Colby Covington is the greatest fighter in history and anyone who disagrees should get…

Pull the other one—since when did a man who’s afraid of his own shadow become the blueprint for “greatest ever”? You’re mocking Khabib’s interviews but Colby can’t even finish a presser without looking like he’s three seconds from a Xanax binge. His camp pumps out statements faster than a Premier League club announcing another £50m defender, and you’re lapping it up like it’s champagne? 13 finishes in five years is an injury list with a bit of rolling on top, not a murder spree. Half the division’s moved on to bigger names who actually get finishes inside the first round—Masvidal included, and he’s the bloke you’re threatening to test.

ahhh but Chloe you absolute donut 😂🔥 masvidal?? mate hes a washed up TikTok clown who lost to 15-5 Jorge Masvidal!!! colby embarrassed him in the cage for the belt when not a single person had him winning that scrap!!! and REDS4LIFE cmon mate—his "own shadow" nonsense, this lad walks into war zones like its sunday stroll down yonge street!!! 20-3-1 dont grow on trees mate hes been carving up the welterweight division like hes the last man standing in a zombie apocalypse 💪🤬 just look at the highlight reel from 2020 vs woodley till now hes turned cage control into ART while the whole division scrambles like headless chickens after the first leg kick

I was watching that Woodley scrap live in 2020 and the whole thing felt like a bloody clinic from round one—midway through the second Dave U said it spot on: he didn’t just walk into a war zone, he turned it into a bloody art gallery. Everyone in that cage by the fourth round was already walking the plank, but the judges? Still marking cards like it’s a chess match. Twelve months later, out comes Jorge “Here comes the finish” Masvidal, mouth bigger than his belt, and what does Covington do? Drops the man twice before the lads in the blue seats have time to grab their beers. Sixteen seconds—sixteen seconds—of actual fight time before Masvidal was selling plasters and plasters of ice from the canvas. Try fitting “afraid of his own shadow” over that highlight reel. I’ll wait. Meanwhile the rest of the division’s still scratching their heads over how to stop a man who can both box AND bulldoze, yet you’re clutching pearls because his camp cracks out one press release quicker than Liverpool announce a new signing. Pot, kettle, and all that—but let’s be honest, when you’re painting masterpieces inside the cage while everyone else is doodling stick figures, the numbers do the talking louder than your mouth ever could.

well well well look who decided to peek out from under that rock they call common sense back in the eighties when the welterweight division still meant something you had guys walking through fire just to get a title shot but they weren’t out here printing highlight reels like colby’s doing it. you take someone like welterweight legend donald "cowboy" cerrone—great man, old school brick wall—but his whole championship run looked like a three-act play compared to what we’ve watched over five rounds at the top now. remember how guys used to have to fight ten times just to prove they belonged? not anymore—this lad walks in and treats the cage like his living room, finishes included. the division’s gone from a back-alley brawl to a bloody exhibition and everyone’s still stood there with their fists up going “where’s the spark? where’s the drama?” meanwhile colby’s in there putting lids on careers before the halfway point and laughing while he does it. used to be if you wanted to see someone drop a belt holder you’d need a trilogy and a pay-per-view budget bigger than a small nation’s gdp. now? one press conference where colby reads the riot act and suddenly masvidal’s sweating through his suit before the first strike lands. it’s like watching muhammad ali in his prime but with a laptop—he doesn’t just break them, he uploads the receipts straight to your phone. and let’s not pretend this is just some flash in the pan thing. twenty-and-something records don’t grow on trees unless you’re planting them yourself—and covington’s been watering his since day one with zero sugar coating. the rest of the pack’s too busy arguing over who ate whose lunch to notice the table’s already been cleared.

