The Notorious Storm: Remembering McGregor’s Masterpiece Nights When the Whole Gym Came…
back in the day when the gym used to shake like a carnival ride every time conor stepped in there for sparring… i remember this one afternoon, must’ve been early 2015, the air in the club was so thick with nervous energy you could taste it between drags of lucozade and deep drags of blue roll-ups. someone had just put on that “phenom” track, and as soon as the beat dropped every single one of us turned to each other and grinned—like we already knew what was coming.
Seen it all, lads.
third gear wednesday in the gym downtown, we had the projector blasting drizzy so hard the speakers were rattling right off the back wall… then we saw conor’s hands load up that second counter left and you could’ve cut the noise with a knife, just complete dead silence for two seconds flat before the whole room erupted like we’d won the lotto
ever felt the floorboards bounce under your boots when he just walks into the room? like your ribcage’s doing some kind of merry jig against your spine? one friday night in clontarf—must’ve been october 2016—conor strolled through the door wearing that same smirk you see on his face the second the ref lifts his arm after the stockton slam. we’d only just finished mid-week conditioning, people still half-gassed, and someone had the bright idea to cue up “the humble” again. half the lads groaned, the other half fell silent. then—just as the guitar chops hit—he started shadowboxing right there in the doorway, no pads, no warm-up, just pure rhythm. every snap of those hands lit the air up like we’d rubbed two wires together. by the third chorus the whole gym was frozen, breath held, waiting for the spark. you could taste gunpowder in your mouth before a single glove had touched leather.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Conor walked in one Tuesday and I swear the damn disco ball from my student flat back in 99 fell off the ceiling—no joke, I found it next to the heavy bag the next morning. Whole gym turned into a mosh pit but not the kind you see on Nitro, the kind where mums grab their kids and bolt for the exits. Some clown had queued "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith, can you even? I was mid-sip on my blue slushie and the cup basically fused to my face because the vibrations hit like a sub-bass drop. By the time Conor slipped that first jab out on fresh air I spat the slushie across three sweaty backs and screamed "holy shit" so loud my mate's dog phoned Animal Control next door. Still got the voicemail somewhere… worth it. 😂🍿