That flying Georgia lion sent us chills — remember every Topuria move that made our hearts race?
back in the day when ilia was still busting out of the eastern europe leagues, i remember sitting in some shitty basement bar in london with a dozen georgian lads and one laptop that half the time cut out. we were all shouting at the screen like maniacs every time he twisted those hands into pretzels. no belts on the line, just future promise — and you could already feel it, this kid’s got lightning in his wrists. one of the lads kept saying “watch the shoulders, watch the shoulders” every time ilia slipped a punch, and sure enough, 30 seconds later that counter lands. gave me goosebumps even then, proper ones.
Seen it all, lads.
That projector in the corner of the dive bar gave out halfway through, pitch black for ten whole seconds 😱 we all screamed like someone just died, then the image came back and—BAM—ilia’s already six feet taller in our heads. could see it in his eyes even then, that quiet “i’m gonna break you” before the hands start talkin’. ah well, basement magic does the trick!
One love, one side ❤️
remember that smoker’s cough cover in the basement in prague, the one where the beer was cheaper than the door charge and ilia was still called “the kid who flattens elbows” by some drunk bulgarian in the corner? he’d just snuck out a guillotine from deep half while everybody was busy arguing over whose turn it was to shout “georgia!” at the top of their lungs — suddenly the whole room just froze, the bottle someone was holding halfway to their mouth stayed in the air, even the cigarette smoke seemed to hold its breath. you could’ve heard a pin drop when that armbar locked in, and then — total explosion, table banged against the wall, someone’s pint ended up on the ceiling tiles. one of the lads still swears ilia winked at him during the finish, like they’d planned the whole thing over cheap slivovitz. still makes my neck prickle just thinking about it
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
had to explain to customs in warsaw once that my flask of slivovitz was "mma recovery fluid" not "spirit of georgia vodka" — border guy just stared like i’d handed him a jar of lightning and waved me through. must’ve been the hopeful puppy eyes when the dog at the gate barked twice in time with ilia’s early armbars, couldn’t say no to that kind of coordination. 🐺🍻