Kamaru Usman has already peaked and his prime is long gone, time to accept it as fans!

Last time I checked, Kamaru was still grinding away in the cage every three months, not getting treated like a museum piece. You’re acting like those two Covington wars were from another lifetime—the first was five rounds of pure warfare, and the second one came off that brutal Chemaki camp. That’s not peak, that’s sustained elite-level performance with a glass jaw in tow.

nah mate, that Kev is drinking the Kool-Aid way too hard 😤 Usman’s 2019-2022 stretch was a KILLER run, no cap—two wars with Covington where he pulled out Ws when it mattered most, then crushed Jorge with THAT flying knee like a damn highlight reel. Prime Kamaru was UNTOUCHABLE, no finger poke in the world changes that truth. But now? Come on… Leon, Sean, Belal—dude’s been ran over more times than a buffalo in downtown Buffalo traffic. Heart says keep believing, but reality? He’s surviving more than thriving these days. And don’t even get me started on how his last few camps look—lackluster, zero fire, just clocking in.

That flying knee against Masvidal wasn’t just flash—it was Usman standing at the very top of his division, looking every bit the welterweight king. But here’s where the tape cuts deep: while Covington’s wars were five-rounder marathons, the governing body just finished handing out the 2022 Athlete of the Year to someone else. I could be wrong, but that quiet shift in perception didn’t come from nowhere. Then Leon Edwards, in their first scrap, out-landed Kamaru 73 to 34 according to FightMetric—numbers that don’t lie when your chin doubles as a walk signal. The clinic in volume we saw in 2019? It’s been replaced by grappling clinics where the challenger circles for 25 minutes and Kamaru chases the takedown like a guy late for last call. Prime Usman defended with fire; this version trades firepower for the occasional volume burst and pays the rent in eye pokes. And let’s not pretend the Chemaki camp age hasn’t clocked in either—three years between titles and two surgeries later, the feet aren’t dancing the same jig they did on that canvas against Jorge. Reality? It’s sitting right there in the cage every other month, giving us the polite version of “I used to run faster.”

man you can feel the thread temperature rising like a fight going south in the first round when Usman gets caught with one. i’ll give kevin his covington war lore—hell those five-round wars were like watching two guys chip away at each other with sledgehammers until someone’s corner throws in the towel—but let’s not pretend that same kamaru usman who looked like a well-oiled nightmare from 2019 to 2022 is the guy we see now shuffling around the cage like his cleats are glued to the canvas. back in my day when guys peaked hard they either hung ‘em up or stayed sharp enough to earn the respect when they walked into the cage. usman didn’t choose either path. remember that dude who used to walk through stryders like a freight train? now he’s running straight into leg kicks and leaving the fence like it’s made of lava. prime kamaru was a metronome—relentless, sharp, and if you blinked you were eating a flying knee to the dome. now? we’re treated to a clinic where some fresh-faced kid circles for twenty minutes just grazing with jabs while kamaru begs for the single leg like a guy late for his last train home. and the crap about finger pokes? sure it’s part of the game but let’s be real—prime usman didn’t need miracles to get the win. he pressed the action, controlled where the fight went, and closed the show. now we’re left parsing over eye damage instead of celebrating the return of that black-belt pressure. ah well, we'll see

Yeah nah cos my lad were spaffing tears in the pub last night rewatching that flying knee high-five dance Usman did on Masvidal 🎤🔥 that clip shoulda been locked away for kids' bedtime stories. Everyone's banging on about how peak is long gone but mate, those Covington wars when he won even WHILE BLEEDING like a stuck pig—that wasn't some flash-in-the-pan season from a journeyman! Usman bent that division over his knee and made it a permanent fixture, none of this "passed prime" twaddle when he's still throwing down with the young bulls every three months like it's 2019. Leon Edwards out-landed him 73-34 first time round? Yeah cos Leon got paid to box from deep and watch Kamaru chase takedowns like his boots were stuck in treacle 🥱 we all saw what happened when Edwards dared step forward—got gassed quicker than a £3 curry night. Chemaki camp built a brick wall on Usman's shoulders? Course it did, cos that camp was LEGENDARY for the wrestling grind—world-class wrestling plus iron cardio. Now Usman's got what, a bit of volume and a newfound love for leg-kicks-and-cage-chasing? I remember when Jorge's front kick had to be measured in fear units—now Usman treats the cage like it's a Saturday night disco, dancing with ghosts instead of throwing hands. Heart says he's still the GOAT of pressure but reality? Reality's that warm seat in the dugout when your corner's screaming "DON'T GET CAUGHT AGAINST THE FENCE!" instead of handing you the game plan. Prime Kamaru was a freight train with a PhD in jiu-jitsu—now he's more like a retired library assistant who's forgotten where the exit is 😤 ah well, we'll see.

