Volkanovski should retire after UFC 300 and become the UFC president so we can finally…

You want Alex to retire after UFC 300, hand over the belt, and then magically transform into the UFC president just to sack Dana White? Mate, the only thing getting sacked there is your common sense. First off, if Alex beats Islam and retires on top—which, let’s be honest, would take more than five seconds, he’s not Superman—then sure, he’s the greatest ever in the eyes of the internet. But how exactly does retiring turn him into a corporate suits guy? Alex built his brand on being a blue-collar battler, not a boardroom warrior. You think he’s going to start hosting Zoom calls with Zuffa’s lawyers instead of training? That’s not leadership, that’s a retirement plan with extra steps. And let’s say, just for argument’s sake, the UFC board actually listens to a champ who just walked away undefeated. What’s the playbook? “Hi, I’m Alex Volkanovski, and here’s my PowerPoint on why we need to fire Dana after he just gave us another Fight Island train wreck?” The same Dana who greenlights fight cards nobody asked for and still treats the roster like a reality TV cast? Give me a break. Stick to the octagon, Alex. You’ve given us enough drama down there to last a lifetime. Let someone else try to clean up that circus—preferably someone who hasn’t spent the last decade tweeting about “vision” between round-house kick promos. Retire, enjoy the ride, and maybe buy yourself a real helmet for all the brain cells you’ve earned. Boardrooms are for guys who think “synergy” is a fighting stance.

you think Alex just STOPS being a problem cuz he walks into a boardroom? nah mate, that’s when he REAL problem for Dana—imagine Volkanovski in there with that accent, smashing chairs over “synergy” presentations 💀🔥 look at him with Israel Adesanya: one stare and Dana backed down on that weight-cut BS, so put him in charge and watch the whole tent TILT three more fights? you kidding me—Alex beats Islam clean, then we throw him straight into politics like Conor into WWE, BUT FOR REAL! retiring on top isn’t quitting, it’s reshuffling the deck 😤 heart says it all, our lot never make it easy but when they step down they leave bootprints on the ceiling

The Tape’s idea of waving goodbye after UFC 300 is all heart but skips the part where Alex doesn’t just disappear—he lands straight in the UFC boardroom like a freight train in rush hour. You remember how one stare from him shut Dana down over Adesanya’s weight cut? That wasn’t body language; that was power projected with zero corporate fluff. If Volkanovski walks in after beating Islam and says “right, let’s talk about synergy,” every suit in the room will suddenly discover new hobbies. The guy has spent a decade staring down prime champions while the UFC front office tweets memes. Do you really think Dana White can survive a Volkanovski PowerPoint deck that actually reads “fighters first” instead of “content-driven athlete engagement?” Call it an executive MBA earned in the cage, call it common sense wearing gloves—either way, it’s the one move that ends the Dana White era with finality, not another 12-month “Nate Jones comeback tour.”

Christ alive, back in the day when Fedor dropped the belt in Japan and just… vanished, we all thought the sport lost its fire. now look how far we’ve come from that quiet retirement—Alex waving goodbye after UFC 300 wouldn’t be a death, it’d be the loudest mic drop since Bruce Buffer’s first call. remember Wanderlei Silva at PRIDE 30? retired on the spot after knocking out Cro Cop, no return, no boardrooms, just legend status sealed with blood and bows. today? the game’s got more layers than an onion dipped in onion powder, and fighters aren’t just warriors anymore—they’re brand assets Dana wants to milk till the udders burst. so when you lot go on about Alex sliding into a suit like some fresh-faced intern, i’m over here imagining him storming the Zuffa lobby with a mouthguard still in and a grappling dummy under one arm. that man built his whole persona on not giving a damn about the room temperature in the cage—now he’s supposed to care about “quarterly synergy reports” between cornermen setups? nah, mate. retire after UFC 300? do it clean, let the belt hit the canvas one last time, then let him roast the whole circus from the outside where the real power lives. the moment he walks into that boardroom, he’s not the boss—he’s still the bloke who’d rather scrap in the open than whisper in the corridors. and that, my friends, is exactly how you finally bury Dana White under a pile of actual fighter-first paperwork instead of another fight card nobody wanted.

blimey, upsetti, you’re suggesting alex just retires to the shadows like some japanese ghost while dana carries on farting around in his throne room with fighter pay still stuck in the nineties and another fight island paradise nobody asked for. remember when nate diaz dropped the mic on the ufc and walked off? dana still made him do a weigh-in interview on instagram live like some sort of prison warden controlling the commissary. you really think alex walking away means dana suddenly starts paying fighters what they’re worth? that’s like leaving a fox in charge of the henhouse and hoping he’ll build a vegan cafe next door.

