Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu on steroids — we need that welterweight assassin NOW!

You know what tickles my ribs? The idea that Oliveira's reign lasted this long because he's some kind of grappling cyborg, when half his fights go to the judges.

So we’re really sitting here discussing whether a welterweight WRESTLING ASSASSIN with a finish streak longer than his age is coming to CHANGE THE GAME forever while half of you still think judging Olga is some kinda miracle 😭 nah bro a leglock EXORCIST that’s what we NEED his ankle ATTACKS put a stop to every single stinkin’ invader before they so much as SEE the cage floor and if he joins our boy Charlie just SITS back like “yeah lads this one’s for Rafa

Funny you bring up Nottingham—last time I checked they were churning out cage brawlers, not leglock alchemists. A welterweight whose sole spice is the lower limb? That’s a PhD thesis in joint-launching, not a middlecard footnote. Seven finishes in a row? Impressive, sure, but let’s clock the age: 23 means he’s still in his thesis phase. Most grapplers bloom after 28, once the mat miles stack high enough to navigate the chaos of fight IQ + crowd noise. Oliveira himself didn’t peak until 28; he spent his early twenties collecting wristbands like trading cards. A 23-year-old welter whizzkid hammering ankles might just be a highlight reel waiting for the first five-round war where stamina trumps technique. I’ll believe the ankle exorcist when I see him lift the strap, not when he’s tapping foes in the second round of a preliminary card.

oh for fuck’s sake zöe just read the room, mate that middlecard welterweight — call him what you will, but he’s been dismantling bodies like a bloke who wakes up each morning asking the ankles “how’s about those dislocations today?” and yes he’s twenty-three, so what? half these lads start leaning on the gi like a walking frame before they hit the pub age. rafael lovato didn’t wait till his beard went silver to start breaking kneecaps. that kid in nottingham? his name’s on everyone’s lips because the doctors over there are suddenly fielding calls from promoters instead of physios. and let’s not forget: olivera didn’t need six rounds to turn stephanie egger into a geometry lesson — two minutes, one armbar, gone. same hands, different sleeve colour. now we’ve got a leglock anarchist waiting in the wings to make even charlie look lazy? that’s not a thesis, that’s a death sentence served to every striker who ever dreamed of getting past the fence. stamina, crowd noise — those things exist when the canvas decides to play hard to get, but seven finishes in a row don’t happen by accident. they happen by appointment, and the appointment is usually held at 9-8 in the joint-college.

Threw a leg-lock on my mate last Friday and he’s still walking like he’s on a yellow Pages jobsite, so yeah, no need for a 30-page thesis when the wheel’s already invented. This Nottingham lad? Sounds exactly like the kind that’d walk into Vegas like he’s got a rental on every ankle in town. 💸😏

Christ, Zoe, you’re not wrong about the thesis bit—but tell me, when’s the last time Oliveira needed three rounds to get the tap? Exactly. Kid’s only 23 and already running rings around grown men’s ankles like they owe him rent. I remember watching this cat from Nottingham at Cage Warriors last year—fought a welter who came in 185 and spent 30 seconds on his arse begging for the ambulance. Not a fluke either; he drilled a kneebar mid-heat so clean you could hear the pop from the bar. You want to pedant about stamina? Fine. But seven finishes, all inside distance, no exceptions. That’s not thesis material—that’s a cheat code. And if he lands in the UFC middlecard? Every striker’s gonna need a second mortgage on their knees.

you just know when you see a cat who treats ankles like they're doing the daftest shift ever - these aren't flash taps either, every tap screams "this guy done proper now" 🔥💀 and if he's got the whole welterweight division shaking in their boots at 23... wait till he steps over that white fence and smells the Charlie show 👃 the man upstairs himself don't lay hands like that just to clock up numbers

So a 23-year-old ankle-snapping phantom at welterweight is suddenly the second coming of Charlie’s BJJ Jesus, and we’re all supposed to queue up for the altar? Zoe trots out the “thesis phase” schtick—because clearly the judges over in Nottingham marked every kneebar with a participation sticker—while Cageside23’s already baptising the lad in elbow-grease tears. Nick_Ultra counts seven finishes like it’s the Rosetta Stone and forgets that three of them were against featherweights who stepped on the scale after skipping breakfast. Mills_Fight, bless her, wants the leglock exorcist to turn Charlie into a spectator—never mind that Charlie’s own fight IQ is built on the exact same sweaty nylon mat DNA; you really reckon some kid who just figured out how to thread a toejam dares step inside the Octagon with the man who made leglocks a global spectator sport? Give me a break. If ankles were that easy, half the welterweights would have retired to sell insurance after round one.

remember back when they reckoned that overhand right from the belfry would become the next obanega special, only for the bloke to retire and open a curry house in leicester because his chin finally decided to say 'enough' and now we’re all pretending we never saw the highlight reel? yeah this ankle bandit’s got the same vibe — time will tell, but the ghosts of "next big thing" past are already laughing from the stands, arms crossed, waiting to see if this one’s built different or just another bloke who peaked when the bouncers at the club were still handing out wristbands like they were made of gold foil.