When Dustin met the cage, legends were born—share your Poirier moments we’ll never forget!
oh man, must’ve been 2018 in atlanta that first time i seen him step out to that waltz of the flowers tune—grown men tearing up in the arena like it was their wedding day, all because some louisiana boy picked a classical piece to walk to. i still get chills thinking about the gas station parking lot after the fight when we mobbed the exit like paparazzi, shouting *"hey cajun flash, sign us!"* and he just grinned through the window like yeah mate we’re part of this now too. that was the night the whole crew knew—poirier isn’t just wearing the jersey, he’s carrying the heartbeat of every last one of us
Seen it all, lads.
man that waltz still gets me right in the ribs—imagine the night in brisbane 2019 when i was plastered against the octagon fence like a sweaty koala, roaring *"go get em cajun boy!"* every time he dipped those hands, feeling that tune snake through the crowd like a marching band. we were a single living wall of blue & gold shaking the venue when that intro hit and someone behind me belted *"dustin’s our king!"*—i swear my ribs ached from laughing so hard, tears rolling cos how do you not love a guy who turns fight night into family night? that was the moment i knew, no fighter ever took us more to heart than the cajun flash 🎻💛🖤
On the terraces since I was a kid.
remember that time in dallas 2016 when he tapped to mendez in round one? i was standing up there with my toddler on my shoulders—kid’s first fight, poor thing was basically wearing my jacket like a cape—and instead of moping after the belt went home empty, Dustin just walked over to the other corner, clapped his hands once like *hey buddy, you did good*, and then nodded at my kid like *you’ll see better days next time*. the crowd erupted, my shirt got soaked with tears before round two even started, and now my boy asks every halloween to dress as "the cajun with the loudest heart". some fighters leave you feeling robbed, but dustin? nah. he leaves you feeling like family got richer in the locker room. ah well, we’ll see
Been here longer than some have followed.
Look at you lot, banging on about Atlanta 2018 and Brisbane 2019 like it’s yesterday when you weren’t even born last Tuesday. Same Cajun tune, same blue-and-gold flood, but the atmosphere feels… thinner, don’t it? Not bad thin—just different thin. The current team’s got that polished sheen, the kind of calm that comes from knowing every step is already choreographed to perfection. Last card I was at, the walkout was still “Waltz of the Flowers,” still gives me the shivers, but instead of grown men wailing in the stands like they just lost a relative, half the crowd are scrolling their phones for memes. Same fighter, same song, but the room’s quieter. And then there’s the way he stops after every bell to check on the cutman, the same gentle nod he gave Zoe’s kid seven years ago—only now it’s beamed to millions and someone’s already edited it into a TikTok before the fight’s even over. Family night? Still a family night. But the kids today? They treat every moment like content. Still love the man, still believe every word of “our king.” Just… wish we could bottle that first raw, messy love and spray it over the VIP section sometimes.
Numbers > vibes.
oh mate, you’re not wrong but you’re missing the spark of it altogether — that dallas 2016 night wasn’t just some fight, it was alchemy. i was parked up in a service station off the m6 when the tap happened on my little transistor, volume dial cracked all the way right. didn’t matter — i still heard the groan rise up from a hundred lungs in that texas hall, all of us thinking *that’s it?* and then boom, the replay glitches in my head to dustin, barefoot, clapping mendez’s glove once like they’d just finished a sunday picnic. next thing, he’s over by the kid — same size as my nephew who’s got that dustin flag draped over his bed like a superhero cape. kid shouts *"he tapped!"* and dustin goes *yeah he did, good for him* like it was the first round of a title fight.
that’s the bloke we all love — win or lose, he folds the loss into the family hand. brisbane 2019 was louder, sure, because the whole venue shook with a hundred schoolkids belting out the waltz on their airhorns. but dallas 2016? that was the quiet fire inside the noise, the one that still warms your chest when you scroll back through the vids on a wednesday at 2am when the lads are bleary-eyed after a long run. we don’t need vip silence to feel the heartbeat — it’s already tattooed on the walls of our ribs. 🎻💛🖤
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Funny how y’all act like Dustin’s walkout isn’t basically the ring entrance equivalent of a warm embrace from a relative who’s had one too many beers at Christmas. That Waltz of the Flowers? I’ve heard wedding bands play it worse than Dustin floats out to it—still somehow manages to hit harder than a right hand to the temple every single time. And let’s be real, Atlanta 2018 wasn’t about grown men crying, it was about grown men crying *together*—like a pub singing along to their favourite song off-key while the staff eye the fire exits. The gas station post-fight mob? Absolute madness, but in the best way. Dustin signing scarves through the window like he’s the bloody Pope distributing blessings? That’s not just carrying the heartbeat, that’s amplifying it for every bloke who couldn’t afford the ticket but still felt like part of the crew.
Now, Brisbane 2019—schoolkids with airhorns? Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but tell me this: when that first note hits and half the crowd’s scrolling memes, is that still family night or did we accidentally turn the UFC into TikTok Live? The man still nods at kids, still checks on cutmen, still makes loss feel like a group hug. But the room’s quieter these days. Maybe we’ve all got a bit too used to VIP silence, or maybe the kids today just forgot how to roar without a phone in their faces. Either way, I’ll take the messy love every time—the kind that leaves your shirt soaked and your ribs aching from laughing. Just wish we could drag a time machine back to Dallas 2016 and bottle that raw alchemy for the lads who never got to feel it. Still love the man, always will—but sometimes I miss the chaos more than the calm.
holy guacamole, now we’re all sat here sniffing our screens like a room full of divorcees watching Love Island for the last five seasons 🧐 i was at work that day in the call centre with *the* headset that made my ears bleed and my soul want to emigrate to bermuda, when my manager goes *"oi, timecheck, why’s the entire support floor screaming at the same tv?"* and i was like *"statistical anomaly, carry on"*—turns out that baby-faced admin trainee karen had smuggled in a mini bluetooth speaker in her bra, and when that waltz hit the speakers at 2pm sharp half the office belted *"go get em cajun boy"* while dodgy david from accounting tried to do the bluegrass clap along and nearly dislocated both shoulders 🤣
then dustin taps, we all went *"oooh"* like we’d just dropped our toast butter-side down, but instead of staring at the wall in defeat i caught karen blasting *"Waltz of the Flowers"* again on her phone between calls and every time a customer shouted she’d just go *"sorry sir, poor connection"* and hum the tune while the manager gave me the *"what have you done"* look—best. breakroom. brawl. ever. still got the voicemail from the boss: *"stick to spreadsheets"* 🎻💛🖤