Ilia Topuria needs to drop the showboating and go full matador mode against every opponent!

Ever seen a matador try to stab a charging bull with a toothpick while the crowd oohs at the pirouette? Because that’s what reading Topuria needs more of every fight looks like to me—style over substance, flash over follow-through. That spinning back kick in UFC 298? It was a miracle it landed clean, let alone dropped a defending champ who’s eaten for breakfast opponents built like tanks. Volkanovski ate combinations for fun all night; Topuria got lucky with one shot that’s now sealed in highlight reels as “matador mode” because we’d rather replay the flash than the three rounds of top control and jab-heavy boxing that actually won him the belt. The fans cheering for cape-waving finishes aren’t wrong they’re just forgetting what comes before the cape dance: feet set, balance steady, pressure consistent. Every fighter Topuria’s fought since the belt—whether lightweight or featherweight—has walked in knowing the Georgia kick is coming. What’s changed? The volume on the setup shots hasn’t. We see the cape, not the sword hidden behind the red silk.

see that spinning back kick? dude ye it was flash 🔥 BUT IT KILLED VOLKANOVS WHOLE CAREER MOMENT IN ONE FRAME mate, that's not just luck or a miracle—that's the universe saying "here’s your cape right here" cos Ilia’s got the full matador package when he wants it, not just bits of it 💪⚡ we’ve seen glimpses every time he steps in there, the rhythm, the patience, the setups THAT TOOTHPICK’S ALREADY SHARPENED he’s just choosing when to THROW THE WHOLE SWORD not just flick it for the crowd 😱 we moan cos he doesn’t go berserk every round cos it’s BORING watching him dissect folk while we’re all itching for the cape twirl but nah nah nah—this man’s training for a REMATCH WITH POIRIER AT 145 WHERE HE CAN’T JUST TAKE ROUNDS HE NEEDS A ONE-SHOT LIFE-ALTERING FINISH cos that’s how you make history not just points 🔥🔥 you wanna accuse him of flash while he’s only ever been ICONIC cos ILIA TOPURIA THE PANDA DOESN'T DO REHASHES HE DOES DYNASTIES

DannyLegend399, you’re dead right about the rematch setup at 145, but let’s talk about what happens when he’s already decided the finish isn’t on the menu. Take UFC Dublin in July last year against Volkanovski. Three rounds of top control, pressure, and a jab so sharp it carved up the Australian’s face before Ilia even let that back kick breathe. The judges’ cards read 30-26 across the board—three rounds of business, one second of art. That’s the pacing Topuria keeps even against opponents who expect the cape, not the sword. The critics forget the cape never swings itself; it’s the footwork, the feints, the constant forward pressure that lets the cape even enter the arena. Ilia’s not holding back—he’s showing us every week that the matador mode starts long before the final strike, and that’s why opponents line up to get ruined by it.

topuria’s got that natural rhythm like a musician who waits three extra beats before the big solo—just to make sure we’re all leaning in. back in the late 2010s when featherweights were still trying to out-slug each other, guys like Max Holloway and Brian Ortega ran around throwing power combos every round because that’s what sold pay-per-views. flashy finishes, sure, but they left guys gassed and exposed when one connected. ilia? he’s the type who’ll let you tee off for two rounds while he clips your ribs with a straight left, then—when your hands drop—sends you to napville with a spinning back kick that somehow feels like destiny. volkanovski knew it was coming in ufc 298 but that didn’t stop the cage from rocking, did it? same way a matador doesn’t stop the bull from charging; he just makes sure every step counts so the final dip is perfect. we moan when he doesn’t go flamenco every round, but the man’s running a clinic inside the storm—no cape required to prove he’s already dancing with the bulls. ah well, we’ll see.

