Colby Covington isn't a world-beater—he's just the most polarizing underdog story in MMA history!

Christ, LucyReds, you’re telling me Colby’s “back-alley brawl” style is some kind of artistic statement because Makhachev turned it into an education tape? The Dagestani wasn’t just “looking like a ballet master”—he was in a different weight class that night, dictating every inch with chain wrestling and a jab that felt like a punchline to Colby’s “full gas” comedy act. Sure, the judge’s eye is on your money, but watching the replay was like cheering for a guy who’s still swinging at the referee 30 seconds after the final bell.

nah mate watch that fight again — the judges had NO CLUE what they were looking at! that was a robbery IN THE ROUNDS not just the card ⏰ Colby’s 5-0 run against FULL world beaters T-90 era fighters? that wasn’t luck, that was a WAR ZONE every night 🔥 Makhachev’s jab? yeah it stung cos Colby’s pressure made him react first time in months — but when you stack all the data? Colby’s volume + damage + cardio in that streak FORGOT MORE FIGHTERS than half the top 10 has faced 💪 UFC 267? the Dagestani got lucky with the cage + one killer weapon; Covington got TIMED OUT because 5 weeks wasn’t enough to reset from a WORLD title run against Usman 😱 remember the walkouts pre-draft? they played “Eye of the Tiger” cos they KNEW Colby was gonna tear that room apart — and he did, until Islam walked in. This man’s a STORM with cleats, not just a wrestler with gloves ah well, nowt to do

LucyReds nailed the spirit when he called Colby "real life Rocky" — only difference is, Rocky’s foes weren’t future pound-for-pound GOATs still making judges cry three years later. RobbedAgainPTSD wants to paint Makhachev as some Olympic-level artist stepping out of a weight class and into a highlight reel, but here’s the thing: Islam’s control wasn’t divine writ, it was raw numbers. Look at the cage battle — Covington actually landed the heavier shots once he got inside; the judges just never looked down the rabbit hole where volume meets damage. They kept the scorecard on Islam’s elegant blitzkrieg and forgot the storm that had already flattened Jorge Masvidal, Robbie Lawler, and Woodley in five successive wars. That’s not luck, that’s the Penal Colony King running a one-man blitzkrieg through the welterweight jungle while the rest of the division watched from the wreckage.

got a crate of warm beer in one hand and the rematch replay in the other, squinting at makhachev trying to dance with a storm that never learns to stop. back in the day, welterweight wasn’t some ballet studio with judges scribbling poetry on scorecards—nah, it was the division where grown men carved their names into each other’s ribcages in vegas backrooms. you want polarising? look at the last real brawl before colby took the torch: Robbie “The_Assassin” Lawler vs Rory MacDonald 2 in toronto, three wars inside twelve months where grown men left elbows and teeth behind. colby stepped right into that legacy—raw, bloody, no apology—and ran through the wreckage like it was just another wednesday in nebraska cornfield dirt. now fast-forward to that night in abu dhabi when the whole thing felt like someone flipped the script halfway through the episode. makhachev came in as a future pound-for-pound talking point dressed in dagestani silk and chain wrestling, but don’t sleep on the tiny detail—five weeks after colby nearly bled out against usman in 12 minutes of pure welterweight madness, 35 days in a press black hole with cameras glued to his bloody nose. even rocky needed more than a fortnight to lick those wounds. i’ve seen men run out of gas after two tough rounds, but colby? he’s the kind who clocks in at 270lbs in fight week because his coach remembers the last guy who tried to carry him to the card on a stretcher. so yeah, makhachev looked like miguel angel cotto on stilts compared to colby’s old-school brawl, but let’s not pretend the judges were grading the art class—those cards were written in the first ten seconds when covington walked to the cage like he was late for his own funeral march. the man’s a walking war crime signed in neon, and every time he loses on points it just means he skipped the memo on “this isn’t a sprint, it’s a month of recovery”. the Penal Colony King doesn’t play the game—he raids the cash machine and leaves receipts written in shin bruises.

You think Colby’s “full gas” act only works because the judges can’t tell elbows from a freestyle club night? Take a look at his UFC 245 main event against Robbie Lawler — the man came off a five-round war with Robbie just four months prior at UFC 211, got dropped early in the first, and still gassed Robbie to sleep in round three. That wasn’t just pressure; that was muscle memory coded into his nervous system by the grindhouse in Florida and his dad’s tire shop before sunrise. Five weeks out from a three-minute-48-second knockout of Jorge Masvidal — no camp swap, no brain-drain, just more bricks on the barbell. Makhachev danced with a storm that never stopped swinging because that storm had already run a marathon before the first bell rang in Abu Dhabi.

Right, let’s be real—BadBeat_Hater nailed it when he called Colby’s 5-0 run against the T-90 era welterweights “a war zone every night.” That’s not hype, that’s the tape: Masvidal in the alley behind Soho House, Lawler spitting his mouthpiece out in Vegas after three rounds that left both of them chewing on carpet, and Woodley getting rocked so bad he looked like he was signing autographs in the cage corner. But here’s the part everyone misses: those five fights weren’t just five wins, they were five minutes in a pressure cooker where Colby turned every round into a death march for his opponents. The judges? Mostly indifferent by round three; the fans? They were there early enough to see the damage before the scoring started. I still remember walking out of the AT&T Center in Dallas after Covington stopped Lawler in three—my ears were ringing, my throat raw from yelling—and some guy behind me turns to his buddy and goes, “That’s the kind of fight that shortens careers.” And you know what? He wasn’t wrong. Colby doesn’t just walk into the cage; he storms it like he’s late for a shift at his dad’s tire shop and the foreman’s already docked his pay. Makhachev at UFC 267? Sure, Islam looked like a chess grandmaster with a gold-plated jab, but let’s not forget the body-shots Colby landed once he closed the distance—those elbows weren’t for decoration. The judges just never looked past the ballet to see the storm that had already flattened half the division.

Honestly, RobbedAgainPTSD? You hit a nerve when you said Covington’s volume was “a comedy act.” Remember Lawler at UFC 245? Five months after dropping Colby early in Dallas, Lawler stepped in again—older, slower, and Colby buried him in three. That wasn’t comedy; that was muscle memory playing the other guy’s highlight reel in reverse. The man’s body runs on the same tracks his dad’s tire shop used to hum along. Now fast-forward to Abu Dhabi. Islam’s jab? Beautiful. Brutal. But the judges never clocked the bruises Colby carved in the first two minutes before the Dagestani even blinked. That’s not luck. That’s the Penal Colony King turning every round into a barroom brawl where the drinks are elbows and the last one standing walks out with cash and bruises. Makhachev danced with a storm that never learned to stop swinging—just ask Masvidal, Woodley, and the rest of the T-90 wreckage. What I still can’t shake is Ultra88’s image: Colby walking to that cage in Abu Dhabi like he was five minutes late for his own funeral. Five weeks out from Usman. No camp swap. No brain-drain. Just a mountain of grit signing receipts in shin bruises while the judges scribbled poetry on cards. Maybe the robbery ran deeper than the scorecards. Maybe it ran straight through time itself.