BOSS FIGHT 52: GEEN vs DONOVAN LIVE!

The Rod Laver Arena had never felt more alive. Under the open night sky, Boss Fight 52 kicked off with a spectacle that sent chills through the sea of fight-hungry fans. Pyrotechnics detonated along the stage, flames roaring into the air as the arena lights pulsed to the rhythm of thundering bass. Smoke billowed across the entrance ramp. This wasn’t just another fight card, it was a battlefield waiting for war.

From the floor seats to the upper rafters, the Melbourne crowd was already at a fever pitch, their chants of “AUSSIE! AUSSIE! AUSSIE!” rang out as the camera panned across a sea of fight-hungry fans, a warning to every fighter who dared to step into their house. Flags waved and fists pounded against the barricades as the opening montage played on the massive screens. Highlights of tonight’s warriors flashed. Hendrik Geen’s cold, unshaken glare, Jack Donovan pacing like a caged animal, and Sadie Williams cracking pads with violent precision. The energy inside the open-roof venue felt untamed, the night sky above serving as the only witness to the carnage about to unfold.

The broadcast team’s voices carried through the arena, setting the stage for what was to come. The return of a former champion. A title fight with everything on the line. Local warriors looking to make their mark on home soil. Boss Fight 52 wasn’t just another event. It was a war zone. And the first battle was about to begin.

ROUND ONE: The opening fight began with a simmering tension, both men standing in orthodox stances, circling, feeling for an opening. Stephens, a known power puncher, wasted no time trying to impose his will, snapping out heavy jabs, each one a warning of the storm behind it. Sasaki, light on his feet, slipped laterally, his karate base evident in the way he moved. Fluid, elusive, waiting for Stephens to overextend. Midway through the round, the storm nearly arrived. Stephens uncorked a looping overhand right, thrown with the kind of venom that ends nights early. It whistled just past Sasaki’s chin. The miss left an opening, and Sasaki capitalized, whipping a tight counter left hook that smacked flush against Stephens’ jaw. The crowd gasped. For a second, there was a pause, Stephens’ eyes flaring, recalibrating. Then he pressed forward, refusing to cede ground, forcing a clinch against the cage. Stephens lowered his level for a double leg, but Sasaki had seen this before. He planted his hips and torqued, flipping Stephens over with a textbook hip toss that sent him crashing to the mat. The impact rippled through the canvas, the crowd reacting with a mix of awe and anticipation. Sasaki moved to advance position, but Stephens was already clawing his way back up, powered by instinct and defiance. Back on their feet, the energy spiked. They stood in the center, trading. Stephens throwing bombs, Sasaki answering with crisp counters, neither man backing down. The horn finally blared, cutting through the chaos. The arena erupted, the crowd feeding off the relentless pace, knowing they were in for something special.

ROUND TWO: The second round kicked off with a sense of urgency. Stephens had felt Sasaki’s power, tasted the danger in the first round, and came out determined to shift the momentum. He tightened his stance, threw with more conviction, targeting the head and body with fluid combinations. Sasaki stayed composed, sticking to his counter-heavy approach, waiting for a mistake. But two minutes in, Stephens feinted a jab, baiting Sasaki into a read, then detonated a right uppercut straight through the center. The shot landed with sickening precision, snapping Sasaki’s head back. His legs faltered, his balance betraying him as he staggered in retreat, eyes glassy. Stephens sensed the finish was in sight. He pounced, unloading heavy artillery, hooks, crosses, relentless pressure. Sasaki, pinned against the fence, tried to weather the storm, but a thunderous left hook sent him crashing to the canvas. The moment his body hit the mat, the referee had already seen enough. He dove in, waving off the fight, sealing Stephens’ brutal knockout victory. The arena erupted. Stephens roared, pounding his chest, basking in the moment of triumph. The statement was made, his arrival in Union Grand Prix wasn’t just another debut. It was a warning.

