Deron Winn has a tall task against him tomorrow night

shortlefthook said:
His head is twice the size as volks his frame is completely different i bet if you measure their wrist and and ankles winns are significantly bigger.
The human body is more complex than “hes this height he should be in this weightclass”
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Only bigger due to fat.

People talk about Winn as if he’s a barn door. I was expecting to see someone like Sean Sherk at 170 but look at the pictures he’s just a chubby featherweight.
 
Askafan said:
Winn is 1-2, has had a fotn bonus and his show money is $12k, why would they cut him? His size alone makes him a talking point and creates interest in the card.
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$12K is a high salary in the DWTS era.
 
wufabufa said:
This will be 3 straight loses if he fucks up tomorrow night. Uncle Tomato will for sure send him his walking papers. But yeah he'd have to make the move to 170 to stay in the in UFC if they do extend his contract. Otherwise he'll just stay fat and move on to the PFL or maybe Bellator.

Honestly I think he could make 155 with some discipline. Even at 170 he'd have to fight guys a full head taller than him.
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I was going to say 155lbs also...but I thought that might a bit too light...even though he's short, he's still rather bulky. but the guy isn't lean at all...it's probably an ego thing with him. I always find myself rooting against him. just move down in weight. he's going to constantly be fighting guys a foot over him.
 
I have to agree with the everyone here, he is far too short for 185. If he were actually ripped like Sean Sherk that would be one thing, but he’s not, he actually has some fat on hit.

I would assume this is his choice since no credible coach/team with encourage this behavior. Him not wanting to cut weight make his fights borderline status freak show fights. And what sucks is that he is talented he could prob do something at the lighter weights if he was actually disciplined and dieted.
 
Hitto said:
{<jordan}

How does Deron struggle to make 185? His opponent literally looks 3 weight classes bigger than him
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The base weight for drawves is 20 lbs higher than humans

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Conor could rest his balls on Winns forehead.
 
mudrubble said:
I've fought taller guys and won so why can't he?

Back in the day before I knew what jobs were I’d hang out A LOT. Exclusively, I’d say. Sometimes in plain view, but sometimes more lurking in the shadows. Life was about warfare. Combat. Of the hand to hand variety. I looked the part and I played it better than DeNiro.

I’d rock a soldier’s hat and army boots, at all times. Sometimes I’d also have other clothing on, sometimes not. But I always had a cocky attitude about me. I was a bit of a legend in my own mind. Save your jokes about sparse clothing and cocks for some other mark. I was quick to snap, and snap got to breaking even faster.

This one guy drove past me in his fancy car – I think it was a Toyota. When you ride a stolen kid’s bike a Toyota is a fancy car. I let him go about his way, no problems. I wasn’t a complete and utter asshole yet at this point in my life. But I saw, plain as day, he went up the street and made a U-turn. I started thinking he was coming back for me. Yeah, it must be that. There’s no defense like a good offense I always say. So I stepped into the middle of the street to test his guts. Game of chicken – flesh vs metal. Odds against me but my warrior spirit was strong and unflinching. I had a saying “I don’t back down to vehicles” at that point in my life. I’ve since adjusted that philosophy a tad.

Dude drives up to me and stops. The arrogance. Just stops. Dead in the middle of the street like some kind of shmuck. I was still foggy from last night’s moonshine and beer (as well as from this morning’s moonshine. And beer) so I was trying to piece together what he could have meant by this display. He was no further than spitting distance from me honking his horn and talking about “get out of the street” and stuff. Why was he so close? Did he intend to spit on me?

I wasn’t going to give him time to decide (I had another saying at that point in my life – “fuck your decisions”). I launched into decisive action. I threw a rock through his front windshield and it hit him in the chest. While he was realizing what was happening I ran around and sliced his front driver’s side tire. I punched my hand through the driver door window and grabbed hold of his throat. Funny thing is he was just talking tough about getting out of the street and am I crazy and stuff but now he couldn’t talk at all! He was just making gurgling sounds.

