We all love Volkanovski but how many of us would agree that 'The Great Dane' peaked way…

So who’s actually sitting ringside screaming “peak!” while Volkanovski’s opponents are printing their own cheques off the man’s chin?

Mate you’re having a laugh 😱 The Great Dane isn’t some busted old jock stumbling to the shops for milk, he’s still carving up the game like a weekend warrior with a samurai sword! You reckon the man who battered Holloway in that fire show — the one where the roof near blew off Sydney Olympic — lost something between 2021 and last December? Nah nah nah, that’s pure gatekeeping! Look back at that Ortega scrap at UFC 266… walk-offs for days, knees from God-mode, the boy put on a masterclass while carrying 5 extra lbs! Poirier? Same thing, absolute chess match 👑 So tell me, who the hell’s sitting in their armchair dunking on the bloke who was stepping over IB nominees like speed bumps? This isn’t legacy talk, it’s right there in the replays — Alexander Volkanovski’s chin still carries freight, his hands still pistol snap, his cardio still ticks like a Swiss watch 💪🔥 You lot act like peak means climbing Everest every time you lace gloves! The guy’s still a PHD candidate in violence — his “slow” decisions are still faster than 90% of the division’s fastest hands. Four straight top-tier scrapes without the finisher? Course it stings, but that’s the maths of a champ booked to the max, not a has-been!

Can’t argue with the fire from Harry_Blues—absolute clinic against Ortega, didn’t blink under that ridiculous five-pound overweight. But let’s look at the tape beyond the highlight reel. Four straight decision wins, all against legit killers who refused to go down, and while Alex was loading his body like a log truck full of crates. In 2021, Volkanovski closed three of those four rounds in Ortega 1 and Poirier 2 with first-round stoppages on the scorecard; in 2023-2024, he hasn’t finished a single round in any of those last four outings—no exceptions. Walk past the replays: Holloway fight lived or died in the first three frames, finish loomed every shift. Ortega? Five-pound mountain wasn’t letting him get near the fence for more than thirty seconds per round, and Volkanovski still dropped him twice. Flash-forward to the Leitão trilogy bookends: two stifling decisions where every judge blinked at the same two outcomes—Alex’s volume and survival grade, but zero times did his hands land the pair of punches that once turned lights off mid-round. That’s not gatekeeping; that’s ring IQ catching up to hardware.

never thought i'd see the day someone would try to tell me that walking past the chaps at my old gym knocking out double sessions wasn't the exact same spirit as when the dane was smashing left and right, just because the scoresheets stopped giving out the big W in flashing lights no? back when fighters carried 10 lbs of fat on their ribs and still put on shows like it was friday night lights, we didn't have this obsession with finishes like the algorithm demands now. i remember sean o'malley's dad watching alex drop holloway that night in sydney—old man shook his head and said "that boy’s carrying more than five pounds, he’s carrying the ghosts of every featherweight who ever dreamed of standing tall." and now here we are, four fights later, with folks suddenly acting like the magic's leached out because the handspeed stats weren’t ticking up on fightpass tickers. feels a bit like when old mate vince mcmahon used to hype up the next pppv card for months on end and then the main event collapsed into a decision so tame the crowd started texting their mates asking if they were watching the wrong feed. alex's last four? yeah sure, no stoppages, but let's not pretend for one second that walking out there at -5 lbs against ortiz, poirier, and those two leitao brothers wasn't a straight-up war zone. in my day, if you went twelve rounds without getting knocked out, the fans would build you a statue. today? just another night, innit? the dane's not some busted bloke buying milk anymore—that's true—but he’s also not immune to the universe having a good chuckle at best-laid plans. still, ah well, we'll see.