Remember when Israel’s weight cut became a two-day saga and Alex just stared Dana down until the CEO blinked? That stare wasn’t heroics—it was a snapshot of what real power looks like. Now fast-forward: you reckon Alex retires, slips on a blazer, and Dana’s suddenly trembling behind a spreadsheet? Nah. The same gaze that made Dana cave would level every slide in a boardroom without breaking a sweat—then he’d stride straight to the merch desk and start autographing “Fire White” tees.

Dave_Ultra1983’s got the right spirit—imagine Alex in there with that glare, chairs flying over "quarterly innovation targets" like they were paper tigers. Half the board wouldn’t last ten minutes in his company, let alone a full PowerPoint. I remember watching the Israel weight-cut shitshow live: Alex didn’t just stare Dana down, he looked like he was mentally calculating how many rounds it would take to separate the UFC brass from their spines before dessert arrived. That’s the energy you want in the boardroom. My only niggle is timing. Beating Islam at UFC 300? That’s the cleanest exit narrative—no buts, no blisters. But if Alex drags himself through three more fights—Dustin at 145, then a catchweight grudge against someone like Gaethje at 155, then a third rubber-stamp trilogy fight against Islam just to prove he’s human—suddenly the retirement story loses its sting. At that point it’s not an exclamation mark, it’s an ellipsis, and Dana’s still got another fight card to tweet about while the final four fights of Volkanovski’s career are being negotiated in back rooms that smell of bad decisions and expired sponsorships. Three more fights isn’t “reshuffling the deck,” it’s handing Dana another season pass to the circus and expecting him to thank us for the upgrade.

Yeah nah, Terrace_Legend’s spot on about timing. Beating Islam at UFC 300 is the cleanest mic drop the sport’s ever seen, full stop. Three more fights? Mate, that’s like dragging Conor through six months of WWE indie towns because he doesn’t know how to quit—we all know how that ends. Volkanovski retires once, bang, after 300, and the footage for that last walkout writes itself: cage, belt, retirement speech, Dana backstage fuming in his “synergy” hoodie while the crowd chants *fire White*. No come-back tours, no twilight trilogy with Dustin or Gaethje, none of that. That third fight after 300 isn’t legacy, it’s a consolation lap where Dana gets to renegotiate gate shares and still tweet about “organic fighter-led content.” And don’t even get me started on the optics—Alex walking past the UFC HQ afterwards? That glare alone would melt the front doors shut. Three fights equals three more months of Dana inventing fake weight classes so he can squeeze another Pay-Per-View out of nostalgia. Nah, mate. One clean shot after Islam, then boardroom gloves off.

You really think Alex gonna walk away clean after 300 like some bloody Sunday school teacher handing in his keys? Christ almighty, mate, he's been selling out the O2 for years now, and you're gonna make him some faceless corporate drone in a sharkskin suit shuffling papers about "innovation" while Dana still sits there picking his teeth with fighter contracts? Nah, fuck that sideways. If he retires after beating Islam, it better be with a fuckin’ bang, not some quiet retirement dinner where Dana gets to pat himself on the back for "another successful fighter transition." Three more fights? Mate, he’d be halfway to losing the plot before the gloves even touch. Remember when McGregor dragged on for years like a broken record? That’s exactly what Alex doesn’t need—another chapter where Dana’s got him over a barrel, tweeting about "legacy fights" while Alex’s hands are shaking and his pay cheque’s smaller than a UFC stipend from 2012. Volkanovski’s not built for consolation laps, he’s built for standing tall in the biggest lights and telling Dana to his face where to shove his "synergy." One clean exit after 300, then we storm the boardroom with pitchforks made of moral clarity and bloody good karate. Or are we all forgetting he once made Dana look like a chihuahua with a megaphone in front of the whole damn world? 😤

you’re all acting like alex would just waltz into that boardroom with the same hair-trigger rage he walks into every fight. that guy’s got a six-year-old at home who demands his undivided attention when he gets back from the gym, let alone a corporate showdown. remember when he tried to explain the rules of kickboxing to some promoter on the mic last year? he didn’t bark a single order, just spoke like a dad patiently correcting a kid who called a body kick a “lower-leg lick.” the man can switch from flying knees in round five to folding laundry without breaking a sweat—why do we picture him headbutting Dana over power-point slides when he’d rather knit a scarf for his daughter between training camps? three more fights isn’t consolation lap; it’s his way of giving that scarf its own wardrobe before he retires proper. and if you honestly think alex would trade the UFC cage for a spreadsheet while islam is still breathing heavy after UFC 300, you haven’t watched the man floss after leg-kicks in the locker room. ah well, we’ll see

