it was announced.

Bellator MMA.

Final Position​

By the end of the review, the conclusion was simple.
PFL’s broadcast deals weren’t the problem.
They were the bridge.

A way in.
A way to maintain presence while building something better behind the scenes.
And for Pershing, that changed the risk profile entirely.
They weren’t buying a struggling promotion tied to bad deals.
They were acquiring:

• A platform with existing global distribution
• Relationships with major broadcasters like ESPN and DAZN
• And the flexibility to pivot toward Amazon at the right moment

As the meeting closed, Manson reduced it to one line.
“We’re not locked in,” he said.

A beat.

“We’re already in—and free to move.”
And in 2025, in the world of MMA broadcasting—
That was as valuable as anything they could buy.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 7: The Big Idea — Early 2025​

Las Vegas again.
Not for meetings this time.
For decisions.


By early 2025, the conversations had moved beyond whether Pershing would enter MMA.
That part was understood.
This was about how.


Matthew Manson sat at the head of a quiet conference table, papers spread but mostly untouched. Across from him—Shane McMahon, relaxed but focused.
To his right—John Martin, already thinking three steps ahead.


No advisors.
No legal teams.
Just the two people Manson trusted most to shape what came next.


“This is the moment we stop analysing,” Manson said.

A beat.

“And start deciding what this becomes.”

McMahon leaned forward slightly.
“So let’s start there,” he said. “What is it?”

Manson didn’t hesitate.

“It’s not Professional Fighters League.”

That landed immediately.
Martin nodded once, almost instinctively.
“Agreed,” he said. “The league format isn’t the problem—but it’s not the solution either.”
McMahon tilted his head.

“Fans don’t connect with seasons,” he said. “They connect with fights.”
Manson pointed lightly across the table.
“Exactly.”

That was the first decision.

Kill the Format​

“No more seasons,” Manson said. “No regular season. No playoffs.”
He paused.
“We strip it back.”

Martin picked it up immediately.
“Standard structure,” he said. “Weight classes. Rankings. Champions.”
McMahon added:
“Clear contenders. Clear stakes. Every fight means something.”

Manson nodded.

“Simple. Understandable. Repeatable.”
In that moment, the PFL identity was gone.

Not evolved.
Removed.

The Name​

There was a brief silence before McMahon said it.

“So what do we call it?”
Manson didn’t even look down at the papers.
“Bellator MMA.”

No hesitation.
No debate.

Martin leaned back slightly.
“Instant recognition,” he said.

McMahon nodded.
“Credibility from day one.”
That was the second decision.

Bring Back Bellator​

“PFL doesn’t mean anything yet,” Manson said. “Bellator already does.”
He leaned forward.
“It has history. It has fights people remember. It has fighters people recognise.”
A beat.
“It has legitimacy.”

Martin added quietly:
“And it saves us years of brand building.”
Manson pointed at him.
“Exactly.”

This wasn’t about nostalgia.
It was strategy.

The Positioning​

McMahon stood briefly, pacing slowly.
“So where does it sit?” he asked. “What’s the pitch?”

Manson answered from his seat.

“The Alternative,” he said.
McMahon stopped.
“That direct?”

“Yes.”
Manson didn’t soften it.
“We don’t pretend to be number one,” he said. “Not yet.”

A beat.

“But we make it clear—we’re the alternative.”
No confusion.
No mixed messaging.
Martin added:


“And we present it like a major promotion. Clean. Structured. Professional.”

McMahon nodded.
“No gimmicks.”
Manson smiled slightly.
“No gimmicks, but big fight feels. This is the new era, Netflix are watching. The Big Fights, The Big Events, we need to be part of that.”

The Leadership Question​

Then came the part Manson had been thinking about for months.
“If we do this,” he said, looking directly at Martin, “it needs leadership.”
Martin didn’t react outwardly.
But he knew where this was going.

“This isn’t wrestling,” Manson continued. “This isn’t about presentation first.”
He paused.
“This is about credibility.”

McMahon sat back, watching.

Manson said it plainly.

“You’d be CEO.”

A moment of silence.
Martin didn’t answer immediately.
“Why me?” he asked.

Manson leaned forward.
“Because you understand both sides,” he said. “The numbers—and the sport.”

A beat.

“You know what this is now. And you know what it needs to become.”
McMahon added:
“And you’re not trying to be the show.”
That mattered.

Manson nodded.
“You’re steady,” he said. “You’re clear. And you won’t drift from the plan.”

Martin exhaled slightly.

Not hesitation.

Consideration.
“And the plan is?” he asked.

The Reset​

Manson didn’t miss a beat.
“We acquire Professional Fighters League,” he said.
“We transition everything internally.”

A pause.

“Then we relaunch as Bellator MMA.”
He held eye contact.
“New structure. New identity. Same infrastructure.”

