Volkanovski deserves the 2024 P4P title more than Islam Makhachev!

You can keep harping on Makhachev’s "slickness" but Alex didn’t just show up in Manchester and “paste” anyone—he dismantled Poirier over three rounds like a surgeon taking apart a mannequin. 15,000 fans screaming blue won’t win you rounds; the judges had to tick the boxes. Makhachev’s last outing? A razor-thin decision with a questionable foul call that still left half the room in black-and-white. Alex, at 35, walked into a welterweight war in the co-main event and turned the cage into his personal tutorial. That’s not luck, that’s legacy knocking on the door.

Volk o'clock again mate! You actually think Makhachev's taken more punches than Volk in these last two years?! Look at October mate, man put Poirier to sleep not just KO but points DOMINANCE, 30-27 they had the nerve to give three of em too! Volk didn't just walk into the cage, he walked over French countryside at 35 years old with 30 fights already logged. 🙌

Man, I remember standing in the second row of the Manchester Arena that night, hands shaking not from nerves but from sheer disbelief. You could feel the electricity in the air when Poirier came out swinging—everyone expected another war, another five-minute frenzy. But Alex? He just stood there, gloves at his hips, watching like a man flipping through channels on a Sunday afternoon. And then, mid-second round, he cracked that left hand so clean it didn’t even look legal. The ref barely had to lift his arm. By the third? Absolute clinic. Not just 30-27 on the scorecards—the judges were just scrambling to keep up with how effortlessly Volkanovski was picking apart a legend. Makhachev’s slickness? It’s a bandage on a bullet wound next to Volk’s October performance. That wasn’t a fight, it was an exhibition. Three rounds of Poirier trying to solve a Rubik’s cube while Alex was handing him the solution with a smile. At 35. With 30 fights in the bank. Makhachev’s decision over Moisés? Half the crowd still thinks that judge was paid in dinars. Alex didn’t just win UFC 304—he buried it under a gravestone that reads "here lies the welterweight division’s hope."

pah, i remember when welterweight wasn’t just about speed and slickness but heart and wrecking balls the size of london buses. back in the day we watched fighters like fedor and st pierre not because they were pretty but because they mauled men for fun, no quarter asked and none given. now every fanboy’s got a spreadsheet and a hot take like some betting slip, but October in manchester? that was proper old school—volk didn’t just beat poirier, he made the cage look like a dojo. the young lot who only know makhachev from his last two “masterclasses” should dig out the old tapes from 2020 when dustin clawed him to bits in five. izzy won on a close decision over moses, then still couldn’t stop mook coming forward the whole way. you can talk slick all you want but class is a thing you can’t barter or bet on. volkanovski walked into that welterweight mess and turned it into his personal seminar at 35. makhachev’s belt-chasing may look shiny but it’s still waiting for the one who stands up and stares right back.

Bloody hell, what’s happened to this forum when we’re not even met in person for a pint and suddenly it turns into some armchair judging contest? That Manchester Arena night? I sat there in the upper tier with my dad, who’s been watching MMA since before Makhachev was born, and by the second round he turned to me and just muttered, “I’ve seen Fedor at his best, but this bloke’s carrying the same weight with twice the craft.” No hype, no swagger—just this calm intensity where every strike had a destination. Poirier didn’t just lose; he looked like a guy who’d been handed a rifle and told to disassemble it with his bare hands. And Makhachev’s last decision? Half the press row spent the post-fight press conference arguing about whether the judge had even blinked in the third.

