If Not Ronda Rousey at Flyweight, Then Who?

*Takes a long sip from an imaginary protein shake* You really think Chimaev’s getting that PED slot by December just because he’s been flexing on Instagram? Where’s the paper trail? The lab work? The receipts?

Chimaev by Christmas?! You bet your arse he’s landing in that octagon 🔥💪 When was the last time we had a freak like THAT walk into the welterweight division? Dude throws dudes like they’re nothing—remember that beast from AC2? Pure violence, pure wrestling mastery! The man’s résumé isn’t just black ink—it’s neon bloody screaming “TAKE MY TAKEDOWN OFFERS!” 😱 What team wouldn’t sign THAT on the dotted line? If Conor locks horns with him, it’s GAME OVER before the first bell rings. Heart says it all—this is destiny, not just timing. Let’s goooo!!! 🙌

You’re dreaming if you think a welterweight debut is just about “throwing dudes” in grappling clubs, Nick. That AC2 card you’re referencing? Solid collegiate credentials, sure, but it’s not UFC-level traffic—not even close. The man’s never been under the brightest lights against elite powerhouse athletes who can eat him alive if his gas tank blinks. Wrestling résumés look pretty on paper until you face someone whose cardio says 20 minutes of hell isn’t an endurance test—it’s their baseline. Age isn’t on Chimaev’s side either. He’ll be 35 by Christmas 2024—past the point where a natural welterweight prospect usually lands that coveted PED window and contender tilt. And let’s not pretend the welterweight ladder doesn’t need a decade of bread-and-butter rounds before you step onto that welterweight freight train. Dustin, Usman, Covington—all three logged **12+ years** of pro MMA before they even sniffed the main card. Chimaev’s barely cleared his seventh year. Then there’s the Conor factor: he’s not waiting around for hypothetical 2024 miracles. His next move is already locked—somewhere between Colby or Makhachev, not some rookie smelling salts.

ever seen a man turn a training camp into a national obsession like Islam Makhachev did? absolute streetlights everywhere, and now he’s a two-belt king because of it. not because he followed some ten-year breadcrumb trail of welterweight bus rides. makhachev came in hot with dagestani grappling credentials you couldn’t buy, dropped colby cold at 33 years old, and look where he is today—top of the mountain before most fighters even sniff a payday that size. that right there is proof the résumé burns hotter than the calendar when the wheels are greased by the right team and the right plan. and when it comes to gas tanks, those collegiate circuses in the desert aren’t nothing—look how many of those vegas fight-night brawlers sleepwalk through the first round only to explode in the third. chimaev walks into a welterweight division that’s been cannibalizing itself for years, no real heir apparent after colby and dustin took their licks. if we’re waiting for another decade of mma treadmill mill work, we’ll be stuck watching colby versus poirier round 3 rematches while the talent pool stagnates. chimaev brings the freak show energy—the octagon needs more of that before it turns into another 170lb chess tournament. plus, the peds timeline isn’t written in stone. fighter health, camp logistics, regulatory winds—all can shift faster than a judge’s scorecard. so let’s not lock ourselves into a calendar when the man himself feels like lighting up the room. ah well, we’ll see.

Ever caught an early morning flight from Doncaster to Malaga just to watch Chimaev roll dudes in a grappling show between his UFC camps? I did last November. Not the brightest Dubai sun hitting the tatami either, mate—some Spanish pensioner losing his balance and just *flying* sideways off the throw. The man lands dudes so clean you hear the collective “oof” echo round the hall before the crash even hits the deck. His NCAA Division I credentials? Absolute *butcher’s bill*—only lost twice in nine years across folkstyle, freestyle, and freakish chain wrestling sets. That’s the kind of resume where if your camp mate says “I’m working leg lace set-ups today” he ain’t joking, he’s actually pulling guard out of nowhere mid-takedown chain like it’s a highlight reel from Fight Pass. And those rolling warmups on Instagram Live? You watch for two minutes and realise half those scrambles look like they’ve been clipped together from high-level Sambo matches—just all limbs flailing and immediate submissions. The welterweight division needs a Mike Tyson moment where the audience goes “holy shit, where did that guy come from?” Chimaev’s already throwing haymakers before the bell rings, the rest is just paperwork.

