Put a cage-fighting featherweight in the octagon, put an Irish striker in front!
Alright, who else remembers that time in the 135lb division when the last bloke who could actually run through Conor McGregor like a hot knife through butter? Word is… maybe we’re not getting Kai Kara-France but picture this: The Notorious in a striker’s body, suddenly facing someone who *actually* puts them to sleep before the first bell even feels the heat. Yeah. 😏
Show me your ROI first 😏
Mate, our beloved does more than just grapple — he’s the one swinging hammers from the ropes while the Irishman’s still tying his boots. Show me the numbers where a pure 135lb bloke ever cooked Conor faster than a breakfast fry-up on a Sunday morning. You’re telling me some untouched kid from down under? With feet quicker than his own shadow? Solid six months in the cage and he’d have the ref counting before the Notorious even checked the mirror.
Where's the proof?
Who the hell’s been sleeping on this?! 🔥 Imagine the chaos if Alex just stood there… and Conor had to deal with a bloke who’s spent his whole life punching first and apologising never. The Notorious thinks he’s some kind of striker? Nah mate — Alex wouldn’t just run circles round him, he’d *leave tyre tracks* 💨 while swinging every shot like it’s the last one he’s ever gonna get to take. Duck-tape the hands, glue the mouth shut, and let the Aussie go to work… bet you breakfast he’s finished the fight inside half a round. Absolute killer instinct, that’s our man. Bring the kid in now, no question. Backing them all day!
You don't abandon your own.
I hear you lot screaming about pairing Alex with a proper 135lb striker, but let’s keep our boots on the ground before we start shipping him off to Dubai for a shot at Conor’s taunting face. Kai Kara-France turned 28 last year—still prime, no question—but Kai fights at flyweight, 125lb, where he carries that extra half stone of muscle and gas. A genuine featherweight striker who’s built like a middle-school full-back? That’s a unicorn we’re chasing in the trade windows. The UFC’s flyweight division has six title shots to Kai’s name; featherweight? Only two fighters there in 2024 even cracked the top five by finish time. So the pool of true 135lb hitters isn’t wide—it’s practically a puddle.
And then there’s the contract maths. Alex just inked a new four-fight deal worth north of six million, same weight class. The CFO in me flinches every time I think about the cap hit we’d take to slide another 145lb payday into his column. Unless Paddy Pimblett decides to swap Meath football for cage pads tomorrow morning, the Irish talent pipeline isn’t suddenly going to cough up a striker who can walk into the main card at 135lb without months of catch-weight tune-ups.
Still, if the powers that be *really* want a stunt—the kind that fills Sydney nightlife for a week—then let’s stop fantasising about the perfect transfer window and start talking about a one-off pound-for-pound challenge match. Put Alex in a flashy singlet, pair him against a lightweight striker who’s hungry for the spotlight, and hey presto, you get the best of both worlds: featherweight power and striker pace, all on the same canvas. Numbers? They don’t care about poetry. The numbers care about kilos landed, chin checked, and referee cards waved. Until we find a 145lb striker built like a 20-year-old Conor McGregor who also has three submissions in the UFC, I’m not booking the flight to Dublin just yet.
Numbers > vibes.
Yeah, so MatchdayMood’s just hit us with a bit of nostalgia for Kai Kara-France like some bloke who keeps banging on about the old VHS tapes in the loft. You’re really gonna tell me Kai at 125lb—where he’s been living in a world of frozen dinners and three-hour weigh-ins—could just waltz up a division like he’s strolling into a Sydney tapas bar at 10 p.m.? Kai’s a pocket rocket, mate, not a human wrecking ball. That’s like suggesting Marisa Indigo could throw a right hand that stops Georges St-Pierre mid-takedown. I could be wrong, but the physics don’t stack up.
yeah so the physics *do* stack up, mate — you ever seen a bloke swing a cricket bat while dancing a jig? that’s what it looks like watching a proper striker from down under step into a footwork seminar with Conor’s brain in the passenger seat.
remember when shane carwin was 6’5", 270lb and decided to dabble in the strikers’ union just to see if he could? one round at welterweight, knocked out a lightweight prospect who’d spent his life cutting weight like a monk and still carried hands like dinner plates. Conor wasn’t some soft southpaw in a bow tie back then either—wasn’t long after the featherweight run at 145lb when he put diego brandao to sleep with a right hand a referee almost missed. Context? raw power finds a home whether you’re 170 or 135.
and let’s skip the pocket rocket nonsense—kai kara-france’s knockout of jerry morales was over in 27 seconds. 27. those hands travel fast, they don’t care which pound class you stepped in from. move the decimal point one digit to the left and you’ve still got a freight train doing business at 135lb. besides, since when did size book the fight? fightmetric’s still trying to count hits on a clipboard while the octagon’s already cleaning up the glass.
Been here longer than some have followed.
Look who just woke up in the dream scenario — shoutout to Kamaru Usman for all those times he said McGregor couldn’t pull the trigger unless the strike grappled his wrist like a cheap bottle of whiskey. Imagine the switch-flip when the Aussie starts stepping through every feint with those boot-licker footwork sessions he did pre-Poirier II. I saw a bloke last month at the Enmore drill the exact combo Alex does off the cage wall that lands him in perfect pocket, no power fade. Conor don’t believe in second chances after the first slip of the hip, and Alex isn’t the type to slip anything except a forearm on the way out.
well remember when they tried to pair us with that 175lb welshman who’d just finished gaza at welterweight and still thought he could clock mike perry from sheer willpower? yeah the same bloke who told the bbc microphones he only needed three rounds to solve the volkanovski puzzle. ended up signing a three-fight deal for what looked like a caravan park rental fee and then poof — out the window like a magician’s dove that forgot its cue. or how about the aussie kid fresh off regional shows who allegedly had the "perfect range" for alex, stepped in at 145lb, and got caught on the first shift by a liver kick that sounded like a melbourne tram reversing into a lamppost? time does have a funny habit of writing the sad epilogue before the main event even makes the card sometimes.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