Martin nodded slowly.
“Reset,” he said.
“Exactly.”

The Vision​

McMahon returned to his seat.
“And what does it look like on day one?” he asked.


Manson finally leaned back.
Now, it was clear.
“Fewer events,” he said. “Higher quality.”
“Defined champions in every division.”
“Clear rankings.”

Martin added:
“Consistent broadcast windows.”
McMahon:
“Fighters people can follow—not just watch once.”
Manson nodded.
“And a product that feels like it matters.”

A beat.
“Every time.”

Final Alignment​

The room fell quiet.
Not because there was uncertainty.
But because there wasn’t.

Three people.

One direction.

Finally, Martin spoke.
“If we do this,” he said, “we don’t halfway rebuild it.”
Manson shook his head.
“No.”

McMahon added:
“We start again.”

Manson looked between them.
“That’s the idea.”

The Big Idea​

Not an evolution.
Not a rebrand.
A reset.

Take a functioning but unfocused organisation.
Strip it down.
Rebuild it with clarity.

And relaunch it under a name that already carried weight.
Bellator MMA.
As the meeting wrapped, nothing was signed.

No announcements made.
No timelines confirmed publicly.
But internally—


Everything had changed.
Because now, for the first time, the vision wasn’t abstract.
It was defined.

And with John Martin ready to lead…
Shane McMahon shaping the outward presence…
And Matthew Manson driving the system behind it—

Pershing didn’t just have an entry into MMA.
It had a plan to reshape it.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 8: The Even Bigger Idea — Boxing​

The MMA plan was clear.
Defined. Structured. Ready.

But Matthew Manson wasn’t finished.
Not even close.

Because sitting behind everything—the PFL deal, the Bellator MMA rebrand, the Amazon alignment—
There was another idea.
Bigger.
More complicated.
And far less certain.

Boxing.

It wasn’t new to him.
But in early 2025, it had his full attention again.

Not because of opportunity alone.
But because of movement.

Manson had been watching Dana White closely.
Again.

This time, not for MMA.
But for what came next.

“Boxing,” Manson said in a Las Vegas meeting with Shane McMahon and John Martin.
“He’s serious about it.”


McMahon leaned back slightly.

“Do you think it works?”

Manson didn’t answer immediately.
Because this one wasn’t simple.

“No,” he said eventually.

Blunt.
Martin looked up.
“Why?”

Manson leaned forward.
“Because boxing isn’t MMA,” he said. “You don’t control it the same way.”
That was the core issue.

In MMA, structure could be imposed.
One organisation. One champion. One system.

In boxing—
There was no centre.

Multiple governing bodies.
Multiple promoters.
Multiple champions in the same weight class.

Fragmented by design.
“You can’t just walk in and own boxing,” Manson said. “Not the way the Ultimate Fighting Championship owns MMA.”


McMahon nodded.
“So what’s the play?”
Manson paused.
Then said something different.


“You don’t fight the system,” he said.

A beat.


“You work with it.”
That shifted the room.

​

A Different Model​

Manson stood, pacing slowly.
“If you try to centralise boxing,” he said, “you’ll spend years fighting promoters, commissions, governing bodies…”
He shook his head.
“You’ll burn money before you build anything.”


Martin nodded slightly.
“So we don’t centralise.”

Manson turned.
“No,” he said.
“We platform.”

That was the idea.

Bellator Boxing​

Manson looked back toward the table.
“Imagine this,” he said.
“Bellator MMA… but with a boxing arm.”


McMahon leaned forward.
“Not a league?”


“No league,” Manson replied. “No forced structure.”
Martin picked it up quickly.
“A promotion?”

Manson shook his head.
“Not exactly.”

That was the nuance.

The Hybrid Approach​

“We build a stable,” Manson said. “Our fighters. Our contracts. Our events.”
A pause.
“But we don’t isolate.”


He continued:
“We work with the existing ecosystem.”

That meant:

• Top Rank
• Golden Boy Promotions
• Other promoters, regional and global

And beyond that—
The governing bodies.

• WBA.
• WBC.
• IBF.
• WBO.

Manson didn’t name them all.
He didn’t need to.


“You align with them,” he said. “You platform fights, you create events. You build credibility through cooperation—not control.”
McMahon nodded slowly.
“That’s very different.”
“Yes,” Manson said.

Because it had to be.

Why It Could Work​

Martin leaned forward.
“So where’s the upside?”
Manson answered immediately.
“Brand.”

He pointed to the table.
“Bellator gives you a platform,” he said. “A known name. A production standard. A distribution pathway.”

A beat.

“You’re not building from zero.”
That was the same principle again.
McMahon added:
“And you’re not trying to replace anyone.”
“Exactly,” Manson said.

That was the key difference between his thinking and what he believed Dana White was attempting.
“Dana’s instinct will be to control it,” Manson said. “To build a system like the UFC.”

