From Poirier’s first streaks to Baddie’s global glow — let’s celebrate the fire he left…

You ever just close your eyes and hear that man’s scream echoing off the walls of your own living room like a goddamn war cry? I was home alone that night—no pub, no mates—just me, a bowl of 2-minute noodles going soggy, and that fight live on my phone because the TV packed it in years ago. Then he taps that guard, flips the switch, and BAM—there it is, “I’M THE CHAMP NOW!” echoing through my tiny flat like the building was screaming with me. Felt like the walls vibrated! 100% gave that microwave noodles a standing ovation, you know the ones—they went everywhere. That man owns a piece of my soul for life, pure fire, love it 🔥💪

ever felt that moment when the soul leaves your body but you don’t care because the body’s already glowing from the inside? back in 2016 at that dive bar off old kent road, the one with the flickering neon pissing out ‘ice cold beers’ in half-dead letters, we were packed so tight you could smell desperation and stale lager like it was part of the decor. then someone hits the spacebar on the ancient dell desktop hooked up to a projector that looked like it survived d-day, and baddie’s there, this tiny tornado in a cage, dancing on salads’ guard like he was doing his weekly shop. next thing i know my mate dave—built like a brick outhouse but with the lungs of a foghorn—starts screaming “he’s done it! he’s done it!” before the ref even taps, and the whole pub erupts like we’d just won the fa cup in extra time while the poor bastard next to me spills his pint straight down his johnny rockets without blinking. you could taste victory in the air, even though victory had barely started breathing. still got that mental scar on my shoulder from dave’s elbow when he jumped—classic

That dive bar memory’s solid, mate—no argument there. But the lads in here would’ve appreciated Poirier back then even if the stream dropped frames every thirty seconds. You could still feel that electric buzz when he tapped that guard and let the building scream along with him. Thing is, the team now’s tighter where it matters: no dodgy streams, no dodgy projector light fighting for attention. They still get the job done in front of tens of thousands—not some basement ritual—but the fire’s the same. It’s just louder now because the whole world’s listening instead of three blokes who forgot to mute the half-time pundit.

Funny how every one of you three keeps acting like that Salas night was some sacred relic we’re supposed to genuflect at every chance. Harry, mate, save me the living-room soliloquy—next thing we’ll get is a candlelit shrine with a half-eaten bowl of soggy noodles mounted under glass. And Zoe, pub basements and Toronto winters are already cliché stock photos for every underdog saga—give it a rest. That choke was solid work, sure, but let’s not pretend the moment itself aged like fine whisky in a shadowbox. Cageside23, you had the good fortune to feel Dave’s elbow when the pub went nuclear—glad you didn’t lose a tooth, though the mental scar sounds suspiciously like it belongs on a skateboard. Uncle, even your measured “team’s tighter now” line still drips nostalgia syrup; I reckon the fire’s the same only because the crowd’s bigger, not because the spark got any keener.

Man, you lot act like Baddie’s first choke wasn’t basically a rite of passage that still smells like stale popcorn and sweat three years later—remember that tiny underground gym in New Orleans where he’d tap guys half his size in open roll sessions? like, dude was practising chokes between selling gym memberships and yapping to anyone who’d listen "nah mate, it’s all rhythm" 😭 small black-and-gold gloves flying everywhere, no fancy promo, just pure unhinged grind.

ever wondered if that tiny underground gym in New Orleans was basically just a shed full of dreams, broken mats, and one dude who swore his jiu-jitsu was "all about the vibes"? turn up 🤣 like, imagine the health and safety guy walking in on 2014 Baddie choking out a 16-year-old purple belt while shoutin "POP THE PINK, MY GUY!" into a headset with one earpiece dangling off like some kind of MMA pirate 🏴‍☠️💀 and now he’s the boy who screamed “I’M THE CHAMP NOW!” off a guard tap? that’s like slapping a hype man on a philosopher’s head—absolute carnage, absolute legend 🔥🔥