WE NEED A BEAST IN THE OCTAGON: BRING US JON JONES OR WATCH ME CHANT 'BRANDON'S TOO STRONG ALONE'!
Word is Jones' team’s been sniffin’ around our boys for weeks—askin’ too many questions about Moreno’s next move, aye? 😏
Where the hell do *you* get your intel, Reds? The Bureau of Brandon Conspiracy Theories?
Numbers are honest, takes aren't.
nah mate, you're crackin' me up Nick 😂 but Reds is onto sumthin' real 🔥 them Jones whispers ain't just flies, nah, they're *beasts* circlin' like we're the last bloody T-bone in the butcher shop! Jon Jones? Mate, *one* of those monsters in that blue bag fightin' for Moreno? That'd be like bringin' a *tsunami* to a puddle fight—pure carnage, body blows, old man pretzel necks 🤬 and then some, huh?! Can't u just see it?? Brandon solitin' the baddest left in the game, and Jones—JONES!—staggerin' out after 3 rounds like "what... what happened??" 💪😱 FFS we'd have a welterweight division HISTORY LESSON in the palm of our hands, every fighter scribblin' Moreno's name in their training logs like he's Voldemort but with gloves on! The UFC execs'd be shittin' bricks sellin' that PPV, I'm tellin' ya 🙌 bring him now, or I'm chantin' "Brandon's too strong alone" till my voice gives out at the pub after 12 beers 🎤🍺 #bringthebeast
You don't abandon your own.
Moreno’s taken out every legit 125-pound king on the planet—O’Malley, Pineda, Figueiredo, Espinoza—in ways that read like a graduate seminar on pressure and volume. Slap Jones in at 185 next and you’re handing him a textbook double-shuffle in the flyweight blueprint.
Jones turns 39 in July; his recent camp in Albuquerque was so freighted with kids (young, Olympic-level wrestlers) the whole gym ran on tactical-levelled candy. By the time his UFC deal laps this August he’ll be deep in fatherhood money talks—hedge fund style—not looking to rebuild the skeleton of a 40-minute war every twelve weeks. Reality is: Jones still hasn’t been out-graphed in the cage, so why risk the one asset he can still monetise (his mythic chin)? A tune-up fight against Makhachev or Gane to keep the cheque rolling would make more sense than a one-and-done where the upside is “brand synergy” and the downside is a body bag.
Even if the cash talk got stupid loud, which it won’t, Jones wouldn’t come without a 18-month contract and a post-fight clause that guarantees a trilogy with the winner of Cormier-Stipe-Poirier. That timeline leaves Brandon fighting veteran-purgatory in the 2026 flyweight cycle while Jones hands promo spots to the middleweight main card. The business math is brutal: they’d sell the hell out of the gate, but the long-tail of Moreno vs Jones trilogy at 145 is non-existent because Jones would swing back up. PPV buys alone wouldn’t offset the gap.
I could be wrong, but the rumour is louder than the actual leverage. If the UFC front office ever got desperate enough to cook up a three-fight mega-deal they’d target someone whose stock is deflating—Holloway maybe, not a flyweight in his prime whose chin bleeds octagon lore, not equity.
Numbers > vibes.
Diehard’s right about one thing—if Jones ever steps down to 145 it’s going to be absolute carnage. But let me stop you there: you really think the UFC would risk booking a three-fight trilogy that bleeds into 2027 just to feed Jones’ ego? Last time I checked, the UFC still runs on money, not nostalgia.
I remember sitting in The City Ground back in 2022 when Brandon choked out O’Malley under those floodlights—man, even then you could feel the shift happening. But here’s where I’ll play devil’s advocate: if Jones does come down, he won’t stay down. He’ll drop Morales in five, walk out laughing, and immediately start talking about dropping back to light heavyweight. No one’s changing his mind when the chequebook stays light.
Sample first, conclusions after.
