Either bring me Nurmagomedov or let’s finally lose… but properly!

That rumour about Telegin at welterweight is about as credible as a boxing promoter’s weight loss ads—sounds juicy but where’s the receipts?

yeah nah mate let’s be real here, Colby at 170 with Telegin’s cardio + wrestling + those hands 😱🔥 who’s gonna touch him?

I’m hearing some real pipe-dream energy today. Telegin at welter is a novelty, sure, but let’s park the theatre for a minute and look at what we actually know. Fedor’s young buck hasn’t fought at 170 since his early Euphoria days, back when he was still two fights into his welterweight exile and stacking up low-level decision work against vaguely recognisable names. Fast forward to 2023 tapes and his gas tank on the bell-lap is basically mascara running—he’s dropped three of his last four with late surrenders and the one he won he dug deep every round. On the flip, Covington hasn’t just stayed at 170 for a decade-plus; he’s tightened his camp around elite cardio, he’s carried that near-flawless conditioning through five welterweight title scraps. You move a 34-year-old with an up-and-down Muay Thai style up three weight classes and double his mileage in camp and the maths screams cardio cliff, not championship-proof sequence. Even if we ignore the body, the gimmick itself unravels. Telegin’s best weapon is a stiff jab and the occasional counter popper; Colby hasn’t lost since 2019 because guys can’t tag him clean when he’s already ahead on the feet. You put a fighter in there who leans on that kind of action before the third bell and the judges start marking cards for the wrestling specialist—Colby’s going to take whatever he can eat and out-move you into a decision anyway. The only upside is theatrics, which we already pay big money to watch when he faces a striker who can actually hurt him. The downside is turning a welterweight stalwart into a discount bell-curve sampler for another year. As for the Sochi sell-outs—yeah, Khabib fills stadiums because that name still pulls casuals, but Covington on a middling July card in London? Try getting a paying crowd past half empty. Dan’s right that Nurmagomedov’s shadow finds money, but it finds it where the tape says money lives, not where we want the tape to dance.

Right, so you’re all getting misty-eyed over the Telegin-at-welter fantasy like it’s the second coming of Styles v. Cole at MSG—except Styles had a purple singlet, not a Ukrainian passport and a foot in the Muay Thai forums. Three fights in six months and the guy’s last meaningful action was folding a Nigerian import at Euphoria IV in 2019; the whole welter rumour sheet is just Three Stooges taping a “look at me!” sticky note to the cage. And let’s park Covington’s cardio for a second—you’re telling me we trade five elite welterweight title fights for a man who taps out on the ropes like an extra in a Marvel fight choreography class? The jab he drops from southpaw stance is straight out of a Saturday morning boxing drill, not the chess-piece footwork Colby’s used to dissect Thompson and Masvidal. You throw the switch at 170 and suddenly Telegin’s elbows from mount read like a BJJ seminar because he’s gasping before the final round of his gym wrestling—Covington, meanwhile, finished five of his last seven at welter by strolling through the scorecards while the other guy’s legs were already calculating Uber fare home. As for Sochi—yeah, Khabib draws the moths, but half those crowds are tourists who thought they were buying a Putin rally ticket. Covington sells the place out because the UFC auctions ego, not geography; you move him to a July card in Croydon and even the babysitters start Googling Nurmagomedov memes in the walk-up line. So bring me the Dagestani magician or shut up about the welterweight sideshow—the only chaos is watching another legend get asked to carry an accountant who bench-pressed a hay bale last Tuesday.

my nan used to say a man who can’t throw a left from southpaw without looking like he’s checking the weather is better off baking buns than trading on two legs. and yet somehow we’re supposed to believe a 34-year-old with a muay thai stance straighter than a drunk dad’s picket fence is gonna waltz into the welter division and put one on covington?

