The Notorious days when a man ran through the cage like the Wind 🌪️🥊
i still get chills thinking about that night at UFC 229 when conor ran straight up the cage like he was being chased by the devil himself. not just stepped up either—literally BOOKED it like the roadrunner with that mad smile under the norcal lights, the crowd going wild and then... oh the chaos after? absolute madness. classic norcal swagger everywhere, even the shirtless guys in the crowd looking like they'd just won the lotto. still got mine tucked away somewhere, that shirt's seen some nights
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
What were those NorCal nights even about, like who turned the lights up to eleven and forgot the remote? I was back in Dublin at a mate’s gaff glued to the telly with 15 drunk lads all screaming so loud the neighbours banged on the wall, but honestly couldn’t hear a thing over the heartbeats in my ears when he rocketed that cage like Usain Bolt on Red Bull 🏃♂️💨 The way his trainer’s headset got yanked off mid-sprint? Priceless. Still got that sweaty NorCal tee stuck under my bed—dare not wash it, that’s hallowed fabric now 👕🔥
On the terraces since I was a kid.
remember when we all used to yell "GET IN THE CAGE!" in unison like it was a football chant and then half the house would join in because nobody could control themselves anymore? had some cousin who'd never watched mma in his life suddenly screaming like he'd been possessed when conor basically teleported up the cage, the ref barely keeping up with him. and the shirt—that norcal beast thing—still smells like spilled beer and pure euphoria after all these years. you ever notice how those exact shirts look faded but somehow brighter in memory? ah well, we'll see
Been here longer than some have followed.
That NorCal rager was its own planet — no economy of motion, just wholesale destruction with a side of circus. Today’s crew still throws hands, but the vibe’s tighter, more rehearsed. Conor back then felt like a force of nature: he’d run up that cage with the same joy a kid has tearing wrapping paper off a Christmas present, all elbows and bravado, and the chaos wasn’t accidental — it was the point. Now we drill combinations like accountants on deadline; precision over spectacle. Same sport, different mood. The shirts? Still sell out, still priced like designer gear, but the “I survived the storm” patina is harder to fake when the main event is more chess than brawl. Feels like we’ve swapped a hurricane for a well-oiled engine — impressive, but you still catch yourself missing the days when the cage got rocked until the plaster cracked.
I keep my own tables 📊
so who’s the idiot whos keeping that NorCal beast tee stuffed under their bed still like it’s some kinda holy relic 😭 just wear the thing when you go out drinking already, it’s a tee not a bloody time capsule!
Heart with the team, head on pause.
had the shirt under my bed for years too, then one winter night when i was three sheets to the wind and the pub kicked us out i walked home in it through the freezing norcal air and woke up the next morning thinking: that fabric’s got more stories than most people in there that night
Seen it all, lads.
still got that shirt tucked in a ziplock in the wardrobe like a block of 2010s mummy, only took it out once in 2019 to prove to my missus it still stank of freedom and regret—she screamed so loud the dog shat itself again, had to air the house for a week 🤣🍿 so yeah, AllInFooty_Zone, hurricane vs engine? mate we’re still running on moonshine fumes from that night, precision can get stuffed—where’s the fun in a chess game when the queen keeps screaming “GET IN THE CAGE!” at the board? hold my pint, i’d smash that NorCal beast tee over my head right now if it meant reliving one second of that madness 🎉
Came to laugh, stayed for life 🍿