If this was Anderson Silva's swan song, he went out on his terms – as a legend

LAS VEGAS – They came for the Legend because no one could be sure if the Legend would ever come again.

They came for the lights be turned down and those haunting first beats of DMX to blast, for the signature black and yellow shorts, for that prefight moment when Anderson Silva falls calmly back against the Octagon or the one where he squats down as he's introduced.

They came because he's the greatest of all time, at least until Jon Jones surpasses him, which was interesting because Jon Jones came also, standing in the front row filming it on his cell phone, like any old fan, shouting encouragement and coaching – "to the body!"

The MGM Grand Garden on Saturday felt as much like a curtain call for Anderson Silva as a comeback. It felt like one more for the road because a champion this great just wouldn't allow himself to leave the way he was leaving – coming off two consecutive losses, the last one courtesy of a gruesome snapped leg and primal screams of pain.

That was no way to end it.

This was: Silva, after a 13-month recovery, lying on his back, weeping in the middle of the cage after a unanimous decision over Nick Diaz was announced. This was pure, overwhelming emotion, a release from the longtime baddest man on the planet because this could be it – this, truthfully, should be it.

"My kids say, 'Dad, please no [going] back," Silva said. "My sons, they don't want me to fight ... I don't know."

Deep down he knows. Everyone knows.

"I just expected a lot more output," UFC president Dana White said.

Silva being a fighter, he'll probably fight again, probably be unable to shake this part of his life. For the first time ever though, doubts were verbalized.

"I love my job, this is me, I love to fight," he noted. "But I need to go back to my home and talk to my family and my sons and my wife. It's a difficult decision. It's very difficult."

There is truly nothing to prove, not after this comeback. And there are no guarantees that the next one ends with tears of joy. This was also a reality check. He's 40 in April. The come back from that leg break was brutal, "I went through a lot of suffering," Silva said. "I didn't think I'd be back." He was slower, less certain, less explosive.

Silva was handed a perfect match-up with Diaz, a brawler who would come right at him, stand right in front of him, rarely attempt anything but to outstrike the greatest striker the UFC had ever seen.

Yet it took five rounds. Diaz was bloodied and bruised, his eye so butchered he was sent off to the hospital. And Silva still looked good. Yet this wasn't the old Spider. He couldn't just impose his will.

"Come get some," Diaz taunted at one point, among rounds and rounds of his signature trash talk and antics that begged for a beating.

"Where are you?" Diaz screamed.

The old Silva would've tortured a guy like Nick Diaz and then finished him in some dramatic way. This version could just survive. The victory was overwhelming, but it just doesn't portend for the future, let alone a realistic run at regaining the middleweight title against Chris Weidman that owns two victories over him.

"You saw little hints of the old Anderson when he was moving, it was almost like he was tentative," White said. "I've said this a million times, you're 39 years old, you're out there looking like a world beater then one day, Father Time kicks you in the ass and in one fight it looks like its over."

It didn't matter to the roaring crowds here. This was a celebration of a guy who powered this sport for seven some-odd years, annihilating pretty much everyone in front of him, a 16-fight UFC win streak, each finish more creative than the next.

The UFC made Silva a rich and famous man, lifting him from obscurity at age 31. He returned the favor by playing an enormous role in its growth, the constant for all those years, the familiar face defending the title, pay-per-view after pay-per-view.

It was magic to watch. He had so many different ways to win, so many new ways to grow the sport. There was a mystery to him, from the exotic town of Curitba, Brazil, a guy no one every truly figured out. He could, at times, speak perfect English and then at other times say he only understood Portuguese. He could be brooding and serious, yet also a clown.

Whatever. He was there to be seen. He was there to fight. There was no way for him to get overexposed.

The idea that it was over in Dec. 2013, with the broken leg, just felt wrong. He said he absolutely had to return to the same Octagon in the same building to expel those ghosts.

"Yeah, absolutely," Silva said. "Now it's over."

If it's completely over, if his children convince their father that he's done enough, made enough, proven enough, that he isn't getting younger or faster and stronger, that this is no business to hang around one fight too long, then it ended on Anderson Silva's terms.

That horrifying scene of Silva screaming in agony, a long, awful rehab coming, all those terrified looks on the faces of his team, all the doubts was replaced by hugs and pictures and smiles. He thanked everyone. He walked out, found his surgeon, Dr. Steven Saunders, and embraced him.

"Humble man," Saunders said. "Such a humble man."

This was a night for the past, for the old routines and the old feelings and the old results. This was Silva, making time post fight to crouch in prayer in the center of the Octagon, taking a moment to thank it for all it had given him and all he had given back.

This was the greatest of them all once again on top and an arena full of admirers who'd come to cherish such a vision getting to walk out into the Vegas night buzzing once again for their all-timer of a Legend.