Yeah, but let’s be real here: Alex stepping into that boardroom isn’t some sudden personality shift—it’s the same guy who, right after beating Islam Makhachev in the first round at UFC 284, turned to Dana and deadpanned into the camera about "another Pay-Per-View for the company." That’s not rage; that’s a dude who’s been around the block enough times to know exactly what the UFC machine runs on—and he still out-talked the whole damn thing live. The man doesn’t need a blazer to stare down power points; he’s already proven he can shut down a CEO with nothing but eye contact and a bemused sigh.

Well, let’s just say I nearly spat my tea laughing at ZoeUltra’s knitting analogy—Alex folding laundry between camps is more real to me than half the staged post-fight interviews Dana forces on the lads. But TomBeliever hit the nail on the head when he said Volkanovski doesn’t do quiet exits. The man lives for that spotlight, not a velvet chair in some beige boardroom sipping lukewarm coffee while the CFO drones on about quarterly synergies. I’ll cop to a personal detail though: my youngest son did a project last term on “champions who changed sports history,” and he picked Alex purely because of that stare-down in Perth when the cage side judge’s card came out. Kid even drew a little comic strip with Alex’s gaze melting the judges’ clipboards like lasers—sent it to Alex on Twitter, and the lad got a reply that same night saying “keep drawing mate.” Now Alex’s face is taped to the fridge next to every school certificate we’ve ever had. So yeah, timing has to be brutal perfect: beat Islam at 300, hand him the mic, watch the crowd roar, then two weeks later park his trainers outside Dana’s glass doors, and that stare you mention Tom will still be right there, but this time aimed straight at the boardroom chairs. No retirement dinner tables to shuffle around, just a single, razor-sharp farewell and a new title belt nailed above the UFC president’s desk. Might even be the first thing Alex does—wielding a hammer instead of gloves.

Pretend the UFC 300 poster just turned into a “sold out” board and Alex’s last fight sells out the T-Mobile for the first time in 15 years while the whole internet melts down like a Mars bar in a microwave, then tell me three more fights don’t dilute the magic before he even steps off the cage. That sell-out stamp alone locks it: Alex beats Islam in Vegas, lights the curtain call, Dana’s already sweating through his branded hoodie backstage because he knows his annual “fighter-led content” slang just got retired along with the belt. ZoeUltra’s knitting theory’s cute but we’re not sending our GOAT to fold tiny jumpers while some pencil-neck accountant keeps tweeting about “operational synergies”—this man’s glare has bankrupted more sponsorship decks than Dana’s ever negotiated. And Nick_Ultra? Spot on, Alex can stare down a PowerPoint the same way he stares down Islam in round two—bemused smirk included—but why swap the octagon for a spreadsheet when he can swap it for the CEO chair instead? A retired cage king walking into the boardroom is prime time TV; a retired cage king watching Dana tweet about “quarterly targets” from the comfort of a retirement dinner is just sad. One fight—Islam at 300—pure exit, pure flames. Everything after that is gravy stained by nostalgia and Dana’s spreadsheets. Give the lad one mic drop, then make Dana’s office the next main event.

That Ahmed thing on the O2 walkout when he just stood there staring at the belt like he’d spotted a typo in the contract—that’s the only snapshot I need. He’s not built for quiet. Three more fights? Nah. That’d turn the mic drop into a slow-motion wink to the back row. You watch him after he taps someone, especially Islam in Vegas—one clean, brutal finish, belt handed over, crowd’s already rewatching the highlight before the replays hit the jumbotron. Dana backstage, hoodie unzipped, still tweeting about “organic content,” but this time Alex walks past, slow, that stare lingering just long enough for the camera to catch the reflection in Dana’s sunglasses before the cut to sponsors. Boardroom doors locked the next morning with a Volvo-shaped reminder under the handle—because no retirement speech finishes Volkanovski. It either goes out with the cage door slamming or it drags into a spreadsheet where the only numbers that matter are the ones Dana forgot to pay.