Winner: Nyles Stephens by KO (Hook) at 2:31 Round 2

Statistics: Nyles Stephens
Punches 45/80 (56%)
Kicks 0/0 (0%)
Clinch strikes 10/15 (67%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/2 (100%)
Time on the ground 30 s

Statistics: Hideo Sasaki
Punches 20/50 (40%)
Kicks 5/10 (50%)
Clinch strikes 5/10 (50%)
Takedowns 1/1 (100%)
GnP strikes 0/5 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/1 (100%)
Time on the ground 30 s

A true icon of the sport, former Union GP Cruiserweight Champion and 2023 Hall of Fame inductee Michael Santos is in attendance tonight at Rod Laver Arena, the same place where he famously claimed the Cruiserweight Championship in his retirement bout at UGP 34. The Australian legend is back in Melbourne, this time as a spectator, enjoying the world-class action.

ROUND ONE: From the opening signal, Steele danced along the edge of the cage, light on his feet, probing, testing, setting traps. A southpaw kickboxer with precision striking, he flicked out jabs, his left hand coiled like a loaded spring. Okano, all composure and patience, stalked from the center, high guard tight, reading, waiting. Midway through, Steele found an opening. A left cross snapped Okano’s head back, followed by a right hook that sent a shudder through his frame. The crowd surged, sensing a shift, but Okano barely took a backward step. His eyes remained locked in, unfazed. Then came the counter, a piston-like right hand that smashed through Steele’s guard, snapping his head sideways. The pop of the shot echoed through the arena, a reminder that Okano wasn’t here to be dictated to. Steele shook it off, but the air had changed. No more feelers. The fight was on. Steele shot for a takedown, diving at Okano’s hips, but the Japanese powerhouse stuffed it with ease, pressing him into the cage. A battle of wills followed, each man throwing sharp knees into the other’s ribs, searching for an inch of control. Okano, relentless in close quarters, framed off and fired a short elbow, just grazing Steele’s temple. Breaking free, Steele fired a sharp body kick in the final seconds, his shin cracking into Okano’s ribs. The impact was clean, but Okano barely blinked. He answered with a stiff jab, snapping Steele’s head back just as the horn sounded. No clear winner yet, but the battle was brewing.

ROUND TWO: Steele stormed out of his corner, cranking up the aggression, his intent scrawled across his movement. He fired a head kick with venom, barely missing Okano’s chin. Another followed, then another, each strike thrown with knockout intentions. But Okano, composed as ever, leaned just out of range, slipping each attack like he’d seen them in a dream. Then Steele wound up an overhand left. A missile locked and loaded, but before it could land, Okano uncorked a spinning back fist that detonated on Steele’s jaw. The thud of bone on bone stole the breath from the crowd. Steele stumbled, his balance teetering, but he refused to fall. Now the tide had turned. Okano pressed forward, stalking, his shootboxing pedigree on full display. He mixed his punches with sharp clinch work, threading knees to Steele’s midsection as he worked for control. Steele, still rattled but far from broken, wrapped his arms around Okano’s neck, dropping into a guillotine attempt. He wrenched, his biceps flexing, searching for the squeeze. But Okano stayed patient. He framed, created space, and popped his head free, landing on top for a brief moment before Steele scrambled back to his feet. Back in the fire, they traded. No hesitation. No retreat. Steele’s right eye was swelling shut, but he still threw with reckless abandon. Okano, a cut now bleeding into his left eye, wiped it away and kept swinging. The final ten seconds saw them plant their feet, biting down on their mouthpieces and emptying the tank, leather flying until the horn split them apart. The crowd roared, a standing ovation for two warriors refusing to break.