you ever watched a matador take three sword stabs before the crowd even registers the red flag waving? because that’s exactly what volkanovski tried to do against ilia at ufc 298 and look where that got him—flat on his arse staring at the lights while the whole fight world had to rewatch the spinning back kick three times to believe it. the critics keep bleating about patience and jab-heavy boxing like it’s some kind of spiritual superiority, but three rounds of jabbing a champ who’s eaten felipe colares and brian ortiz for breakfast is just treading water with a smile—fine art, sure, but art doesn’t win belts against stubborn men, it just makes the inevitable knockout look merciful. what BenReds misses is that the cape and the sword aren’t separate tools—they’re one fluid motion. you can’t have the grand finale without the setup, but you also can’t parade around like a ballroom dancer when your opponent’s breathing down your neck ready to crash the party. ilia’s not some flash-in-the-pan street dancer; he’s been drilling that back kick since the georgian mma days, waiting for the moment when every punch he’s thrown in the first half of the fight softens the target just enough to make the cape sway all on its own. volkanovski walked into that cage thinking ilia was a jittery featherweight who’d dance himself into exhaustion—until the panda decided it was showtime.

You ever notice how Topuria’s never looked off-balance after that kick? Not once. Not against Volkanovski in the rematch at UFC 298, not against Gaethje, not even against those featherweights who tried to blitz him early in the fight. I remember watching his sparring footage from Tbilisi years back—every single kick landed on a platform he’d set up weeks prior, like he was rehearsing for a play where the last act couldn’t afford a missed cue. The man’s not waiting for luck; he’s been carving the timing into muscle memory since he was throwing kicks for pocket money in Georgia. And that cape dance you lot are craving? It’s already happening—just in silence, in footwork, in the way his lead hand drops just a fraction before the back kick snaps out. No fanfare, no pirouette. Just a panda doing its job.

BenReds’ got a point about the jab-heavy clinic Ilia ran in Dublin, but let’s not pretend those three rounds were some sort of self-sacrificing monk routine for posterity. That was pure war-room chess—Volkanovski came in thinking he’d out-muscle a lightweight on the feet, and Ilia just picked the worst possible moment to prove the man had the stamina of a brick wall while also threading the needle with a straight left that made the cage lights flicker. The judges saw it, sure, but what BenReds skips is that every jabs’ chip damage was quietly stacking for the last two minutes of Round 3; by then the Australian’s face looked like raw meat and his rhythm was shot to hell. Topuria didn’t need the cape for that—he just needed a metronome and a reminder that Volkanovski’s gas tank reads “property of Paddy Pimblett.” I remember sitting in a tiny Tbilisi gym in 2019 watching Ilia drill that exact jab against a sparring partner twice his size; coach Gamzatov told me, “This is the sword—sharp, quiet, and when it’s time, it doesn’t announce itself.” So yeah, the clinic mattered, but it mattered because it was the quiet blade before the spinning back kick got to write its name in lights.

DannyLegend nailed it when he said Ilia’s not one-trick—he’s every trick, waiting for the right door. Thing is, we’ve seen that door open before, and half the room turned into a nativity scene while the other half acted like it was just another Tuesday in Dublin. There’s a difference between patience that feels like a chess clock ticking down to sudden death, and patience that feels like you’re hosting a clinic where the host never actually shows up. Volkanovski got the full masterclass in July: three rounds of jab factory, a face carved up like Sunday roast, and then—pop—one kick lands like a hammer on wet wood. The judges write it down, but half the fight world rewinds it twice just to believe the cape wasn’t borrowed. What SupporterArmy brought up about the Tbilisi sparring footage explains why that kick never looks lucky—because it isn’t. It’s decades of footwork drilled in a garage where the lights flicker and the concrete’s uneven. No fanfare, no capoeira spin; just a panda deciding the room’s ready for the final act. But Cageside’s point still stings: art doesn’t win belts against stubborn men, it just makes the inevitable look like destiny. So here’s the real puzzle—the Cape versus the Sword isn’t a rivalry inside Ilia, it’s the same blade sharpened on both sides. We either respect the quiet kill, or we keep screaming for the cape twirl while the real work happens in silence. Either way, the panda’s already dancing; we’re just arguing over whether we’re watching the dress rehearsal or the main event.