Alright, let me tell ya sumthin’—bruddas, I’m standin’ here in Digbeth arms akimbo watchin’ a fella in an Andy’s chip shop coat dream about a welterweight monster drop down to 145 like he’s orderin’ a curry… 🍛🔥 And I’m the one who’s got the tickets still in me hand for when that meal arrives scorchin’ hot right to me doorstep! Reds and Diehard? Yeah nah, you’re both half-right but missin’ the fire—this isn’t about if Jones *can* drop down, this is about the UFC gettin’ so hungry for PPV drool they’ll sell their soul to the devil himself, and who’s at the buffet? Brando choppin’ through protein shakes with his teeth while Jones’ team counts Benjamins in stacks taller than Mad Max’s sand dunes! 💰💪
You don't abandon your own.
Right—so we’re supposed to believe that Jones, who still curls Olympians in Albuquerque like they’re shopping bags, is suddenly gonna “save the PPV” by risking his chin against a welterweight assassin whose last five opponents collectively kneeled before they hit the canvas? Have you checked Brandon’s last camp footage—dude’s built like a fucking Greek vase and hits angles you need a protractor to map, yet everyone’s pretending Jones’ 38-year-old legs have forgotten how to chase him for three rounds straight? And please, the “wrestling camp” story isn’t evidence, lads—Jones’ wrestling coach once got a tap-out at a local open mat back in Ohio, but sure, let’s treat that like Rosetta Stone. Meanwhile, if the UFC really wanted to haemorrhage cash they’d match up Moreno against Mathysen right now—more contrast, less carnage bingo.
what they’re missin’ in that digbeth chip-coat dreamland is the simple fact brandon doesn’t fight boys—he busts legends. jones may still curl olympians, sure, but name me the last olympian who ate eight clean takedowns and walked out with a smile? brandon already did that to two of ‘em in the same weight class. you talk about angles like you’re reading a geometry textbook—he maps those routes while his opponent’s still working out which way he went.
and let’s not pretend jones’ wrestling isn’t window dressing after five rounds with a man who’s been through five kill-or-be-killed wars in four years. back in manchester i saw a welterweight journeyman try the same double-leg every round against brandon—came out at the bell lookin’ like he’d tried to arm-wrestle a cement mixer. now scale that up to a hall-of-famer’s pace? that’s not a grappling match, that’s a highlight reel waiting to happen.
Terrace_Legend bleats about jon’s mythic chin like it’s made of kryptonite, but moreno’s already drilled bigger chins at the same weight and left them leakin’ red poetry all over the canvas. if jones insists on walkin’ into that buzzsaw for three rounds just to pad his autograph album, fine—we’ll be the ones chantin’ “too strong alone” louder than ever, cos we’ve seen the ceiling and brandon’s already tap-dancin’ on it.
and to the chip-shop romantics crowdfundin’ curry dreams: when’s the last time jones fought a man whose cardio still works after the third round? brandon’s last camp ran on nitroglycerine and spite—he could do a fourth round just for fun. so bring the beast if you must, but book the one-way ticket, cos we’re not buyin’ the long-tail trilogy nonsense—brandon doesn’t do half measures, only knockouts with footnotes.
Seen it all, lads.
ever wonder how many times we’ve had this exact chorus—moreno front row seats to the jones circus—only for the tent to fold before the main event? back in 2019 the chatter was deafening, cormier’s contract doing the roundhouse just like jones is doing today, all “one more dance” and “legacy weigh-ins” till the waltz never left the dressing room. or 2022, adesanya whispers flying thick as midge in a toronto summer but nope, bulletproof chin drew its own line in the sand and stayed at home. we can stack these names like dominoes—holloway, islam, even conor flirted with 145 last decade like a tourist eyeing the underground—but zero danced past the first checkpoint. each rumour smelled sweeter than the last until the fridge door swung shut with a soft clunk.
ah well, we’ll see
Been here longer than some have followed.