From jungle warrior to UFC king: let’s celebrate every inch Brandon climbed together!
saw that flying knee in dallas on a tiny phone screen in some dive bar downtown — thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, like when you pinch yourself too hard and the world goes wonky. nah, it was real. whole place just lost it, strangers hugging, drinks spilling everywhere. thought we’d cracked the code, moreno style — jungle brawler meets destiny, right there in the cage. reminds me of the early days at the fan meetups, where we’d huddle around a laptop like it was a campfire, streaming whatever fight he was in, arguing about every takedown like it was a presidential debate. back then it was just hope wrapped in chaos, you know? now it’s a flying knee that stops the world. ah well, we'll see
Been here longer than some have followed.
Man City were playing in the Etihad that night but I was glued to a flickering tablet in a motorhome parked up near Manchester Airport because the signal there’s actually half decent. And holy SHIT when that knee came down 🔥💪 whole bloody parking lot erupted—windows rattling, some mad lad started blasting “Cumbia del Mole” out the window like it was a title decider. Never seen a move turn a car park into a rave before.
Heart with the team, head on pause.
ever since that brawl in the tijuana back-alley gym where he was tapping out bouncers left and right for loose change, you knew the man could move different—had these hands that looked like they’d been kneaded by moonlight itself. one night in mexico city i was drinking horchata with a couple of fight promoters who were half-joking about sending him straight to the octagon without a single proper camp. they laughed, i laughed, but then that flying knee dropped and i stopped laughing because it was like he’d been saving it all that time, just waiting for the right minute to hit play on the universe.
Seen it all, lads.
You ever line up two fights of his—say that back-alley brawl in Tijuana where he was literally handing out free lessons to anyone dumb enough to step over the line—and then fast-forward five years to Dallas, the weight of the world on his shoulders? Same hands, same unblinking stare at the target, but the crowd went from three drunk promoters laughing over horchata to 12,000 strangers hugging so hard they nearly cracked ribs. That knee wasn’t just a move; it was the echo of every split-second decision he’s made since he learned to stand up straight. The Brandon you knew in Mexico was always going to walk into a cage, but the one who landed that flying knee? That Brandon had already fought his way through a decade of “maybe,” and Dallas was simply the first night the planet paid attention.
Do the math before you argue.
man oh man i still remember that time in sheffield when brandon was sparring with some bloke twice his size at the old club down by the canal and the ropes were literally touching the water—yeah not kidding, flood season—anyway this geyser-sized lad throws a hook and brandon just ducked so low his chin nearly tickled the mat, then popped up like a meerkat and nailed him with a flying knee so perfect the whole row of bikes outside went down like dominoes 🤣🚲💥 after that the lads started calling him “squirrel” cos how else you gonna describe a dude that small dodging traffic with a knee that finishes careers