From UFC to VIP: The myth of Alex 'Poatan' Pereira we still whisper in the gym
back in 2015 when the Poatan was still knocking heads in Glory days, i’d walk into the gym in north york and the whole place would just go quiet for a sec like someone hit the pause button. not because he walked in proud or anything — no, he was there in jeans and a faded rashguard, hair still kinda wild, ordering a black coffee like it was just another tuesday. but the way people looked at him, you’d think michel jordan just strolled into a sunday pickup game. that first time he turned around after some sparring session and nailed that question mark kick right into the pads without even looking — the whole room just exhaled like we’d all been holding our breath for years. ah well, we’ll see
Been here longer than some have followed.
remember when the Poatan was still fighting kickboxing shows down in Brazil and I was there on holiday with my cousin’s mate who knew a guy at Caxias gym — he dragged me along like it was nothing, "nah mate just turn up, they’ll sort you" 😂 walked in wearing boardies and flip flops like a tourist, right? this bloke in the corner just stopped mid-chat, mumbled something to his mate, and next thing we know Alex’s walking over, nods, no words, just puts his gloves on and goes "show me your weak side" — like that’s a normal Tuesday night 💀 didn’t even look nervous, just… existed. then the pads came out and he just starts throwing question marks like it’s nothing, no wind-up, no flex, just *pop* clean through the leather and the whole room goes "ooooh" like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen a kick 🔥 yeah, that’s the Poatan — always been magic, always will be
yeah nah that gym in Caxias though — i was there once for a seminar with correa’s old crew, and i swear the air in the room just drops like a rock whenever he steps in even without throwing a single strike. wasn’t about the swagger, you know? more like a presence you can’t ignore, like when someone turns the lights off for a second and you realise you’ve been holding your breath all along. then he lines up that same question mark against some big bloke from the regional comp, no flash, no warm-up spins, just steps in and *crack* — the pad jerks back like it’s been hit by a truck and the whole crowd lets out this collective "woah" before anyone’s even clapped. and alex? he just stands there, deadpan, like "yep, that’s how we do it here" 😂 class isn’t something you put on, it’s the way the floorboards creak under your boots and everyone else stops talking at once. still gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Used to be that quiet thunder in Caxias—everyone felt it the second he walked through the door, even without a word. The guy didn’t need a mic; presence alone turned heads, gloves on and straight to business like the world owed him nothing. Now? Same room, different calendar, but the hush when he steps in? Still there. Not louder, not prouder—just heavier, like the floor remembers every kick he ever landed before the title belts existed.
I could be wrong, but the magic isn’t louder now, it’s deeper. Back then it was raw spectacle in eight-ounce gloves under coloured lights. Today it’s something quieter: a fighter who doesn’t have to prove it anymore, yet the room still holds its breath because the same question mark kick that floored Adesanya at 268 still lives in the same body that first asked it in faded rashguards and flip-flops. The venue changed, the opponents changed, but the room? Still exhales.
Man, remember that time in Campinas when we were all piled into some dodgy old gym with a busted AC and Alex just straight-up flicked that low kick at a sparring partner’s thigh mid-drill like it was nothing? Leg just *thudded* against the mat and the bloke went down holding his leg laughing 😂 whole room lost it, even the old-timer coaching couldn’t help but grin like "fuck me, again" — and Alex? Just shook his head at the lad on the floor like "you asked for it" 💪 still cracks me up every time I think about it, proper magic right there in a sweaty box with a dodgy kettle 🔥
You don't abandon your own.
i was mid-pint in that camden boozer when that question mark kick at 268 landed and i nearly spat my ale across the bar like a startled cat. there’s something about the way that kick just… sneaks up on you, doesn’t matter if you’re watching in a packed o2 or squinting at a flickering laptop in some dive with dodgy wifi — the room holds its breath for that half-second between strike and crunch, every single time. and that’s the thing about the poatan’s magic: it never aged, never got showy, never needed a spotlight. it’s the kind of move that just lives in the bones of the sport now, like a good old-fashioned one-two nobody ever forgets. i still swear when i see fresh lads trying to mimic it in sparring and flailing about like headless chickens — proper poatan just plants the foot, shifts his weight, and *bam* — the question mark isn’t a trick, it’s a law.
Seen it all, lads.
remember the time in that Caxias backroom when some lad asked Alex "yo bro, can you show me that kick again?" and Poatan just deadpans "only if you promise not to cry this time" 🤣 then he turns, plants that same leg, and—*BANG*—the pad flies across the room like it’s auditioning for a horror film 🍿 the bloke on the receiving end just stared at his shin like "mate, my grandad felt that" while the whole gym erupted and Alex’s coach just sighed "man, you’re a menace" 💀 still the funniest way to waste 30 seconds in martial arts history
Memes are analysis too.