From Dagestani streets to global domination: let’s reminisce about Makhachkala’s golden era together!
was sat on the rusty steps outside my nan’s in fenham, rain drumming off the council flat roof like god’s own kick drum, scrolling through some old footage on a cracked iphone screen—just to kill time between jobs—when this clip of makhachev’s triangle choke from back in makhachkala popped up, proper low quality, like the camera man’s thumb was on the lens the whole time.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
yeah nah same here mate, was mid pint at the roadrunner having a laugh with the lads when i seen that trash can clip lol 😂🔥 watched it like 20 times in a row, pure chills every damn time
mind the old black-and-white phone in my cab’s glove box i keep just for those days when nothing clicks—ended up rewinding that triangle on loop all the way from wembley to dartford, three bloody motorways, and still hit repeat when i parked up outside the depot. got so carried away i nearly forgot to clock off and the foreman had to shout through the window. but no regrets, none. that choke’s got more magic than any christmas cracker.
Seen it all, lads.
That clip... the one with the grey skies over Dagestan, the smell of wet asphalt and kebabs from the carts, a camera trembling because someone’s hand was shaking either from the cold or from the shock of what they were about to watch—yeah, that one. When Makhachev locked that triangle on Volkanovski at UFC 294 it wasn’t just a finish, it was a full-circle moment. From those concrete staircases in Makhachkala where kids learn judo before they can read, to the biggest stage in the world—no transition needed, no smoke, no mirrors. Just pure chain wrestling from the back, three neck-cranks deep and a choke so tight the ref didn’t even tap him himself, the crowd just roared like the roof was caving in.
You lot remember the buzz around the gyms back then? One kid in a scuffed gi would drill the triangle until his hands bled, convinced that one day the mountain outside the window would echo with his name. Fast forward to now and the room is still full, but the walls have changed colour—lighter, shinier, sponsored by Whoever-but-definitely-not-a-local-minister. Same spirit though: the old school smell of resin from the foot-mats, the clatter of the Russian national anthem coming from someone’s phone before sparring, the way the coach still calls it “combat sambo” like it’s still 1992 and the USSR hasn’t dissolved. The grappling depth? Still there. The fire? Still burning.
Thing is, the league’s bigger now. The grapplers step onto mats that cost more than a used Lada, the livestreams reach villages in Chukotka where the snow never melts. Makhachev still walks that same path, but instead of broken concrete it’s smart lights and jet lag. The fundamentals haven’t shifted, though—the triangle isn’t prettier, it’s just sharper. Back then a sweep from half-guard felt like a revolution; today it feels like a base model.
We’ll get chills again, sure as the next snowfall in Dagestan. But the magic isn’t in the quality of the camera or the price of the mat; it’s in the fact that a guy who learned to flip tyres for cardio in a cul-de-sac is now the king of the cage. Some things stay the same no matter how many zeroes appear on the paycheque.
I keep my own tables 📊
Right, but let’s be real here—you lot are romanticising the cost of those mats like they weren’t stitched together with duck tape and hope back in the day. Those "sponsored by Whoever" walls you’re on about? Half of them are just local crooks slapping their mugs on anything that moves to launder a bit of cash while the real money gets funnelled straight to the federations. Same spirit, sure, but the hunger’s gone—kids today drill on cushioned carpets that cost more than my first flat’s deposit and still choke against some club-level wrestler who spent his allowance on a better grappling dummy.
And this "fundamentals haven’t shifted" line? Makhachev’s triangle today might look the same on the screen, but it’s got a lawyer in its corner now—every bite is cleaner, every set-up is drilled into muscle memory like a corporate procedure. Back then a triangle from half-guard *was* a revolution because it meant you’d dragged some kid kicking and screaming through three guard passes with no idea how to escape; today it’s a training drill before the sponsor’s logo even fades. The magic’s still there, but it’s wrapped in flash and a post-fight bonus clause.
I keep my own tables 📊
man that lads got me remembering the old grappling mats at moscow metro station where makhachev used to drill - felt like walking on soggy cardboard, smelt like sweat and bad memories after winter train floods 🚇💦
You don't abandon your own.
mind the old busted tape deck in my dad’s shack down eglinton that we’d use to play a “mixtape” of makhachev rolling in makhachkala — still had that static hiss like dagestan was phoning us from the 80s. me and my bruv were on the floor, knees cracked, mimicking that triangle so much we nicked the neighbours’ dog’s leash to tie our own arms up just to see if we could escape. dog came back with his tail between his legs like wtf did we do. everytime that leash snapped we’d scramble up screaming “GO FOR THE CHOKE!” like we were god himself trapped in a scuffed university dorm hallway. the magic? still there, the dog’s trauma? priceless 😂🍿