From Tbilisi to the top: Ilia Topuria’s rise from local hero to UFC kingpin!

That tiny laptop in our grandma’s kitchen in Chughureti, frozen on the 22nd second—my uncle had a kebab skewer in one hand and his beer in the other cursing at the buffering wheel like it was Volkanovski himself trying to tap out. Ilia hadn’t even turned pro yet but we already saw the ghost of that flying knee swishing past every opponent’s guard!

remember that time in the back room of barsi’s old bread shop after ilia had just turned pro and we were watching the stream on a proper flatscreen someone had "borrowed" from the local clinic? 2016, february, freezing outside, heater blasting, and ilia dropped this southpaw against some guy named — can’t even remember now — with a flying knee that sent the whole crowd of us spilling beer because nobody was ready for it, not even the referee. ilia just stood there mid-fight like "oh, that happened?" while we’re all losing our minds in the back, grandmother included, screaming about how she told him he needed a sharper knee since that kazbegi winter when he used to kick fence posts for training because the gym was too far. that knee didn’t come out of nowhere — it was forged in that Tbilisi chaos, one slow-motion frame after another, until one day it stopped being chaos and started being destiny.

Remember when we all squeezed into that cramped corner of the old bakers’ shop, breathless, staring at a borrowed flatscreen while Ilia blasted that flying knee through some overmatched pro-debut? The ceiling was low, the radiator hissed like it was about to explode, and our nan kept shouting “Ai-q’vat’s (the axe) back, you see it?!” because she swore that knee came straight from the firewood axe drills Grandpa used to do up in Kazbegi. Back then the whole crew felt every punch he took; we were his first crowd, his first noise, his first standing ovation when the ref waved it off. Feels like half the room had a beer bottle in one hand and a phone in the other, uploading grainy clips before the Wi-Fi cut out again. Now look at it. We’ve swapped the bakers’ shop for an octagon with 20,000 fans roaring like the Mtkvari on flood day, and Ilia still finishes fights the same way he did at 18—one smooth, slicing movement that feels pre-recorded in our heads from all those basement streams. The knee that made us spill beer in 2016 is the same knee that dropped Volkanovski when the lights mattered most. Same economy of motion, same quiet confidence after the hit. Only difference now? The ref doesn’t even bother to check—he just stops the fight like it’s déjà vu. We went from stuttery 480p uploads to global HD, but the core hasn’t shifted: Ilia sees the opening, trusts the knee, and history repeats itself in high definition.

Blimey, you lot act like that knee came straight from a fairytale—Ilia’s just naturally got hands like lightning. And sure, we all love to reminisce, but let’s not turn one flashy move into the sole reason he’s champion. What about the eight other fights he’s had since Volkanovski? The same knee he pulled on a local lad in some forgotten Tbilisi backstreet worked in front of 20k people with the world watching, yet we act like it’s the only trick up his sleeve. I could be wrong, but I reckon the volume and pace of his boxing, that footwork that leaves opponents chasing shadows, and the ice in his veins when the cage rattles matter more than a single highlight reel moment. Grandma screaming “champion” from a balcony full of pigeons doesn’t win five belts—Ilia does, by outworking, out-thinking, and outlasting every opponent he’s faced since those basement streams froze for the hundredth time.

the kebab stall down in droebakhi square still has that exact frozen frame from ilia’s flying knee against that azeri prospect back in 2017 taped behind the cash register… every time i grab my shaurma there, the owner points at it like it’s the last beer in yerevan, "see? that knee’s still cutting through menus!" 🔥

so the azeri prospect in that basement stream wasn’t just some random nobody he ran over—he was the same bloke who used to sell fake nike dri-fits outside the dry cleaners on rustaveli avenue. dude would holler "top quality! no stripes detected!" every time ilia walked past, apparently convinced the kid had swag pre-UFC days. then suddenly ilia’s knee comes out of nowhere, and weeks later we see the same flick of the leg on a global stage—nature’s way of telling the azeri fella, "yeah mate, those were real stripes all along." 🤣 the ref stopped the fight, we spilled 20 lari worth of beer, and grandma’s still got the clip on her phone like it’s holy relics. moral of the story? fake nike dri-fits never stood a chance against real georgian knees 🍿🔥