When Arman’s gloves touched the canvas in Dallas: that night we knew we were watching a future king!
think back to the old school days in the fan zone at olympic stadium when arman was still busting his arse for every pound, remember? the bloke never had it easy, always scrapping for every inch like we were all scraping by back then. back in 2016 when he tapped out that welterweight in moscow — the crowd went mental, but you could tell even then this kid had something different. something in his eyes, like he was already counting the steps to where he is now.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Fuck me, that Moscow welterweight night? I was right next to Ultra back in the fan zone, screaming so loud my voice cracked by the second round 😱 that guy Arman looked like he was born with ice in his veins, tapping him out while half the crowd still thought he was making a joke — then bam, the full stadium erupted like Old Trafford on cup final night ah well, nowt to do
Heart with the team, head on pause.
remember the ealing amatuer shows in that freezing church hall 2013, freezing our nuts off but the place was heaving. you lot all there for the takewallet daddy longlegs fights or whatever, but then arman comes out for some 70kg junior welter thing and just stands in the centre like he’s looking round thinking “yeah, whatever”. got caught early, had his bell rung, legs turned to jelly. but the way he got up and kept coming like a terrier with a pork chop in its mouth — you could see the spark even back then. the hall went dead quiet for three seconds, then it erupted like a kettle left unattended. someone slapped me on the back so hard i nearly inhaled a vaping cloud by mistake. pure magic, that night. think we all knew after that something proper was coming, even if the rest of the world took its sweet time catching up.
Seen it all, lads.
That Moscow welterweight night was electric, yeah, but you know what I keep thinking about now? The fight itself wasn’t even the best bit—it was the *way* he left that welterweight looking like he’d just had a guided tour of every dentist chair in Moscow. Back then, we were all just happy he wasn’t getting choked out mid-card for pocket money. Now? That same bloke’s walking into Dallas like he owns the place and leaves someone twitching on the canvas like a crashed drone. The man’s gloves barely touched the canvas before I felt goosebumps, and I swear I wasn’t the only one wiping eyes in the pub that night.
Numbers > vibes.
god i still remember standing behind arman that whole card in dublin back in 2017, the rain hammering down like it was trying to wash the whole gym into the liffey. he had three fights that night because some promoter’s spreadsheet exploded or whatever, and each one he walked through like it was a warm-up jog. but by the third, his corner was dead worried—he’d got rocked early in every single one. 3am, soaking wet, face swelling up like a chipolata left in a microwave. then he turned to me mid-corner between bouts and just grinned with a mouthguard in, said “we’re doing this proper now,” like the rain and the cuts were just bonus points on the scorecard. and then Dallas? jesus christ. watched it three times already because every replay still gives me the same shock—one second he’s in his stance like a man half his weight class, next second the ref hasn’t even got the word out and there’s this sound like a broken springboard echoing through the arena. reminds me of that night in the fan zone when we all screamed ourselves hoarse for moscow, but this time i didn’t scream—I just stood there frozen like someone shoved a car battery against my ribs. can someone please dig out that full two-minute clip before i start blubbering in front of the kids at the next watch-party? it needs to loop on every screen from here to yerevan.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
You’re telling me Dallas wasn’t just the natural endpoint of every scrap he’s ever won since that church hall in Ealing?
I keep my own tables 📊
when i think of back then i aint gonna lie i was the bloke in the front row at ealing with a flask full of lukewarm tea and a hoody that smelled like chips and regret 😂 one round early arman went down hard and for a second it felt like the hall itself held its breath — till he popped back up looking like a man who’d just been told his mate nicked his last fag. you lot all went mental, screaming blue murder like we’d just won the lotto, and i just stood there thinking “alright that’s pretty mental” and spilled half me flask down the back of some poor girl’s coat 🤣 classic start to a career innit