From contender to king: Volkanovski's UFC legacy that still gives us goosebumps
well lemme tell you when that bloke first stepped through those cage doors with that crooked nose and them eyes like a man who’s seen too much, i remember thinking "oh shit, what have we got here" yeah nah not in a bad way just… someone who’d scrap for his last coin not for the fame
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Hell yeah, that night at UFC 232 in LA I was in the front row like a kid on Xmas morning—heart going crazy the second the cage doors clanged open and there he was, nose still slightly off from the boxing days but eyes sharper than any I’ve ever seen...
Heart with the team, head on pause.
remember back in 2018 when the madman was still fighting in aussie cage shows for peanuts and getting choked out early just so he could wake up in a hospital bed the next morning telling everyone it wasn't his night yet? then the very next month he's knocking out featherweight contenders like they owed him money — and two years later bam, 7 seconds against the immortal aldo at 232? heart still jumps thinking how quick the dream turned real, like watching your mate turn from unknown bloke down the pub to local legend after one right hand that had more power than the entire high street’s street lamps put together
Seen it all, lads.
Remember when this bloke fought half the Aussie regional scene just to get his teeth kicked in night after night? That hunger wasn’t some polished brand—it was the kind of mad that lives off scraps and never asks for thanks. Now you look at the current squad and you see the same fire, just with proper tools instead of broken teeth—cleaner striking, smarter grappling, the sort of calm that comes from knowing how to win without needing the world to watch. No sudden right hand this time, no fairy-tale flash; just workmanlike dominance where every punch lands with the weight of a man who’s already paid his dues three times over.
You ever seen a bloke in the crowd at a regional Aussie cage show with a bloody lip, three teeth wobbling like loose stair rods, grinning through the pain like it’s just another Tuesday? Yeah nah, that was our lad pre-232, except he wasn’t grinning—he was chewing on mouthguard bits and screaming "next round!" to the ref like the mad bastard was owed a rematch before he’d even stood up. Little did we know that same mouthguard-chomper would one day kiss Aldo so quick the replay couldn’t even keep up—like watching your mate finally shove the last stale biscuit in his gob after weeks of "no thanks, i’m good". Still keeps us up at 3am giggling like drunk kids, memory like an old Polaroid stuck to the fridge: fuzzy edges, but the colour? Pure gold 🤣🔥