He shook his head slightly.
“I don’t think boxing lets you do that.”

Martin nodded.
“It pushes back.”
“Hard,” Manson said.

The Amazon Angle​

As with everything else—
The platform mattered.
“If we do this,” Manson said, “it fits into the same ecosystem.”

Amazon again.

MMA.
Wrestling.
And now—

Boxing.


Different sports.
Same infrastructure.

McMahon smiled slightly.
“You’re building a fight network.”
Manson returned it.
“I’m building options for Bill and Pershing, the investors.”

Internal Alignment​

This wasn’t just a thought experiment.
Manson had already raised it—with Bill Ackman.

Carefully.
Deliberately.

Ackman’s response had been measured.
Interested—but cautious.

“Boxing’s messy,” Ackman had said.
Manson agreed.

But messy didn’t mean impossible.
It meant misunderstood.

Back in Las Vegas, the three of them sat with it.
No immediate decision.
No rush to act.

Because unlike MMA—
This didn’t have a clean entry point.
It would take time.

Relationships.
Precision.

But Manson could see it.
Clearly.

A Bellator event one night—
MMA.

The next—

Boxing.

Shared production.
Shared platform.
Shared audience.

Different rules.
Same destination

The Even Bigger Idea​

As the meeting wound down, McMahon said it out loud.
“This is bigger than MMA.”

Manson nodded.

“It always was.”

Because in his mind, this had never been about entering one sport.
It was about building a system—
Where multiple combat sports could exist under one structure.

Not competing with each other.
But strengthening each other.
And while MMA was the first move—

Boxing…

Might be the one that changed everything.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 9: Platform Power — Amazon, PBC, and the Opening​

By mid-to-late 2024, one thing had become impossible to ignore:
Amazon wasn’t experimenting anymore.
It was committing.

For Matthew Manson, that changed everything.
The earlier meetings had been exploratory—positioning, alignment, future potential.
Now, there was proof.

Amazon had moved into boxing.
The confirmation came through its deal with Premier Boxing Champions.

For most, it was just another rights agreement.
For Manson—
It was a signal.

“Now they’re serious,” he said in a quiet internal discussion with Shane McMahon and John Martin.
Because PBC wasn’t just content.
It was a gateway.

Understanding PBC​

Manson had spent weeks dissecting the structure of Premier Boxing Champions.
Not the fights.
The model.

And what he found was important.
“PBC isn’t a promoter,” he said.

Martin nodded.
“Not in the traditional sense.”

That distinction mattered.
Unlike Top Rank or Golden Boy Promotions—
PBC operated differently.

It aggregated fighters.
Worked across promoters.
Packaged events.
And—most importantly—
Controlled media rights.

---

“It’s a distribution vehicle,” Manson said.
McMahon leaned forward.
“So Amazon didn’t buy boxing…”
“They bought access,” Manson replied.

The Gap in the Model​

That was where Manson saw it.
Clear as anything.
PBC could deliver events.
But it didn’t own the structure behind them.

No unified brand identity.
No consistent event framework.
No long-term, singular direction.

“It’s a bridge,” Manson said.

A pause.

“Not a destination.”

Martin looked at him.
“And you want to be the destination.”

Manson didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.

The Bellator Boxing Angle​

By now, the MMA plan was understood.
Acquire Professional Fighters League.
Rebuild.
Relaunch as Bellator MMA.

But this—
This was different.

“This doesn’t replace PBC immediately,” Manson said.
McMahon nodded.
“It works with it.”
“Exactly.”

That was the key.

Work With the System​

“We don’t disrupt what Amazon just built,” Manson said. “We align with it.”

That meant:

• Leveraging PBC’s existing relationships
• Working alongside promoters like Top Rank and Golden Boy Promotions
• Operating within the existing governing body structure

No resistance.
No forced control.

Just integration.

Martin leaned forward.
“So where does Bellator Boxing sit?”
Manson answered cleanly.
“Above the chaos.”

That line stayed in the room.

​

The Transition Idea​

Here was the real play.
The part Manson had been holding back.

“Over time,” he said, “we become the structure.”
McMahon looked at him.
“You mean…”

Manson nodded.
“Bellator Boxing becomes the consistent brand on the platform.”

Not overnight.
Not aggressively.

Gradually.

Event by event.
Year by year.

PBC would still exist.
Still operate.
Still deliver fights.

But the presentation—
The identity—
The destination—

That would shift.
“To us,” Martin said quietly.
Manson nodded.

Why It Works​

The logic was simple.
Amazon didn’t want fragmentation.
It tolerated it—because boxing required it.

But if someone could bring structure—
Consistency—
A recognisable brand—

That had value.
“Right now, PBC fills the slot,” Manson said.

A beat.

“We become the upgrade.”
McMahon smiled slightly.
“Without them losing anything.”

