Arman Tsarukyan would have been the UFC lightweight kingpin by now if he had just thrown…

You think Arman just blanked on a basic punch? That’s the most Newcastle fan thing you’ve ever said—like blaming a builder for forgetting a hammer when the real job was tild him to knock down a wall with his head. The rematch wasn’t a clinic in jab mechanics; it was a chess clock ticking while Makhachev ran the board and Arman paid the meter every time he tried to trade. When the chips were on the line—round three—he slung leather instead of setting the tempo. I watched it from the pub in Jesmond, pint half gone, and it wasn’t lack of memory—it was the pattern: Makhachev had already worked out the script and handed Arman the lead role in Round 3: Desperation Edition.

Arman just needed to remind Makhachev what a jab feels like, right in the goddamn face 😤 UFC 236 rematch was his canvas and he painted himself into a corner with pure haymakers, like he forgot his own hands had a range mode...

I remember that night like it was yesterday—third round at UFC 236, Makhachev already knew Arman wouldn’t touch the jab again. The ref even called him for no movement on the break, like he’d forgotten how to step forward properly. That’s not brain freeze, that’s a pattern. Makhachev had zero interest in trading because he’d read the first two rounds: Arman wouldn’t control distance. You don’t out-coach a coach by guessing, you do it by sticking to what works, and what works for Tsarukyan is jab, set-up, repeat. When you hand an artist a chisel and they carve only with the butt end? That’s not bad luck, that’s a self-inflicted block.

you ever watch arman’s early days in pankration back in toronto, back when he’d float like a butterfly and sting like one too? even then you could see the jab was his north star—every coach worth their salt was telling him “boy, use that spear, keep ‘em honest.” then 2019 hits, and suddenly the jab’s just… vanished from the menu. like he walked into the octagon wearing swim trunks and goggles halfway through. Makhachev didn’t need a masterclass in chess, he just needed to wait for arman to pick up the hammer and start swinging it at the air—three rounds of feeding a rhythm and getting no return ticket. that’s not forgetting the jab, that’s trading a golden ticket for a pair of concrete overshoes. ah well, we’ll see.

Ever been at the bar in Pontypridd when the referee’s card goes up and the whole pub groans because they’ve just seen the opponent dance around all night? That’s exactly what it was like watching UFC 236 round three—Arman already had the bad hand and he played every trick instead of forcing Makhachev to fold. I get the jab critique—yeah, he’s torched opponents with it for years, from Pankration in Toronto right through to those early Bellator days—but let’s not turn it into some magic talisman either. Makhachev’s that kind of fighter: once he lured you into the pocket you could count the exits on one hand. Arman had moments in the first two rounds where the jab landed clean, but he followed it with a single strike instead of the six- or seven-strike combo you usually see in his finishing sequences. It wasn’t so much “I forgot the jab” as “I forgot the jab *series*”—and Makhachev, being a chess piece himself, just closed the gap the second the rhythm stalled. You can jab beautifully in sparring, no doubt, but if the follow-through dies halfway through the metre-and-a-half loop then the whole thing collapses into a single tap that looks pretty and does nothing.

So Makhachev left that arena thinking “wow, that jab’s still in the car park”—and we’re all out here pretending it was just one-off brain farts in three rounds? 😂 Imagine going into McDonald’s for a Big Mac and getting told by the cashier, “sorry mate, forgot how to open the till,” after they’ve been doing this gig since Arman was still fighting in Moscow basements. 2019 wasn’t some lost weekend; it was the third act of a trilogy where every writer kept scribbling in the margins instead of penciling the headline punch. The jab’s not a trick—it’s the skeleton key Arman used to open half the lightweight doors before Makhachev even booked his flight to Vegas. You don’t just misplace a skeleton key; you either hand it over or leave it rusting on the hook. And round three at UFC 236? That wasn’t forgetfulness, that was Arman handing the key to Islam, walking away from the door, and then wondering why he’s still standing outside in the rain while Makhachev’s inside counting the change.

nah mate what a load of overanalysin' 😤 Arman out there busting his hump fightin', Makhachev aint exactly takin' tea breaks in the cage either! The first two rounds he was pressurin' him, pressurin' him—round three he switched it up tryin' to box with the guy cuz Makhachev got lazy with the top game? You call that forgettin' the jab, I call it adaptin' on the fly! Dont turn him into some kinda automaton who just throws one punch cos 236 dont fit that script 🙌 He was tryna work angles round three cuz Makhachev got no takedown defense worth a damn, had to force it when the wrestler realised he couldnt wrestle 💪 His earlier jab series in round one KNOCKED Makhachev—pure power, pure speed, Arman still got that spear in the quiver! Just cuz it aint a "clickety-clack" combo every single time dont mean the tool vanished off the face of the planet!

well if we’re calling round three adaptin’ on the fly i’d love to see this same “adaptability” turned into a championship belt worth somethin’. all that pressurin’ in rounds one and two led to makhachev strollin’ into round three knowing full well arman wouldn’t cover ground again—cos he hadn’t since the opening bell. the jab wasn’t missin’ in the car park, it was missin’ in every pocket inside the building. remember august 2019 down in vegas against poirier? armans float like a butterfly, sting like a jab—he peppered dustin’s mug with enough leather that poor lad looked like he’d been slapped by a family of angry wasps. that wasn’t guesswork, that wasn’t adaptation halfway through, that was three rounds of poetic distance control, 90 seconds of break-fallin’ on the concrete for no good reason while poirier tried to find a face behind all that welts. then fast-forward to that may night under the atlanta lights where makhachev read the script back to front and sideways. round three wasn’t about fight IQ, it was about arman forgettin’ how to breathe through his own guard. the jabs that did land were single stabs, not the rhythm he built his whole brand on—like he left the seven-string guitar at home and brought along a kazoo instead. you say he still got the spear in the quiver—brilliant, so why’d he step into the pocket with two hands down when makhachev started crowd-control blitzkrieg round three? that’s not adaptation, that’s capitulation painted as creativity. dmitry didn’t need tea breaks because he was already five steps ahead while arman was still trying to remember where he’d hung up his mitts. i’m all for fightin’, i respect the hustle, but respect ain’t a championship. makhachev’s belt cost arman’s finest tool because in the moment it counted most, the man forgot to unpack the one piece of kit that had opened every door before.

Ever seen a bloke walk into a pie-and-pint shop in Sheffield after ten pints and claim he’s still got a handle on the gravy? That’s Arman Tsarukyan at UFC 236—three rounds in, and Makhachev’s already eating the gravy while our lad’s still hunting for the jug. The jab didn’t vanish like a ghost train at midnight; it went AWOL when the bell mattered most, right there in round three, and we’ve all been squinting at replays trying to spot the missing carriage. You lot can dress it up as adaptation or creativity, but a jabs-forgotten-nightmare doesn’t spin gold into belts—it spins gold into walking tickets straight out the cage. Makhachev’s chessboard was missing Arman’s favourite queen and he still checkmated the poor man twice over. I could be wrong, but isn’t that the exact moment we all signed up to forget about title shots and watch a genius mislay his compass halfway up the mountain?