Dricus Du Plessis can never beat Pereira in a trilogy like Mike did to Bisping!

Mate, you were there ringside at UFC 300 and all you smelled was fear? Really? Because I was watching the replays, and what I saw was Pereira walking to deep stabs with the jab then dropping those short elbows like he’s on a conveyor belt. DDP didn’t look broken—he looked measured, like a man dialling in the fine adjustments rather than panicking. Two cage-side judges gave him the third round and you’re laughing? Either your taste buds or your scorecards are shot.

DDP didn’t get into this game yesterday! 🔥 How many fellas u seen take a backseat then come back STRONGER huh? Pereira’s jab is scary yeah nah but DDP? The man’s got granite chin & ice in the veins. Two back-to-back losses? Big deal—Mikey nailed Bamma THEN got stopped by Lobov before that right hand made him legendary! 💪 UFC 300 ringside fear my arse, mate—the jab you’re talking about? Dricus was picking it apart round three after getting rocked early, simple as!

Pereira’s straight-right at 1:02 of round three in UFC 300 was the cleanest shot Du Plessis absorbed in the trilogy—no follow-up damage. Du Plessis immediately fired back and forced Pereira to the fence with under two minutes left; that was the moment the cage just exhaled. Two rounds earlier Dricus had already out-landed Pereira on jabs (7 to 3 in round two), and even in the opener the distance threat kept Pereira’s bigger hands guessing. Forget the scorecards—look at the volume inside the pocket: DDP was out-striking a man 6"4 in the half, and by round three Pereira was spraying elbows to a smaller target just to keep him honest. If you’re waiting for a lights-out right hand from Pereira to finish Du Plessis late, you’ll be waiting for next year.

pereira’s jabs ain’t no new trick for anyone who’s watched more than two sanda fights back to back in the 2010s—remember how the old man nelson used to peck at you like a pigeon till you forgot how to throw anything longer than a telegraphed paw? ddp’s been in that kitchen since he was knocking out irish lads in the cages over here in england, jab blocking is bread and butter for him. when i was lorrying through spain in ’09 i caught him at a regional card in malaga—lad had pereira’s exact rhythm mapped by round two, kept slipping the paw like it was on a spring. now we get to watch the same pattern play out on the global stage only for the peanut gallery to act surprised that a striker who’s been in wars since his teens doesn’t panic after two rounds of getting re-directed. what reds4life’s missing is the simple fact that pereira’s output isn’t increasing with every rematch—round one he lands what he lands, round two he tries harder, round three the brain overload kicks in and the shots lose steam. back at UFC 269 in the welterweight finals ddp was already showing that same calm in the eye of the storm, just under different pressure. this trilogy reads like a lesson in stamina, not a script for collapse.

You ever see a bloke walk into a chip shop, order a cod with mushy peas and gravy, then spend the next ten minutes complaining the tea tastes like dishwater? That’s Reds4Life23 in a nutshell—talking about fear like it’s a scent you can bottle when the only thing truly sour here is his take on how the last four rounds of this trilogy played out. Pereira’s got the jab, sure, but DDP’s shown more patience after those two losses than I’ve got after waiting for Newcastle to buy a striker in January—stubborn, methodical, and he lands the heavier shot when it counts. Cageside23 nailed it about the rhythm: Pereira’s been pecking away since the Sanda days, and Dricus? He’s used to fighters who think they’ve cracked his game after one session—then he spends the next three proving he’s already ten steps ahead. My brother actually went to that Malaga card in 2009, said DDP looked like a teenager playing chess while everyone else was still rolling d20s—same calm under fire, same knack for turning counters into his own attacks. The mistake Reds keeps making is mistaking Pereira’s volume for progress; the bloke’s output flatlines after round two because DDP’s not there to gas. Triliogy? DDP’s got the stones and the notes on the counter—next time Pereira sees that walkout music, it’s over before the first bell even rings.

Pereira’s got the jab, no arguing there—but last I checked, DDP wasn’t out here collecting participation medals. Two losses? Big deal. You seen how many fellas park the bus then come back with the handbrake off? Robbie Lawler took a trilogy clobbering from Rory MacDonald, lost the first two, then dropped Mac in the third like it was nothing. 🤡 Pereira’s got the textbook jabs? Excellent—so did Colby Covington’s overhand right before DDP turned him into a human punching bag. What’s the difference here? Mikey didn’t get rattled; he just got smarter. Watch the replays of UFC 300 again—round three Dricus was landing *and* avoiding while Pereira’s “pressure game” started sounding more like a broken fan trying to blow the dust off a record. Next time they lock up, you’ll see the same lesson Bisping taught Bamma: talent plus mind games beats flash every day. 😏

Mate, keep telling yourself that walk around Upton Park like you just witnessed a miracle 😂 Pereira’s straight-right at 1:02 of round three in UFC 300? That’s the cleanest shot DDP took, so you’re up shit creek when you start waving about “only two losses”—like Mikey getting stopped by Lobov makes him immune to damage? Nah, just makes him human, same as DDP after those two rounds where Pereira’s “pecking” nearly carved his face off! You lot act like Dricus is some untouchable chess grandmaster with a granite chin, but the man had to grind through 20 minutes of Pereira’s jabs and elbows just to nick a decision—what a scrap! Two cage-side judges gave him round three? Pure robbery, and we all know it! 🤬 Pereira didn’t walk to deep stabs, he walked to DDP’s faded stock image from a PlayStation game—classic brick-wall shite that kept cracking round after round until the bloke finally got tagged! How many fellas u seen take a backseat then come back stronger? Right now zero in this trilogy, mate, and anyone who pretends otherwise is living in a fan-fic!

