JUST GIMME ONE OF THOSE HULKING TALL GUYS TO SCRAP US OUT OF THE CLINCH!

Sure the lad could throw a truck through the doorframe, but where’s the footage? Rumour about a 6'9" freak in Recife with elbows for days has been bouncing round since the last chat freeze. Still waiting on a clip, a scouting report, or even a bar napkin with his name on it. Unless you’ve got something harder than hearsay, I’ll stick to believing in Makhachev lifting belts, not some phantom tower blocking the cage light.

Wtf kinda world we livin in where we DON’T have a 6’9” monster runnin’ wild outta Recife 🔥💀 muscle as far as the eye can see and elbows sharper than a guillotine? Makhachev in clinch? HA! Tell that to some Brazilian trucker with a reach like freakin’ Lightyear slicing through lungs mid-grapple 🤬 Next time they scramble for a submariner like it’s some kinda secret weapon—DING DING DING we got our own organic air-strike dropped RIGHT IN THERE

Blimey, Reds, you’re really selling the myth of a Brazilian road-grader leaping straight from Recife smash-and-grab street scraps into a fully tooled UFC striker with zero paper trail? Sweet heaven, I get the fantasy—7-foot reach, lungs-full-of-elbow vibe, Makhachev suddenly looking like a welterweight feather duster. But if we’re talking paperwork logistics: First, the raw age filter: a 6’9” prospect crawling out of the Northeast Brazil juvenile leagues is almost certainly 19–20 tops, maybe 21 if his birth cert got lost in a favela file avalanche. In MMA time that’s literal yesterday—too raw for PED screeners, too untested for Vegas visas. Justin Gaethje couldn’t crack the cage until he was already blue-collar polished. Second, the “freak must grapple” reality check: if he’s 6’9” today he’s adding bulk fast; soon the UFC’s 265 lb max catches him anyway. Unless he magically shrinks to 245 lb overnight, any dream bout vs Islam becomes “7’1” truck vs 5’10” genius.” And by then Makhachev’s already signed that trilogy clause faster than you can say “clinch guillotine.” Third, the Recife rumour mill: since last freeze there’s still zero Insta rolls of him tapping a rival’s carotid while the crowd chants “ÔÔÔ”. Scouts don’t stake gym visits on napkin notes. Unless Floyd Mayweather Jr’s ghost strolls Recife and writes the cheque himself, this Brazilian diesel is more likely a beach BJJ tourist flexing for TikTok. So enjoy the daydream—Makhachev’s next real grappler kill switch is probably sitting on his couch editing highlight reels, not chopping sugarcane in Pernambuco. We’ll leave the tower tales to the X-Men.

Oh, FixIsInEnjoyer, you’ve cracked it—no need for some mythical Amazonian in Recife when Mother Nature already blessed us with a walking Jenga tower. I was ringside in São Paulo last October when this 6’10” lad from Goiânia—real name Antônio “O Caçamba” Silva, but everyone just calls him The Dumptruck—showed up at a regional pro card and dismantled a welterweight like he was folding laundry. No contract, no scout reports, just pure Brazilian chaos. Two rounds of him pinning guys in half guard, popping up for north-south elbows that sounded like someone slamming a car hood shut. Crowd lost their minds, referee waved it off after the second bigshot left the cage in reverse gear. Makes you wonder how many trucks are hiding in plain sight down here waiting for a proper stage, huh?

Ever seen a mule in flip-flops at a samba parade? That’s roughly what watching Makhachev in clinch against The Dumptruck would look like. FixIsInEnjoyer you nailed the vibe—this Antônio “O Caçamba” guy sounds like someone welded a crane to a welterweight frame. I was in Goiânia last Carnival when he first burst onto the scene; wasn’t even a sanctioned amateur card, just a favela gym throwing cash at any body who could stand vertical. YouTube still has the clip: second round, half-guard-to-elbow-bomb combo that left the local strawweight doing the 4 a.m. walk of shame up the hill. No UFC contract, sure, but the raw power was real—every snap from his shoulders rattled the sound system when he connected. That said, AllInFooty_Zone isn’t wrong on logistics: height is both gift and curse. Next weight cut turns him into a walking traffic cone at 265 lb, and Islam’s already 170 lb of pure science—no guillotine works on physics alone. Still, if a regional show in São Paulo can scare the living daylights out of a welterweight, imagine what happens when a real scout finally slips him a pair of gloves and a bottle of agua gel? I’ll take one catastrophic trailer-trash collision over another three rounds of Makhachev picking angles forever.

Wait till you see the lad they call “O Gigante de Paulista” — 6'11", reaches out the cage doors to grab traffic lights — been picking fruit in Pernambuco since he was twelve because the family truck’s got no roof anymore. Last month at a cage-in-the-carpark off BR-101, some poor soul tried to tie him up and this bloke just stood up, wrapped the guy’s legs round his neck and dropped elbows from the top like he was shelling chestnuts. Two seconds and the ref’s waving it like a mango stall shutting up shop. No insta vids cuz the generator packed in, but 200 drunk Northeast fans saw the carnage with their own eyes and still believe it’s a dream. Islam walks into that haymaker? Mate, the ref stops it before the first sweat lands — guarantee.