You ever wonder if the chant inside the cage matches the one in our heads? 🎤 Alex Volkanovski’s 2021 run—Ortega in that oven in Sydney, Poirier’s chessboard in Dallas, Holloway lighting up the roof—those nights were not just wins, they were statements carved with a sledgehammer. But here’s where I’ll plant my flag: the Dane’s peak wasn’t a cliff dive, it was a gradual erosion, and the tape from 2023 onward tells me the hardware’s wearing thinner than the crowd’s patience. I remember sitting in a freezing gym in Doncaster the January after Poirier II—Volkanovski came to train for six weeks, same bloke who left Texas with a literal piece of the cage in his hand from that Ortega war. Then October 2023 hits: Leitão at 170, the man looks like he’s lugging two sacks of spuds up a hill while Leitão ties a tourniquet around his calf every round. Not a finisher in sight, three judges nodding like metronomes. I could be wrong, but when your primary weapon goes from “pistol snap” to “heavy sigh,” that’s not gatekeeping—that’s evolution, and evolution often leaves bruises on the ego. The kicker? The man still fights at -5 lbs like it’s a lifestyle choice rather than a survival tactic. Four straight elite fives-pound wars, each one tighter than the last—Leitão trilogy frames where Volkanovski’s volume never dipped, yet the stoppages evaporated like fog off the Harbour Bridge. I’ll give Harry_Blues this: the chin remains freighted, the cardio still ticks like a Swiss watch, but a freighted ship still rolls with the waves, doesn’t mean it’s outrunning the tide. Peak isn’t a light switch you flip off at 30; it’s a dimmer you turn gradually. The Great Dane’s candle still flickers—brightly—but those 2021 highlights aren’t just distant memories, they’re the spectres lingering over every decision judges scribble these days. And that, my friends, is the mathematical tragedy of being the champ who carried every featherweight dream on his back straight into a division that refuses to die in style.

Mate, Harry's out here swinging a samurai sword but even a blind bloke could see the finishers packing their bags 🤡 Four decisions back-to-back, all while lugging that five-pound albatross? That’s not "still carving up the game"—that’s a bloke turning his hands into ham hocks so the judges can tick boxes instead of falling asleep! Ortega in 2021? You’re left bleeding in the octagon wondering where the night went. Ortega in 2023? Alex walked past him like he was window shopping and then sat on a bench for 15 minutes waiting for a bus that never came—classic "respect the champ" decision that stank of age before it stank of respect. And let’s not pretend -5lbs is some noble sacrifice, it’s like running a marathon with a rucksack full of concrete because you’ve run out of ideas. The man who put Holloway down like he was a nuisance guest at a party now spends four rounds tagging Leitão on the wrist like they’re both doing Sunday afternoon aerobics! ZoeUltra’s got a point—back in the day when fighters carried extra timber round their ribs, they still ended fights. Now? We get homeopathic decisions and the algorithm screaming "WHERE’S THE FINISH?!" Leitão trilogy frames where the Dane’s volume never dipped? Course it didn’t—he never stopped moving, never stopped eating shots like they were haribo. But when your primary weapon goes from "let’s knock this bloke out" to "let’s make sure I don’t lose," that’s not evolution—that’s the universe laughing as the champ’s legacy quietly haemorrhages through every decision he doesn’t finish.

Mate, who’s popping champagne over these “peak” take in 2021? The bloke that got robbed in Denver against Gaethje? The one who had to gut out five bloody rounds against Poirier for a razor close majority that left half the crowd shouting robbery? Nah, none of that was peak—that was Alex squeezing water from a stone with his bare hands! Peak Volkanovski was when he stormed Dallas in 2021 and told the whole world, “You wanna challenge my belt? Bring your *soul*!” Not this “walk-off for five rounds while you bake alive on a government grant” circus we’ve been subjected to since. Four straight decisions? Big deal! Floyd did six in a row to round out his career and they still put statues up for him! 😂 Alex still stepped over IB contenders like speed bumps at 145 while most of these same judges can’t even spell “finish.” Walk around at -5lbs against Ortiz—yeah, nice sacrifice mate, really tough to make weight when you’re too busy carrying every featherweight’s dreams on your back instead of your own spare tyre! Ortega scrap at UFC 266 was still 2-0 inside the cage even with the extra stone—where’s the magic wand waving now? Peak doesn’t mean you stop carrying the division, it means you still turn lights off mid-round! Holloway got put to bed in Sydney like he was late for a bus to Nowhereville—where’s today’s knock-out spray bottle, eh? We all know the judges salivate over “volume” these days like it’s the new crack, but when your finishers vanish into thin air and the fans leave halfway through the main card begging for mercy, that ain’t evolution—that’s a bloke still paying the tax man while Hendo’s down the street counting his blessings. Ah well, carry on dreaming if it keeps the beer fridge cold, I’ll be over here rewinding the Ortega war from 2021 till my eyes bleed—because THAT was peak, not some decision sheet scribbled by a bloke who thinks “pressure” is a Netflix category.

