The Prospect Everyone Knew… But Not Everyone Backed

If you’ve been around the Aussie scene for a while, you’ve heard the name.

Izzy Fitikefu has been that guy for years, a fighter other fighters don’t rush to call out. He’s had long stretches without fights, but never long stretches without being dangerous.

In the podcast, Mitch Tinley summed it up best: Izzy has been one of the most hyped prospects skill-wise, but somehow never got the mainstream push he deserved — despite wins over names that matter.

He’s beaten legit Australian talent. He’s been in the mix. He’s been “next” for what feels like forever.

And then 2020 happened… and the UFC call came.

Abu Dhabi 2020: The Call You Don’t Think Twice About

COVID-era UFC in Abu Dhabi was chaos. Short notice replacements. Backup fighters. Uncertainty right up until fight night.

Izzy was there with his team — including his close training partners — and he was doing what elite gyms do: staying ready in case something went sideways.

Then it did.

A situation unfolded around a middleweight bout (testing and corner issues), and the UFC needed a backup. Izzy’s manager asked the question every fighter lives for:

“Do you want to take the fight?”

Izzy’s answer?

He didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s go.”

There was only one problem: he wasn’t a middleweight at the time — he was heavier. So when he tried to load up on weight, the UFC nutritionist basically gave him the most unscientific instruction ever spoken in professional sport:

Eat everything in sight.

Izzy did exactly that… and still couldn’t get his weight up the way he wanted. But none of it mattered, because he wasn’t thinking about comfort — he was thinking about opportunity.

He sat in his room on fight night shadowboxing like a man about to go to war… while the card played out and nobody knew whether he was actually fighting.

Then the call finally came.

You’re not fighting.

But what came next was the twist.

“You’re Not Fighting… But We’ll Sign You”

Even though he didn’t get the fight, the UFC saw enough: willingness, readiness, and the reputation he’d built on the regional scene.

So they signed him.

Not a “maybe later” handshake. A real signing.

And then — two weeks later — they offered him a UFC fight.

Izzy wasn’t chasing a contract anymore.

He was preparing for a UFC opponent.

He was in.

The Injury That Changed Everything

Training camp is where dreams either sharpen… or snap.

Izzy was preparing for a style that wanted to put you on the fence, throw you, grind you — the kind of physical fight where your joints and tendons become collateral.

In a grappling exchange during prep, he had an underhook and went to hit a hip throw against the wall.

His body didn’t move.

His elbow did.

And that was it.

He tore the ligaments in his elbow.

And in the cold reality of the fight business, the UFC told him what fighters hate hearing but can’t argue with:

If you can’t fight, we can’t keep you.

Just like that — he went from “signed UFC fighter with a bout lined up” to cut, without ever getting to step into the Octagon.

Closest you can get… without getting there.

The Two-Year Silence: “I Need a Fight”

This is the part that breaks people.

Not the injury. Not the cut.

The quiet after.

Izzy described the next two years as grinding nonstop — asking for fights, chasing opponents, pushing his manager and coaches, hunting for matchups across Australia and New Zealand.

And getting nothing.

Two years. No fight.

Opponents would say yes… then disappear mid-camp. Promotions would stall. Matchups wouldn’t materialise.

He put it like a man starving:

Imagine you haven’t eaten for a year.

That’s what it felt like — except the “food” wasn’t fame or likes. It was the thing fighters need to stay alive inside:

competition.

Eventually, someone put their hand up. Izzy finally got a fight — and when the opponent didn’t come out for round two, Izzy wasn’t relieved.

He was furious.

Because he’d waited two years for that moment, and it still didn’t feel like the full release he needed.

Why ONE Championship Made Sense (Even With the Frustration)

At one point, ONE came calling.

Izzy had previously said no — but after the regional scene gave him drought conditions, the logic became simple:

At least ONE can offer fights.

And when fights come, Izzy says the experience is good.

The issue?

The gaps.

Pulled opponents. Weight issues. Long waits. Camps that don’t turn into walkouts. That feeling of being “worn out at training” without the payoff.

He even joked he’d take anything:

Muay Thai. Kickboxing. Karate.

Just give him a fight.

Because for Izzy, staying ready isn’t motivational content — it’s a survival strategy.

Faith, Family, and Not Being Jealous

The conversation took a turn when Mitch asked something a lot of fans wonder:

What’s it like watching your teammates — Rob Whittaker and Jacob Malkoun — living the UFC life while you’re still chasing the door?

Izzy’s answer was pure him:

He doesn’t envy it.

He sees jealousy as ego.

He’s happy for them — genuinely.

And he believes his moment will come when it’s meant to.

That mindset isn’t accidental either. He openly spoke about how close he came to being angry “in a bad way” during those drought years — not just because he’s a competitor, but because he’s a father with mouths to feed.

And that’s where faith became more than background religion.

It became the thing that stopped him from snapping.

“Training With Rob Is Harder Than the Fight”

If you’ve ever wondered whether elite gyms are really different, Izzy gave you the blunt version:

Training with Rob Whittaker and Jacob Malkoun?

Harder than a fight.

Not in an Instagram caption way — in a “we have wars here” way.

And that matters, because Izzy knows exactly where he measures up.

He’s in the room with world-class athletes every week.

He’s not guessing.

The Hunger Is Still There — and It Sounds Dangerous

When asked how this next fight goes, Izzy didn’t try to sound technical.

He sounded like a man who’s been denied what he believes he’s earned.

He described it like being stuck in the desert:

When you haven’t eaten for a year, you kill the first animal you see.

That’s the energy he’s bringing.

How He Wants to Be Remembered

Not as “the guy who almost made it.”

Not as “the guy who got unlucky.”

Izzy said he wants to be remembered as one of the best Polynesian fighters in the world — alongside the greats — and most importantly:

He wants his kids to be proud.

That’s the through-line of the entire story.

The fight career matters.

But the legacy matters more.

The Real Point of This Story

Izzy Fitikefu is proof that MMA careers aren’t always linear — and “almost” in this sport can still mean you were inches from everything.

He was signed.

He was booked.

He was preparing.

And one brutal moment in training stole the walkout.

But the hunger didn’t leave.

If anything, it’s worse now — because he’s older, more mature, still elite, still dangerous, and still convinced the world is going to learn his name the hard way.

And if the UFC door opens again — late notice, short notice, whatever — Izzy has already shown us who he is when that phone rings.

He doesn’t think twice.

He says yes.

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