ROUND THREE: The final round began with both fighters running on fumes but fueled by sheer will. Steele, knowing the fight hung in the balance, planted his feet and ripped into Okano’s legs with kicks that echoed through the arena. Each shot landed with a sickening thud, carving red welts into Okano’s thigh. Yet Okano refused to slow, marching forward through the damage, his eyes locked on Steele with the quiet fury of a man who would not be denied. They traded in bursts, Steele snapping crisp jabs, Okano responding with precise counters that found their mark. Then came the moment that shifted everything. Steele, perhaps sensing an opening, spun for a heel kick, but Okano saw it, read it, and reacted like a seasoned predator. He caught Steele mid-motion, locking his arms around his torso, and with a grunt of effort, he ripped him off his feet and drove him to the mat. The impact jolted the canvas, the crowd erupting as Okano settled into half guard. He wasn’t reckless, he stayed patient, pressing his weight into Steele, landing measured elbows and short hammerfists. Every strike was a message, but Steele wasn’t hearing it. He bucked, scrambled, fought for space, and refused to be held. With grit and desperation, he twisted out, returning to his feet as the crowd roared. The final minute was pure chaos. Steele and Okano met in the center, throwing everything they had left. Hooks, elbows, knees, bodies colliding in a brutal crescendo. Neither man backed down. When the horn finally blared, they stood there, battered and breathless, staring at each other like two men who had just survived a war. The crowd, sensing they’d witnessed something special, rose to their feet in thunderous applause.

	JUDGE RILEY HUGHES	JUDGE AUSTIN SPENCER	JUDGE CALLUM JACKSON
ROUND ONE	10-9 Steele	10-9 Steele	10-9 Steele
ROUND TWO	10-9 Okano	10-9 Okano	10-9 Okano
ROUND THREE	10-9 Okano	10-9 Steele	10-9 Okano
FINAL SCORE	29-28 Okano	29-28 Steele	29-28 Okano

Winner: Shintaro Okano by Split Decision

Statistics: Shintaro Okano
Punches  85/150 (57%)
Kicks 20/35 (57%)
Clinch strikes 15/25 (60%) 
Takedowns 1/2 (50%)
GnP strikes 10/15 (67%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/5 (60%)
Time on the ground 94 s

Statistics: Sam Steele
Punches 70/130 (54%)
Kicks 25/40 (62%)
Clinch strikes 10/20 (50%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 5/10 (50%)
Submissions 0/1 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/3 (67%)
Time on the ground 94 s

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “As we take a break in the action I am pleased to be here with Mojo Webster and PK Katana of Lava City. Both are two new signees and are set to make their debuts at UGP sixty five.”

Mojo does a subtle wave while PK does nothing. She just stands with her hood over her head as she looks down toward the ground.

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “You’re the brother of former professional wrestler Chanson Webster, Mojo? Who also will be fighting here in Union, but your brother made a name for himself years ago and now you’ll be following in the same path as you enter the fighting business. Do you feel any pressure to make a name for yourself much like your oldest brother did?”

MOJO WEBSTER: “Not at all Kay if I can call you that? My brother was really an anomaly at that time back then. He rose to some notoriety faster than a blink of an eye. He was different, and I also see myself as being different. We aren’t the same person. I go by things a different way gangsky. I’m more of a through-the motion guy. What happens just happens. I’m not here to live up to a name. I’m here to one day become known as one of the better fighters in mixed martial arts.”

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “PK you are signed to one of if not the deepest divisions in Union. How do you see yourself eventually climbing up the division?”

PK doesn’t look up or say anything.

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “PK?”

She doesn’t say anything once more.

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Well Mojo, at UGP sixty five you are set to be taking on Osvaldo Ledesma in your debut. What do you want to show against him?”

MOJO WEBSTER: “He’s a good fighter. Very skilled at doing what he wants, but I feel like I can work him enough to get the victory for sure. I just really wanna come out there and show that I belong here. A lot of people might think I don’t. Think I’m here from what my bro created almost ten years ago. That’s a long time ago. Times have changed and so have I. For me, my debut against Ledesma is about showing the world and the fighters  that I have the skills, and that  I’ll fight for my supporters and viewers every time. Win or lose right now I want people to see I’m someone you can get behind gangy. I wanna fit everyone on the rocket ship. We are gonna join this ride together.”

KAYLA CHAPMAN: “PK I understand that you have an extensive background in mixed martial arts and wrestling but spent a lot of years just not fighting? What was the reason behind that?”

