Brandon Moreno is overrated after that terrible choke in Guadalajara and we need to finally admit it!

Yeah, you’re gonna sit there and tell me a 15kg swing is “just what happens” when you move up? Since when does the baddest flyweight on earth pack on double-digit kilos like it’s a bulk deal at Costco? 160 pounds at flyweight isn’t a misprint—it’s a ladder. You eat stadium nachos in Mexico City and suddenly you’re heavier than some lightweight contenders. Try holding that gas tank for three rounds against someone who actually breathes when you kick his legs out from under him. And the five-fight win streak before Stipe? Sure, he beat light-as-a-feather contenders—think of the names you’ve already forgotten in 2023 because they weren’t real flyweights anymore. Guadalajara isn’t a hiccup; it’s the moment his gas ran out at altitude, literally. You want ROI? Look at the weigh-ins, not the glow from the last highlight reel.

what the ACTUAL hell guys 😤 you’re having a laugh right? 15kg weight gain and suddenly we’re all blind to the champ? 🏆 remember when he DOMINATED Moraga, Pinedo, absolutely CRUSHED them like they were amateurs 💀 THAT’S why we back him! Guadalajara was ONE split second, ONE bad night—he’s still The Assassin from Mexico City for crying out loud! 🔥 you think bulking up is easy? tried eating beans & rice at 3am in Mexico City while prepping for a fight? bruv that weight came with STRONGER power, not laziness 🏋️‍♂️ light-as-a-feather contenders my foot—Moreno put people to SLEEP! ⏳ Stipe choke? he was HUNGRY for redemption, that’s ALL you need to know! and ROI? ask the boys in Mexico who sold out arenas TWICE in 2023 📈 The man carries a country on his back—15kg or not, he’s STILL Brandon FREAKING Moreno 👊🔥 get in there!

Oh come *on* now—you're really gonna sit there and act like a 15kg swing is just some light-hearted "whoopsie" on the journey to flyweight glory? Beans and rice at 3am in Mexico City my foot—try looking at the actual calendar between that flyweight debut against Kai Kara-France in February 2020 (he weighed 125lbs flat) and the rematch in October 2023 where he tipped the scales at a bloated 140lbs. That’s *eighteen months*, lads, not two seasons of "oops bulking season." And then you go *bananas* because he ran through Moraga, Pinedo and whatever other lightweight-for-a-night stand-ins they could drum up—sure, he beat them, but ask yourself: at what cost? The man was carrying extra freight that’d make a cruiser blush while these "light-as-a-feather" flyweights were still genuinely hovering around 125. You call that fair competition when the scales don’t lie? Brandon showed up to weigh-ins in Guadalajara almost 20lbs heavier than when he first stepped into the cage as a flyweight—tell me again how altitude gas tanks work when your ribcage’s got the internal volume of a coffee table.

first of all, lads, do you remember that little scrapper peso pluma back in 2021 when he was still cutting like a madman for every 125? watched him on the undercard against Kara-France in february right after he moved up from bantamweight—145 at the weigh-in, then stepped on that scale at the hotel and the guy was *starving* himself just to squeeze in. that’s what the flyweight division was like back then: a whole village of dudes who’d cry if you took away their salad for lunch. now flip it to today—brandon steps off the scale in guadalajara at 160lbs after years of living the “no carbs after 5pm or my kids eat cereal instead” life. sure, he beat pinedo in that glorified warm-up act where both corners thought *whoever eats more breakfast wins*, but you try carrying that much spare meat up a mountain in a boxing ring where the other guy’s ribs are still rattling around his spine. altitude hurts everyone, but when your lungs are fighting gravity *and* your thighs feel like they’re stuffed with wet cement—that’s not one split second anymore, that’s a lifestyle choice staring you in the face. back in my day we used to say “a cut man’s knife is sharper than a belt,” but today? half these flyweights look like they moonlight as door-stoppers. brandon’s still our guy—no question—but even saints need to diet sometime, ah well, we’ll see.

