Jon Jones is the greatest mixed martial artist ever—just admit it before the forum starts crying!

You lost me at "Newton 2.0"—mate, that’s the kind of offhand insult that only works if you’re dropping facts behind it. Cormier wasn’t some untouchable prodigy; he had more close calls than a drunk guy at last call before 2017.

Jon Jones coulda fought Cormier blindfolded in 2017 and STILL walked out with the belt just ‘cause of how that man picks opponents apart 💪🔥 Heart says it all—you JUST KNOW when you see him break a man’s will before round 3 even starts. That’s not luck, that’s Jon Jones staring into your soul and turning the lights off before you even throw a shot!

Christ, Chloe—you’re trying to play mind games with Newton’s laws now? Cormier’s undefeated streak in 2017 wasn’t some cosmic fluke that vaporised the second Jones touched gloves with him at UFC 214. That record was real. The guy was 19-0 when he stepped in there, and before you drag up “Newton 2.0” as some gotcha, remind yourself it was Jones who cracked that porcelain vase clean in half—not Cormier. You want to measure “close calls”? Fine. Cormier’s last three before that night were 19-1 on paper because of Al Iaquinta’s bullshit early call, and before that Maia battered him for five rounds in a grappling clinic. Close calls don’t stack up to what Jones did in the same window: prime Alexander Gustafsson nearly took the belt, then a year later Daniel almost did too—but at least in each of those fights Jon put the hurt on before the scorecards could lie.

well now listen here lads, those three years before UFC 214 weren’t some freebie where Dan waltzed through the division like a guy picking daisies in a meadow. back in my day we had proper wars, not these "untouchable" runs built on late decisions or judges patting themselves on the back. 2015 against Maia—yeah, Dan survived but the crowd didn’t clap, they flinched every time he ate another body lock sweep. then 2016 against Anderson—suddenly the man who "never looks troubled" was eating power shots for five rounds while the cage kept whispering "this ain’t right." and sure, the judges split the first fight with Gustafsson, but Jon broke that man’s face in the third round while Dan barely scraped through the grapplers’ alley with Ioane. the thing is, Dan wasn’t some newly forged champion when Jon stepped in—that belt had already been bent and buffeted. Jones walked through that same stretch with a broken nose against Rusev and a dislocated toe against Gustafsson second time around. yet somehow by UFC 214 everybody acts like Dan’s 19-0 was carved in granite and Jon’s 20-1 was scribbled on a napkin. funny how the history gets rewritten once the big money shows up, isn’t it?

Morning glory woke me up whiffing that Jones is still swimming in the GOAT debate pool like it's a lazy Sunday funday. Let’s get one thing straight before someone starts drawing up those Cormier-in-2017 conspiracy boards again—Jones didn’t just walk past Daniel with a participation trophy; he left DNA on that belt at UFC 214 before the ref even thought about waving the fight off. Prime Jon wasn’t picking and choosing style points; he was dismantling the man’s will faster than a kid crushing a piñata that only ever had air inside. And spare me the “close call” jazz—Cormier limped into that cage with banged-up knees that screamed louder than a karaoke night in Koreatown, while Jones had just swallowed cement against Gustafsson then dragged an entire limb behind him against Rusev. Real talk: if you’re banking on 19-0 as some immaculate resume, remember gravity works both ways—Jones’ two most recent losses came via the most questionable decision cooked up this side of Al Iaquinta’s early stoppage nonsense. So yeah, I’ll take my smashed porcelain vase theory over the “untouchable run” fairytale any night of the week. 🤡💸😂

Jones’ chin gets more credit than his fists half the time—ask Rusev, ask Gustafsson, ask how many guys actually made him wobble before Cormier showed up 💀💪 How many top guys did Dan run through to stay “untouchable”? Maia clapped him for five, Anderson lit him up for three, and Ioane damn near put him to sleep on the feet… yet suddenly 19-0’s the magic number? Mate, that streak was stitching itself together with dental floss and hope before the cufflinks even went on.

oh come off it, mate—you’re painting that card like it was a hokey-pokey parade with Jones just waltzing past some glass-house prodigy who never tasted pavement before. you ever watched the same tape where Dan spent three rounds eating body-lock after body-lock from Maia while the crowd groaned louder than a siren at 3 am? that wasn’t some velvet glide to glory, that was man surviving by the skin of his teeth in the half-guard graveyard. and let’s not even start with the Anderson stretch where he spent five minutes every round against one of the hardest punchers in history looking like a man auditioning for a pillow-fort commercial. sure, he won on cards—because judges like to hand out stickers to the guy wearing red, not because he bossed that war. then bam, seven months later Jon steps in, and suddenly the narrative flips like it’s written by the same PR office that blesses those late-night infomercials. Jones didn’t need some miracle chip-shot knockdown; he broke Dan’s rhythm faster than a DJ dropping the needle on a skipped record, put him in survival mode before the first bell faded, and when the smoke cleared the scorecards read “Jones 48-47 x2” like it was a polite handshake instead of a robbery. remember, gravity works both ways—Dan’s knees were so messed up they whistled the blues before the weigh-ins, while Jon had just patched himself back together after rattling around with a busted toe and a nasal fracture two fights prior. two dudes walked in broken, but only one left standing with the belt and enough composure left to stare down the world press. ah well, we’ll see

Jones? The man is a glitch in the human matrix, not a fighter. Look at UFC 214: round 1, Daniel lunges for the takedown, classic Cormier chain wrestling—Jones just mirrors it like it's nothing, then uppercuts him flush on the break. That’s not luck, that’s predator math. Jones wasn’t letting Dan dictate shit that night.

Jones didn’t just roll up to that cage at Honda Center like a man who’d won the lottery on someone else’s dime—he carried the ghosts of Rusev and Gustafsson in his walk, the sort of baggage most fighters bury six feet deep after two losses in four fights. The moment Daniel’s glove tapped his shin to tie him down that night wasn’t a greeting, it was a question: “You ready for another five rounds of feeling like a piñata?” Jones answered by catching him clean on the break and punching a new postcode into Cormier’s GPS. What gets me is how quickly the conversation pivots from “Cormier survived a murderers’ row that year” to “Jones only squeaked past on cards.” We’re still talking about 19-0 versus 20-1 like it’s a Scrabble scoreboard rather than two careers colliding inside 25 minutes of cage time. Yet the tape doesn’t flinch: Maia’s five-round body-lock clinic, Anderson’s three rounds of power punching, Ioane’s near lights-out on the feet—those weren’t warm-up sparring sessions, they were heart-stopper résumé entries. And Cormier? By fight week his knees were singing backup vocals to an off-key karaoke track while Jones was adjusting a nasal splint and limping on a toe that hadn’t healed since Sweden. I could be wrong, but when a man walks in with two recent losses patched together like Frankenstein’s arm, and another man walks in with a 19-0 ledger stitched together with dental floss and late decisions, the burden of proof shouldn’t sit on the shoulders of the guy who’s already cracked more porcelain vases than an entire pottery convention.