PK doesn’t speak at all again. Mojo nudges her on the shoulder and she still stays mute with her head lowered. 

MOJO WEBSTER: “Sometimes she just…”

PK KATANA: “Shhhh.”

Inside her hoodie pocket PK Katana grabs a rolled up picture. She unrolls the photo revealing it to be a picture of Gianna Howard. She holds the picture toward the camera while keeping her head lowered.

PK KATANA: “I will fight until I get fight with her. I look and watch film for days. I think she give me fight to death. I kill everyone but her head I want most. She best in division to me and once I let the crows eat what’s left of her flesh I lay for meal I go on to be champion.”

PK kisses the picture of Gianna Howard before rolling it back up and placing it in her hood pocket. 

PK KATANA: “Far as Alex Bishop. First example. First victim. First meal for the crows. No more warnings.”

PK leaves, leaving Mojo and Kayla as she looks at Mojo in confusion.

ROUND ONE: In the heart of Melbourne, with the Rod Laver Arena pulsing like a live wire, KJ Lindsay walked into the cage with the weight of a city behind him. A Mount Druitt kid fighting in front of his people, carrying their expectations like a second skin. Across from him, Nigel “The Magic Man” Musgrove stood cold and composed, a veteran of countless wars, unfazed by the roars that cascaded down on him. The fight started with Lindsay storming the center, planting his flag. His hands were fast, his footwork crisp, his intentions obvious. Musgrove, a seasoned southpaw with a toolkit of Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, kept his distance, chopping at Lindsay’s lead leg with surgical precision. Lindsay felt the damage building, so he adjusted, feints, movement, a rhythm shift. A sudden flicker of the lead hand drew Musgrove in, and BOOM! Lindsay detonated a right cross. Musgrove took it, his chin as sturdy as advertised, but Lindsay was already pressing forward, body shots carving into his midsection, chiseling away at the veteran’s durability. Midway through, Musgrove looked to slow the storm, lunging into the clinch, but Lindsay wasn’t having it. A sharp pivot, an inside rip to the ribs, and he was free. He could feel Musgrove starting to slip. Then, the moment. Lindsay saw it. A sliver of an opening, just enough. His right hand came over the top, crashing into Musgrove’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. The left hook to the body followed like a second wave, and Musgrove buckled. Lindsay smelled blood. He uncorked a right uppercut that lifted Musgrove’s soul before his body hit the canvas. The ref dove in, and Melbourne erupted. Lindsay climbed the cage, arms stretched to the heavens, soaking in the spoils of a first round finish.

Winner: KJ Lindsay by KO (Uppercut) at 4:12 Round 1

Statistics: KJ Lindsay
Punches 35/50 (70%)
Kicks 5/10 (50%)
Clinch strikes 5/7 (71%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/3 (67%)
Time on the ground 0 s

Statistics: Nigel Musgrove
Punches 15/30 (50%)
Kicks 8/12 (67%)
Clinch strikes 2/5 (40%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/2 (50%)
Time on the ground 0 s

A familiar face in combat sports, Melbourne’s very own Owen Gonsalves has made a name for himself in the world of professional wrestling, arguably most notably in competing for DEATHGRAPS and King’s Road on the Battleground Network. A passionate fight fan, it comes as no surprise to see him in the crowd whenever Union GP comes to Australia.

