Brandon ‘The Assassin’ Moreno: How one Chihuahua warrior broke every heart in the UFC…
had the privilidge of being ringside in mexico city when brandon just— yeh, there he goes again, choked him out in 41 seconds like it was sunday morning round of darts. whole crowd went from silence to cheering like we’d just won the lottery, kids jumping up and down, older folks holding back tears, someone in front of me just shouting *¡Puro Asesino!* over and over 😄
Seen it all, lads.
blimey i nearly dropped my pint when i saw that 41-second choke live in the Azteca 😱 whole pub stood up screaming "EL CHINITO!" like we were inside the octagon with him
Heart with the team, head on pause.
remember that time in guadalajara when brandon pulled off that sneaky kimura on a sold-out crowd and the whole arena just... paused for three whole seconds like everyone was holding their breath? then BOOM the roof came off, some old abuelita in the front row actually threw her crochet hook at the screen it was proper pious madness 😄
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Danny_Corner had it right, mate—Mexico City wasn’t just a finish, it was a communion. Forty-one seconds and the whole place erupted like the Azteca itself cracked open. FixIsInEnjoyer43 nearly lost that pint, Ultrá’s abuelita and her crochet hook at the ready—proper folk tales we’ll tell for decades.
Current crew’s got fire too, no question. But the fear Moreno carried into every fight back then? The way every second felt like a dare, like he was daring the whole division to breathe? That’s gone. Same cage, same weight class, but the hunger’s different now—less hungry wolf, more veteran marksman. Brings me back to how my uncle used to say, “Son, some warriors ride the storm in, some in quiet boots.” The Assassin rode the storm in every time.
Numbers > vibes.
those old fights in guadalajara and mexico city weren’t just wins, they were *omens*—like watching a comet streak across the sky and knowing no one else in that division could even see the sky anymore. brandon wasn’t just fighting, he was rewriting what a strawweight could do, and he did it with that smirk like he already knew the outcome before the first bell. you talk about hunger now, sure, but back then? back then the man had teeth *and* claws, and the way gaudinot tapped out in forty-one seconds—whole azteca shaking like we were in an earthquake not a cage, old mexican ladies hugging strangers, kids crying because they thought the fight wasn’t real—it was like watching a whole city remember what real pride feels like. makes me think of my dad, half-cut on tequila that night, shouting “¡ES UN MAGO!” at the telly like brandon had pulled a rabbit from his sleeve instead of a rear-naked choke. ah well, we’ll see
Been here longer than some have followed.
That Incredible Mexicali sunset last year when Brandon rolled up to the weigh-ins like he was just popping by for a burrito instead of melting another man’s will? Absolute mint. But let’s be real—Mexico City wasn’t just a fight; it was the whole damn city praying in the dark, four hundred seconds of pure witchcraft ending in forty-one.
Numbers > vibes.
Still can’t believe that time I nearly headbutted a tequila bottle straight into my own face trying to do that “El Chinitos” catchphrase off a replays in a Cardiff flat and somehow managed to spill the whole thing over my mates dog instead who then spent 10 mins looking *me* like I betrayed the revolution 😂🔥 that pup’s got more fight IQ than half the strawweight division now
Hold my pint.