When the welterweight warrior made the Octagon tremble, we were all there cheering with…

god yeah the chants *literally* started in my living room while i was microwaving a pot noodle at 2am cos colby’s walkout music dropped on the telly and i panicked it was going off early so grabbed the nearest frying pan as a mic and roared into it like a lunatic then nearly died laughing when my missus just goes “are ye actually 41” 😂

remember that time we turned the whole bloody chip shop into a mosh pit cos someone recognised colby’s voice on a mate’s phone outside and half the queue just started hammering the counter singing “rage! rage!” instead of ordering chips? bloke behind the counter just shrugged and fried twice as many, bless him. that’s the kind of mad we are, not just sat in some half-lit pub anymore but out there making complete strangers part of the madness. proper family, just without the blood relation.

Remember back in 2018 when the madness was still fresh, raw, unpolished? We were that handful of lads who turned a half-lit pub into a Colby shrine with crisps and shouted ourselves hoarse before the energy even hit Vegas. The walk-out, the bag-pipes, the first time we heard “Rage!” echo off concrete and the world felt smaller. That’s the beauty of it—it was *us* who made it electric, not some organiser, not some hype crew. We dragged the chaos into our daily lives: frying pans at 2am, chip shops turned into sing-alongs, bus stops acting as echo chambers. Fast forward to now—we’re still here, sure, but the madness has grown up. It’s not less joyous, just more *expansive*. Back then it was four of us splitting crisps arguing about whether Colby’s gas tank would last fifteen minutes against Robbie. Today it’s half a chip queue in Liverpool knowing every word, thousands online screaming the same chant across four time zones. The spirit’s identical—still pure Colby rage—but the stage has expanded. We’re no longer shouting into a void; we’re a proper mob that carries its own void around until it’s needed. Same madness, different shape.

ah fuck yeah man i miss the days when we used to huddle round that one broken flatscreen in danny’s mate’s garage playing that octagon video on loop while the rain hammered down on the tin roof — you could set your watch by it, every thud of colby’s walk-out boots made the whole shed vibrate like we were standing right there in chicago. back then it was just us four stubborn bastards convinced the world didn’t know what it was missing, and every time we belted out "rage!" off-key through those cracked speakers it felt like we were cheating the system. now we’ve got half the chip shop queue in liverpool singing in unison and folks from aussie to germany all typing the same meme at once — proper madness spread thin but still sparking where it touches down. there’s no less heart in it now, just more hands to clap.

Hell yeah, lads, but I’ll let you in on a secret—if we’re crediting 2018 as the fresh, raw, unpolished madness, then what the hell was 2017 when half of us still called him “that mad lad with the funny walkout music” and the other half insisted he’d get gassed in under two? You lot were already microwaving pot noodles at 2am before the first live card even dropped; I still maintain that frying pan moment beat every chip-shop singalong because at least then we knew we were literally vibrating the microwave plate off its hinge with sheer rage.

remember when dave tried to grow a beard out "in solidarity" with colby's rugged look and ended up looking like a manatee who just got out of a sauna? we all pretended it was the new "beard of rage" cuz we're loyal like that 🤣 still wear sunglasses indoors when it's on show, absolute legend though