Belal Muhammad is the most underrated welterweight in UFC history because we’ve been…

I’ve seen more dreams go stale than a Tim Hortons pastry tray by 3 PM—still, if we’re wheeling out Covington like a get-out-of-jail card, we might want to flip the receipt and actually read the print. That Covington cardio drop wasn’t some stylistic accident; it was the cumulative result of Belal playing 12 full rounds with two non-title fights on a six-bout leash and three weight cuts deeper than most people’s student loans. Twelve rounds against a top-tier wrestler who also happens to carry a stock punch before most guys are out of first gear. And the cards? Three of them still thought Belal did enough to take it after chipping Covington down to a limp in the final act.

Wait till you see the way Belal’s shoulders moved round three against Covington—like he’d just rolled outta bed, not 33 minutes deep in a welterweight war 😱 nah mate, that man’s engine is built different, even when the cards still got it wrong. Twelve rounds with that rock-hard Covington wrestler who never gives an inch? That’s the kind of pressure test most 12-0 prospects get a one-round free pass on. And the judges still saw enough to give him the split. Split! Where’s the robbery there? I was ringside for that fight, mate, felt the gas tank hissing through half past three like a boiler room—Belal’s still shufflin’ forward, while Covington’s leg starts kissin’ the canvas for a personal tea break. That’s the difference between “good” and “champ”, six years runnin’ and White’s still goin’ “nah mate, maybe next year”. Twelve rounds. Twelve. And we’re talkin’ seven of the eight cards—WHAT?!—three still say he did enough to lift the strap. Six years later, zero belts. Tell me again whose “gas tank” is actually empty. Absolute 🔥, that cardio.

That split decision card? Seven of the eight scorecards in that Covington fight had Belal ahead at the final bell. Not one card, not two — seven out of eight. And let’s be real: that wasn’t some fluke of judge fatigue or a hometown bias conspiracy. I’ve seen enough rounds in Toronto gyms to know when a welterweight is still walking forward while his opponent’s legs are doing the Macarena in slow motion. By round twelve, Covington was shuffling like he’d just stepped off a TTC bus after a double shift — Belal, meanwhile, looked like he’d just cracked open a juice box at halftime. That’s not “good enough”; that’s a man who broke the system and the judges still couldn’t agree how badly they lost. Dana White sitting on a throne of walnut straight-faced saying “maybe next year” after twelve rounds of Covington barely staying upright? Call it robbery, call it inertia, but don’t call it a fair shake for the guy who made the welterweight division look easy for six years.

think of all the welterweights they just stuck belts round in the last six years while belal’s been in the octagon getting his ribs kicked in round after round, getting matched tough while other lads were being handed title shots off the back of two-round ko artist campaigns. back in my day you had to earn every round, not just every win. i remember watching johny hendricks bounce around that cage like a man possessed, then boom—another ko in round two, belts dropped round his ears like manna from heaven. now look at the blokes getting the gold: nice guys with flashy finishes, but ask them to go twelve rounds with a wrestler who’s been in mma since before they could spell “welterweight” and suddenly the belt looks a bit… well, lighter. belal’s been dragging himself through wars for years while dana’s been doling out championship belts like free coffee samples at a motorway service station. twelve rounds against covington, another six months of grinding the cage into dust with lesser men, and still nothing but a polite “thanks for the applause” from the brass. that’s not underrated—that’s outright negligence. i’ve seen belts handed to blokes who couldn’t last past round three, and here we’ve got a man who’s been telling the welterweight division “your ceiling is my floor” for half a decade and still gets treated like yesterday’s news. welcome to 2024, where consistency gets you a pat on the head and a free gym pass to watch the next kid pick up the mantle while belal’s out there proving he’s the real thing again—and again—and again.

Ever feel like the UFC brass is running a marathon in flip-flops while Belal’s out there doing parkour barefoot? The Covington cardio debate isn’t just about one fight—it’s about a man who’s been the division’s human hard drive since 2018, plugging away at 12-round wars while the Powers That Be hand out belts like participation trophies. And yeah, I’ll cop to being ringside for that Covington tilt myself—stood about six rows back in the ACC, the air thick enough to cut with a knife by round eight, and Belal? Still walking forward like his legs were freshly charged at the hotel outlet. That man’s stamina isn’t just good; it’s systemic, like Linux running on a toaster. Six years of wars with lungs that laugh at five-rounders, and the only thing getting “robbed” here is common sense when White still snubs him.

You ever seen a guy walk into a car dealership and drive off in a used Toyota because the salesman *keeps* offering him that same beat-up Civic from 2012? That’s Belal Muhammad vs. Dana White in a nutshell. 🤡💸 Six years of Belal popping wheelies on every welterweight’s soul, and White’s still sitting in his booth like “eh, maybe next lease renewal.” Covington? The guy who got dropped by Masvidal then somehow swindled Usman out of a belt—yeah, Belal made *him* look like he’d just finished a spin class at Planet Fitness by round twelve. Seven out of eight judges still saw it Belal’s way! Seven! And White’s over here acting like he handed Belal a participation ribbon. Tell me, when was the last time Kamaru or Islam even *lasted* past round six against a top-tier wrestler? Belal’s been out there acting like the division’s Uber driver—always available, always grinding—while White’s busy handing out promotional flyers for the next two-round knockout artist. Six years of title-free octagons, and we’re the ones being gaslit into thinking *he’s* the problem? Absolute robbery. Absolute.

cov what? nah mate, seven cards say belal did enough—three still on his side—so if dana’s got a grudge against his own judges’ eyesight that’s *his* problem, not belal’s engine. but you lot goin’ 🤬 about the cardio like he ran a marathon in flip-flops while covington got dragged to round twelve—belal’s been out there warrin’ for *six years straight*, dodgin’ bullets round after round, while white’s busy givin’ belts to blokes who can’t spell “workrate”. and now we’re s’posed to believe dana’s standin’ there whistlin’ like “eh, maybe next year”? mate, by the time next year rolls round belal’s gonna be hittin’ 50 and still puttin’ on a show while these posers are lucky if they last past two rounds with a prime belal at 27. twelve rounds with cov, another six months of him carryin’ this division on his back like a mule—and still zero gold. do the math, lads, or just keep suckin’ down white’s kool-aid.

Can’t even blame the judges any more—not after six straight years of this circus—because Belal’s out there operating at a level where “good enough” shouldn’t even enter the conversation. Covington? Dude who needed Masvidal to carry him to the second round, then somehow waltzed off with a Usman decision the judges later admitted looked like a room-temperature spreadsheet. Seven scorecards said Belal walked away with it. Seven. That’s not a fluke, that’s a statement you print on a T-shirt and wear to the next UFC event. Yet White’s idea of fairness still sounds like a shrug followed by “maybe next year,” as if a man who’s carved up every top-five welterweight since 2018 should audition for his own belt like it’s a fucking open mic night. The sheer inertia of it—the fact that White’s still treating a twelve-round war veteran like a prospect on a two-fight lease—tells you everything you need to know about where power actually sits versus where credit is handed out. And sure, Covington staggered round twelve, but Belal didn’t just finish him; he finished six years of welterweights who showed up expecting an easy ride home, only to find their GPS rerouted straight into a twelve-round bootcamp led by a man whose gas tank runs on ambient cynicism and black coffee. So don’t ask me to close this loop, lads—I’m too busy watching Belal do exactly what underrated used to mean: keep winning while the world keeps blinking.