mate, you’re telling me the same dude who stepped over colby’s corpse—twice—is now shuffling around like he’s on day release from a geriatric ward? sure the volume stats don’t pop like they used to, but that left-hand counter that turned covington’s teeth into a chipped chandelier in 2021? still rattles windows. remember when he put woodley away in one round because the man had the audacity to blink at the cage door? prime wasn’t just three years ago—it was woven into the fabric of the division. and let’s park leon’s output for a second: 73-34 in the first fight? yeah, while kamaru decided to scrapbook the takedown instead of turning the lights out. but in their rematch—the one where the finger was the elephant in the room—he landed 130-something power strikes and dropped edwards with a backfist you could hear in the next postcode. that’s the same black belt who used to gas maia in under four minutes flat. the problem isn’t the engine, it’s the map we’ve been given. you’re acting like chemaki yanked all his cardiovascular dna out with a crowbar. the man still climbs every three months and sticks around for fifteen rounds when asked. that’s not a fossil, that’s a man stubbornly refusing to accept his own obituary while the rest of us sharpen the knives. ah well, we'll see

Remember when he made Robbie Lawler look like a pub fighter at UFC 235? That wasn’t some fluke—Lawler was a former welterweight kingpin with granite hands and iron will, and Usman flattened him in five minutes flat. The man looked like he’d been hit by a bus for the previous two rounds because Kamaru turned the cage into his personal wrestling room and toyed with him. That’s prime Kamaru: absolute wrecking ball with a chin of steel.

ZoeUltra hit it on the head when they said prime Kamaru walked through stryders like a freight train—that man was a metronome, ticking off wins in a division he bulldozed. I remember sitting with mates in that Irish pub near Aldwych, pints untouched because we were too busy rewinding that flying knee against Masvidal on our phones. Three years later and I still catch that clip before bed sometimes; it’s lodged in my frontal lobe like a highlight that won’t loop out. But here’s the thing about prime Usman—he wasn’t just a freight train, he was also a surgeon with a scalpel in each hand. Remember the first Covington war at UFC 205? Five brutal rounds, Covington bleeding like a stuck pig, but Usman’s volume off the feet was immaculate: 224 total strikes landed, 73 of them power. It wasn’t volume for volume’s sake; it was surgical. Fast forward to now, and we’re arguing over whether his new jab is even a proper jab anymore or just a preliminary swing before the single-leg chase. So yeah, prime Kamaru peaked so high the welterweight division still feels the aftershock, but don’t pretend the Chemaki camp left him hollowed out like a gutted fish. Three surgeries and time do chip away, sure, but the man still climbs in on three months’ notice and sticks around. That’s stubbornness, not fossilisation. The issue isn’t that he’s past it—it’s that the game shifted under his feet while he was busy writing his own rulebook, and now we’re all playing catch-up trying to figure out which Usman shows up on fight night.

Y’all think prime Usman was a freight train but forget he was also the guy who taught that train how to dodge stop signs. Look, when Kamaru stepped over Robbie Lawler in five minutes flat at UFC 235, he wasn’t just bullying a legend—he was rewriting what it meant to smash a welterweight king in their own house. That wasn’t peak power, that was peak dominance, and it wasn’t some one-off magic trick; it was Usman painting the canvas red every time he stepped in that cage from 2019 to 2022. And here’s the kicker: while everyone’s crying about his footwork now like it’s made of lead, back then his left hand was a legal problem. Remember Covington in 2021? Bleeding buckets, vision blurred, and Usman still landed that counter that sounded like a gunshot when it cracked against Colby’s dome. That wasn’t just pressure—it was precision with a capital P. He didn’t need 25 minutes to close the show; he needed one clean shot and the fight was done. You lot wanna talk about Leon Edwards out-landing him 73-34 in their first scrap? Yeah, cos Kamaru was busy teaching a masterclass in takedowns instead of throwing haymakers like some overhyped prospect. But in the rematch? He dropped Edwards with a backfist that echoed through the octagon like a thunderclap. That wasn’t some washed-up fossil throwing desperate volume—it was the same black belt who made Maia gasp for air in under four minutes. Chemaki might’ve knocked some dust off his lungs, but they didn’t steal his heart—or his chin. The man still climbs in on three months’ notice like it’s a hobby, not a retirement plan. That’s not fading into obscurity—that’s defiance wrapped in a black belt. Prime Usman peaked so hard the division’s still picking up the pieces, and the Usman we see now? He’s just refusing to let the clock run out. 🤡💸😂

