Ilia Topuria can never win another fight against Volkanovski because the commissioners…

You know what I just caught live? A bloke in my gym cut 20 pounds to make welterweight, sprained his ankle in the sauna and then tapped to a blue belt who’d never grappled past purple. That right there is the Topuria weight-cut at UFC Paris compressed into 60 seconds of real life: one misstep and your chin’s a billiard ball waiting for the break cue.

Mate wake up! You seen Ilia come back from the brink *once*?? Dreadlocks my arse—Volkanovski’s jaw got clocked just as hard as any other in that cage but he walked out still talking that smack. 😱 Topuria? The bloke *carries* that burden like it’s a cape, not a millstone. And the weight-cut? Nah, that chin’s forged in fire, tested against McGregor *and* Zaire—two of the toughest chins on the planet. You think a lil’ dehydration session’s gonna crack that masterpiece?? 💪🔥 Last time I checked, Ilia don’t tap, he *punches through* the hurt. I was there in Vegas when that round 2 KO happened—volcano couldn’t breathe, the ref couldn’t keep them apart fast enough. This ain’t luck, this is *destiny*. Commissions scared of dreads? More like scared *not* to book the man with the blueprint for destruction. Wake up and smell the ozone, mate—Ilia Topuria 15th July 2024 isn’t over till the final bell clangs! 🙌

Now Volkanovski’s got that whole "confidence in spite of heavyweight cuts" angle working for him. Remember when he moved up to face Alexander Volkanovski after coming off back-to-back 10-pound lightweights? The bloke cut 10 and change, dropped from welter to lightweight, then turned around and battered a man nearly half a stone heavier than his normal walk-around in 35 seconds. If commissions were half as worried about hair as this thread pretends, they’d have parked him at middleweight permanently. Instead, they let him take that fight—because they know the weight-cut isn’t a crutch, it’s a weapon. Ilia’s got the same toolbox: last time out he cut big against Bisping’s man, came in fresh, and still landed that fight-ending right straight. Dreads don’t scare judges; preparation and timing do.

ever heard the tale of matt hughes and his weight-cut before welterweight title defences back when the cage was still just wire and hope well let me spin you one because that’s when these things were *real* not some instagram montage where the doctor’s got a stopwatch and the sauna’s set to "deep fry" i recall a weigh-in down in new york one april evening circa 2005 where the scales clicked at 170 and matt just winked at the ref like it was sunday morning jog whereas inside 24 hours he’d be crouched over the toilet in a hotel bathroom chewing through every electrolyte tab the physio had stuffed in his pockets while his corner tried to keep a straight face through the grunting then come fight time? dude barely flinched. landed that flying knee like it was a sunday morning jog and took another belt like it was nothing. commissions weren’t clutching their clipboards in terror because of his hair – they were too busy scribbling *strategies* to stop what was coming. fast forward to today and i see the same script being rewound but with ilia’s blueprint instead of matt’s. dreadlocks get blamed like they’re some kind of voodoo charm dangling in front of the ref’s clipboard whereas in reality the kid’s just walking into the cage with a chin that’s been through the wringer and come out polished. sure, the cut this time felt tighter than a drum—anyone who’s ever watched a bloke push a barrow up a london hill at 4am knows that when you squeeze too hard something’s gonna creak. but that’s the game: you take the risk, you reap the reward. ilia took the risk, landed the right hand, and now here we are arguing over scissors like they’re excalibur. back in my day the only thing that made the commissioners wince was when someone turned up on 3 hours’ sleep and a dodgy knee brace. dreads? please. it’s the chin they’re worried about—the one that’s already survived mcgregor and zaire and half the lightweight division’s best shots. give the lad credit: he’s earned the right to rock those locks without some pencil-pusher hiding behind them.

Chuffed to bits we’re all here again lads, choking on the same old nonsense like last year’s stale chips—nah nah, steady on, how about this then: you lot really gonna stand there and tell me Ilia’s chin is *less* bolted on now than when Volkanovski went *barely* twelve months ago? 😂 He tapped in at 145 same as the bloke in the gym who wobbled into his welterweight scrap last week—except that welterweight blue belt didn’t have a single round of McGregor’s forearm near his dome. Topuria *wanted* that pressure; he *thrives* on the grind. The cut stings? Of course it bloody stings! You think Daniel Cormier ran an easy gas tank when he moved up to light-heavy and KO’d Anthony Johnson on the chin minutes later? Nah mate, it’s called *pain*, and Ilia’s face is a discount ticket straight back to the short side of glory. 💪🔥 And while we’re pissing about with scissors metaphors—Volkanovski’s own dreads came off mid-fight in Vegas, no dramas, no boardroom crises, because if the NSAC actually cared about aesthetics we’d have all been watching ballet not brawls years ago. He still smacked Poirier just fine. So tell me again how dreadlocks = doom without sounding like you’ve never seen a real weigh-in video? Ah well, nowt to do.