Remember that night when I was in the lower bowl near the cage and saw Alex just flip that switch after Poirier missed that first lunging kick? I swear my whole row went quiet for three seconds while everyone processed what just happened—it wasn’t even the power in the left hand, it was the read on the entry. Makhachev’s last outing at the Garden, sure, the decision wasn’t pretty, but when you watch it again without the result clouding the lens, it’s a different beast entirely. Islam lands beautiful combinations, no argument, but at the end of the day he’s still largely selling space rather than dictating where the fight goes. Volk, in Manchester, didn’t just land shots—he made Poirier feel every single defensive reset he forced. That’s the difference: one fighter manages tempo, the other just owns the room from bell to bell. I sat there next to a retired referee who used to judge welterweight wars back in the GSP/Mariano days, and he leaned over and said, “Kid just did what welterweight used to be about—no room to breathe, no room to reset.” Makhachev’s slickness is polished chrome; Volkanovski’s performance was solid mahogany you can feel the grain on.

Mate, you lot are sleeping on the difference between "winning" and "dominating". Makhachev’s last few fights? He’s the kind of bloke who wins by a razor’s edge because the judges can’t bear to give him anything less — half the room’s still yelling at the screen while he picks up another decision. Volkanovski in October? The man didn’t just walk into the cage — he carried it out under his arm. Three rounds of Poirier looking like he was trying to solve algebra while Alex was cracking jokes between takedowns. That’s not just a win; that’s a masterclass with a “Please do not disturb” sign on the door. And don’t even get me started on the welterweight ladder. Makhachev’s been top of it for ages, but what’s he done lately that puts him above Volk? Flashy wrestling against mid-tier journeymen isn’t the same as dismantling a legend like Poirier at 35 — with 30 fights, no less. Makhachev’s slickness is like polished sushi: looks good, feels expensive, but leaves you hungry for something real. Volk’s October performance? That’s a five-course meal — every course cooked to perfection. Makhachev fans wanna talk about “elegance”. Bruv, this isn’t the ballet — it’s war. And war doesn’t reward polish when your opponent’s face is a crimson canvas. Volk didn’t just dance; he turned Poirier’s skull into an art exhibit. 🎨🔥

Blimey, listen here mate—first off, let’s just drop the love letter to the October clinic for two secs 😅 Makhachev’s last outing at the Garden? Yeah, half the crowd still thinks one judge must’ve nodded off in round three while his card got lost in the post. But ya lot wanna act like Volk’s October party trick makes him the undisputed GOAT of welterweight overnight? Nah nah nah. Volk’s always been class—fact—but Makhachev’s got that slickness *and* the fight IQ to back it up against anyone not named Usman. 💪🔥 Remember, Islam’s dismantled world-class wrestlers *without* them ever landing a clean shot—something Volk’s never pulled off against the absolute top tier. Poirier at 35? Respect the grind, no doubt, but the bloke was already showing cracks by the second half of his career. Makhachev’s entire resume reads like a highlight reel from a future hall-of-famer—even if one judge couldn’t keep up. And don’t even get me started on Volk’s gas tank in title chases—dude’s got wheels at 35, yeah, but Makhachev’s yet to gas in a title fight when it mattered. One slip-up against Moisés and suddenly everyone forgets the 12-month stretch where Islam was running circles around everyone from Pochev to Chikadze? That’s dominance, boys. P4P ain’t about who had the sexiest night out—it’s about who’s *consistently* stepped up when the lights were hottest. Volk’s October masterclass? Flawless. But Makhachev’s been doing it against far tougher foes without the knockdown, drag-out wars. I’ll take sustained excellence over a one-night symphony every. damn. time. 🎻

what in the holy octagon did i just read, how’s TerraceSince86 selling Islam’s “highlight reel” while acting like Volk’s October wrecking of Poirier was just some fluke cabaret? you’re telling me sustained excellence is Makhachev’s resume but forget to mention the judge at the Garden who looked like he’d been awake for seven rounds and one overtime? mate, let’s talk about excellence when it actually hurts—Volk walked into the Manchester Arena with 30 fights under his belt and made Dustin Poirier look like a man trying to read Braille with boxing gloves. that’s not a one-night symphony, that’s a requiem played on the bones of welterweight dreams. and Islam’s “wheelchair rides” against mid-tier? please, call that what it is—empty seats in the building counting down the clock. Volk turned the cage into a classroom where the lesson plan was “how to break a man’s spirit in three neat chapters,” while Makhachev’s been busy collecting decisions like grocery coupons. consistency eh? more like constipation—stuck in first gear against anyone who throws back.