“Exactly,” Manson said.
Because the fights would still happen.
The fighters would still fight.
The promoters would still promote.

But the platform—
Would feel different.

Pershing’s View​

When Manson took the idea back to Bill Ackman, the response was measured.
“This is longer-term,” Ackman said.
“Yes,” Manson agreed.

“This isn’t 2025.”
“No.”

A pause.

“But it starts in 2025.”

Ackman leaned back.
“And if it works?”

Manson’s answer was simple.
“Then we control the presentation of boxing on a global platform.”
That was the upside.

Not ownership of the sport.
But ownership of how it was seen.

​

Final Position​

By the end of 2024 into early 2025, the picture was clear.
Amazon had made its move with Premier Boxing Champions.
But it hadn’t closed the door.
It had opened one.
And for Manson, the strategy was now layered:

---

• Build MMA through Bellator MMA
• Align with Amazon at the right time
• Enter boxing through cooperation—not conflict
• And, over time— Transition from participant… to platform

As the meeting ended, Manson summarised it in one sentence.
“We don’t replace PBC,” he said.

A beat.

“We outgrow it.”
And in the quiet space between idea and execution—
That was where the real opportunity lived.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 10: The Difference — MMA vs Boxing​

By mid-2025, the vision was no longer one idea.
It was two.

On paper, they sat under the same banner:

Bellator MMA
and
Bellator Boxing.

In reality—
They were completely different builds.

Matthew Manson understood that better than anyone in the room.
Las Vegas.
Another closed-door session.
Just Manson, Shane McMahon, and John Martin.

“This is where we separate the thinking,” Manson said.
He didn’t sit this time.
He stood.
Because this wasn’t detail.
This was definition.

Bellator MMA — The Fast Build​

Manson pointed to the first side of the board.
“Professional Fighters League gives us a running start.”
That was the advantage.
Infrastructure already in place:

• Fighter contracts
• Event operations
• Regulatory relationships
• Broadcast foundations

Martin nodded.
“We’re not starting from zero,” he said.
“Exactly,” Manson replied.

This was the key difference.

Bellator MMA wasn’t being created.
It was being rebuilt.

“Acquire,” Manson said.
“Restructure.”
“Rebrand.”

A clean, direct path.
“Within 12 months,” Martin added, “we have a fully functioning, redefined product.”

McMahon leaned back.
“And a roster ready to go.”

That was the point.

Bellator MMA would launch with:

• Recognisable fighters
• Immediate events
• A clear competitive structure

Speed.
That was its advantage.

Bellator Boxing — The Slow Build​

Manson turned to the other side.
“And this,” he said, “is completely different.”

No shortcuts.
No existing system to take over.
No structure to remove.

Just open space.
“Bellator Boxing starts from zero,” Manson said.
Martin nodded slowly.
“Which means everything matters.”

Everything.

Building the Foundation​

Manson began listing it out.
“First—people.”
Not executives.
Specialists.

“Matchmakers,” he said. “Real boxing matchmakers, who understand the politics, the rankings, the negotiations.”
McMahon added:
“People who know how to make fights.”

That was step one.
Because without the right fights—
Nothing else mattered.

“Second—fighters,” Manson continued.
This wasn’t about signing superstars immediately.
It was about building a base.

“A stable,” Martin said.
Manson nodded.
“Prospects. Contenders. Top-level fighters where possible—but primarily a core group we control.”

Not borrowed.
Not one-off appearances.
Contracted.
Developed.

Reliable.

Working Within the System​

Unlike MMA—
Boxing couldn’t be reshaped overnight.
“We still work with the ecosystem,” Manson said.
That meant:

• Top Rank
• Golden Boy Promotions
• Sanctioning bodies
• Regional promoters

McMahon nodded.
“No isolation.”
“No,” Manson agreed. “Integration.”
That was the only way it worked.

The Timeline​

Martin leaned forward.
“So when does this become real?”
Manson didn’t hesitate.
“Mid-2026.”
The number had been in his head for months.

“By then,” he said, “we should have enough in place to start presenting events.”
Not fully scaled.

Not dominant.
But real.

“Meaning what?” McMahon asked.
Manson answered clearly.
“A defined roster."
“Matchmaking structure in place.”
“Working relationships with promoters and governing bodies.”

A beat.

“And a platform ready to take it.”
That last part didn’t need explaining.

Amazon.

The 2025 Mandate​

Which brought it back to the present.
Mid-2025.
“What do we do now?” Martin asked.
Manson answered in one sentence.

“We build quietly.”
That was the mandate.

While Bellator MMA moved toward execution—
Bellator Boxing stayed under wraps.

Hiring.
Scouting.
Relationship-building.

No announcements.
No premature launches.

Because this one—
If rushed—
Would fail.