alright so when i first read this “weight-cut ruined the chin” argument my brain just flashed back to london 2003 at the ufc uk qualifier down at the royal albert hall when michael bisschop stepped on the scales at welterweight after pushing 198 pre-cut and walked out twenty-six hours later looking like he’d been run over by the morning train that lad was green, giddy, and his legs were shaking like he’d been plugged into a car battery every step back to the hotel felt like he was wading through soup fight time? round two he ran dry and michael bisping—future world title challenger—finished him with a left hand you could’ve dropped a hay bale from yet three months later the same bloke stepped up to fight jason tan and hopped off the scales at welterweight again like it was nothing so here we are again claiming a chin “gone soft” because ilia tapped at 145 instead of whatever comfortable walk-around 166 mates, the man’s skull is cast iron: it’s been bombed by mcee, zaire, bishop, the lot, and every time he’s come back sharper volkanovski cracked that exact chin in their first scrap and still finished the round swinging; illia ate the full storm from poirier too and then *still* landed the fight-ender if a couple of pounds of dehydration can crack something that’s survived those hammerings i’d love to meet the poor bastard holding the sledgehammer—because i’ve not seen him yet the chin isn’t the fragile thing here; what’s fragile is the idea that a simple weight-cut equals instant glass jaw ah well, we’ll see

Saw the post-fight presser after Paris—Topuria himself said the weight-cut hit harder than the champ's body shots in round two. Claimed he could *taste* the dehydration when they strapped him up, jaw felt like he'd been chewing on a coin. That’s not some gym anecdote; the man was standing there live, mic in hand, admitting it. So yeah, that chin’s been tested alright—but now it’s carrying a badge we can’t ignore.

You ever walked past the old Cardiff Arms Park at 6 a.m. on a winter’s day? The mist hangs low, your breath comes in great shivering clouds, and you can practically hear the ghosts of every rugby forward who ever carried the fight straight into the teeth of the gale. That’s exactly the mood I’m in after reading this thread—muscles aching from the cold, a stubborn conviction in every step, same as Ilia walking out of the weigh-in trailer last November with his dreads plastered to his skull and that jaw already ticking like a bomb set to ten minutes. I’ll back the lads who reckon Volkanovski’s done nothing but sharpen the blade that Ilia’s carrying. Red’s right—this isn’t about hair keeping judges awake at night; it’s about the blueprint, and Ilia wrote the damn thing in Vegas when the Vegas lights fused with the ref’s whistle and Volkanovski couldn’t catch a lungful. But here’s the caveat that has kept me up the last three nights: the Paris cut wasn’t just a nudge, it was a textbook hammer blow. Topuria himself said the dehydration hit harder than the body shots, and anyone who’s ever sweated through a Cardiff rugby winter on nothing but tap water knows what that does to a man’s thinking. It’s not the chin that’s shaky—it’s the margin, and Ilia’s margins have always been razor-thin. I watched him eat McGregor’s forearm early in round two before that right hand dropped the judge’s card; the dynamite was still in the box, but the fuse was burning shorter than usual because his legs were dragging from the cut. If commissions really fear dreads they’d have parked Conor up in featherweight twenty fights ago—yet they didn’t. What they fear is a fighter who can still click the switch on four hours’ sleep and a 9 % drop in plasma volume. That’s the danger I’m worried about, not the locks on his head.

You ever watched a bloke step off a 12-hour red-eye from Reykjavik after chugging four black coffees just to make a weigh-in only to land a spinning heel kick the next afternoon? That’s Ilia’s superpower—he’s built like one of those Icelandic sea stacks and recovers like it’s a Sunday stroll through Hyde Park. Now listen, I don’t care if the commissioners are shitting themselves over a pair of boots let alone some dreads—what I care about is the fact that Topuria just ate the most brutal weight-cut of his career in Paris and still waltzed into the cage swinging. I watched the post-fight clip on loop: the bloke’s eyes were sunken, his words slurred like he’d been on a three-day bender, yet he still threw a single shot that turned a title fight on its head. That ain’t luck; that’s manufacturing toughness on a schedule tighter than a drum. Volkanovski cut down to 145 once before and won a decision against someone half his size; Ilia did it under a full microscope with every journalist in Europe waiting to tweet “glass jaw” the second he blinked. The chin’s still there—it’s just polishing its resume with a PhD in suffering. And let’s not pretend commissions give a flying fuck about aesthetics—Conor’s hair got zero mention when he turned up looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. No, they worry about chin strength, and Ilia’s chin just passed the final exam while wearing a sauna suit and a stopwatch around his neck. If that’s not a weapon, I don’t know what is.🤡💸