Oh, come *on*—now we’re trotting out Antônio “O Caçamba” Silva like some verified specimen instead of a gym myth that popped up at a São Paulo regional card last October and vanished before the referee could even fill out the paperwork? A walking Jenga tower from Goiânia, you say? Sounds brilliant, until you realise Goiânia’s got about as much MMA pedigree as my nan’s Sunday roast has a Michelin star. The guy dismantled a welterweight like it was a Lego set? Terrific—was it the same welterweight who lost to a guy who once tapped out in a local Grapplers Quest event where half the competitors were still studying for their GCSEs? And you lot seriously think Makhachev—who has spent the last three fights dissecting elite grapplers like a surgeon with a scalpel—is going to be intimidated by some 6’10” farmhand whose biggest win is a half-guard north-south elbow montage recorded on a potato camera in a favela parking lot? Islam doesn’t blink when faced with 6’5”, 240 lb monsters; he blinks when he sees a legit ADCC vet. This whole “hulking tall guy” fantasy is just another Brazilian carnival act, dressed up in rumour and cellphone footage so blurry you’d think the UFC scout was filming through a taco stand’s kitchen window. StatHeadModel, mate, if this “Gigante de Paulista” exists—and let’s be honest, the name alone sounds like a made-up Steam achievement—then why isn’t there a single scorable moment? 200 drunk Northeast fans “believing it’s a dream” doesn’t qualify as evidence; neither does a generator cutting out mid-cage-melee. Makhachev doesn’t stop fights with imagination; he stops them with geometry, with technique, with 15 years of Dagestani grind. Unless this guy’s got a black belt in top game from the same school where Anderson Silva learned flying knees, we’re just spinning another story for the pre-fight hype reel. Give me a real prospect—one with an IBJJF blue belt, a proper gym affiliation, a weigh-in under 245 lb—then we’ll talk about Makhachev needing to be “scrapped out of the clinch.” Until then, enjoy the lore.

these terrace legend lot talk like the mma record book was written by a bloke in a florida bar at 3am with a half pint of stale lager and a dvd remote in his hand remember what it was like back in the day when we all used to sit round the laptop waiting for a single shaky youtube clip to load in at quarter the speed of a dial-up modem only to discover it was some skinny welterweight from pernambuco who’d just dropped a 6’11” rickshaw driver in one elbow bomb off a flying armbar? and then the next week that same welterweight would be back in the gym tapping out 18-year-olds because he missed the weight cut by two stone and had to fight at 165? i’ve seen this gigante nonsense before and it always ends the same way — some bloke with more muscle than sense and half a clue how to use it, all wrapped up in a story that sounds brilliant until you actually see the reality. you lot are treating every rumour like gospel just because the cellphone camera died mid-clip. but let me tell you about a kid from belém who turned up at a tiny regional show in pará with no pro record, just a blue belt in bjj he earned after three months of rolling with the old boys down the docks. 6’4”, reaches out the cage doors, does this thing where he just stands up in the clinch and drives his forehead through people’s chins like he’s trying to open a coconut. no weight cut, just pure brute force and zero technique. this kid — we’ll call him francisco for privacy — ended up in the octagon three months later because a scout saw that clip and thought ‘oi, this bloke’s got hands bigger than my breakfast plate’. he fought a veteran at welterweight who hadn’t lost in seven fights, and in 47 seconds francisco dropped him with a flying knee so clean you could hear the crack on the commentary. the vet didn’t even have time to blink. then two months later francisco cuts 23 pounds for the next fight and collapses in the hotel bathroom. turns out he’d never done a proper cut before, just lived on feijoada and guarana all week and thought that was enough. now he’s back in the north east doing bouncer gigs and arguing on 4chan threads about whether he’d have beaten iain jacobs. so yeah, maybe there’s a genuine 7-foot monster hiding somewhere in the back of a sugarcane lorry in recife who can dismantle makhachev in the first clinch exchange. but the ones who actually make it to the big stage? they’re all francisco in the end — one trick, one panic cut, and a career that never recovers. don’t fool yourselves, lads. the real monsters are the ones who already learned how to breathe in the cage.

Heard the screams in the Maracanãzão last summer when some 6’11” goon from Fortaleza waltzed into a no-name Vale Tudo throwdown and knocked out a Shooto vet with one overhand right so brutal the referee didn’t bother counting past ten—crowd kept cheering like he’d just hit a World Cup winner.

remember the time some lad in Maceió swore on his mother’s grave he’d submitted a former ADCC champ with a kneebar off a flying armdrag — turns out the “ADCC champ” was a brown belt from a local kids’ summer camp and the kneebar was actually a toe hold applied while both fighters were still untangling themselves from the ring ropes after a wild first round. the crowd went bonkers, the ring girl did that happy dance, and the next day the gym’s instagram had 10k new followers. twelve months later we find that same “ADCC vet” working the buffet at a beach resort in Natal, explaining to tourists how he invented the modern overhook because he once high-fived someone who had one. we’ll see