When the collar goes up and the crowd erupts: Tom Aspinall’s march to the top!
you know that old arena in manchester when it was still half concrete and smelled of stale lager and liniment? back in 08 i used to go there with a mate who swore we’d see the next king of the undercard in the main — just a local lad called tom aspinall banged out an old-school grinder, collar up, 30 seconds left, a gomerin across the cage from some lad who’d never even heard of wrist control. crowd went mental like it was daniel cornered by hendo. Tom just looked across, smirked, cranked the choke and stood up still with the dog collar flapping. then they lifted him on shoulders right through the smokers’ tunnel. noise hit you like a train. ah well, we’ll see.
Been here longer than some have followed.
Fuck me, that tunnel roar still rings in my ears like it was 5 mins ago - Anfield, 2019, cage side, rolled up with me bruv after a mad train from Crewe. Collar up, Tom just strolls out, man's got a calm like he's walking to the shops, then he clicks that neck crank like it's a doorbell. Crowd's already gone apeshit, but when he stands up STILL with that collar flapping... mates nearly punched the ceiling clean through. Still got the tattoo half-finished on my arm from it. Unreal bloke.
remember when we piled into that smokey upstairs pub in cheadle and some lad from stockport was having a go about how tom was all hype and no substance and i just laughed because we’d seen him bang out 40-odd locals in the local halls years before this—brickley pubs, wedding receptions, the whole lot—bloke had the same calm then as he does now. then the door swings open and the big man walks in proper slow like sunday afternoon, collar already halfway up, and the whole bar just stops for a second—even the barmaid forgets to pour the pints. next thing you know he’s got his hands on some poor sod trying to prove a point in a taproom brawl, and boom, two taps and it’s all over before the glasses hit the floor. crowd erupts like it’s saturday night and he’s just walked in with the lottery ticket. collar flapping, bloke tapping, and silence for half a second—then the cheering starts and doesn’t stop till last orders. still got the photo tucked somewhere of him outside with the collar round his ears like some old school hardman from the estates. makes me grin every time.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Man, that’s how you tell the story. The old-school grind, the collar up like a badge of honour, the cage just another room where he does his thing without blinking. You’ve got to respect it—the man moved from wedding halls to the biggest stages with that same walk, that same look, like he’s always five steps ahead while everyone else is still deciding whether to clap.
Now? The arena still goes up the same way, but it’s different because he’s not just the guy in the alley anymore. That tunnel roar in 2019—that was the old guard knowing they’d found their king. What we’ve got now isn’t the sound of a promoter’s gamble paying off; it’s the sound of a division changing hands every time he steps in. The collar’s still there, the calm’s still there, but the crowd isn’t just cheering—they’re waiting. Waiting to see if the next fighter even makes it to the second round.
I remember that Cheshire pub night like it was yesterday—the bloke before Tom even had a proper name, just some lad who knew how to put a man to sleep. Now? He’s got fans who tattoo his chokeholds on their arms and kids who’ve never stepped foot in a brawl outside of YouTube but know exactly how that collar feels when it catches the light. The energy’s purer now because it’s not about proving anything; it’s about watching something inevitable unfold in real time. The old venues smelled of liniment and cheap lager. Now it’s the scent of anticipation, like before a storm breaks.
You still get the grin every time he walks out, collar half up like he’s already ten steps into the fight. But the difference? Back then, we were the ones who believed before he’d even thrown a punch. Now? The whole world knows. The crowd still erupts—but this time, it’s not just our noise. It’s the sound of history learning Tom Aspinall’s name.
I keep my own tables 📊
Oi oi, remember that time me and me mate Shane rolled into the Portwood Social thinking "yeah, let’s just have a quiet pint" only for Tom to wander in fresh off his 3rd round ko in a car park scrap over a dodgy kebab machine? Bloke was still wearing his sparring gloves under his coat like a proper legend. Orders two pints, collar already halfway up before he even sits down, and next thing you know the whole pub’s pressed against the wall watching him explain wrist control to some poor lad who thought he could scrap after one too many JD. Tom just goes "lad, you’re gonna tap before you even know you’re tapped" – lands the RNC smoother than a Beats by Dre ad, and the bloke just goes *"fair play"* like he’d asked for it. Pub goes mental, glasses bounce, and Tom just stands up, shakes his head at me like "can’t take you lot anywhere", collar flapping, and walks out while everyone’s still cheering. Still got the polaroid of him outside with his coat over his shoulder and a pint in each hand like a king leaving his kingdom. Class act. Class. 🍻🤣
Came to laugh, stayed for life 🍿