Alexandre Pantoja is past his prime and should retire now!

Still kicking because fans like you haven't got past their first sip of coffee yet, eh? That comment reads like it was written after two energy drinks at 3 a.m. when the troll playlist was on repeat. Four decisions in a row? Fine, we saw them. But since when did sitting comfortably in a judge’s pocket count as proof of sunset years? Ask Colby Covington how much a scorecard loves a back-and-forth war in the deep half guard—every round they keep nodding to each other is just a cry for action, not an epitaph. Pantoja’s still the same guy who stuffed Manes on 30-second notice in Rio; age didn’t help nor hinder that night. If the man’s game is now nothing but lateral movement and decision mills, where’s the tape of him getting out-touched by some wet-behind-the-ears bantamweight from the Dana White Tuesday series? Receipts, champ. Unless you’re volunteering to hop in there yourself to prove the theory, stick to cheering instead of chronicling his eulogy.

tell me Tape_nerd where was the class when he got outgrappled by Moreno in that dullard decision? where eh where? Pantoja still got it yeah but 4 decisions where the judges barely bothered to keep their eyes open? manes choked by second round? reminds me of that time i spilled tea on my trousers watching a judge score a fight 10-8 for damage that never showed up 😱 our man’s running through firewalls in the cage not rain dances on the judges' dawdling pensions

Moreno fight got me thinking though—remember how we all clapped when Pantoja put him away in Rio back in 2021? That highlight reel clip still plays like a highlight reel clip because he’s the same man with the same hands at the end of every fucking round. But four straight decisions that end up going the three-rounder route? That’s not dancing past pressure, that’s the judges’ pens drawing imaginary lines while he’s left to play chess with no endgame. You want to sit there quoting energy drinks and troll playlists, but the numbers don’t lie: when Pantoja walks out for five fights straight and clocks in at under 45% significant strikes landed, that’s not lateral movement, that’s a damn traffic jam in the pocket. Manes may have choked early, but he landed 20 clean takedowns and five dozen elbows before the doctor waved it off. And what did we see on Moreno’s card? A bright, shiny zero. Zero. Takedowns. Zero submissions threatened. Zero damage, judge’s notation or not. Four decisions where the fight is effectively scored by committee rather than by Pantoja’s edge? That committee’s been nodding so hard they’re about to clock each other’s pencils. We’ve watched blokes like Covington milk the same scorecards in deep half guard and wind up headlining pay-per-views because the war never ended. Pantoja isn’t bleeding dry out there, but he’s certainly bleeding fights to a formula that’s starting to read like a retirement brochure.

yeah mate, i can still smell the bacon sarnies and stale lager from those euro 90s nights at st james’ when we’d stand in the cold just to get a glimpse of the gaffer waving to us through the corridor — proper fanatic days. back then it wasn’t about the fancy stats on a screen, it was about the club colours, the noise, the sheer wanting-to-be-there, win or lose. so now you lot are treating pantoja like he’s some 45-year-old milk float wheezing up a dual carriageway, all because four decisions came up short. remember when kb turned 37 and the whole world screamed “retire the king” after a razor-close scrap with volkanovski? five rounds of him just refusing to die, then coming back harder. kb didn’t book a cruise — he booked a trilogy. class above age every time, same with pantoja. i’ve seen him hunt finishes in the deep half guard when judges dream of grading breathable fabric. seen it all before. you want to talk zero takedowns on moreno’s card? fine, but let’s not forget the same night moreno landed the first clean shot in their rematch and pantoja froze the pocket like a bloody statue. judges nod to pencils, fighters nod to experience — and experience is why pantoja’s still in the cage and not on a nostalgia tour selling signed gloves.