ROUND ONE: The energy inside Rod Laver Arena was electric, the crowd firmly behind Felix Rosario as he squared off with Chicago’s Tristano D’Amico. Rosario soaked it in, feeding off the chants, while D’Amico, ever the showman, grinned at the chorus of boos. He wasn’t here to make friends, he was here to fight. And fight he did. Rosario came out fast, his hands sharp, his intentions clear. A stiff jab-cross snapped D’Amico’s head back, but the Chi-Town native slipped the follow-up hook and answered with a clean left hand down the pipe. Rosario shook it off and pressed forward, but D’Amico’s legs were a problem. He chopped at Rosario’s lead calf, whipping kicks into the muscle, disrupting the Australian’s stance. Rosario wasn’t about to let him dictate the pace. He stepped in and uncorked a right hook that crashed against D’Amico’s temple, sending a shudder through his frame. The crowd erupted as Rosario smelled blood, pouring on a flurry of punches. D’Amico, though wobbled, didn’t panic. He moved his head, pivoted, and slipped out of danger before Rosario could land the kill shot. Midway through the round, D’Amico adjusted, switching gears with a clinch attempt. He tried to wrench Rosario off balance, but the Aussie’s base was rock solid. Rosario dug in, shrugged him off, and kept it standing. Then, in the dying seconds of the round, D’Amico spun fast, sudden, and precise. A spinning back kick crashed into Rosario’s midsection, the impact audible, forcing him back a step. The round ended with both men locking eyes, no words, just an unspoken promise that the fight was far from over.

ROUND TWO: D’Amico came out with bad intentions, his pace noticeably more urgent. He snapped kicks high, then low, then high again, forcing Rosario into a guessing game. Then he dug a brutal body kick into Rosario’s ribs that left a mark, both physically and mentally. Rosario winced, just for a second, but D’Amico saw it. Sensing the fight slipping, Rosario pushed forward, forcing a close quarters exchange, fists flying. A tight uppercut snapped D’Amico’s head back, but the Chicago native barely blinked. Instead, he drove a knee into Rosario’s sternum, forcing him to break. Then, in a flash, he looped under, gripped Rosario’s torso, and sent him airborne with a textbook judo throw. Rosario hit the mat hard, but before he could react, D’Amico had already backed away, shaking his head. He wanted none of the ground game. He beckoned Rosario up, smirking as the Melbourne crowd showered him in boos. And then came the moment. D’Amico feinted a jab just enough to lift Rosario’s hands, then swung a blistering left high kick around the guard. The shin connected flush against Rosario’s skull. His body froze, then crashed lifelessly to the canvas. The referee dove in instantly, waving it off. It was over in an instant. The arena was deafening, not in celebration, but in outrage. D’Amico, ever the villain on this night, soaked it in. He strutted around the cage, arms raised, a smirk plastered across his face as a chorus of boos rained down like a storm. Melbourne had just witnessed its hero fall. And D’Amico? He had never looked more alive.

Winner: Tristano D’Amico by TKO (High Kick) at 3:01 Round 2

Statistics: Felix Rosario
Punches 42/85 (49%)
Kicks 5/8 (62%)
Clinch strikes 6/10 (60%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/4 (25%)
Time on the ground 45 s

Statistics: Tristano D’Amico
Punches 38/70 (54%)
Kicks 20/25 (80%)
Clinch strikes 8/12 (67%)
Takedowns 1/2 (50%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/3 (67%)
Time on the ground 45 s

STEPHEN SNYDER: “I know you all have been enjoying the action so far, and our main event is right around the corner, but right now I’m standing with two new signees from Lava City out of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and I’m wondering how are you both doing tonight?”

MIDA MARRAY: “I’m doing good tonight. Just sitting back and enjoying what this sport brings.”

The microphone is placed in front of Chanson Webster’s mouth. 

CHANSON WEBSTER: “I’m here tonight for the main event. The fights so far have been what it is, but what’s next is what I’m here for. Really don’t care about anyone here except the two dwerbs in the main event, and of course this lovely lady standing next to me handsome..”

STEPHEN SNYDER: “Lava City will be a new gym here in Union, and let me tell you, there has been a lot of good gyms a long these walls. With Lava City coming onto the scene where do you see the gym headed in this sport. I’m thinking you’re the head trainer there Chanson?”

CHANSON WEBSTER: “Nah, we are a collective. We don’t believe in that head trainer bullshiz. We train each other. We are equals first and foremost my love, but to answer your question, I believe Lava City is the next gym to fear. Majority of us can fight standing and on the ground. Of course we are still working to get better at being  pure mma athletes, but right now we have the skills to bring the noise. Nah, we are gonna make noise.”