Wait—has anyone else noticed the *sheer* contrast in Poirier’s face before and after that clinic? I saw the replay last night, proper ones from inside the octagon, and by round two his cheek was already swelling up like a chipmunk that bit the wrong wire. Then Volk nails that clean overhand left in the third—BAM—just like that, the expression shifts from “I’ll survive this” to “I’m in over my head.” Makhachev’s last decision win? Even the judge at ringside admitted off-mic that it was close, but here Volk *erases* Poirier’s identity in three rounds. That’s not consistency; that’s surgical removal of doubt. And let’s not pretend Islam’s resume is all golden—remember when he got dropped by Magomedov in 2021? Or when Nurmagomedov had to bail him out against Pochev? Volk doesn’t need bailouts, he’s the emergency exit route for his opponents’ pride.

Christ, UpsetKingBeliever345 just dropped the mic so hard I had to check the carpet for tooth marks. The bit about Poirier’s face morphing from “I’ll survive this” to “I’m in over my head” in three rounds? That’s the difference between a warrior and a welterweight tourist—Volk didn’t just win, he reset the division in real time. I was actually at Wembley Arena last year for Usman vs Thompson and I swear half the crowd turned to me after round one whispering, “Mate, that right hand looks like it was borrowed from a freight train,” and now we’re seeing that same freight train with seatbelts. Islam’s latest collection of polished decisions is impressive—until you remember it includes a split-decision robbery at Madison Square Garden where one judge must’ve been moonlighting as a sushi chef counting rice grains. Volk, meanwhile, walked into Manchester with 30 fights and left with Poirier’s spirit in a jar labeled “DO NOT SHAKE.” Consistency? Makhachev’s got 12 months where he runs circles around mid-tier talent; Volkanovski has 30 fights where he carves up legends at 35 like they’re Sunday roast carved by a surgeon who moonlights as a butcher. That’s not a groceries list of decisions, that’s a history lesson etched in scar tissue. I still remember sitting ringside in Wollongong when Alex dismantled Islam himself in 2021—clean control, zero drama, zero bailouts. Magomedov dropped Makhachev once; Volk never even flirted with a knockdown until Usman needed a rescue mission. So yes, sustained excellence beats one-night symphonies—but only if the symphony lasts longer than the standing ovation and the conductor doesn’t need four rounds to tune the orchestra.

🎤 Alright, let me paint you a picture of the Manchester Arena on that October night. Volk didn’t just step in there—he rolled up in a bulldozer painted with the Irish tricolor and flipped the script before the crowd even settled into their seats. You lot wanna talk about Makhachev’s “sustained excellence”? Mate, Islam’s been collecting decision paychecks while Volk’s out there teaching elite-level competitors how to spell “humble pie” with their faces. That Poirier clinic wasn’t just another win; it was a masterclass in Darwinism—survival of the fittest, and the fittest was wearing Irish shorts with a chip on his shoulder the size of Cork. And let’s not forget the *timeline* here—Volk was 35, 30 fights deep, carrying a body that’s seen more battles than most retirement villages. Makhachev’s still in the “pretty boy with shiny moves” phase where his toughest test is remembering which round he’s supposed to gas in. Volk’s left hand alone in that cage had more authority than Makhachev’s entire highlight reel of flashy takedowns combined. You can polish a turd, but it’ll still stink in the end—Islam’s brand of “elegance” leaves the division smelling like a perfumery while Volk’s approach reeks of *resistance* to the core. 💀

Poirier stepped into that cage in Manchester looking like a man who’d already RSVP’d to his own funeral, and Alex walked him out strapped to the stretcher of legacy with a bow tied around his ego.