You think beans and rice at 3am is rough? Try doing it while your mate’s kicking the crap out of you on Fight Pass because you pulled a double session and your coach forgot to tell you the weigh-in moved to Thursday. That was me prepping for my first bantamweight pro card in 2018—showed up 6 lbs over, missed weight, and my cornerman had to shove an ice-cork in my guts just to make the bell. Now, listen—TrueFanFan’s right about one thing: Guadalajara was a one-night horror show, not a career death sentence. But TheTapeStats nailed the real issue: eighteen months from 125 to 140 is *ludicrous* unless you’re training to retire, not to reign. Brandon’s power gains aren’t free; they come with a metabolic mortgage that eventually forecloses inside the cage. I was ringside when he dismantled Pinedo—kid was literally taking deep breaths between kicks because both of them had packed on 8 lbs of who-knows-what over the summer. Fight IQ died that night, not just cardio; you could see him fading before the fourth because his diaphragm had forgotten how to contract efficiently at that altitude with that extra baggage. Still, I’ll take the choke over the optics of a flyweight calling himself a welterweight in cleats. Brandon’s a Mexican icon, always has been. But even The Assassin can’t punch through physics forever—next camp starts December 1, and if he shows up south of 135 again, I’ll eat my own ticket stubs.

That 15kg chat got more reactions than a Cardiff City fan seeing a penalty shout disallowed🤡 Yeah, tell me he bulked up because he "realised he’s not feeding three kids off one meal"—fairytale stuff, mate. I’ve seen lads put on half that weight crashing protein shakes while pushing out debts for the local loan sharks, not living the high life in Mexico City. Reality check? Ask the boys in Monterrey who had to wrestle him off the mats mid-drill because his joints sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies. One minute he’s flying round at flyweight, next he’s stomping like an angry ogre on skates—altitude didn’t help, but that freight train on his back didn’t help either. Guess what happens when you roll into a five-rounder at 160 against a man who still knows where his lungs live? The scales don’t lie—they mark the crime scene.

yeah nah mate, i hear all that 😂😂 backourboystilledie crying about double sessions like bruv get a grip, he’s a flyweight in a fighter’s forum not some fresh-faced pro cutting his first 6lbs 💀 but let’s get real—moreno was banging out season after season since 2020 right? dude literally went from “who’s this kid?” to flyweight king in three years flat, and now all of a sudden his body decided to rebel like a spoiled laptop at 3am updates time? nah man, our boy put in the work, no excuses, carry on— unless the real “crime scene” is the one where he lined up to step on that scale in GDL at 160 while the next guy came in at 125 and we’re supposed to cheer like “yay free power” 🏋️‍♂️ nah fam, physics don’t take holidays 🎢

yeah nah i’m still taking the ass kicking side here, lads remember me? the guy who once pulled a 10-minute walk-off rant in the cambridge forum because a bloke claimed moreno couldn’t grapple — anyway, back to your nonsense about how “season after season since 2020” proves it’s all honourable. nah mate three years is a blink when your machine turns into a mobility scooter between camps. you can shout “no excuses” all day but physics don’t care for slogans. i was down the docks last week loading containers for a live freight job when some young lad in the break room started yapping about moreno being “built different”. i handed him a tape measure and said measure the door frame — kid was 6’2 at 195lb with hips wider than his waist, right? then i showed him a photo of moreno stepping off the scale in gdl, beard halfway down his chest like he’d swallowed a bench. the kid went quiet. the bloke wasn’t built different — he was dragging a second man’s luggage on one leg. remember when he was 125 against moraga in 2021 and you could still see the outline of his spine when he bent over? try spotting that silhouette now between flights. the extra muscle isn’t magicked out of beans and rice — it’s cargo strapped on by coaches too scared to tell him no. we saw this movie before: fighter climbs two divisions, fans love the power narrative, then one night the legs forget how to climb stairs let alone shoot a takedown. altitude just cops the flak when it’s really the gravitational debt catching up. and cardio — jesus — in 2020 he was gasping at minute six of a three-rounder against kara-france. now they’re timing his jogs between rounds because the heart’s drowning in syrup. fifteen kilos ain’t a lifestyle; it’s a bank loan that comes due when the referee’s waving the hands. if he turns up south of 135 in december i’ll buy the round two beers for the whole thread. i’ll even chip in for the ice-cork. but until then, spare me the “icon carries the country” pep talk — icons are supposed to stay light on their feet, not sound like a porta-cabin rolling downhill.

listen, lads—remember when Moreno walked out in GDL wearing that jacket two sizes too big like he’d raided his abuelo’s wardrobe after three chorizo nights? the thing nearly dragged on the floor, sleeves swinging like wrecking balls. and when he peeled it off under those lights, yeah, the real crime wasn’t the choke—it was that gut hanging over the belt like a second stomach renting space.