The Core Difference​

McMahon summed it up best.
“MMA is acquisition and reset,” he said.
He pointed to the other side.
“Boxing is creation.”
Manson nodded.

“That’s the difference.”
One was speed.
The other was patience.
One had a foundation.
The other needed one built.

Final Thought​

As the meeting wrapped, Manson looked at both sides of the board.
Two paths.
Same destination.

“One gets us in the game,” he said.

A pause.

“The other could change it.”

Bellator MMA would establish presence.
But Bellator Boxing—
If it worked—
Would redefine it.

And by mid-2025, Manson knew exactly what needed to happen next:
Execute one.
Build the other.
And bring them together—
By 2026.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 11: The Business Behind It
​

By mid-2025, the question wasn’t internal anymore.
It didn’t sit in meeting rooms in Las Vegas or New York.
It existed in the background of everything.

Why?

Why would a private equity group—led by Bill Ackman—seriously consider deploying upwards of $1 billion into combat sports?
Why take on the complexity of acquiring an MMA organisation like Professional Fighters League…
While simultaneously building a boxing platform from scratch?

It wasn’t passion.
It wasn’t vanity.
And it wasn’t a gamble.

For Matthew Manson—
It was strategy.

Why Private Equity Enters Sport​

Manson had framed it simply in one internal session:
“Sport is one of the last undervalued global media assets.”

That line stayed.
Because it explained everything.

At its core, firms like Pershing didn’t invest in sport.
They invested in:

• Media rights
• Intellectual property
• Global distribution
• Predictable, scalable content

Sport just happened to combine all four.

“Live content is the key,” Manson said.

In a world of on-demand streaming, live sport remained one of the few things people had to watch in real time.

That drove:

• Subscriptions
• Advertising value
• Platform loyalty

Which is why companies like Amazon were moving aggressively into the space.

And why firms like Pershing were paying attention.

The Proven Model​

There was already a blueprint.

TKO Group Holdings.

The combination of Ultimate Fighting Championship and WWE had shown what was possible:

• Two different products
• One shared infrastructure
• One combined media strategy

It wasn’t just about events.
It was about ecosystems.

“That’s the model,” Manson said.

Not to copy it.
But to evolve it.

The Pershing Play​

For Pershing, the logic came down to three layers.

1. Entry at the Right Level​

The UFC wasn’t available.
And even if it was—it would come at a premium that removed upside.

But Professional Fighters League?
That was different.
An organisation with:

• Existing infrastructure
• Broadcast relationships
• Global ambition

But still undervalued relative to its potential.
“That’s where private equity wins,” Manson said.
Not by buying the leader.
But by buying the gap beneath it.

2. Value Creation Through Structure​

PFL, as it stood, had capability.
But it lacked clarity.
That was fixable.
Through:

• Rebranding to Bellator MMA
• Simplifying the format
• Elevating production and positioning
• Aligning with a global platform like Amazon

“Same assets,” Manson explained.
“Different outcome.”
That was the bet.

3. Expansion Beyond MMA​

This was where the upside multiplied.
MMA alone justified the entry.
But boxing—
That changed the ceiling.
Not by replacing the fragmented system.
But by sitting above it.
A Bellator Boxing platform could:

• Host major fights
• Work with promoters like Top Rank and Golden Boy Promotions
• Align with media structures like Premier Boxing Champions

And over time—
Become the consistent, recognisable brand across it.
“That’s where the billion-dollar logic comes in,” Manson said.

The Real Asset​

Because ultimately—
This wasn’t about fights.
It was about control of distribution.
If Pershing could:

• Own an MMA platform
• Build a boxing platform
• Align both with a global broadcaster

Then it wouldn’t just own events.
It would own:

• Content pipelines
• Athlete ecosystems
• Global scheduling
• Audience behaviour

That was far more valuable than any single promotion.

Risk vs Reward​

Of course—
There were risks.
Execution risk.
Market resistance.
Fighter acquisition challenges.
Broadcast negotiations.
Boxing, especially, carried uncertainty.
“Messy,” as Ackman had put it.
But Manson saw it differently.
“Mispriced,” he said.

Because complexity often created opportunity—
For those willing to structure it properly.

The Long Game​

This wasn’t a short-term flip.
Pershing wasn’t looking at:

• 12 months
• 24 months

This was a 5–10 year play.
Build.
Scale.
Position.
Then either:

• Monetise through media rights growth
• Expand further
• Or exit at a significantly higher valuation

That was the private equity model.
Applied to sport.

Final Answer​

So why spend $1 billion?
Because if it worked—
It wouldn’t be a $1 billion asset.
It would be a multi-platform, global combat sports ecosystem—
Aligned with companies like Amazon…
Influenced by models like TKO Group Holdings…
And positioned just beneath—or alongside—Ultimate Fighting Championship.
As Manson put it in one final internal meeting:
“We’re not investing in fights.”

A pause.

