Fighter Regrets UFC Snub
In the unpredictable world of MMA, where chaos often reigns and crazier headlines emerge daily, few are as eyebrow-raising as the tale of Robin Deakina fighter with a jaw-dropping record of 3-110, yet he’s convinced he could’ve made it to the UFC. Yes, you read that correctly. Three wins. One hundred and ten losses.
The ‘Worst Boxer in Britain’ Takes on MMA
Robin Deakin, once dubbed the “worst boxer in Britain” by the British media, made the leap from pugilism to the cage with the kind of optimistic bravado usually reserved for action movie protagonists and lottery ticket buyers. His athletic resume may read more like a cruel joke than a career statistic, but don’t tell him that. He believes there was once a path that could’ve taken him to MMA’s most hallowed ground: the UFC.
In a recent interview with Mat Bet On Sports, Deakin opened up about his tragically comic combat career and the roads not taken. “I could have made the UFC, but people didn’t want to give me a chance,” he claimed. Given the fact that his name sits beside Colby Covington on at least one event poster, some may argue he wasn’t totally on another planet. Just in another galaxy’s minor league circuit.
From Sanctioned to Sidelined
Deakin emerged on the British boxing scene with potential. A flashy debut win in 2006 quickly turned into a rapidfire downward spiral, eventually resulting in regulators revoking his license for safety concerns. Now that’s a plot twist. But rather than call it a dayor even a decadeDeakin dipped a foot into MMA, where he proceeded to, well, lose some more.
And yet, the 37-year-old Brit sticks by the belief that, had he been given the right coaching and financial backing, he could’ve made a proper run. “People didn’t give me the tools I needed; they just wanted to pad records with me,” said Deakin. There it isthe subtle jab at the industry while still jabbing at shadows. In fairness, he’s not entirely wrong. The fight game, at its seediest levels, has always thrived on ‘stepping-stone’ opposition.
His 110 Losses Weren’t All Created Equal
While most fighters would sooner retire than kiss triple digits in the ‘L’ column, Deakin treated it like mileage on a used Pintojust keep driving until it stops moving. Impressively, he racked up this comical tally without ever getting completely destroyed each time. Some bouts were competitive. Some weren’t. All were lost.
It’s like watching a man charge into a windmill out of pure, unfiltered stubbornnessand in his mind, that bravery alone means something. “I took fights on a day’s notice and traveled across the world just to get in there,” he said. “No one was willing to do that. They wanted perfect records. Me? I just wanted to fight.”
The Covington Connection
Here’s where the curious spike in the narrative occurs. As if the MMA gods had a mischievous sense of irony, Deakin once appeared on the same card as Colby Covington, former UFC interim welterweight champion and master of welterweight trash-talk. The idea that a man with 110 losses once shared an event bill with one of the most controversial contenders in MMA history is as surreal as anything in this sport.
“If Colby can do it, why couldn’t I, if I had that same push?” Deakin asked candidly. Of course, Deakin’s question ignores the fact that Covington was a collegiate wrestler, national champion on the mats, and…well…hasn’t lost 110 times professionally.
The Cult Hero, Not the Champion
If nothing else, Robin Deakin has built a cult following. He’s the living embodiment of grit without glory, a kind of anti-hero in four-ounce gloves. His belief in himself, while bordering on delusional, taps into a feel-good formulaeveryone loves a trier, especially when the odds are astronomical. He may never get the UFC gloves, but he’s got more heart than half the rankings combined.
“I may not have trophies or belts, but I have passion, and you can’t teach that,” Deakin said proudly. It’s the type of quote that walks the line between cringe and courage, but hey, so does every post-fight interview in the UFC.
A Punchline with Purpose?
In a sport obsessed with the undefeated, there’s something refreshingly raw about a man who just kept showing up, win or losemostly lose. Deakin may not earn a call-up from Dana White anytime soon, but in an alternate universe where heart counts on the scorecards, he’s probably world champ.
For now, he’s resigned to folk-hero status. No shiny Octagon cage walk. No top-five bonanza. Just a man with a dream that refused to quit. If you squint hard enough, that’s what greatness looks like… or at least what persistence gone rogue can become.
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