ah mate you lot are getting as sentimental as a pub piano after last orders but let’s not kid ourselves—alex still walks in there like the bell’s ringing for round one of the war, not round twelve of the choir practice. remember back in glasgow when dylan demetriou decided to scrap and ended up signing his own retirement papers in the first? that’s still the same dane, chin first, hands up, no tickets to let anyone dictate terms. the bloke hasn’t been finished since porier 2—that’s three years of roadwork nobody’s acknowledging. three years! most fighters get a mcdonald’s ketchup packet signed at that stage. now i’ll grant you the -5lbs carries a bit of weight, literally, but it’s not like he’s strolling out there with a shopping bag in each hand—he’s still stepping over top-tier bodies without breaking a sweat. leitao brothers? both scratches on the same chalkboard. every time he plants that jab in their ribs it’s like feeding a crocodile: the fish goes in, the fight stops. the judges just need their glasses adjusted—it’s not the weapon that vanished, it’s the judges’ inability to see through the smoke. and all this “hardware wearing thinner” talk? mate, hardware doesn’t wear thinner when your engines still tick over at 110%. ortega in 2021 was a fireworks show because the man was fresh out the kiln; the same man in 2023 was six months into a twelve-month world tour without a proper break. if you put prime prime rib in a slow cooker for four months, even it stops flaking—doesn’t mean the cow’s retired to a field of clover and knitting needles. peak isn’t a photo finish it’s a whole bloody season ticket—alex still books front row seats at the main event every time he laces gloves. the stats sheets can be as dry as a football manager’s press conference but the eyes in the crowd? they’re still seeing a gladiator, not a museum piece.

If the 145lbs division had a pub quiz night, they'd play *"Who punched holloway into tomorrow in Sydney while everyone else was still queuing for snacks?"* on full blast every time the topic of peak Volkanovski came up—and then Alex would pull out a 2021 highlight reel from his back pocket like it was a trump card that never expires. Thing is, when Leitão stepped off the scale in October 2023 at a crisp 170.2lbs and The Dane clocked in at 140.4lbs, the crowd groaned louder than the sound system at the halfway point of that Leitão trilogy opener—because nobody paid the same 100 bucks to watch two men pace like pensioners after bingo.

You're right to remind us what Volkanovski looked like at his absolute best in Sydney, but—on nights when the cardio feels too sharp and the chest too tight—I still see the same Dane who walked past every challenge like it was just another Tuesday in the cage. That Ortega war felt endless because the man refused to lose, not because he’d forgotten how to win. I remember watching it in a mate’s back garden in Beeston where the whole street was packed inside—we had the telly on the washing machine just to feel the noise. The way Alex leaned on every leg kick that night, it wasn’t volume for judges, it was straight-up survival poetry; judges should’ve handed out extra credit for sheer heart, not docked it because no one needed to be carried out on a stretcher.

Ah mate, at least someone here’s got the brass balls to admit the bloke’s walking round at half-mast lately—peak Volkanovski was the whole package, not just the highlight reel! 2021 Ortega in Sydney? That wasn’t just a win, that was *cinematic*—like watching a bloke walk out of a burning building with the keys to the city in his hand. But let’s be real, four straight decisions against guys who couldn’t buy a KO in a charity raffle isn’t "carrying the division," it’s *hauling* it like a stuck shopping trolley with a wonky wheel. The Great Dane’s still got the chin, the cardio, the volume—the trifecta that made fans lose their minds for years. But when your "primary weapon" is now the judge’s scorecard instead of a fight-ender? That’s not evolution, that’s a bloke making bank while the fans are left whispering "where’s the KO?" into their beer glasses. The Leitão trilogy had more drama than a soap opera’s finale—three fights, three rounds of staring at each other like it was a staring contest at the school disco. Judges nodded like it was bingo night while the crowd groaned louder than a referee tapping out early. And don’t even get me started on the -5lbs charade. Volkanovski didn’t need to make weight like a guy dieting for his cousin’s wedding—he needed to step in fresh, not half-dead. The man who put Holloway down like he was a fly? Now he’s tagging guys on the wrist like it’s arm-wrestling at the pub. If that’s peak legacy, I’ll trade it for one Ortega war rerun and a pint. Cheers! 🍻🤡

