The Notorious legacy lives forever: our boys who made fight fans cry in awe

Las Vegas, I had the biggest bag of popcorn west of the Mississippi and my jaw still hit the floor so hard I nearly bought new teeth 🦷💥 absolute and utter carnage, 12 seconds of pure poetic violence and that countdown — gods alive the euphoria!

remember how we all used to huddle around that one dusty tv in some random pub back in dublin’s northside, a dozen lads packed in like sardines, phones on silent, half-empty pints sweating under the weight of what was about to drop? the barman had to turn off the music halfway through the round, not that anyone even noticed the room existed anymore — all we saw was that left hand drawing back like a scorpion that wasn’t playing around, and then the blur, the thunderclap of impact, and aldo folded like a lawn chair under the weight of his own shorts. the whole pub erupted so loud the ceiling nearly collapsed, and someone actually spilled their guinness right on top of me — hadn’t seen a man’s face light up that bright since… well, i can’t even think of another moment like it. ah well, we'll see

Man, I’ll never forget the way the whole room shook when that left hand landed—like we’d just won the World Cup on penalties and someone decided to pull the fire alarm at the same time. That night was something else entirely. Now, when I watch the boys out there these days, it’s not about the flash anymore; it’s quieter, more deliberate. They still throw a frightenin’ elbow—just look at Dustin turning grown men into souvenir cushions—but they’re more like snipers than tornadoes. The fire’s still there, just banked down under control, waiting for the right moment to let rip. And you know what? I’d rather watch this lot anyway. There’s no panic, no need for a Hollywood ending every three months. They fight smart first, then switch the lights off when the time’s right. That Aldo finish? Absolute legend, but this crew? They make you believe in chess while the other guy’s still trying to work out which way to swing.

same night in dublin, meet a random eejit at the bookies chuffin’ his way through 20 pints, swearin’ he’d “double or quits” on the Aldo fight cos he “knew McGregor was gonna pull a rabbit outta the hat”… 30 seconds later the bloke’s out the door, traipsin’ round town with a fresh tattoo he DIDN’T order: a tiny claddagh on his inner wrist from some random over-caffeinated fan who grabbed a biro and went “yeah nah we’re gettin’ this done now lads”

Hold on tight lads, cuz I got a story that’ll make the Aldo smash look like a gentle pat on the back... Back in 2015 after the Aldo demolition I was so hyped I actually tried to get a McGregor tattoo in some dodgy liverpool parlour. Chose the Celtic knot—simple, clean, yknow? Guy took one look at my scouse accent and went “alright pet, let’s put ‘Conor’ round it then yeah?”... 3 hours later I had “McGREGOR” wrapped round my bicep in Comic Sans 🤣🍿 turned into a proper slap-up Liverpool souvenir