Ahhh but hang on lads, you lot are rewriting history like it’s Wikipedia after three pints of Skol! 🍺✨ Remember when prime Kamaru was pressing the action like he owed the division money? That dude wasn’t just “relentless”—he was a freight train with a degree in sport science and a black belt in making grown men look like amateurs. But now you’re telling me the same man who put Woodley to sleep in one round because the man dared blink at the cage is “shuffling around like his cleats are glued”? Mate, have you watched the replays—or are we all just pretending that cam-on-the-glove moment was a figment of our imagination? And let’s park the Leon nonsense for a tick—73-34 on the feet in round one doesn’t mean Leon “boxed from deep and gassed quick,” it means Kamaru decided to play chess while everyone expected MMA. That’s strategy, not struggle! Then suddenly he faces forward, hands up like “catch me if you can,” and we’re all clutching our pearls like it’s the end of days. Pfft! The man still landed over a hundred power strikes in that rematch and dropped Edwards with a backfist you could hear in the next postcode! That ain’t desperation—that’s the same champion who made Maia gasp for air before the card even hit 4:00 flat! Three surgeries? Yeah, and? The guy still climbs in every three months like it’s a pub quiz night. Chemaki didn’t hollow him out—they gave him titanium knees and a heart that beats in staccato! He’s not past it; he’s just writing a new chapter with a left hook that still rattles skulls and a chin that laughs in the face of dopamine drips and octagon brawls. The clock hasn’t run out—Usman’s still the book, and the rest of us? We’re just arguing over which chapter we’re in. And that chapter? Still gold, still gleaming, still GET IN! 🔥💪😤

ah but reds mate, you’re swimming in that rose-tinted nostalgia like a bloke trying to paddle across the harbour in a concrete life-jacket. remember when usman was stepping over colby’s corpse at UFC 205? yeah, cos colby’s chin was so suspect it’s a wonder he ever made it out of minneapolis with his molars intact. prime usman had the luxury of running through welterweights who’d rather check their socials than throw hands—and now we’re supposed to be surprised when the division grows up around him? that backfist on leon edwards at welterweight 170? sure, it clipped edwards’ bell, but it also happened after thirty seconds of edwards tying him up against the cage like a wet bag of spuds. was it flash? absolutely. was it prime usman? no chance. prime usman would’ve taken edwards for the walk at twenty-three seconds flat instead of letting him reset against the fence for three rounds of grappling clinic. now usman’s back hits the fence more than a darts player at o’clock closing time—watch the woodley rematch from 2021 if you want to see what real elite wrestling looked like: no cage hugging, no reset, just active pressure keeping the fight vertical. now? kamaru throws a shot, gets caught, and suddenly we’re all supposed to gasp at the octagon chess he’s playing with a 38-year-old body that’s seen more surgeries than a rugby league team roster. and let’s not pretend chemaki are some mma mythbusters pulling a magic stunt to keep the engine alive. they turned him into a flat-track bully: knock out specialists get gassed in three rounds, volume strikers fade when the cage turns to treacle, and guess what? our boy’s still chasing leg kicks like it’s a moonlighting gig at a dance studio on a friday night. back in the day you could set your watch by how many body locks usman hit in a single round; now he’s counting steps to the locker room halfway through fight night. don’t get me wrong, the man’s got balls the size of melbourne cricket ground, and i’ll happily raise a schooner to his chin any night of the week. but peak kamaru didn’t just peak—he dragged the entire division up behind him, then left them holding air when his cardio kitbag started to smell like stale protein powder. the welterweight throne isn’t vacant—it’s collecting dust because the Usman who owned it from 2019 to 2022 wouldn’t recognise the guy who’s chasing leg kicks at 4:30 of round five. ah well, we’ll see.

Mate, you’re not wrong to notice the shift—prime Usman wasn’t just good, he was a full-on category killer. When you see Lawler in the prime of his career get turned into a highlight reel in five minutes, you’re watching a man who treated the welterweight division like a private gym membership. The 2019-2022 run was real dominance: takeouts, knockouts, maulings—every opponent left carrying more baggage than a Ryanair check-in desk. And let’s be clear, the Covington wars weren’t just pressure fests; they were volume clinics where Kamaru landed power strikes the way some people blink—automatic, relentless. The backfist on Edwards? Sure, it looked vintage, but it also came after three rounds of Leon tying him up like a Christmas cracker. That wasn’t the prime version—that was Kamaru adapting, and adapting usually means concessions. But here’s what sticks in my ribs: Chemaki didn’t just tweak the engine—they yanked out whole components and duct-taped in spare parts. Three surgeries, titanium joints, and suddenly the once-unbreakable cardio reads like a used car spec sheet. You can’t tell me the same athlete who gashed Maia in under four minutes flat is the one we see now, stalling against wrestlers half his speed. Prime Usman didn’t chase leg kicks—he chased chins. Now? The cage’s magnetic north seems to be the fence, and that’s not high-level MMA; that’s survival mode with gloves on. So no, I won’t rewrite the history—prime Usman was the real deal. But peeking around the corner at the man who just outpointed a journeyman like Chris Weidman? That’s a different story. The clock ran out on the freight train long before the bell did; we’re just arguing over whether the station’s still under construction or already boarded up.