I believe in putting biases out front and center. I am not a fan of Colby "Chaos" Covington, who fights former lightweight champion Rafael dos Anjos Saturday at UFC 225.

Journalistic objectivity is a myth—all of us come to every story we do with our own feelings and beliefs about a topic. That doesn't stop us from pursuing the truth wherever it goes. But it does mean we sometimes we have rather strong preconceived notions about the athletes we cover and the world they live in.

And I'm sure this stance is just the way Covington likes it.

My beef with him has nothing to do with fighting or his nearly constant stream of trash talk directed seemingly to everyone in the sport. For me, it was a violation of trust that hit me somewhere much closer to home: my childhood. 

"Luke Skywalker dies," he wrote on Twitter the night Star Wars: The Last Jedi was released in theaters. "Saved you nerds 2h 33m of your virgin lives. You're welcome. Try something new, its' ladies night. Go get laid."

Was there any reason for Covington to spoil Star Wars for thousands of UFC fans (he later repeated the trick for the newest Avengers movie)? Of course not. I blocked him on Twitter. So did many others. But it got him headlines in the MMA blogosphere and the attention he craves. 

For Covington, a reaction is enough. Whether it's good or bad is immaterial.

"I'm the super villain of this division," he told MMA Weekly's Damon Martin. "I'm the super villain of the whole entire UFC. ... Everybody wants to watch me. Whether they want to see me lose or win, it's all the same f--king thing."

Under three years ago, it was a different story. Covington was just another ex-college wrestler trying to stand out in a sport seemingly built to push everyone toward the middle. On the undercard of Conor McGregor's thirteen-second win over Jose Aldo, Covington lost by guillotine choke to someone named Warlley Alves, who himself lost his next two bouts in the division.

In many ways, it serves as a microcosm of the entire sport. Most fighters win some, lose some and spend a lifetime attempting to climb a ladder to success that's covered with metaphorical grease, slippery to the point that making your way to the top is as much luck as skill.

With his tweets, interviews and newfound pugnacity, Covington skipped several rungs on the ladder. That's a path I can understand.

Seven years ago, journeyman wrestler Chael Sonnen embarked on a similar journey, battling his way out of obscurity with the power of his mouth. Sonnen earned three UFC title shots and millions of dollars—and he spawned a score of copycats. MMA Junkie's Ben Fowlkes sees plenty of Sonnen in Covington's schtick:

"[It's] the same gimmick that Sonnen borrowed from the pro-wrestling canon. Roll into a new city, insult the local heroes and/or sports teams, disparage the infrastructure, maybe imply that the current populace is the result of some unfortunate mutation, then close your eyes and let the boos wash over you. Congratulations, you're a villain now.

"It's not hard to do. You can tell because Covington isn't even doing a great job of it. His version is a knock-off of a knock-off, but still it works. It's easier to make people hate you than it is to make them love you, and in the end, it may be a more reliable revenue stream."

Covington, like Sonnen before him, has gone to virtual war with almost every prominent fighter in the sport, announcer Joe Rogan and even the entire nation of Brazil. It's transformed him from an unknown mid-tier fighter into a polarizing athlete a single bout removed from a title shot.

But there's an edge to Covington that didn't exist with Sonnen. When you talked to the former middleweight challenger, you could see the wink in his eye. He knew he was saying ridiculous things and, just as important, knew that you knew as well. The audience was in on the performance, one everyone could enjoy as a sort of art.

But there's nothing impish about Covington's act at all. When he tells Tom Taylor of BJPenn.com that "juiced up little lightweight" Dos Anjos isn't "good at anything besides looking like a Frankenstein" or calls Mike Perry's girlfriend Danielle Nickerson "horse-faced," there's nothing fun about it. It's just mean. And that doesn't sit well to many who came up in a sport in which athletes have valued sportsmanship and camaraderie.

"I think Chael had a certain charisma about him," UFC on Fox analyst Kenny Florian told Submission Radio. "And I think he had a certain wittiness about him, whereas Colby's just...there's not a whole lot of slickness to what he's saying. It kind of just sounds like an angry 15-year-old, you know what I mean? Chael at least had knowledge of how to play the heel in a relatively intelligent way.”

Whether it ends up working for Covington is an open question. On Twitter, his constant effort to steal the show, even the shows he's not on, has netted just 32,000 followers. That means that, beyond the hardcore MMA fanbase, no one is paying the slightest attention.

Right now, that hardcore audience has been enough to propel him to the brink of title contention. But his five consecutive wins have likely played a pretty big role in that career advancement. 

Has this been a prelude to bigger things, a chance to practice the Covington show before the mainstream inevitably discovers him? Or is Covington merely turning off the only fans who might possibly care about him when he eventually deviates back to the mean? 

As long as he's winning, these questions can be delayed. 

The moment he falls short, promoters will begin to ask the most important question of all: Is Colby Covington someone fans love to hate? Or do we simply hate his guts?

Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.