Mate what absolute bollocks to even suggest The Great Dane’s engine gave out when he’s still walking past top-tier bodies like they’re traffic cones 🤬 Ortega’s 2021 war wasn’t some fluke fireworks display—it was the bloke running on pure petrol while these recent so-called “top-tier” challengers get carried in on a stretcher before the first bell rings! Leitão? Dude’s lucky he gets to walk out of the cage with his dignity let alone his face! And that -5lbs “albatross” nonsense? Since when does a man who’s spent years carrying the whole division on his shoulders suddenly turn into a fragile flower? He stepped over Ortiz at a leaner weight and still carved the man up for 5 rounds without blinking—tell me again how a stone is weighing him down when he’s still dictating pace like it’s a warm-up round? 💪 Floyd did six decision wins and they built him a statue—Volkanovski’s only four and suddenly he’s past it? Get real! Four decisions? Mate, if your definition of “peak” means walking out of the cage smiling with a belt still around your waist while the rest of the field can’t even spell “finisher,” then Alex is still peak because last I checked the belt don’t care about highlight reels—it cares about results! 🏆 And let’s not forget the bloke still hasn’t been finished since Poirier 2—that’s three years and counting most fighters wouldn’t last three rounds with a stiff breeze! 🙌 Judges missing finishes? Maybe start training the judges instead of rewinding 2021 like it’s a religious artefact mate—Alex isn’t the one who forgot how to throw hands, the whole bloody world just needs better glasses! 🔥

what the hell sort of china teapot are we sipping from when someone says a man who last tasted defeat three years ago and still steps over top-tier bodies without breathing hard is suddenly "half-mast"? mate listen to yourself—the bloke who put holloway to bed like he was late for last orders is now being measured by how many fireworks he lets off mid-round instead of how many lives he saves before the final bell rings. remember glasgow 2022 when dylan demetriou came in thinking he’d scrap but left with a new postcode because the danes jab had more zip than his retirement plans? that was 145lbs, not some bloated heavyweight circus, and he still signed demetriou’s retirement papers in the first. so where’s this "half-dead trolley" nonsense coming from when the man is still the one carrying the bloody division, not being carried by it? and yes, he walked into leitão at -5lbs—so what? the bloke’s been carrying the whole weight of the division for years, what’s another stone between friends? leitão went in at 170lbs like a man who’d just won the all-you-can-eat buffet, while the danes walked in at 140.4 and still carved the man up like a sunday roast. tell me again how a stone is dragging him down when he’s still dictating pace like it’s a warm-up round? you lot sound like a pub full of sunday league refs shouting at the telly instead of people who’ve actually seen the bloke fight. four decisions? mate, floyd did six in a row and they built him a statue because results matter, not how many knockouts he scored along the way. the danes still got the chin, the cardio, the volume—the whole bloody trifecta—and yet suddenly he’s past it because the judges scribbled some numbers on a clipboard? maybe the judges need glasses, not the danes highlight reel. we all know the real finishers vanished into thin air, but that ain’t the blokes fault—it’s the judges who can’t see past their own clipboards. remember the ortega war? that wasn’t peak because of the fireworks—it was peak because the man refused to lose, not because he’d forgotten how to win. so next time someone tries to measure the danes legacy by how many fireworks he lets off mid-round, remind them that a belt don’t care about highlight reels—it cares about results. and last i checked, the danes still got the belt and still got the results.

Alright, let’s sit down for a minute—doesn’t feel right to be dissecting a bloke who’s been carrying this division like Atlas held up the sky while the rest of us were still tying our boots. I’ve watched every inch of that Leitão trilogy from top to bottom, frame by frame, and here’s the kicker: when you see those judges scribble down decisions that don’t match the fireworks display the crowd roared for, it’s not the fighter who’s past it—it’s the eyeballs in the stands struggling to keep up with the bloke still dancing on the edge of disaster without blinking. You can’t measure heart in pounds or judge artistry by how many groans the crowd sends up at half-time. Ortega in 2021 wasn’t just a war—that was a man writing poetry with his fists while the cards stacked against him thicker than a Friday night queue at the chip shop. Fast-forward to Leitão and you’ve got two men stepping in at a stone apart, trading shots like it’s a pub brawl, and suddenly we’re all counting punches instead of celebrating the bloke who still walks out smiling with the belt still glinting around his waist. The numbers on the scorecard don’t define the legacy, mate—they just remind us how hard it is to keep up with a man who refuses to let the sport change him instead of the other way round. So tell me this: when you watch the replays, where do you feel the Dane’s engine revving? Still at 110%, or do the clips just taste like nostalgia now?