So he hits the gas and damn near tore my arm open on the broken glass as he sped off, a little unsteady from the flat tire. I had to let go. But now I’m in the middle of the street alone looking like a goof to onlookers. I hate looking like a goof. I need to hit something. So I run to the sidewalk and hit the first guy I see – older gentleman. Seemed like a nice guy. In any other circumstance we’d be friends but embarrassed warriors don’t make good friends so I wasn’t in the mood at all. I clocked him with the overhand right. Just naked. The punch. Well… me too but I’m talking about the punch.

It only seemed to daze him slightly. I wasn’t a hard hitter but I threw a lot of punches. So I tried to follow up with a head kick. Admittedly, I wasn’t the most flexible warrior out there and I kind of fell off balance and landed on my butt. I felt queasy. Like the beer sloshing around in my belly was gonna come up. So I faced dude and let him have it. Right in his face. I used to call it The Fountain of Life because I found that after a good upchuck I could always drink more. So I let him have it. This pussy was so shocked he literally stumbled over his words…. “what the fucks” and “you’re fucking crazy” and all that stuff – the usual. So I took that time to teep kick him in the belly, this time successfully. He flew back against a store window.

I saw my opportunity. I leapt toward him, raising my hand for a flying hammer fist of death, but the old guy was quicker than I expected, even with his vision impaired by The Fountain of Life. He stepped to the side, and I flew through the storefront, landing on broken glass in the middle of the local café. Embarrassed because I literally lived 2 doors down and these guys knew me well. I’d promised not to beg on their premises earlier that year. And I kept my word – I wasn’t here to beg.

I got up and declared war. Arm and body bleeding, belly bubbling, with a warrior look on my face, I stood there and challenged every man, woman, and child in that café to a battle royal. Two cowards jumped up and grabbed my two arms while a third put me in a headlock. A HEADLOCK! I thought I was old school, lol…. a headlock! What was so funny to me hours later was that I could scarcely believe it was me doing all these things - that’s not who I am! I’m a man of peace! But I had forgotten the way. Only temporarily, yes, but long enough to do some serious damage. To my already failing reputation especially.

Anyway, the guys at the café now leave my offerings outside the door (cookies, a mini-muffin and, if I’m willing to wait, a warm coffee) and tell me not to enter the place ever again, although they will continue to feed me “out of the goodwill of their hearts”. Give me a break. Eyeroll. The embarrassment lives on but I have the personal victory of knowing that these guys respect my willingness to throw down, even against unbeatable odds. Whenever I remind them they say “yeah yeah, we know – you’re a warrior” and in a strange way that’s enough for me. I guess age does really bring humbleness.
Click to expand...

Can you write an erotic novel for us?

Asking for a friend.
 
mudrubble said:
I've fought taller guys and won so why can't he?

Back in the day before I knew what jobs were I’d hang out A LOT. Exclusively, I’d say. Sometimes in plain view, but sometimes more lurking in the shadows. Life was about warfare. Combat. Of the hand to hand variety. I looked the part and I played it better than DeNiro.

I’d rock a soldier’s hat and army boots, at all times. Sometimes I’d also have other clothing on, sometimes not. But I always had a cocky attitude about me. I was a bit of a legend in my own mind. Save your jokes about sparse clothing and cocks for some other mark. I was quick to snap, and snap got to breaking even faster.

This one guy drove past me in his fancy car – I think it was a Toyota. When you ride a stolen kid’s bike a Toyota is a fancy car. I let him go about his way, no problems. I wasn’t a complete and utter asshole yet at this point in my life. But I saw, plain as day, he went up the street and made a U-turn. I started thinking he was coming back for me. Yeah, it must be that. There’s no defense like a good offense I always say. So I stepped into the middle of the street to test his guts. Game of chicken – flesh vs metal. Odds against me but my warrior spirit was strong and unflinching. I had a saying “I don’t back down to vehicles” at that point in my life. I’ve since adjusted that philosophy a tad.