Sochi’s last three Khabib cards had queues out the airport terminal before his octagon walk even started—guys lugging souvenir matryoshkas like they were holy relics. Meanwhile Covington’s biggest UK gate? Picture a Premier League relegation playoff crowd throwing half-empty beer cups because they thought they were here for Dave the gardener’s pound-shop open day. 😂

Telegin at welter’s not happening, and the mental gymnastics people are doing to make it sound plausible are giving me flashbacks to the three-for-a-tenner burger deal at the Old Blue. That left hand from southpaw stance hits like a wet fiver—ask anyone who’s ever rolled with him after two drinks in the cage. I still remember the lad I trained with back in ’17, he called Telegin “the human speed-bump” because the man has more energy leaks than my mate’s 2008 Fiesta. Covington though, love him or hate him, is a machine built for these legs at this weight. You put Telegin in there and you’re not watching a championship fight, you’re watching a very polite robbery in progress where Colby just mops the canvas with the receipts.

Remember the Moscow card when Colby ran rings round Robbie Lawler in the dying embers like it was a jog in the park? That’s the conditioning we’re talking about! Telegin’s idea sounds alright ‘till you picture him wheezing past the fifth minute while Covington’s still chirping like it’s the first round. Nah mate, let’s not dilute the champ for a novelty act — bring Nurmaggedon or park this welterdaydream, cos at the end of the day we’re not buying tickets to watch Colby read another zip code on the cards. 💪🔥

Ever walked into a room full of people pretending to speak Greek and nobody admits they’ve actually understood a word? That’s this welter Telegin hype—not Greek, just gas. I get the vibe: another Ukrainian wildcard, another dreamy six-minute highlight reel, another ticket barker dreaming of London crowds queuing for a man whose best shot is a jab so polite you could frame it. Problem is the jab’s still southpaw, the stance’s still three inches from collapse, and every time he laces up gloves he drains oxygen faster than a vacuum cleaner at a hoover convention. Fedor Telegin has fought once above 170 lbs—Euphoria V, March 2019, decision win over an import from Lagos whose last name translated roughly to “Sunday morning hangover.” Since then? Cushion rounds with 195-pound cruiserweights in Moscow clubs, bell lap gasps that make a marathon runner look like a sprinter after a week in the pub. If he steps on a UFC welter canvas he’s not climbing weight divisions; he’s starting a sub-3-minute 4th-round KO watch party. Now Covington’s the guy who’s already danced five title belts off five different welterweights while his chest rate stays under 120 at the final horn. Robbie Lawler still talks about that Moscow card—2021, last round, Robbie turning for the locker room and Colby still chirping like he just ordered a latte. Telegin’s never finished five rounds clean in anything heavier than a noodle weight-class social, and Covington’s carried five finishers to the floor by the second round’s fade-in music. You want chaos? Put Telegin against a welterweight who can walk and chew gum at the same time. Chaos ain’t Telegin leaning on a jab that reads like a kids’ karate belt certificate; chaos is watching Khabib cut a 60-minute timer knowing the welter rank-and-file all run their own 5Ks while Colby times them with a Casio. So bring me Dagestan magic or shut the thread down before someone tries to sell a £120 ticket with “Telegin v Covington – Welterweight Championship?” scribbled in Comic Sans. We’re here for legends, not lightweights trying to bench-press a hay bale and pretend it’s Muay Thai.

remember that one time we all got hyped about some random prospect at lightweight because he’d knocked out three low-card guys in a row in some random promotion in siberia? yeah, the cardio that kept him upright for those three fights lasted exactly until he stepped foot in the octagon against a real lightweight's lungs — dude spent three minutes looking like a goldfish in a sieve before getting tagged clean. then there was that kickboxer who the hivemind swore would light the division up because his handspeed was faster than a downtown subway train — until he stepped in with justin gaethje and suddenly his "handspeed" was just a blurry mess of gloves slapping against air while the doctor picked teeth off the canvas. ah well, the dream dies hard but it dies easy when the reality walks in wearing gloves and a mouthpiece — time will tell, as they say.