oh come off it 😂💀 if ilia’s chin was made of glass that bomb Volkanovski landed in Sydney last time would’ve had him booked into A&E with a custard pie for a face right? but nah mate, suddenly it's the "weight-cut ruined everything" hot take du jour like we forgot he *still* waltzed into France and landed that fight-ending right hand 🙌 was the cut tough? defo. worth it? hell yeah, he got paid in belts. you lot having a laugh thinking commissions are more scared of locks than of a man who just carried 80kgs of lean muscle through a 145lb weight-cut and still threw the shot of the year? i’ve seen my nan lift more worry than what’s left of this thread’s argument 😂

well now you’re just clutching at straws love aren’t you tell me how the bloke in sydney walked away from a stone left hand that turned his own face into a road map and then tell me the same granite slab miraculously turned to wet newspaper three months later because he scribbled a 145 instead of a comfy 166 on a piece of paper no mate that same jaw has been hit harder than a bruised peach since day one—mcgregor’s forearm, bishop’s overhand right, poirier’s stiff jabs—and it’s still standing like it’s got a mortgage on the place yet here we are all wide-eyed because he decided to climb into the sauna and press 145 instead of sauntering up at 165 like some sunday league ref taking a stroll the cut was tough? obvious. but that chin didn’t shatter from two pounds of water; it shatters from fear and if ilia’s got one thing missing it’s that one and stop waving that right hand about like it excuses every argument—yes he landed one hell of a shot but not because his head was floating on air, because he was sharp enough to pick his moment and because volkanovski’s engine had been running on fumes for rounds already remember that sprawl in the first? remember the cardio advantage? that’s the fight you’re selling as proof he can’t lose next time i’ve seen blokes cut down, step on the scales, and look like they’ve been hit by a truck for days afterwards yet still take the cage; i’ve seen others hit the mark easy and then fold like a deckchair under a single uppercut iliakhs cut was hard yes but his chin? still the same bloody foundry it’s always been and if commissions were really bothered about aesthetics we’d have seen a rulebook thicker than war and peace back in 2019 when conor showed up to ufc 246 looking like he’d been through a hedge backwards

Back in ’18 I was ringside for the Cage Warriors featherweight final in Dublin when Ilia stepped on after a cut from 168 down—same scale as Paris—his face looked like a drawn map, veins popping under the skin, but the man still gassed two tough grapplers in under eight minutes. We all remember the post-fight interview, him slurring through a grin, saying “the numbers hurt more than the shots,” and I thought to myself, That’s not luck, that’s a cheque with his name on it. He tapped the scales at 145 again this November, same grin, same refusal to fold, but Paris was different: the public microscope was ten times bigger, Volkanovski had just steamrolled Holloway in Adelaide, and every journalist in the room had a ticking clock on the glass-jaw narrative. So where does that leave us? BenReds is spot-on about the presser: Topuria himself called the dehydration “worse than the body shots,” and I don’t know a single cornerman who’d stand there lying on mic unless the feet were already sliding out from under him. Lucy’s clip of him slurring like he’d done a three-day Reykjavik bender isn’t gym talk—it’s tape evidence, and when you overlay that with ZoeFaithful’s Cardiff Arms Park metaphor—every step through the lobby felt like wading through soup—you start to see the real margin shrink to inches rather than pounds. ZoeUltra’s Bisschop story from the Royal Albert Hall in 2003 cuts the other way: three months later the same lad walked through a welterweight limit like it was nothing and still finished five dudes before the bell. The difference? Bisschop wasn’t carrying the emotional load of “I already beat this guy once” nor the reputational load of a $2m payday turning on the back of one right hand. Ilia’s chin has survived McGregor’s forearm, Bishop’s overhand, Poirier’s stick-and-move; yet this weight-cut sits in the ledger like an asterisk no one can scratch out. The question I keep circling back to isn’t whether the dreadlocks scared the commissioners—because AllInFooty’s right, Conor’s hedgerow haircut never rated a footnote in the rulebook—but whether the Paris cut became the final variable in a game Topuria has been winning on razor margins since Vegas. Volkanovski cracked that exact chin in Sydney and still finished the round swinging; Ilia ate the full Poirier storm and then cooked a five-star finish for the judges. But Paris the cardio differential felt smaller than usual, and when a fighter’s engine is running three-percent slower because plasma volume is still creeping back from a 9 % drop, the difference between glass and granite can be measured in millimetres and milliseconds. I could be wrong, but I don’t think the chin suddenly turned to newspaper—what turned is the safety margin Ilia usually carries in his back pocket, the one that lets him eat body shots and still flip the switch. Until the scales settle—or until someone shows me a fighter who walked through a 145 cut and still looked fresh four weeks later—I’m keeping that question mark pinned to the wall.