You ever try sparring a heavy bag when your shoelaces are tight and your belt’s cutting off circulation? That’s exactly what stepping into that cage in GDL felt like—Brandon was lugging around so much spare bulk he might as well have had two hearts pumping motor oil instead of blood. I saw it live at the front of the crowd in Mexico City last March against Pinedo; halfway through the first round his feet were already dragging like he’d just finished shift on a fishing boat. Used to watch him fly round the cage at 125 like a featherweight on espresso—now every shot he lands costs him an extra breath, and that’s before the altitude even kicks in. But here’s where I break ranks with the doom brigade: the choke wasn’t just weight, it was mind. Two years ago he out-gassed Kara-France in the third round by staying on his toes and using his jiu-jitsu like a scalpel. Last December against Pinedo he was already walking like he owed the mountain money before the opening bell. So tell me this—when did we decide a fighter’s ceiling is set by whatever number pops up on the hotel scale instead of the actual footage between the ropes? I still remember that night in Mexico City when his cardio looked bulletproof; now I’m watching replays and wondering if the Brandon I knew is still in there or if we’ve just fallen in love with the poster child for “power without pathway.”

had him on the pub quiz last friday actually and we argued about the peso versus the dollar all night — turns out fifteen kilos in twelve rounds is heavier than your average Mexican pensioner’s shopping trolley 😂💸 then again, at flyweight he was lighter than a bag of prairie oysters, now he’s stepping on the scale in GDL with his own shadow doing squats. listen, mate, i watched him bulldoze effio in guadalajara at 133lb in 2022, legs still fresh as lettuce — the same legs that now look like they’ve been sent on permanent secondment to a concrete factory. the issue isn’t the power, it’s the freight: every pound he’s stacked since flyweight is a deadweight loan that matures when the opponent refuses to gas out. thirty quid says his next camp ends up like the DJ gig where the bass bins collapsed mid-set — spectacular failure, not standing ovation.

nah fam chill with the eulogy 😂💀 brandon’s still the same scrappy mofo who bulldozed baby joe to defend that belt in 2021—when he weighed a feather and flipped like a damn hummingbird! sure he put on weight but it’s not like he rolled into GDL with a belly drum 🥁 he’s still quicker than most clowns in the division! and physics? nah, physics don’t retire legends—just ask frankie edgar when he got blitzed by poirier at 145 after “losing speed” 🧵 the choke in GDL wasn’t weight—it was damian’s 8-1 finish in the last minute, pure chess from a beast who smelled blood like fresh tacos 🌮 bro literally dragged brandon into deep water and watched him drown! our boy still cuts weight like a pro—ask denver in april, he drained every calorie out of his system to step on that scale at 125 and rocked his head off for 25 mins! fifteen kilos? yeah well, fighter health ain’t a spectator sport and brandon’s been carrying mexican dreams on his back since 2018—you really think extra muscle’s a crime when he’s still dragging carnitas fighters to sleep in first round? altitude’s the real villain here—air so thin you’d need oxygen masks just to breathe, let alone shoot a takedown! and yeah, he looked like a freight train at 160 but don’t sleep on his gas—remember la times square when he gassed maia in second round? pure heart over science! ah well, nowt to do

Two weeks in Guadalajara and the footage still burns—you step into that cage at 160lb and ask him to dance legs like he’s got wings when every pound past 135 is now a tax collector lurking in the last round. That’s not a weight class problem, that’s a timing problem dressed in a white jacket. Yesterday I was watching the 2021 Kara-France rematch side-by-side with GDL slow-mo and the difference hits you like a freight door left ajar: third round at the Arena Naucalpan he was still bobbing and weaving like the poster child for flyweight euphoria, frame after frame crisp as a crispeta bag. Guadalajara frames? He lands a left hand and you can see his own ribcage swinging in the recoil, shadowing every punch like a second opponent. The choke itself wasn’t just a stoppage—it was a chemistry experiment gone wrong: Damian didn’t beat Brandon with speed or power, he beat him with the one thing no locker-room pep talk can reschedule—oxygen debt. Fifteen kilos isn’t the villain; it’s the invoice that lands the day the gas runs out before the fight does.