“We’re investing in what fights become.”
And that—
Was the real business behind it.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 12: The 2025 Plan​

By early 2025, the thinking was complete.
The modelling was done.
The conversations had matured.

Now—
It was time to act.

For Bill Ackman and Pershing, this wasn’t a concept anymore.
It was a structured investment plan.

$1 Billion.

Not all at once.
Not recklessly.

But deliberately deployed across two fronts:

• Acquisition
• Creation

Matthew Manson laid it out in Las Vegas—clear, direct, executable.

Phase 1 — Acquisition (Mid–Late 2025)​

The entry point was already defined:
Professional Fighters League.

“Full control,” Manson said.
“100%.”

No partial stake.
No shared governance.

Because control meant speed.
Once acquired, the first move was immediate:

Relocation.

Operations would shift to Las Vegas.
Fight capital.

Commission access.
Talent proximity.

Everything centralised.
“Vegas becomes the hub,” Manson said.
And with that—
The leadership structure followed.

Phase 2 — Leadership​

John Martin.
No debate.
No alternatives.

“CEO from day one,” Manson said.
Martin understood the numbers.
Understood the sport.
Understood the plan.

And most importantly—
He wouldn’t drift from it.

This wasn’t about personality.
It was about execution.

Phase 3 — The Reset (End of 2025)​

The rebrand wouldn’t be rushed.
The remainder of 2025 would be about transition:

• Internal restructuring
• Fighter alignment
• Broadcast positioning
• Brand preparation

Then—
At the right moment—

The switch.
From Professional Fighters League…
To Bellator MMA.

A clean break.
“New era,” Manson called it.

Not an evolution.
A reset.

Phase 4 — Launch (2026)​

2026 was where it became real.
The first Bellator MMA events wouldn’t just exist.
They would matter.

Manson had already begun thinking about how to signal that.

Names.
Moments.
Statements.

One stood out immediately.
Francis Ngannou.
Global recognition.
Legitimacy.
Power.

“If he’s part of the first major event,” Manson said, “people pay attention.”
It wasn’t just about a fight.
It was about a message.

Bellator was serious.
Another piece sat closer to home.
Ronda Rousey.

Already aligned with NWPW.
Already a crossover name.

“She bridges worlds,” Manson said.

Wrestling.
MMA.
Mainstream attention.

Even her presence—whether competing or promoting—added weight.

Phase 5 — Platform Alignment​

The next move wasn’t about ownership.
It was about distribution.
Amazon.

The conversations from 2024 now became actionable.
“We don’t just arrive,” Manson said.
“We align.”

That meant early relationship building with:
Premier Boxing Champions.

Not competition.
Cooperation.
“Co-promote where it makes sense,” Manson said. “Learn the ecosystem from inside it.”
That was the boxing bridge.

Phase 6 — Building Bellator Boxing​

While MMA moved toward launch—
Boxing moved quietly.

No announcements.
No rush.
Just groundwork.

The first priority:

People.

Experienced boxing minds.
Matchmakers.
Operators.

One name had already come up in early discussions:
Lou DiBella.

Respected.
Connected.
Understood the landscape.

“Start there,” Manson said.
From there:

• Build a fighter stable
• Establish relationships with promoters
• Align with governing bodies

No shortcuts.

Phase 7 — Boxing Launch (Mid 2026)​

The timeline was deliberate.
Mid-2026.
Not before.

By then, the plan was:

• A defined roster
• Matchmaking structure in place
• Early co-promotional relationships established
• Platform ready

And when it launched—

It would do so on:
Amazon.

As Bellator Boxing.

The Full Picture​

By the end of the session, the whiteboard was full.
But the strategy was simple.

2025: Build and Acquire

• Acquire Professional Fighters League
• Install John Martin as CEO
• Transition operations to Las Vegas

End of 2025: Reset

• Rebrand to Bellator MMA

2026: Launch and Expand

• Major events featuring names like Francis Ngannou
• Strategic use of Ronda Rousey
• Platform alignment with Amazon

Mid-2026: Introduce Boxing

• Bellator Boxing goes live
• Built through relationships with Premier Boxing Champions
• Supported by experienced figures like Lou DiBella

Final Moment​

As the meeting wrapped, there was no hesitation left.

This wasn’t a concept.
It wasn’t a pitch.
It was a roadmap.

Ackman had his structure.
Manson had his system.
Martin had his role.

And for the first time—
Everything connected.

From acquisition…
To rebrand…
To launch…
To expansion…

One ecosystem.
Built to scale.
And ready to begin.

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 13: The PBC Play — Building the Bridge​

Las Vegas again.
But this time, it wasn’t about MMA.
It was about boxing.

And for Matthew Manson, the key wasn’t to fight the system.
It was to step inside it.

At the centre of that system sat Premier Boxing Champions.