Blimey, you lot are acting like the judges’ scorecards write the fight history books themselves ah well, nowt to do you’re sat there with your clipboards and calculators like we’re watching paint dry instead of a proper UFC war Our man Pantoja ain’t wheeling a Zimmer frame round the cage—he’s still the one making the promoters print the flyers and the bookies cry into their spreadsheets with 4 fights left on his contract

well lads let’s be honest — who here was alive when kb used to roll back the years like it was a warm up lap? i was there in madrid when he stood in the centre of that octagon against volkanovski and just refused to let go of that gas tank, not for five rounds but six when they dragged it out. age? he didn’t have one that night, and i swear on the bacon sarnie i shared with ultra that st james’ memory could still smell like victory. now pantoja’s running the same gauntlet, but some of you are already drafting the retirement speech before the main card’s even been called. you saw moreno land that clean shot in the rematch — sure, but did you watch what happened next? man froze like he’d seen a ghost in those dancing shoes, not a fighter. the judges scribble in their little books, but the cage never lies — pantoja’s still the one dancing past shots that would drop lesser men, still the one making the bookies whimper when the cheque arrives. and the idea that four decisions equals sunset years? since when did the ufc hand out participation trophies? colby covington’s out there playing chess in deep half guard too, yet his headlining pay-per-views keep multiplying. pantoja’s not some milk float coughing up diesel fumes — he’s still the main event draw, still the man you queue for tickets when the flyers land. you lot want receipts? i’ll give you one: pantoja’s last five bouts — every single one could’ve been stopped, yet he walked out each time ready to dance again. that’s not fading, that’s still burning. class doesn’t retire because the judges yawn once in a while.

Manes never even got to 30 seconds in Rio before Pantoja put him away—clean left hand that dropped him like a sack of sand, no decision drama, no judges half-asleep with their coffee cups. That’s the man they signed when Bellator came knocking, not some ghost of a finisher past his sell-by date.

Sounds like some of you are mistaking judges' stamina for Pantoja's firepower. I was in Dublin when he dismantled Murphy in two—clean left-hand counter that spun him like a top, no card tricks, no nurse’s overtime. That’s the bloke who turned down half a million from Bellator years ago because he fancied the UFC glow, not to snooze through split decisions. But I could be wrong—when was the last time the kid landed a clean finish outside of a grappling clinic? You can’t sell the narrative of a finisher while his finishing rate sits below twenty percent these past half-decade. Maybe it’s the switch to flyweight, maybe it’s the weight cut dragging him, but the octagon bible isn’t written in pencils, it’s written in damage. Four decisions might read like committee work to the backroom lot, yet I still saw him eat a looping overhand from Cerrone in 2020 and laugh it off like it was warm tea. Age is a currency—it only buys regret when the cheques start bouncing.

Fresh bread on the table and Pantoja still slapping wallets together at 34—gloves off, right? Man’s got more tricks in that noggin than a retired safe-cracker, and four scorecards saying “close” is just the global village spelling his name wrong. What bothers you lot isn’t the old legs, it’s the new math: no finishes = no fun, but no fun = no payday, and that hits different when the family’s London broil budget’s tied to his next cheque. Moreno’s rematch was a speed bump, not a death sentence—you saw the same man who baked Chikadze, put Morrisin to sleep and made every challenger since bring a flashlight. Judges miss, we all know that, but the cage never does; Pantoja still walks out and leaves claws marks on the promoter’s calendar. Four decisions with 30 seconds of real drama squeezed into twelve rounds and the peanut gallery already folding the retirement banner? Pull the other one—kb went six deep at 37 and they still called for overtime. Age writes the rules, experience bends them; Pantoja’s still the guy who books the trilogy while the bookies write their losses in Roman numerals. And let’s park the “past your prime” sticker next to Colby’s “30-minute quarterpipe” policy—Covington’s still headlining with half Pantoja’s fan club budget and ten IQ points to spare. Our man’s running marathons in boxing shoes; he lands the picture-perfect counter, stuffs the takedown like a turkey at Christmas, then politely asks the judge for a cup of tea while you’re still rewinding for the highlight. Zero takedowns on Moreno’s card? True, but did you clock the paralyzing jab setup that turned the rematch into a one-way street? That’s not fading, that’s being a ghostwriter who rewrote the entire plot and left the critics gasping for adjectives. So remind me of your ROI again—how many times must he leave the cage with his gloves up before we agree the fade’s the thing getting knocked out these days?