MIDA MARRAY: “Of course we want to do nice things here in Union, but my focus is purely getting better everyday and rising up the rankings ya know? If we do what we need to do we’ll make that name for Lava City. In time fighters and the fans of Union will see what the Lava City fight style is all about”

STEPHEN SNYDER: “Mida you are signed to compete in the featherweight division. This division features a lot of fighters that present some of the skills that you possess. Where do you see yourself in terms of matching up against other competitors in the division?”

MIDA MARRAY: “I can match up well, but everyday I’m working on becoming the fighter I see myself when I’m a champion. Right now I’m not that fighter. There are still things I’m working on to become more complete, but as far as competing goes that’s what I do. I just love to compete Stephen. If we were playing connect four right now I’ll be trying my hardest to win. I wanna compete that much. I just wanna get out there and start to test myself against some of the best fighters in the world and see where I’m at?”

STEPHEN SNYDER: “Chanson, you’ve signed to compete in the Welterweight division which is fairly new and growing….”

Chanson cuts Stephen offf from him asking his question. 

CHANSON WEBSTER: “This division is mines little guy, and I’m about to tell you why. These guys in this division don’t innerstand who I am and the ethics I go through to make sure I have the edge over them. They aren’t going to work harder than me. They aren’t gonna be more calculated than me. They just don’t know. For so long I’ve sat back in the shadows and just watched these carbon copies of me. For so long I did nothing, wasting my time and years off the best life to ever come to fruition. I’m here to remind people who is god, who is the  father of most of your existences. A real trender has finally arrived and I do more than just arrive. I take, and any position you fudgeboys think you have get ready to lose it honey.”

STEPHEN SNYDER: “Uhh well, UGP Sixty Five will be our next card. Have either of you been in any talks for a potential fight?”

MIDA MARRAY: “For me unfortunately no, but that’s ok because we’re talking about making my Union debut on the boss fight fifty three card and that’s perfectly fine for me. As far as the opponent I’m not sure yet but there are options on the table so I’m really looking forward to that.”

CHANSON WEBSTER: “I have. I already signed on to fight Aston Page at UGP sixty five. I haven’t started looking at the tape and everything on him yet, but my confidence is higher than the last planet on the solar system. I know as long as I fight my fight he’s a donezoe. It doesn’t even have to be a statement, I’d rather beat him up for three rounds and watch the will leave his body, show everyone who will have to step in that cage with me that this is what you have to deal with…constant pressure, every second in your face letting you know that you didn’t train hard enough. Making sure you feel like thee man you are looking at is not like you. He is what he says he is and that’s a god.”

As Stephen is about to say something else Chanson cuts him off again. This time he snatches the microphone from his hand and waves him off: 

CHANSON WEBSTER: “We don’t need a fudgin interviewer. I was tired of sharing the camera with that loser anyway. Go get a real job jokie. Anyways this shiz is over. I gotta fight I have to watch. I’m tired of standing here and Stephen isn’t even the most known reporter in Union. Next time bring Isaac or the blonde tramp out here. I’’m out.”

He throws the microphone into the stands and grabs Mida by the hands. The duo walk off back to their collective seats awaiting the main event. 

ROUND ONE: The moment Eden Reid stepped into the cage, the energy shifted. Hometown crowd. Bright lights. The stakes were high. Across from her stood Erick Costa, a Puerto Rican bruiser with boxing built for breaking people down. Reid came out long, sharp jabs, stiff teeps, doing everything to keep Costa at the edge of her reach. Costa, unfazed, bobbed, weaved, and inched forward, looking for the right angle to let his hands fly. Around the halfway mark of the round, he found it. A slip, a right cross, and Reid’s legs stiffened, but Reid wasn’t going anywhere. She clinched, fired a knee up the gut, and turned Costa’s aggression into a punishing exchange. Muay Thai vs. dirty boxing. Costa dug short uppercuts into her ribs while Reid answered with slicing elbows over the top. Neither gave an inch of breathing room. As the round wore on, Reid made the adjustments. She started chopping at Costa’s lead leg, smashing kicks into his thigh, cracking thuds echoing through the arena. The former Lightweight Title Challenger grimaced but kept coming, ripping hooks to the body, forcing Reid to stay honest. Final seconds of the round, Reid let one rip. A high kick, shin grazing Costa’s temple. The crowd erupted. Costa was on chicken legs and the message was clear that she was warming up. As the horn sounded, both fighters locked eyes, breathing heavy, neither backing down. They had tasted each other’s power, and it was clear this fight was just getting started.

