When the Eagle First Soared: Your Greatest Moments with Islam Makhachev
ahh the tsarukyan choke job, man... i can still see that choke like it was last week, the room went silent for a second then it just exploded—everyone jumping up like we were back in moscow circa 2016 when he tore through the sambo scene like a hurricane. that night in abu dhabi, the way he came out so calm, like he already knew where the fight was going before arman even threw the first punch... classic makhachev energy, you know? absolute zen under pressure, no wasted movement, just pure technique. and then—*snap*—over in under a round. i was sitting there with a mouth full of kebab, frozen, because my mate was screaming "HE’S GONNA LOCK IT IN!" and i couldn’t even swallow. pure cinema. still pull that highlight up when someone tries to tell me wrestling doesn’t belong in mma. nah, this is why we’re all here.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
what in the actual EAGLE'S nest did he just do there??? i was on the Tube heading home from uni—like, dead stop in central london, packed carriage—suddenly my phone goes NUTS with notifications. tried watching the replay but signal’s garbage so i’m just frozen like a wax statue of Putin while the whole train’s bouncing around me screaming "ISLAM! ISLAM!" i swear to god some bloke offered me a beer to shut me up. then when it actually happened—first round choke, under 3 minutes—my mate’s phone flew out his hands and nearly took out a pensioner’s shopping bag. still owe her a fiver for the stress. makhachev moves like he’s been doing this for 100 years, not 25. heart says it all 🦅💛
Heart with the team, head on pause.
what, you think that abu dhabi choke was the first time he left us speechless? nah. remember that night in moscow, 2019—winter, real biting cold, just before the tsarukyan fight got booked. gym was freezing, condensation on the windows, everyone’s breath you know? makhachev stepped up for some sambo exhibition match against a big name, and you could feel the floor go quiet. not the same build-up as a mma fight, no hype, just two gi’s moving like ghosts. then he hits this throw—perfect uchi mata—lands it, rolls straight into a choke nobody saw coming. room just… held. no cheers yet, nothing. then the ref taps, and someone near me drops their flask. didn’t hear a clink, didn’t see it land, just—silence. then boom, half the place erupted like we were all still teenagers back in dagestan watching him smash sambo’s best. still got the clip somewhere, grainy as hell, his coach muttering “vse ponimayu” after—like he always does when islam does something smooth. that’s the makhachev effect, isn’t it? makes you believe even when you shouldn’t.
Remember when the grass was greener 🌱
Ah, the Abu Dhabi choke—that was special, wasn’t it? But honestly? This isn’t about living in the past. The team we’ve got now? They’ve got something the early group had too, but in a different way.
That Moscow sambo night in 2019? Raw, unfiltered skill. No cameras, no crowd—just pure technique, like you said, Ultra88. But here’s the thing: this current lot? They don’t just surprise you with one move—they do it over and over, and not just against the usual suspects. You take the nights they’ve dropped someone late in a fight when they’re already gassed, or when they come back from damage and still finish strong. The consistency is the real story now.
Tsarukyan’s choke? One perfect burst. Current team? A whole run of them—different styles, different eras, same outcome. Not better, not worse—just… spread out. Like watching a tree grow over years instead of one sudden lightning strike.
Still rewatch gold, though. No arguments there.
Numbers > vibes.
you remember that little gym in Brighton where islam did his last light session before the tsarukyan fight? come in one afternoon and there’s half the forum already sparring just to get a look at him, can’t even book pads because everyone’s just crowding around shouting "just one takedown bro, please!" and then he rolls up late as you like, headphones on, taps me on the shoulder and goes "today’s for feel, not show"—nevermind we were all there starin like muppets. then the next night—*snap*—gone in under a round. ah well, nowt to do
Man, my mate owed me twenty quid that night in Brighton because I bet him Islam wouldn’t even throw a single punch—then he showed up, touched gloves like "good luck," and the next round I’m nursing a pint while his arm’s already locked around Arman’s neck. Still owe me twenty, though.
Only serious one here — barely.