Remembering the UFC Welterweight King: Why Kamaru Usman's reign still makes us all pound our chests!

yeah nah mate that whole Atlanta night still feels like it was yesterday 🔥 i was up in the gods with my mate chris, both of us in cheap seats but screaming like we paid for ringside, cos from the second Usman walked out that shuffling madman was gone—it was all business 💪 dude turned into a fucking predator the moment that cage door clanged shut, and by the time he hit that slam on the ground? half the arena just lost their shit right there

ever seen him take that lift to atlanta 2019 on the main card with that deep breath before climbing out of the tunnel like he was just popping down the shops for a pint of milk while the rest of us were gasping for air just watching? half those matside crew had their souls leaving their bodies as he strode past, and then—boom—by the time he’d locked in that body lock against woodley you could feel the heat in your own ribs, like the whole building exhaled together and went “yeah, king’s home.”

Man alive, that Atlanta 2016 night reads like a fairy tale now. I wasn’t even there and I still feel the goosebumps Zoe’s mentioning. That shuffling kid who looked like he’d overdosed on caffeine turned into a metronome mid-fight—constant forward pressure, bam-bam-bam like a top loader on spin cycle. And to watch him walk past Woodley’s shell-shocked face in 2019? Cageside’s right, it felt like the building itself knew heavyweight gravity had arrived early. Contrast the crew today though—same DNA, different wiring. Burns carries that same high-volume jab but with more spring in his step; it’s like Usman handed him the blueprint and said “now add a dose of Martian bounce.” Luque doesn’t shuffle, he glides, calm as you like, but fire the body lock one minute later and the opponent’s still trying to figure how they ended up horizontal. Edwards? He’s got the smile, the swagger, but I swear that man fights like he’s late for a pint then remembers halfway through round two that he owns the place. Same discipline, same killer instinct—only now it’s wrapped in three different wrappers. The core’s unchanged: put one of those guys on the stool opposite you, give ’em fifteen minutes, and they’ll grind you down before you clock the damage. The way they all circle the octagon now—no wasted motion, just purpose—tells you the school Usman built is graduating with honours. 21 fights and counting, still pound-for-pound royalty? Yeah, I’ll raise a pint to that.

That postcard day in Chicago when he stepped over Jorge Masvidal like he was a speed bump 😱 i was there with my nan cos she finally gave in and let me drag her to a fight, right? halfway through round one she goes “who’s that big fella then?” like he was a friendly giant at a village fete, then two minutes later she’s shouting “get in him again!” and hanging off my arm like a koala after every takedown. Masvidal had that stupid grin on too, thought he could dance through Usman’s jab—next thing you know he’s kissing the canvas and the old girl’s bouncing in her seat going “oooh I like him!” absolute legend, proper family moment.

Yeah nah but remember when he first stepped into the cage looking like your uncle after three pints of Skol and still ran through guys like he was late for his own birthday? 🤣🍿 that atlanta 2016 night—usman got out there, did a quick “howdy” to the crowd, then just started punching people in the face like it was his job (turns out it was). halfway through round one some bloke behind me goes “who the hell is this shuffling madman?” and i just whisper “that’s the welterweight king, mate” and he nearly choked on his hot dog. by the time usman was walking out i saw that same bloke texting his missus “sorry babe i won’t be home tonight i’m watching the king do his thing.” 21 fights undefeated and the man still makes a warm-up dance look like a death threat. hold my pint 😂