The Korean Zombie Transcends the Culture War
Chan Sung Jung (The Korean Zombie) knocks out Dennis Bermudez in the first round.
Written by Huang Chuipong, Sept. 17, 2022
When Chan Sung Jung, a UFC fighter better known as the Korean Zombie, was finished via a standing TKO by Alexander Volkanovski in what likely was his last shot at the flyweight title and the most important fight of his life, it seemed like Jung’s translator made some intentional omissions of his post-fight speech. “Whenever I lose a match like this, I think about quitting. Although only time will tell, I feel like I’m not going to be Champion anymore.” His translator, with an air of solemn nervousness, left out the part about the championship belt perhaps being permanently out of reach.
Not even the most hardcore Zombie fan will deny that Jung looked widely outmatched in his bout with Volkanovski. His signature, scrappy style of throwing loopy punches while walking his opponents down and eating countless strikes himself had earned him the love of the average carnage-loving UFC fan and moderate celebrity status in his home country of Korea. In Jung’s fan-favorite fights, both he and his opponents were rocked, throwing haymakers at one another. But that style couldn’t seem to stack up at the championship tier. During the pre-fight press conference, Volkanovski, who is yet to be defeated in the UFC, calmly noted: “I know I’m levels above him, and I don’t mean that in any disrespect.” During and after the fight, Volkanovksi’s claim and the fact that the Vegas oddsmakers gave Jung an implied probability of winning at 0% seemed to plainly and unmaliciously make sense. From the first exchange, every opening Jung left open due to his “take-damage-to-give-damage” style was filled with a fast, straight jab landing flush on his chin. By the third round, a hard-to-watch amount of damage had already piled onto the underdog, and jabs turned into entire combinations landing cleanly on Jung. As Jung offered little effective retaliation, referee Herb Dean ended the fight with a standing TKO for the champion.
The images of the post-fight that night, a battered Jung flanked by his solemn cornermen and embraced by his crying wife and him proceeding to bow down his head to the canvas, will no doubt have to surface when telling the story of the Korean Zombie. But undeniably, the devastation of the world title being out of reach forever can not overshadow the story of a scrappy, stand-and-bang style Korean fighter who, while only having spoken a few words of English publicly, was able to bring a largely white crowd to its feet chanting “ZOM-BIE, ZOM-BIE.”
Jung’s tender belovedness and recognition from white North American fans are special; for almost every other fighter, speaking English and being entertaining outside of the ring is a pillar to attracting career-making fame, moments like Derrick Lewis announcing “My balls were hot” after taking off his shorts post-fight or Colby Covington screaming: “Brazil you’re a dump!” after purportedly being told he was about to be cut from the UFC for being boring have brought athletes from obscurity to the main card. But that 18-30-year-old white-male crowd, sometimes referred to as “dude-bros” (and yes, white American UFC fans are not a complete monolith, but for now, their desires by far dominate what MMA caters to) have not seemed to be bothered to apply this standard to the Korean Zombie. If anything, Jung’s heritage has at most been a source of fun racial novelty for white fans, best seen in his nickname Korean Zombie. While all fighters in the UFC roster have fighter nicknames, and racialized nicknames like Nigerian Nightmare, Cuban Missle Crisis, Black Beast, Polish Power, etc. are not rare, the notoriety of Jung’s nickname is: he is the only fighter to have his nickname displayed on official UFC promotional materials and next to the fight clock, with many of his fans not even recognizing his real name. His nickname seems to be the perfect storm encapsulating why fans love him, “Korean” because his nationality and his lack of English are conspicuous identifiers that make his work in the octagon take the glory; “Zombie” because that fucker, walking hands-down with no defence can sure take a punch to give one.
Jung’s support from the type of UFC fan that hails the likes of Joe Rogan, Jordan Peterson, and David Portnoy as his prophets and brands himself resistor to the evils of wokeness and cancel culture is sacred. Remember that UFC fans can be an unreserved bunch, unafraid to show it when a fight or fighter hasn’t lived up to their expectations, booing in every lull between action and openly condoning or ignoring PED use, sexual misconduct, and blatant racism from fighters. Fans will shrug at Connor Mcgregor throwing a hand truck at the fighter shuttle, Jon Jones committing a hit and run, and Cody Durden shouting “send him back to China.” But they will not tolerate boringness. And never has the Korean Zombie been in a boring fight or attracted any significant Antagony with American fans. And for such an audience to create an emotional bond with Jung over one of the most carnal aspects of the human condition, violence, provides a glimmer of a chance that blows exchanged in the octagon can be a source of understanding and empathy.
