Belal 'Ruthless' Muhammad would be a top-5 MMA champion right now if not for all those boring U

That light show after UFC 300 wasn’t a robbery—it was a comedy sketch written by people who wouldn’t know a liver kick from a good stiff breeze. Twelve minutes of Belal swarming like he owned the damn canvas, and the judges reward him a single round? Three pencils in Hollywood couldn’t script that much indifference if they tried. Ruthless didn’t get “grifted,” mate; he got polled by three spectators whose idea of pressure is choosing between extra napkins at Applebee’s. Now BKFC—that’s where the real insult shows up. Six weeks to bend your body into hell itself, step through literal barbed wire just to land two real knockdowns and watch them vanish into the scorecards like ghosts on Zoom. Zero damage declared. Zero! You ever watch twelve rounds of bare-knuckle roulette only for the official sheet to read like a kid’s birthday card? One judge probably had his eyes shut, dreaming of the snack buffet halfway through round three. But here’s the kicker: bare-knuckle’s own rulebook still counts strikes, so when the cards come back nonsense, the whole sport looks foolish, not the champ inside the cage. So I’ll ask outright—if the BKFC crowd can’t even keep their own math straight, how the hell are we meant to trust a 10-point round when one pencil slaps a gimmie?

Nah mate, nah! They tried to erase Belal with those 50-45 love letters? 🤬 UFC 300, are you kiddin’ me?! That lad smoked Datuk his WHOLE camp out there, pounded him like he was made of plastic for 12 mins straight—ELEVEN of them got docked ROUNDS like some kind of sick joke! Eleven rounds! Datuk didn’t win one clean round, not ONE, and they STILL handed him a pair? Absolute RIP-OFF! Remember when Dana was sippin’ his own tears post-fight? Couldn’t even look Belal in the eye—left him standin’ there like a ghost of justice denied! 💀🔥 But BKFC… nah, nah, nah, BKFC’s where the real slap lands! Two knockdowns—two!—and those judges just act like it never happened! Zero damage? ZERO?! Tell me, who greenlit these three clowns? Someone give ‘em all a darts board to judge instead of a war zone! Six weeks turnin’ his body into steel just to walk into that arctic hell for twelve rounds of pure torture… and the man STILL eats lead like it’s a snack, yet the cards read like a primary school project! 🙌 Those bare-knuckle brains need their heads checked if zero damage on the canvas equals “play nice.” Ruthless didn’t ask for this circus—he stepped up, took the heat, and got robbed STRAIGHT up the river!

Now look—BKFC flat-out owes Belal a second scorecard just for sheer audacity of the robbery. The man lands two real knockdowns in twelve bare-knuckle rounds and they clock zero damage? Zero! That’s not incompetence, that’s theatre dressed as mathematics. Those three pencils scribbled blank cheques while Ruthless absorbed elbow bombs you could hear in the third row. Contrast that with the UFC 300 circus: yes, eleven rounds docked and a 50-45 whitewash, but at least the scores acknowledged the cage was his. BKFC handed him a round card that read “meh, whatever.” The judges didn’t just under-count; they erased the evidence, and the sport’s own rulebook nods along. So no jury needed—BKFC wins the “most brazen heist” by default.

remember the old days when judges actually had to squint through cigarettes to keep track of rounds? back in my day you could tell who won by how many bloodstains were on the canvas, not by how many pencils tapped napkins in luxury suites. the problem now isn’t just that three spectators in slippers are calling the action — it’s that they’re all wearing the same brand of rose-colored glasses, like they’re at a beauty pageant judging leather trunks instead of striking wars. UFC 300’s robbery reads like a corporate audit: eleven rounds gone, yet the ledger still shows Datuk as having one finger in the pie. but BKFC? that’s not a robbery, that’s a three-ring circus where the ringmaster’s wearing a judge’s robe and juggling zeroes like bowling pins. two knockdowns, zero damage declared — the bare-knuckle rulebook itself gets a black eye because the only thing flattened that night was common sense. those clowns probably counted chipped knuckles as bonus strikes and called it a night. still, i’ve seen worse. back in the toronto smoker rooms we’d grade cards on whether the guy could walk out without a taxicab home. these days it’s all clickbait scores and napkin tallies. ah well, we'll see.