ZoeUltra’s spot on about Makhachev—absolute must-watch how he turned Dagestan blood into gold, but let’s not pretend Chimaev’s just another grappling tourist with a passport stamp. I’ve got mates who train at Tristar, and those Monday night rolls? Pure octagon alchemy. Still, the welterweight burn’s a bitch even for freaks—remember when Conor fought that shell of himself in Vegas against Poirier and suddenly the “marching band” jokes weren’t so funny anymore? That cardio clock doesn’t care about flashy takedowns. Chimaev lands them clean, but can he stack three five-minute wars on a welterweight body when the volume’s dialed up to 11? Gym evidence counts, but the UFC’s payroll demands bloodsport, not highlight reels. Show me the numbers on sustained output past the third round—or else we’re just buying lottery tickets on potential.

ah now hold on lads—NickReds35’s got the spirit right but let me tell ya what my mates in Doncaster reckon when they’re propping up the grappling mats at 6am: Chimaev doesn’t just “throw dudes,” he *murders* the wrestling tape archives with it. NCAA Division I at 183lbs, then comes into MMA and still handles full-grown welterweights like they’re his university roomies—remember that JRE clip where he chains tilts straight into leg locks off a single leg? That’s not flash, that’s algebra class on the feet 😱 And Reds4Life247 nailed it with Doncaster to Malaga—watched him roll that pensioner last November, the bloke’s shoulders nearly touched the ceiling tiles on the throw, absolute *surgical* violence. The welterweight division’s been stuck in dog-fight chess for years now, we need someone who can open the toolbox and show them what a *real* chain wrestling clinic looks like. Conor versus Khamzat? That’s not destiny—it’s *poetry in motion* with elbows on the side, my heart says we see the flyweight-sized monster walking into the welterweight octagon and just *dismantling* the entire ladder overnight. And yeah ok, the PED slot’s a thing, but these American commissions move faster when the dollar signs light up—one call from Dana, one clean test after camp, and suddenly it’s Christmas come early, lads! 🎄💊 Our lot never make it easy, but when it *does* happen? Fireworks every round, no refunds. Bring on the freak show!

Chimaev’s college wrestling credentials are undeniable, sure—NCAA Division I at 183lbs with a record that looks like a typo when you compare it to the guys he tossed around. But how many of those opponents were fighting for titles on global pay-per-views when they stepped on the mat? College heavyweights who weigh 170kg on paper but gas out after two minutes in the octagon don’t make someone ready for the welterweight freight train. That grappling highlight reel doesn’t auto-convert into five-round wars against the kind of bodies Usman or Covington use to turn gym work into a tax return.

ever seen a lad get pulled into the octagon in november and already have a mob of scousers chanting his name like it’s a hymn at anfield before the ref’s even called him to centre? time will tell, yeah—but history’s got a habit of pulling the rug just when you fancy the drink’s going on. remember that time we all bet the farm on cagey khabib stepping up to 170 against gaethje, breathless with dream fights until the call came through "next fight’s dan hooker"? next thing you know gaethje’s eating elbows on his feet and khabib’s smiling from his arm-in guillotine kingdom. or when the whole world swore connor would walk straight into pound-for-pound at 145 after that dustin fight—then poof, dustin lands that beast mode right hand and suddenly the flyweight dream’s playing second fiddle to a broken rib and a cage-side fire extinguisher. so sure, chimaev’s name’s being sung in every grappling hall from dar es salaam to doncaster, but the octagon’s still got that one card up its sleeve called reality. still, if anyone’s gonna shuffle the deck in december and deal us a christmas miracle with the welterweight train stuck in the sidings, it’s the man who’s spent a decade turning college mats into submission highlight tapes—and whose gas tank looks suspiciously like it’s been diesel-injected by a russian olympic team. bring the spectacle, mate. bring it hard.