ROUND TWO: Eden Reid came out like a bat out of hell. Whatever confidence Erick Costa had built in the first round was gone in an instant as Reid stormed forward, throwing heat. Punches, kicks, everything had venom. Costa tried to fire back, but Reid’s pressure was relentless and her pace was suffocating. Then came the turning point. A feint. A flash of the jab. Costa’s guard shot high and Reid made him pay. She whipped a right body kick under his ribs, the impact cracking through the arena. Costa winced, his movement failing him for the first time. The crowd roared. Reid didn’t hesitate. She pounced, pressing forward with calculated fury. A step-in elbow. A front kick. Then, the final blow, a spinning elbow that crashed against Costa’s jaw. His body stiffened as he crumpled to the mat, eyes unfocused, hands grasping at nothing. It was over. The ref dove in as the arena exploded into chaos. The chants of Reid’s name rumbled through the Rod Laver Arena as she stood over her fallen opponent, fists raised, chest heaving. It was a statement win, a violent exclamation point on her home turf.

Winner: Eden Reid by KO (Spinning Elbow) at 2:35 Round 2

Statistics: Eden Reid
Punches 45/80 (56%)
Kicks 25/35 (71%)
Clinch strikes 15/20 (75%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 5/5 (100%)
Time on the ground 0 s

Statistics: Erick Costa
Punches 35/70 (50%)
Kicks 10/15 (67%)
Clinch strikes 10/15 (67%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/3 (100%)
Time on the ground 0 s

One of the greatest to ever compete in the Lightweight division, Paige Holloway is in the building! A former two-time champion and newly inducted 2025 Hall of Famer, Holloway is enjoying retirement in her home country while taking in another electric night of fights.

ROUND ONE: The Aussie crowd was rumbling for the Co-Main Event as Sadie Williams stepped back into the cage for the first time since losing her title back at UGP 59. Across from her, Dillon Mills stood loose, ready to test the former Champ with his lethal striking. Williams wasted no time, surging forward, looking to impose her grappling before Mills could find his rhythm, but Mills was prepared. He stayed light on his feet, snapping out stiff jabs that kept Williams at bay. A right hand followed, sharp and precise, forcing Williams to reconsider her approach. The Serpent pressed in again, level changing for a double leg takedown. Mills sprawled hard, stuffing the attempt and circling away, his movement crisp, his eyes locked in. Then, mid round, he found his mark. A clean right cross snapped Williams’ head back. She staggered, just for a moment, but Mills smelled blood. He pounced, unleashing a blistering barrage of punches, each one carrying bad intentions. Williams showed that she had been here before. She bit down, absorbed the storm, and pushed forward through sheer grit. In the final minute, she found her opening. A clinch, an underhook, and with a sudden shift in weight, she slammed Mills to the mat with a slick Judo hip throw. Immediately, she transitioned to side control, her veteran instincts taking over. Mills tensed, knowing the danger. Williams worked methodically, hunting for an arm, but Mills stayed composed, shutting down her advances with smart, calculated defense. The horn sounded, and both fighters returned to their feet, eyes locked, breathing heavy. The crowd roared in approval, this was already shaping up to be a captivating fight.