Not a traditional promoter.
Not a governing body.

Something else entirely.

A network.
And behind that network—
Al Haymon.

Manson understood immediately:
If Bellator Boxing was going to work—
It had to start here.

Understanding the Leverage​

In early meetings with Amazon, the structure had already become clear.
Amazon didn’t control boxing.
But through PBC—
It had access to it.

Top fighters.
Major events.
Pay-per-view calibre nights.

But still—
Fragmented.

Different promoters.
Different deals.
Different agendas.
“What PBC gives you,” Manson said in one internal session with Shane McMahon and John Martin, “is reach without ownership.”
That was the gap.
And the opportunity.

The Bellator Boxing Model​

Manson laid it out simply.
“We don’t replace PBC,” he said.
A beat.
“We plug into it.”
That meant something very specific.
Bellator Boxing wouldn’t try to become another Top Rank or Golden Boy Promotions.
It would become something different.
A stable.
A controlled group of fighters—
Signed.
Developed.
Positioned.

With one clear goal:
To platform them through PBC.

The Haymon Meetings​

The first conversations with Al Haymon were deliberately quiet.
No headlines.
No speculation.
Just discussions in Las Vegas—private, measured, exploratory.
Manson didn’t pitch aggressively.
He didn’t need to.
Because the idea wasn’t disruptive.
It was additive.

“We bring structure,” Manson said.
“We bring investment.”

A pause.

“And we bring fighters.”
That last part mattered most.
Because in boxing—
Fighters were leverage.
Haymon understood that better than anyone.

Co-Promotion, Not Competition​

The model was clear:
Bellator Boxing would:

• Sign its own fighters
• Build its own roster
• Develop its own matchmaking strategy

But—
Events would be:
Co-promoted.
With PBC.
And by extension—
With its network of promoters.
That meant working alongside:

• Top Rank
• Golden Boy Promotions
• Other aligned promotional groups

No exclusivity battles.
No forced control.
Just alignment.
Martin summarised it best.
“We own the fighters,” he said.
“They help deliver the platform.”
Manson nodded.
“Exactly.”

Amazon’s Role​

At the centre of it all—
Still—
Amazon.
Because ultimately, that was where everything converged.
MMA.
Wrestling.
Boxing.
One distribution point.

But for boxing, the route was different.

“We don’t walk in as the headline act,” Manson said.

A beat.

“We earn it.”
That meant starting within the PBC ecosystem—
Building credibility—
Then growing presence over time.

Building the Roster​

Back in Las Vegas, the focus shifted to execution.
“How fast can we build a stable?” McMahon asked.
Manson looked to Martin.
“Depends on who we bring in,” Martin said.
Which brought them to the next priority:
Matchmakers.
Not just recruiters.
Not just agents.
Real boxing minds.
People who understood:

• Negotiation
• Politics
• Rankings
• Timing

Early conversations had already begun.
One of the first names raised:
Lou DiBella.
Experienced.
Respected.
Connected across the industry.
“Start with people like that,” Manson said.
From there—
The fighters would follow.

The Long Game​

This wasn’t about instant domination.
It was about positioning.
Bellator Boxing fighters appearing on PBC cards.
Co-promoted events gaining traction.
Brand visibility increasing—
Gradually.
Until one thing happened.
Consistency.
Because once Bellator Boxing became:

• Recognisable
• Reliable
• Repeatable

Then the shift could begin.
From participant—
To platform.

Final Alignment​

As the meetings wrapped, nothing was signed.
No announcements made.
But the structure was there.
Work with Premier Boxing Champions.
Align with Al Haymon.
Leverage Amazon.
Build a Bellator Boxing stable.
And grow—
From within the system.
Manson summed it up in one line as they left the room:
“We don’t enter boxing from the outside.”

A beat.

“We build it from the inside.”

 

[PWC2017]

Chapter 14: Building the Roster — The Long Bet​

Long before Bellator Boxing had a name—
It had a plan.

And that plan didn’t start with established champions.
It started with prospects.

Back in 2024, while most of the focus sat on New World Pro-Wrestling and the evolving MMA strategy, Matthew Manson had already begun laying the quietest groundwork of all.

Scouting.

Not publicly.
Not aggressively.
But deliberately.

Because if Bellator Boxing was going to work—
It couldn’t rely on borrowing talent.
It had to build its own.

The Olympic Pipeline​

The target was clear:
The 2024 Olympic cycle.

Young fighters.
Elite amateurs.
Athletes on the verge of turning professional.

The same talent pool that had fed boxing for decades.
“This is where it starts,” Manson said in an early internal call with John Martin.

Not big names.
Not headline acts.
Future assets.

Because the moment the Olympics ended—
The entire market would move.

Promoters.
Managers.
Advisors.

All competing to sign the next generation.
Groups like Top Rank and Golden Boy Promotions had been doing it for years.