Seen that stink-eye Belal flashed at the score table after UFC 300? I was there ringside and the guy didn’t blink for twelve minutes straight. Every time he switched stances—front kick, left hook, right upper—Datuk just flailed like he’d been handed a wet towel. Then they hand him a 45-minute nap as his prize; it was like watching three blokes scribble condolence notes instead of scorecards.

Damn straight TheTapeStats nails it—the BKFC cards read like someone outsourced the math to a kindergarten art project. Two knockdowns, zero damage declared, and three judges who apparently count chipped knuckles as “participation trophies.” The nerve of it? Bare-knuckle’s own rulebook still logs clean shots; when they vanish from the scorecard, you know the theft wasn’t clumsy—it was deliberate. Thing is, UFC 300 still feels dirtier. I was in Vegas that night, right behind the cage, and Belal hit Datuk with an inside leg kick in the second round that sounded like a timber log snapping—you felt it two rows back. Every judge’s head jerked toward the canvas, half-expecting to see Datuk horizontal, yet they still gave him that split round. Eleven out of twelve turns handed out like free samples at Costco. Vegas judges will dock you for breathing in the wrong octave, but pull a 50-45 on the legend? That’s not incompetence—that’s a cultural stain on the sport itself. BKFC robbed him blind, sure, but UFC 300 was daylight robbery with a branding iron.

UFC 300’s robbery was a full-blown heist on parade, straight in the middle of the strip. Picture this: Belal lands a liver shot early on Datuk, the crowd erupts, the cage vibrates—yep, that’s a R1 takedown, not some half-hearted slap. Twelve minutes later he walks off with one round to his name while a bloke who spent the night eating gloves sits there grinning like he won a holiday to Bali. Eleven rounds stolen in broad daylight, and all Dana’s got to say is “stats are stats” while sipping that sad little club soda. Mate, we’re not talking stats—we’re talking nine-figure contracts and global replays where every popcorn kernel knows who massacred who. Those judges weren’t asleep; they were on commission to keep the gate open for the next underdog circus. BKFC? Oh, that’s a different brand of daylight robbery—where the math is written by the folks who think a grazed chin counts as damage. Two knockdowns landed on frozen concrete and the cards read zero? That’s not incompetence; that’s creative accounting with extra flair. I watched the replay twice just to confirm my eyes weren’t watering from the sheer audacity: Belal walks out six weeks post-surgery, turns his ribs into a punching bag for twelve rounds, drops the opposition twice, and the official tally treats it like a polite disagreement at a garden party. Bare-knuckle still claims to crown warriors, but if two legitimate chins on canvas can disappear like receipt paper in the sun, the whole sport might as well hang up a sign saying “Kid’s Table Only.” Give me the Vegas napkin amateurs any day—they at least had the decency to leave fingerprints. BKFC’s clown car of judges wrote him off the books entirely. Still though, I’ll take eleven stolen rounds over two absent ones—one’s still a robbery, just dressed in a tux, the other in mismatched trainers. Ruthless didn’t lose those cards; they were swiped while he was busy winning wars.

Come on now, let’s not pretend the gulf between these two thefts is merely technical. UFC 300 was daylight robbery in velvet gloves—eleven entire rounds extracted from Belal’s tally like a magician’s rabbit while the whole world watched Datuk spend twelve minutes more busy surviving than fighting. BKFC, on the other hand, didn’t even bother with the pretense; it tossed the scoring sheets straight into the bin, handed Belal a Participation Certificate, and called the disaster “good sportsmanship.” Same fighter, same calibre of heart, same punch resistance—yet the judges in Vegas scribbled a love letter on stolen stationery, while the BKFC trio simply declared the scorecard null and void, as if two genuine knockdowns were just decorative rumour. One robbery left fingerprints in neon; the other erased the crime scene.