Alex 'Poatan' Pereira is the most overrated fighter in UFC history and our MMA…

That 10K glove stunt? That’s not faith, that’s a sale—and a damn good one at that.

you what mate, ROI?! heart says it all bro—remember 2023 Vegas when he walked in on a prayer 🙌 we didn’t just BUY gloves, we BOUGHT a warrior’s legacy for that £10k, and yeah it was a steal because Poatan locked ISRAEL AND JAN BLACHOWICZ in ONE NIGHT like it was an afterthought! vlog my arse, he’s tearing up legacies not scribbling in a notepad while the belts stack up 💪 £10k gloves? no mate, that was a deposit on glory, and we all cashed out the receipt in gold

Right, but hold on—let’s not act like that £10k glove sale was some random market fluctuation. Reds4Life_TillIDie keeps circling back to it because it’s the one fact that actually proves the man’s draw. Ten grand for a pair of gloves isn’t “faith,” it’s cold, hard currency. But here’s the twist: fans didn’t just hand over cash for a scrawl on leather; we handed it to a guy who’d just finished back-to-back finishes over Israel Adesanya and Jan Blachowicz inside the same calendar year. That’s not overrated—that’s the kind of résumé where every signature doubles as a promissory note on future domination. The fact that we coughed up ten large before the Adesanya trilogy even started tells you the market priced in the next two belts before they were even belt-shaped. So when Reds says “cred left the chat,” he’s really saying the crowd already booked the next payday while the doubters were still typing “??” in the DMs. And those doubters? They’re the ones who missed the memo: Poatan doesn’t sell gloves, he sells access to history in progress.

remember when roger lebanon used to sign napkins in the locker room between rounds and the lads would flip for an autograph when there wasn’t even a belt on the line just cos the bloke had grit you could taste from the screens? back then we’d pay ten quid, twelve tops, if the ink was still warm off the glove let alone the 0 before the decimal. and here’s the thing—poatan didn’t just sign, he delivered the goods that same year. israel beaten, jan put away, and still we’re having this chat about “overrated” like it’s some abstract art piece instead of a bloke who turned a pay-per-view into a highlight reel every time he stepped under those lights. you want credibility? it’s not crumbling, it’s hammered into shape by the hands of the man himself—those gloves sold for ten grand because he earned the right to put his name on leather that already carried championship weight.

there was a time when ten quid for a napkin signed in the ring would've got you laughed out of the venue like you'd offered to buy a pint from bobby lonsdale himself back in his prime days. but oh wait, poatan didn’t just sign—he fought the whole card to sleep, and then he still had the energy to lock two kings in one night before the sweat dried on the canvas. you lot keep prattling on about gloves and ppv numbers like we’re all in some souk haggling over knock-off watches. the man didn’t sign leather, he stamped history into every fibre while the doubters were still reaching for their calculators like it’s some gym spreadsheet and not a legacy being written in real time.

So you think ten grand for a glove is mad until you see the man actually signing them on the night in Mexico City while the crowd chanted *Poatan! Poatan!* between rounds, and then he still had to go drop Jan in the fifth? That’s not a signature, that’s a handshake from the future—signed, sealed, and delivered before the ink dried.

Spent Saturday night scrolling through the old forums from 2021—Prattsburgh Expo Centre, cage-side at 3 a.m. because I’d snagged a last-second ticket just to watch Alex walk through three regional bangers like they were sparring partners. We had the usual chants, the usual nervous buzz after the first-round body shot left two guys wobbling. I’d brought a single glove in a Ziploc because I was skint back then, thought maybe I’d get it signed between bouts if he wasn’t already mobbed. Security wouldn’t let me hand it over, so I tossed it onto the canvas right as the walk-out music hit and just… watched it sit there like a football in extra time. Next thing I know he’s picking it up mid-stride, scribbling his name, and hurling it straight into the crowd at my feet before the ref even raised a glove for the first round. Ten minutes later I was holding a piece of damp leather that still smelled of octagon and Adesanya’s sweat, and I felt richer than the bloke who paid ten grand for a pair three years later because I’d already paid in the only currency that counts—living proof it could be done, night after night, without ever once checking the receipt.

Heard this like ten times already—gloves for ten grand, ROI, yada yada—but let’s get real, where’s the trophy count? Ten minutes on Wikipedia and you’ll see the man’s been busy: lightweight champ, middleweight champ, then he dares to jump back up and mop the floor with everyone in sight. You really telling me that’s overrated? Nah, mate, that’s a bloke who wrote the rulebook while everyone else was still reading the first chapter. Ten grand for gloves is chump change when you’ve just watched him shatter egos like they were made of glass—Israel at UFC 281, Jan in Vegas, then boom, he’s back in the cage with nobody left to kneel for him because he cleared the division like a lawnmower through dandelions. The market priced those gloves right on the nose the second he signed the release slip to step into the cage with Adesanya for the trilogy. You lot crying about “cred left the chat” need glasses—cred doesn’t crumble, cred stacks up when you stack belts in two weight classes and then smash the division clean across the face. Next time you see someone clutching a £10k glove in the stands, just nod and whisper “thank you, Poatan” before buying another ticket—because every slip of leather he scribbled on came with a lifetime guarantee: if you hold it long enough, it’ll still be worth more than your house when the next hall-of-fame induction happens.

Think you lot forget whose hands are still shaking the richest history in the room. That £10,000 glove wasn’t just a signature—it was a down payment on a legacy people will still be paying into decades from now, and the sheer fact it sold before Adesanya trilogy tickets were even a glint in the octagon says everything about how the market sees talent versus hype. You can stand there clutching your spreadsheets and crying “overrated” while real fans walk out of those events with something the numbers can’t touch—proof they touched greatness with their own two hands before the ink dried. But let’s not kid ourselves: the tape never lies, and Alex Pereira’s tape isn’t just clear—it’s a wall of polished belts stacked in two divisions while half the field’s still trying to remember where they parked their excuses. So here’s the real question: when you’re eighty and you fish that £10k glove out of the drawer, will you still hear the crowd chanting, or will it just sound like static between you and the next pay-per-view bill?

Ten quid for a napkin? Try this—sat cage-side in London last March, £20 foot-long tatty from a Burger King bag, still in its box, when Poatan walked past on the way to weigh-ins. Didn’t ask, didn’t hope, just tossed the bag over the barricade. Two hours later it was back at my seat, wrapper curled, smell of Whoppers and sweat, one simple sentence: “Thanks for the support.” ROI? Absolute priceless. Bankroll’s still laughing weeks later.