At around 5:30 on Sunday morning, a small group of hardcore fans in homes around the UK were watching the main event of UFC 199. If they were like me, then the light of what would become a beautiful summer’s day was starting to come in through their windows, and the birds were starting to sing outside. If they were like me, then they had to stop themselves from jumping and shouting and waking up their flatmates, or wives, or girlfriends, who wouldn’t appreciate their Sunday lie-in being ruined. Maybe some of them couldn’t stop themselves because they were buzzing with adrenaline, with no-one to talk to and nowhere to go.
UFC 199: Post-fight patterns - Bisping's Isle
