Why Fans Shouldn’t Hold Their Breath for a Conor McGregor UFC return

Conor McGregor said he’d be back. He always says he’ll be back.

Sometimes it’s in a tweet. Sometimes it’s through gritted teeth on a red carpet with a drink in one hand and a headline in the other. But the cage door stays closed. The gloves stay dry.

Since snapping his leg against Dustin Poirier in 2021, McGregor’s been more ghost than gladiator. Scheduled for a return. Pulled out. Promised fireworks. Delivered silence. And now? He’s drifting further from the mat and deeper into politics, lawsuits, luxury, and legend.

You can still bet on his return. You can bet on his next opponent, too. Sites like Covers.com let you weigh up the odds, skim the fight week rumors, even grab a bonus and maybe catch the moment when “Notorious” finally keeps his word. But don’t hold your breath.

The Meteoric Rise of Conor McGregor

This wasn’t always the story.

Rewind a decade, and McGregor was the comet MMA didn’t see coming. He made his UFC debut in 2013, stopping Marcus Brimage in under 70 seconds. The haircut, the swagger, the way he flowed on the feet—he wasn’t just winning, he was predicting it, laughing as he did it, making good on every boast.

Then came the run.

Diego Brandão. Poirier. Siver. All folded. All forgotten. He talked his way into a title shot against featherweight king Jose Aldo and ended that reign in 13 seconds. One punch. History.

He transcended the cage after that.

From Champion to Celebrity

This isn’t the McGregor of 2015. Not the one who slipped punches like silk and left Jose Aldo unconscious before his body even hit the canvas. That guy’s gone. What we’ve got now is essentially an aspiring billionaire who hasn’t fought in nearly three years, who talks more about Irish presidential runs than rear-naked chokes.

He’s 3–5 in the UFC since 2016. The aura cracked against Nate Diaz. The dominance shattered against Khabib. Dustin Poirier drove the last nail in. Three losses in four. One doctor’s stoppage. And nothing since.

Meanwhile, the world moves on.

Lightweights rise. New stars flash. Michael Chandler—once McGregor’s supposed return opponent—has already lost to Paddy Pimblett, who now wants his own crack at McGregor. Stadium fight. Wembley. A crowd loud enough to rattle old bones.

McGregor’s response? A tweet. “I’ll only come back to a stadium.”

It’s always conditional with him now.

A Life Outside the Cage

While the rest of the division grinds through fight camps and pressers, McGregor builds empires. His Proper No. Twelve whiskey sold for a reported $600 million. His training clips are filtered and rare. His presence online? More about protest marches and meetings in Washington than Mitt work.

In March, he stood inside the White House in a suit, talking about immigration. A week later, he announced plans to run for Irish president. He once said, “F*** politics.” Now he’s elbow-deep in it.

A comeback? It’s a whisper in the wind.

He told fans the return would be “the greatest comeback of all time.” But great comebacks require two things: a fight booked and a fighter committed. He has neither. What he has are yachts, tailored suits, and a toe injury that postponed the only booked bout he’s had in years.

Rules, Regulations, and Radio Silence

And then there’s the drug testing.

As of now, McGregor hasn’t submitted to a single test in 2025. None logged. No sample. No clearance. That means even if he wanted to fight tomorrow, he couldn’t. Not legally.

Even Dana White, the UFC’s usually enthusiastic hype man, seems tired. There’s no push. No date. Just silence.

McGregor’s fights used to sell themselves. Now? He needs stadiums. He needs conditions. He needs time.

The Shadow of Greatness

But people keep hoping. And why wouldn’t they?

He was magic once. The left hand was a thunderclap. The walk-off KOs. The press conference poetry. “Precision beats power, and timing beats speed.” He was half fighter, half showman, and all momentum.

But showmen age. Fighters fade.

Even Michael Chandler, who’s spent two years waiting at the altar, is losing faith. After his UFC 314 loss to Pimblett, his callouts feel like echoes. The fans aren’t biting. Not the way they used to.

Chandler’s 1-4 in his last five. McGregor’s 1-3 in his last four. Between them, they’ve sold out arenas—but their appeal is dwindling.

Another Empty Promise?

So what’s next?

McGregor will talk. He always does. There’ll be videos of him in Versace hitting pads. Another tweet about how the comeback is imminent. Maybe even a leaked negotiation. But until he steps onto a scale at weigh-ins, it’s just static.

And fans aren’t stupid. They’ve watched the fights fall through before. UFC 303. Remember that one? Two weeks out, he broke his toe. That was the official reason, anyway. No replacement. No fight. Just a reshuffle and radio silence.

Final Rounds

He’s 36. A young man in life, but a weathered one in the Octagon. His body has mileage. The leg. The toe. The bruises no camera sees.

And mentally? He’s not there.

He spoke about other ambitions, other dreams. Something else to aim for. Something other than a UFC return.

It’s speeches. Headlines. Politics. A legacy outside the cage, built with microphones and meetings instead of punches and grit.

But fighting doesn’t forgive time.

The Game Moves On

The sports’s moved. Ilia Topuria is calling the shots. Islam Makhachev rules the lightweight division. Paddy Pimblett is grinning through chaos and stacking wins. The new generation isn’t waiting. And they don’t owe McGregor a thing.

For a man who once said he’d “take over the game,” McGregor now looks like someone trying to sneak back in after the doors have closed.

Will he fight again? Maybe. Probably. Eventually.

But it won’t be because he needs to.

It’ll be because he’s bored.

Or because the stadium’s big enough.

Or because, for one more night, he misses the madness.

Whatever happens, remember this—it won’t look like 2015. It won’t be that clean left on Aldo. That version of him lives in highlight reels now. And McGregor’s words might suggest otherwise, but he knows that better than anyone.

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