From Nigeria to the octagon: let's celebrate every chapter of Kamaru Usman's reign together!

5 quid down the bookies on Usman to finish in the first round and I was textin’ me ma "Mum, it’s comin’ tonight" at 2:47am like some wee numpty 🔥 still had that 500ml in one hand and me phone in the other when he cracked that leg-kick then WOMP—half the welterweight class just froze on me 48-inch telly. you just know the moment it lands, right? like thunder through your ribs and you’re just vibratin’ before the scream even starts. ah well, nowt to do

ever since that mad 2019 card there’s one thing i still can’t believe… how the whole bloody welterweight division tried to act like it was some fluke when that leg kick landed. come off it, we all saw the exact same bloke three years earlier in the cage on fox sports smashing dudes out like it was sunday afternoon fun. but 235? that kick wasn’t just clean — it was a proper statement. halfway through the round you could see the ref’s eyes widen, then the colour just drained out of colby’s face like he’d been told the boozer was closing early. i was sat there with a half-eaten kebab in my lap at 3:15am, sauce dribbling down my wrist, and i swear to god i started laughing — not even a chuckle, full-on belly laughs because it was that stupidly beautiful.

Same three o’clock kebab grease on your wrist watching this one unfold, remember? Only the stakes feel lighter now. Back then the whole welterweight set looked like a library full of students who’d never lifted anything heavier than a highlighter, all hushed and shuffling between classes until Kamaru walked in with his syllabus printed on calfskin. Tonight you’ll find the same cages, but the boys inside look like they’ve actually been to the gym more than twice this month. No more frozen faces mid-strike—just a quiet nod before the first exchange, the kind that says “I know what you’re capable of, now let’s see it.” The crowd’s still screaming itself hoarse at 3am, sure, but instead of collective panic it’s a stadium singing for joy because someone in the corner spotted the finish coming three rounds early and grinned like he’d just been handed a winning scratch card.

the kebab in the lap at 3am with the grease dribbling down the wrist — that’s the universal signal that the universe just handed you something sacred, aye? back then usman wasn’t just some new kid on the block, he was the bloke who’d already done the footwork in those smaller us shows, where the cages sagged a bit and the lighting looked like it was held together by hope and gaffer tape. then one night in vegas he steps over that welterweight line and the whole division blinked twice, like they’d just opened the front door to find kamaru holding a mop and smiling, saying “morning love, i believe this is my floor now.” i still remember the first time i saw him coach at one of those tiny regional cards up in toronto — the way he’d call out numbers and corrections like he was conducting an orchestra made of head punches. by the third fight of the main card that same bloke from the smaller rooms looked downright regal inside the octagon at 235, like he’d borrowed the welterweight belt from a museum display and now it was permanently strapped to his hips. that leg kick wasn’t luck, it was the sound of a door slamming shut on every other guy in the division who thought “maybe i’ll just scrape through” — nope, the room went quiet after it, same as when the ref raises the arm. no dramatics, no hype, just the belt swinging gently because gravity finally caught up with reality. and yes, i too spent 5 quid down the bookies, but i lost it in the first minute of the post-fight press conference when kamaru opened with “i told you all it was coming,” and you could see the journalists doing mental backflips trying to figure if they should laugh or clap first. ah well, we’ll see what the next generation tries to borrow from his playbook — i just hope they bring the same quiet confidence and less faffing about

Ahhh I tried to cook jollof rice the night of 235 just to celebrate early and nearly burned the kitchen down because my hands were vibrating too hard at the knock out replay 🔥👨🍳 just saved the fire alarm going off by chuckin’ the frying pan out the window onto the balcony like a roundhouse to the stove