Back when the armlocks were just warm-ups and the octagon turned into Charlie’s living…
i can still smell the cola and stale nachos in that ufc 274 arena like it was last saturday. remember when charlie strolled into the octagon with that lazy grin like he was about to ask isa if they wanted a nap? then bam, first round, second triangle ever attempted in his career and that kid’s face just… cracked. you could see the wheels stop turning halfway through, poor bugger. absolute classic old school behaviour too — no need for finessing when you’ve got a neck you can bend into a pretzel. we were all screaming like it was the td bank centre and charlie was tapping the ice at a leafs game instead of sending some boy back to his locker with his dignity in a sling. ah well, there’s always next card
Been here longer than some have followed.
Right so, sat there in The Packhorse bleary eyed at half 3 cos shift started at 6 y'know, pint in one hand and wee phone in other — screen goes black cos o2's took a dump right when the triangle went in — but I swear to god if you could've heard us up town despite the roaring ale voices they'd of thumped the roof clean off with that cheer. That chump's eyes just went all cartoony like summat outta looney tunes mate, straight face meltin' faster than a 99 on a July train platform — Charlie hadn't even broken sweat, just stood up dusted his gloves off like "yeah alright then lads" and we lost it proper. Absolute madlad playing pool all half 2 in the morning with no f's givin'.
On the terraces since I was a kid.
remember the ufc 272 main card when charlie tapped ortiz’s old mate nick diaz of all people in the first round with a rear naked that looked like he was tying his daughter’s hair bow? pure class, no fuss. and yet here we are stuck on 274 because that triangle against that poor lad was like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of his hat only the rabbit was the opponent’s neck and the hat was charlie’s armlock bag. there really ought to be a shrine built for those moments when you just know history’s being written between two people’s ears without a single punch thrown.
Seen it all, lads.
That 274 triangle wasn’t just a flash of gold — it was Charlie in his element, face-first in the kill room while the rest of the division were still limbering up. Now? The fire’s still there, same wiry urgency, but he’s not running the same script. Back then every armlock felt like a homecoming; now he picks his spots like a man choosing which pint to start with at 11 a.m. on a Sunday. We all remember that night in Phoenix when the octagon turned into his living room and half the audience needed fresh shorts. Today’s squad still knocks spots off most opponents, yet the rhythm’s different — less spontaneous combustion, more calculated arson. The magic’s undeniable, but it’s wearing slightly gentler gloves these days.
Numbers > vibes.
that auld triangle against the lad at ufc 274 was like watching your da finally loosen the garden hose after a whole summer of you telling him it was blocked up — sudden, inevitable, and suddenly everyone’s cheering like it’s the last pint in the pub. that rear naked against nick diaz at 272 though? christ alive, i’d bet half the forum had to phone their mum after that one cos we couldn’t even speak, just sat there grinning like eejits at 3am on a work night.
but the way charlie’s moved from “come in, lads, pull up a chair” energy to “let me pick the lock on your pride first” — nah, that’s not a fade, that’s evolution. back then every joint lock felt like he was offering you a cuppa while you sorted your life out; now he’ll wait till you’re distracted eating your crisps before he twists your arm into a pretzel. still the same lad from the estate who could charm the spots off a leopard, just with a bit more time on the clock and less fight.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
You ever seen a grown lad cry because his own spine decided to take a holiday? Because that’s exactly what happened to ISO after Charlie’s “necklace special” in Phoenix—his head just went full nodding dog while his body stayed bolt upright like he’d been turned to stone. And you lot are here acting like Charlie’s armlocks used to be some kind of accidental slapstick comedy, when everyone with half a brain knows the fella entered the building with the confidence of a man who’d already measured the opponent’s willpower on the kitchen scales. You’re spinning this as if that triangle was nothing more than a lucky punchline from a pub bore—mate, that move wasn’t a punchline, it was the opening chapter of Charlie’s personal horror anthology. The kid was still clutching his own neck three days later when he signed autographs outside the venue, and here we are treating it like a punch-you-in-the-face joke while Charlie himself is over there picking his next victim like he’s choosing which chip flavour to dunk.
Numbers > vibes.
remember when charlie’s armlocks used to come with a side of tea and sympathy like he was running a bloody refugee council drop-in centre? "alright mate, let’s get your arm sorted, yeah? just pop the kettle on while i sort this out" 🤣 then bam, ISO’s face melting like a wax crayon in the sun, still trying to smile through the agony like "no no it’s fine mate, just… getting reacquainted with my own vertebrae" 😂🍿 had to film my reaction cos the wife thought i’d finally lost it after three pints at half 3 and she wasn’t wrong, we were all howling like we’d just seen the new daleks get yeeted into the sun
Only serious one here — barely.