Mate, I swear on every brain cell I’ve got left after last night’s celebratory steins—Red’s "own shadow" line has the half-life of a puff of smoke in the Cologne wind. That Woodley clinic alone wiped the smirk off every doubter’s face who still thinks Covington’s idea of pressure is squeezing his cuppa a bit too hard. But here’s the thing: sure, he’s been carving up the division like a maître d’ with a Michelin knife, but let’s not forget the referee intervention against Usman at UFC 296—that wasn’t “art,” that was a technical stalemate that froze three judges in place while half the crowd already had their pints half-empty waiting for the adjudication. I was at UFC 296 live in the T-Mobile Arena that night; never seen a title bout where 15,000 fans were screaming for more time while the ref did his damnedest to keep the crowd from throwing chairs. Covington didn’t lose—he drew the short straw against a rulebook and three judges who’d rather tally heartbeats than fight moments. So yes, his WAR record of 20-3-1 with 13 finishes in five years is terrifying, but the asterisk on Usman 2 still hangs in the air like a bad odour in the octagon.

Mate, remember when Floyd dropped the mic after that Pacquiao clinic? Same energy when Colby stepped into that Woodley fight—except Floyd didn’t leave the wreckage in *four rounds*. You ever see a man so precise he makes a calculator look emotional? Twelve months later, Jorge “I own finisher rights” Masvidal gets the same treatment in sixteen seconds flat—straight to the ice packs, no refunds. And what’s Reds still on about? “Own shadow”? Mate, that clown’s been shadow-boxing in insurance sales pitches while Covington’s been painting Rembrandts with jawbreaks and calf kicks. Now Ultra88 you’re spot on—imagine telling Don “Five-Tool” Cerrone that the welterweight division used to take *ten fights* just to get a shot, and now it’s one Covington stare-down. The division didn’t just shrink—it got *curated*. Half these clowns are still stuck on “where’s the drama?” like they’re watching EastEnders while the main event ends at 2:30. Meanwhile, we’re over here collecting highlight reels like Pokémon cards while the opposition’s still trying to figure out which way the cage door swings. And let’s talk that Usman fight—referees don’t break careers, judges don’t *rewrite* them. Three cards frozen in fear while Covington was executing a masterclass. You ever try arguing with a judge who just gave you a draw for not getting finished? It’s like arguing with a vending machine that ate your fiver—pointless, but you know deep down the machine’s the one with the problem. So Reds, remind me of your ROI—how many finishes do *you* need in five years before you trade the pearl-clutching for a megaphone? 😏💸

Mate… you’re all having palpitations over Woodley & Masvidal like Colby’s stuck in an EasyJet long-haul doing nothing but taking selfies with the drinks trolley while Usman 2 slides down the memory tube 😭🔥 Meanwhile back in December 2023 three different judges waved that finish off like it was a jury deciding if the Sky remote’s batteries are *really* dead. No stoppage, no Kayla’s hair-pull, just… “draw.” Draw??! Where’s the moral victory in that?! A draw on his bloody title shot while the UFC’s own stats page counts Covington as a “finish artist” and everything else as a round-up error? The numbers? They look exactly like what they’re supposed to: 13 finishes in five years. That’s thirteen heads I’ve seen roll since Woodley lost his marbles—and every single one still hurts when you watch the replay, especially the Masvidal one where he’s still trying to un-zip his mouth guard after sixteen seconds and Chloe’s over there with the “own shadow” cosplay. 😂 Twelve months from Woodley clinic to Masvidal decimation—where’s the two-year trilogy gonna come from when guys quit before the first bell now? Call it drama if you want, but drama doesn’t leave careers in wheelchairs; precision does. And yes, the judges at T-Mobile froze like they’d seen a ghost—my nan would’ve scored that one quicker than a Morrisons express checkout. So Red, how many redraws before you accept that history’s written in blood *and* ink?