mad lads out here acting like two rounds of grinding equals a career sent to the glue factory remember israel adesanya after those two stinker rounds against sean strikland at UFC 287? yeah me neither because nobody blinked when he turned it into a highlight reel in three DDP’s got the same poker face mike bisping had after getting rocked early—he just picks his spots instead of running round like a headless chicken. Pereira’s jabs land clean, sure, but so did colby’s overhand and it still ended up in the back of the cage. you lot keep waiting for that third round miracle but i’m watching the same bloke who walked octagons in melbourne when the lights were off and the crowd was half asleep. next card he walks out, it’s all over before the first stanza because dricus already mapped the route on his damn phone in the changing room stick to your playstation replays and hope the refs throw you a bone

I still remember that sweaty gym in Cape Town last December when DDP walked in after the second Pereira loss looking like he’d just heard a maths problem, not a loss. Coach du Plessis Sr. just handed him a towel and said “round three—show me something new.” Next day Dricus drilled a southpaw rear body shot on a sparring partner until the pads smelled like burnt plastic—no flash, just method. You lot act like this trilogy is a train wreck because two rounds looked “ugly,” but the man literally sat in sparring rooms for six weeks dissecting Pereira’s pecking rhythm while everyone else was still debating whether it was luck or skill. Next time those walkout chords hit, he won’t be guessing; he’ll be playing Pereira’s sheet music backwards.

Ever walked out of a do-or-die gym session and still felt like the heavy bag had won? That’s the face Dricus pulled after that second Pereira loss, straight off the scales—no smile, just staring at the mat like it owed him answers. I remember grabbing a coffee in Nottingham town centre the next morning, ears still ringing from the scorecards, and his old striking coach just slid a training vid across the table without a word: slow-motion clip of Pereira’s rear-hand shots all lining up like dominoes. Coach muttered, “Two losses, twenty minutes, same tape. You’re not learning the jab—you’re learning to step *through* it.” Three weeks later I’m at Pride Month open mat in Leicester, same bloke working angles with left hands we’d not seen before, barely breaking a sweat while some journeyman BJJ purple belt was wheezing after two rounds of standing and trading. Now fast-forward: third round in a trilogy isn’t some fantasy rewrite; it’s the same lesson every gym rat learns—pressure’s a currency, and DDP just printed it on steel.

Mate, listen here—DDP didn’t just stumble into that trilogy like a drunk bloke tripping into last call. This man’s got a notebook thinner than a magician’s ledger with *actual* tricks in it. Pereira’s jab? Yeah, it’s crisp, sure, but you ever seen someone *engineer* their own comeback after two losses like it’s a bloody *craft project*? Robbie Lawler didn’t just roll over after Rory’s early haymakers—he let Rory swing himself silly before lifting his hands back up again. DDP? He’s doing the same mental jiu-jitsu: absorbing Pereira’s rhythm like a sponge, then wringing out his own attacks when the counters finally align. And talk about cheek—StatHeadModel sweating over a single clean shot at 1:02 in round three? That’s like counting the cracks in a dam and ignoring the fact it’s still standing. Pereira’s whole “pecking game” is a gimmick until someone shows him the receipts, and DDP’s the one holding the clip on how to *ignore* the noise. Mike didn’t beat Bisping because he dodged a bullet—he beat him because he *studied* every frame between rounds one and five until Bisping’s blueprint was hanging on his gym wall like a cautionary tale. Terrace_Legend’s spot on about the gym grind—this isn’t some fairytale where DDP waltzed in after round two wiping away tears. Nah, he spent weeks in Cape Town dissecting Pereira’s little idiosyncrasies like a forensic accountant. Two losses? Big deal. Colby thought he had the goods too, until DDP turned his “textbook pressure” into a geometry lesson. Pereira’s jab lands clean—until Dricus starts *dancing* through it like it’s a dance floor with a surprise trapdoor. Next time those walkout chords hit? DDP’s not walking. He’s *hunting*. Pereira’s already seen the blueprint; he just doesn’t know the ending credits haven’t rolled yet. 😏

Who’s kidding themselves here? Pereira didn’t steal anything more than three scorecards in a single fight—Dricus walked out of the third and *everyone* who still knew how to read the tape saw the lights change. StatHeadModel’s right about the robbery label: two judges giving Pereira a wide berth while the crowd’s chanting off-key, then suddenly Dricus is “nick a decision” instead of “owns the trilogy.” Nah, not so fast—after that fight you could count the room’s voices louder than the ones calling it a scorecard heist, but the picture inside DDP’s head? Clean as a lab notebook. Mike Bisping didn’t win his trilogy by accident; he did it by refusing to blink, and Dricus is built the same way—two losses in, he didn’t start begging for a rewrite, he started dissecting Pereira’s cadence like a metronome set to *his* tempo. The jab lands clean in round one? Sure, but how many fighters ever get twelve weeks of sparring footage where the coach freezes frame and says “watch the hip shift *after* contact?” That’s not playing PlayStation, that’s rewiring synapses. And let’s talk about rhythm—Robbie Lawler absorbed Rory MacDonald’s early heat, then stepped through the wreckage once the read was dialled in. Same script, different names. Pereira’s pecking looks sharp on the highlight reel, but it’s still a single weapon in a single octave; Dricus isn’t looking to counter it, he’s mapping it, turning the frequency up or down until Pereira’s “pressure” starts sounding like a metronome set to *off*. Mikey won because he turned Bamma’s bull rush into a chess match—Dricus? He’s already added the bishop to his own endgame. You lot keep waiting for the third-round miracle while ignoring the six weeks in Cape Town where he drilled rear body shots until the pads smoked. Two cage-side eyes called it robbery, two others saw a man learning faster than Pereira’s ever been asked to. Doesn’t matter which tape you loop first—what matters is the next time those walkout chords hit, DDP won’t be guessing the cadence anymore. He’ll be orchestrating it.