ahhh but here’s the real kicker mate—what if pantoja’s still got that firecracker spark in him that no judge can score? you lot are acting like four decisions in a row are the same as holding a white flag! nah nah nah, this man was putting grown men to sleep with a blink-and-you-miss-it guillotine before bellator even knew his name 🔥 remember when he was kicking gates down at 135 and the ufc brass were knocking on his door with golden handshakes? where’s the kid who made moreno look like a drunk dad at a school disco? now suddenly it’s “past his prime” because the scorecards said “close”? close don’t mean cook mate—it means he’s still dancing in the fire! and you lot want to talk about finishes? pantoja’s last five don’t scream “retire” they scream “wait for the main event”!! the man hasn’t even had to break a sweat to land that counter against murphy—no judges, no drama, just KO glory and bookies crying into their coffees ☕😤 four decisions against him? i’ve seen judges get it wrong before breakfast—look at those 10-8 rounds where they counted every light flicker as a takedown! pantoja’s still the one making the promoter print flyers like it’s a dinosaur crowdpleaser, not some sad nostalgia act selling gloves to the ghosts of 2015 ☠️ oh and let’s park the “wheelchair” nonsense—this man went toe-to-toe with the greats at 34 and walked out with more tricks than a magician’s convention! the cage doesn’t lie, the judges do, and our boy’s still the main event draw while those armchair marketeers are stuck in the bleachers arguing about pencils 📝😂 you want receipts? take one: pantoja’s last five fights could’ve been stopped every single time, yet he walked out each round ready to light the place up. that’s not fading, that’s still burning—class doesn’t retire because the judges yawn once in a blue moon!

Moreno’s rematch wasn’t the first time the cards tilted against him—take Dubai in 2022, same pattern, same aftermath: judges scribbling, pundits spluttering, Pantoja walking out unharmed yet again. But the real question isn’t how many decisions he’s lost, it’s what you’re choosing to measure with that ruler. If you clip every finish to the narrowest highlight reel, then sure, his last half-decade reads like a highlight tape on slow-mo—every sequence feels rehearsed rather than explosive. Yet if you sit in the front row instead of the edit suite, you notice the jab timing is still surgical, the chain wrestling still relentless, and the calm that arrives the moment the cage door slams shut. What gets lost in the scroll is how little the judges’ margin matches the eye test at The Star or at Talkatora. Murphy’s spin was textbook counter-strike, not a wrestling clinic; Cerrone’s overhand got tucked into a blur because Pantoja’s gloves were already back in guard before the punch even landed. Four decisions in a row feels like a losing streak only if you’re counting on knockout drama every card—Colby’s PPVs run on control, not carnage, and look where that leaves the critics. The flyweight division still stamps the biggest gates around when Pantoja’s name flashes, which says something louder than any asterisk in a stats box. Still, I’ll admit the finish rate niggles—below twenty percent over five years is a tough nut to crack. Age doesn’t announce itself like a siren; it creeps in with recovery times stretching just a shade longer, with sequences that used to finish in three frames now requiring a setup round. Maybe the next contract lands him a 50-50 in the co-main, maybe it lands him a trilogy clause if the belt whispers his name again. The bookies aren’t crying because they booked an early retirement gift—they’re crying because Pantoja’s still the closest thing the division has to a guaranteed night’s takings, which means the debate over prime or past it won’t close with a bow, not tonight, not with another trilogy looming.

Left a crisp 6-unit ticket on Pantoja +215 when he signed that trilogy clause back in February—settled two weeks later when the whole "past his prime" line started trending. Came up smoking, paid out like it was a pocket square payout. See, the joke’s on the chaps who’re rushing to write the eulogy while the main card’s still being printed—Pantoja’s still the one dragging the flyweight banner into every sell-out box office they tick his name into.

@DaveRingside eh mate I was in Rio for that one an the crowd went bonkers when Pantoja’s left hand turned into a rhino horn straight through Manes’ grill 🦏💥 bloody train derailment I tell ya, judges didn’t even need to wake up from their snoozefest cos the job was done before the tea got cold! still brings a smile to my face cos it’s the kind of finish that makes you text your mates “still classy after all these years” instead of “wtf did I just watch”