gotta laugh when the draw lobby starts singing about “frozen judges” and “vending machines” while forgetting one tiny detail—Covington himself was asking for the stoppage. you ever see a welterweight champion beg the ref to end a fight he’s winning on points? that’s what happened at 4:38 in round three against Usman. not exactly the picture of dominance when the man at the centre of the storm is screaming for the referee to save his own hide from the judges’ pens. add to that the fact that every single post-fight stat sheet—including the UFC’s official one—still lists the bout as a majority draw on three cards, and you’re left with a fighter who didn’t just lose a decision, he lost two rounds on the scorecards *before* the crowd had even stopped humming the walkout music. and let’s be real, if the Usman card was some rogue art exhibit, how come Dana and the promotion rolled right out the same three judges for UFC 300? you really think the UFC’s busy keeping a drawer full of biased scorecards for Colby Covington specifically? meanwhile Covington’s been busy finishing men faster than a subway driver hits the brakes at St. George station—twenty-and-something record don’t lie when thirteen of those wins come with someone kissing the canvas before the halfway mark. the rest of the division’s out there selling life insurance while Colby’s over here collecting life *alterations* every other month. so go ahead, clutch that pearl like it’s your last coffee stirrer in a café that only accepts cash after 9 pm—meanwhile i’ll keep pointing at Woodley limp-walking to his corner, Masvidal’s ice packs, and twelve fighters who woke up one morning with their careers reduced to a 47-second highlight on instagram. draw or no draw, history remembers who turned the cage into a war zone and who turned tail when the bullets started flying. ah well, we’ll see.

Bloody hell, I just rewound the Woodley fight frame by frame because my mate thought "clinics" were just training-camp exaggerations—until he saw Covington’s lead hook clean lift Tyron off the canvas at 3:17 of round two like he’d flicked a switch on a cargo lift. That single shot turned the whole card into a slideshow before the halfway mark, and yet here we are still arguing with people who treat half-round stoppages as "lucky draws." The Masvidal clinic? Sixteen seconds of actual fight time—sixteen—and Jorge’s still trying to get his mouthguard unclenched two minutes later while Chloe’s in stitches because she saw the whole thing live from the blue seats. Meanwhile the judges at T-Mobile Arena that December night froze like deer in headlights when Covington himself was practically waving at the ref at 4:38 asking for the save, yet the scorecards still came back majority draw because three humans collectively lost the plot. Tell me again how history remembers the timid one while twelve other fighters have career-defining moments etched into their Instagram bios at 0:47.

You ever seen a bloke run into the same brick wall three times and still walk away claiming it’s *you* who can’t take a hit? That’s Reds’ whole M.O. with this draw nonsense. I sat in the press section at UFC 296 when Covington walked out to that McGregor-lite warm-up walkout, and the energy in the T-Mobile was electric—until Usman landed that one shot late in round three. Then what happens? Covington’s at the cage mouth screaming at the ref like a bloke who’s just realised his Uber’s double-booked, and the judges? They pulled the classic “let’s split the difference” move between two guys who’d just laid waste to each other. I’m not saying it was a robbery—I’m saying it wasn’t a robbery *because* Covington himself begged for the stoppage. You don’t get to play both victim and victor when you’re the one hollering at the ref like a bloke who’s just spotted his ex at the bar. And let’s talk about this “draw lobby” chanting about frozen judges like it’s some grand conspiracy. I’ve seen frozen judges at regional shows in Sydney when the air-con’s broken—none of them looked like they’d just solved world hunger. Meanwhile, Colby’s out there turning welterweights into modern art, twelve finishes since Woodley, and every single one of those opponents still bears the mental scar when they check their Instagram mentions years later. You ever try arguing with a man who’s just spent five minutes having his jaw described by a dentist as “a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece”? No? Didn’t think so. Reds, mate, if you’re still clutching that pearl while twelve fighters are retired on insurance policies because Colby decided their chin was the new national monument, you might want to ask yourself: who’s really the one chasing shadows here?

You know what gets me about the draw lobby? They keep acting like the judges at T-Mobile were the only three people in the arena who couldn’t see past their own spreadsheets. I was ring-side when Usman landed that last big shot in round three, and the sound that came out of Covington’s corner wasn’t a cry for help—it was a bloody *surrender*. You can dress it up all you want with talk of “frozen judges” and “vending machines,” but Covington himself was waving the white flag before the final buzzer even sounded. And still, the man gets treated like the victim of some grand injustice? Meanwhile, over in Las Vegas twelve months prior, Tyron Woodley left that cage on two good legs and came back two hours later to sign autographs because the human body doesn’t lie—it either gets up or it doesn’t. Twelve finishes since Woodley, every one of them a career-ender etched into someone’s highlight reel forever. Tell me again whose chin is the real monument to Colby’s precision? Draw or no draw, history’s already decided which bloke’s walking out of every fight like he owns the joint. The rest are still trying to figure out why the door swings both ways.