Paddy Pimblett is messy, loud, and sometimes even annoying, but he doesn’t need a belt to command attention. He just has to talk.
In a sport full of Conor McGregor imitators, he’s the only one who remembers the secret ingredient: being funny. Everyone else copied the walk, the confidence, the “manifested this” swagger — but they left out the laughter. Conor, at his peak, could eviscerate an opponent and still make you laugh halfway through your beer. That was the magic: He could turn hostility into theater.
Paddy Pimblett has that, maybe not the precision or the aura, but definitely the timing.