Dude drives up to me and stops. The arrogance. Just stops. Dead in the middle of the street like some kind of shmuck. I was still foggy from last night’s moonshine and beer (as well as from this morning’s moonshine. And beer) so I was trying to piece together what he could have meant by this display. He was no further than spitting distance from me honking his horn and talking about “get out of the street” and stuff. Why was he so close? Did he intend to spit on me?

I wasn’t going to give him time to decide (I had another saying at that point in my life – “fuck your decisions”). I launched into decisive action. I threw a rock through his front windshield and it hit him in the chest. While he was realizing what was happening I ran around and sliced his front driver’s side tire. I punched my hand through the driver door window and grabbed hold of his throat. Funny thing is he was just talking tough about getting out of the street and am I crazy and stuff but now he couldn’t talk at all! He was just making gurgling sounds.

So he hits the gas and damn near tore my arm open on the broken glass as he sped off, a little unsteady from the flat tire. I had to let go. But now I’m in the middle of the street alone looking like a goof to onlookers. I hate looking like a goof. I need to hit something. So I run to the sidewalk and hit the first guy I see – older gentleman. Seemed like a nice guy. In any other circumstance we’d be friends but embarrassed warriors don’t make good friends so I wasn’t in the mood at all. I clocked him with the overhand right. Just naked. The punch. Well… me too but I’m talking about the punch.

It only seemed to daze him slightly. I wasn’t a hard hitter but I threw a lot of punches. So I tried to follow up with a head kick. Admittedly, I wasn’t the most flexible warrior out there and I kind of fell off balance and landed on my butt. I felt queasy. Like the beer sloshing around in my belly was gonna come up. So I faced dude and let him have it. Right in his face. I used to call it The Fountain of Life because I found that after a good upchuck I could always drink more. So I let him have it. This pussy was so shocked he literally stumbled over his words…. “what the fucks” and “you’re fucking crazy” and all that stuff – the usual. So I took that time to teep kick him in the belly, this time successfully. He flew back against a store window.

I saw my opportunity. I leapt toward him, raising my hand for a flying hammer fist of death, but the old guy was quicker than I expected, even with his vision impaired by The Fountain of Life. He stepped to the side, and I flew through the storefront, landing on broken glass in the middle of the local café. Embarrassed because I literally lived 2 doors down and these guys knew me well. I’d promised not to beg on their premises earlier that year. And I kept my word – I wasn’t here to beg.

I got up and declared war. Arm and body bleeding, belly bubbling, with a warrior look on my face, I stood there and challenged every man, woman, and child in that café to a battle royal. Two cowards jumped up and grabbed my two arms while a third put me in a headlock. A HEADLOCK! I thought I was old school, lol…. a headlock! What was so funny to me hours later was that I could scarcely believe it was me doing all these things - that’s not who I am! I’m a man of peace! But I had forgotten the way. Only temporarily, yes, but long enough to do some serious damage. To my already failing reputation especially.

Anyway, the guys at the café now leave my offerings outside the door (cookies, a mini-muffin and, if I’m willing to wait, a warm coffee) and tell me not to enter the place ever again, although they will continue to feed me “out of the goodwill of their hearts”. Give me a break. Eyeroll. The embarrassment lives on but I have the personal victory of knowing that these guys respect my willingness to throw down, even against unbeatable odds. Whenever I remind them they say “yeah yeah, we know – you’re a warrior” and in a strange way that’s enough for me. I guess age does really bring humbleness.
Click to expand...
<{ByeHomer}>
 
Seriously, how can someone think mma is a good career when they're 5'6" and fighting at near 200lbs? He seems to have no weapons at all except takedowns which could win him some fights but it's not like he's making much money.
 
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