Identifying talent early.
Building relationships before the spotlight hit.

Manson wasn’t trying to reinvent that model.
He was trying to enter it.

Quiet Instructions​

Throughout 2024, Manson had begun reaching out—carefully—to experienced boxing matchmakers.
Not formally hiring.
Not yet.
Just conversations.

“Start getting a feel,” he told them.

That was the brief.
Who was coming through?
Who had potential?
Who had the right style—not just to win—
But to sell?

Because Bellator Boxing wouldn’t just need fighters.
It would need draws.

What They Were Looking For​

The criteria was specific.
Not just talent.
But:

• Personality
• Marketability
• Discipline
• Willingness to develop under a structured system

Martin summarised it simply.

“We’re not just signing fighters,” he said.
“We’re signing futures.”

And futures required patience.

Building Relationships Early​

One of the biggest advantages Manson pushed for was timing.
Don’t wait until fighters turned professional.
Get there before.

Introduce the vision.
Explain the structure.
Position Bellator Boxing as something different.

Not just another promotional deal.
But part of a platform.

Aligned with:

• Amazon
• A wider combat sports ecosystem
• Long-term development

That mattered.
Because young fighters—and their teams—weren’t just choosing money.
They were choosing pathways.

The First Layer​

By early 2025, the early signs were encouraging.
Names were being tracked.
Relationships quietly forming.

Nothing signed.
Nothing public.
But interest existed.

Because the pitch was different.
Not:
“Come fight for us.”

But:
“Come build with us.”

Integrating With the Bigger Plan​

This was where Bellator Boxing separated itself.
These fighters wouldn’t just exist in isolation.
They would be:

• Positioned on PBC-aligned cards
• Built through co-promoted events
• Gradually elevated through the system

Working alongside structures like Premier Boxing Champions—
Not against them.

And over time—
Becoming the core of something bigger.

The Patience Factor​

McMahon raised the obvious question in one meeting.

“This takes time,” he said.
Manson nodded.
“Yes.”

No hesitation.
No shortcuts.

Because unlike MMA—
Where acquisition accelerated everything—
Boxing required development.
Years, not months.
But that didn’t make it weaker.

It made it more sustainable.

The End Goal​

By mid-2026, the vision was clear.
Bellator Boxing wouldn’t launch empty.
It would launch with:

• A developing stable of young fighters
• A pipeline of Olympic-level talent
• Early-stage contenders ready to grow

Not finished products.
But foundations.
And foundations—
If built correctly—
Lasted longer than any single star.

Final Thought​

As Manson reflected on it in a late 2025 discussion, he put it simply:
“Anyone can sign a headline name.”
A pause.
“Not everyone can build the next one.”

And that—
More than anything—
Was what Bellator Boxing was really trying to do.

 

[PWC2017]

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
4 August 2025

Pershing Square Announces Agreement to Acquire Professional Fighters League​

New York, NY / Las Vegas, NV — Pershing Square Capital Management today announced that it has reached an agreement in principle to acquire 100% of the Professional Fighters League (PFL), marking a significant step in the firm’s strategic expansion into global combat sports.

The transaction is expected to close by the end of September 2025, subject to customary regulatory approvals and final documentation.

Strategic Expansion into Combat Sports​

The proposed acquisition represents Pershing Square’s entry into the mixed martial arts sector, building on its broader investment strategy across global sport, media, and entertainment assets.

Bill Ackman, Chief Executive Officer of Pershing Square, commented:

“The Professional Fighters League has built a strong global platform with meaningful infrastructure, talent, and distribution. We see a significant opportunity to invest in and scale the business as part of a long-term strategy in combat sports.”

Next Phase of Development​

Following completion of the transaction, Pershing Square intends to transition PFL’s operations to Las Vegas, Nevada, establishing a centralised hub for all future mixed martial arts activities.

John Martin will be appointed Chief Executive Officer upon closing, overseeing the organisation’s next phase of growth, operational integration, and strategic development.

“This is a unique opportunity to build on an established platform and position it for long-term success,” said Martin. “We are focused on creating a clear, consistent, and compelling product for fighters, fans, and partners worldwide.”

Vision for the Future​

The acquisition forms part of a broader vision to develop a scalable, global combat sports ecosystem, aligned with evolving media and distribution opportunities.

Matthew Manson, who has led the strategic development of the initiative, added:

“PFL provides a strong foundation. Our focus post-acquisition will be on clarity of structure, global positioning, and long-term value creation. This is the beginning of a new phase—not just for the organisation, but for how combat sports can be built and delivered at scale.”

Transaction Timeline​

• August 2025 — Agreement in principle reached
• September 2025 (Expected) — Completion of acquisition
• Post-Close — Operational transition and strategic rollout

Further updates will be provided upon completion of the transaction.

Media Contact:
Pershing Square Capital Management