ROUND TWO: Williams came out fast, eyes locked, shoulders tense. She knew she had to make something happen. Mills, cool and calculated, stuck to his boxing, snapping out precise jabs, his footwork keeping him just out of reach. Every time Williams closed in, he punished her with a crisp one-two before gliding away. Two minutes in, Mills fired off a body kick and immediately regretted the decision. Williams caught it midair and drove him into the fence, locking her arms around his waist. The crowd barely had time to react before she launched him backward in a thunderous suplex, his body arching through the air before crashing onto the canvas. Williams wasted nothing. She floated into mount, her posture high, fists cocked. Then came the storm of elbows, hammerfists, lefts and rights raining down. Mills covered up, his head rocking with each impact, but he was still with it. With sheer force of will, he bucked, scrambled, and somehow wrenched himself free, staggering to his feet. Now it was his turn. Williams, breathing heavy, tried to press forward, but Mills found his rhythm. A right hook snapped her head sideways, an uppercut followed, and suddenly the former Champ looked vulnerable. Mills saw it, felt it. He dug a left into her ribs, a deep, digging shot that stole the air from her lungs, then whipped a right uppercut through her guard. Williams clinched, desperate to slow the onslaught. The horn blew before Mills could do more damage, but the message was sent. Both fighters returned to their corners to a roaring crowd. Williams had the big moment, but Mills had taken the momentum right there at the end.

ROUND THREE: Both fighters wore the war on their bodies. Bruises forming, breath heavy, but their eyes burned with the same fire. Williams knew what was at stake. No hesitation. She changed levels and shot in for a single leg, driving Mills backward. He fought it, sprawling, twisting, but Williams wouldn’t be denied. With one final push, she yanked his leg out from under him and dumped him onto the canvas. The crowd roared as she went to work. Half guard. Pressure. Control. Mills squirmed, but Williams was a step ahead, pinning his right arm, sliding effortlessly into position. Then she squeezed. Mills’ body writhed as the arm triangle choke tightened, his free hand clawing at Williams’ grip, his legs kicking out in desperation. The seconds stretched. The air in the arena was tight. Mills tried to bridge, to roll, but Williams’ positioning was perfect, shoulder pressing into his neck, the life being squeezed out of him with surgical precision. A final struggle. Then the inevitable tap. The referee dove in as Williams released the hold, rolling to her knees, chest heaving, eyes closed for a moment before she stood victorious. The crowd exploded. Mills sat up, shaking his head, breath ragged but full of heart. When he got to his feet, Williams met him in the center. No bad blood, just respect. A nod. An embrace. For Williams, it was redemption. A reminder that she was still here, still dangerous, still a force in the Lightweight Division. For Mills, it was proof that he belonged at this level, even in defeat.

Winner: Sadie Williams by Submission (Arm Triangle Choke) at 2:51 Round 3

Statistics: Sadie Williams
Punches 45/90 (50%)
Kicks 5/10 (50%)
Clinch strikes 10/20 (50%)
Takedowns 3/5 (60%)
GnP strikes 25/40 (63%)
Submissions 1/2 (50%)
Clinch Attempts 3/5 (60%)
Time on the ground 224 s

Statistics: Dillon Mills
Punches 60/120 (50%)
Kicks 10/15 (67%)
Clinch strikes 8/15 (53%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 5/10 (50%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/3 (33%)
Time on the ground 224 s

Former Middleweight Champion and 2022 Hall of Fame inductee Byron McCall is no stranger to Rod Laver Arena. This very venue was the site of his return to competition at UGP 34, a moment that propelled him toward 185-pound championship gold. Now competing as a Welterweight, McCall is undoubtedly keeping a close eye on tonight’s title fight between Hendrik Geen and Jack Donovan.

ROUND ONE: The moment the opening round was live, the Rod Laver Arena became a madhouse. The hometown crowd roared for Jack Donovan, a deafening, pulsing wave of support. He fed off it immediately, pressing forward like a man with something to prove. His jab snapped out, sharp and deliberate, followed by a right cross that carried real menace. Hendrik Geen, ever the composed Champion, moved just enough to make Donovan miss. An inch here, a slip there, always just beyond danger’s reach. Then came the kicks. Geen had the patience of a hunter, and when Donovan stepped in just a little too eager, the Dutchman buried a left roundhouse into his ribs. A second. A third. Each one landed with a thick, meaty smack, the kind of sound that makes a crowd wince. Donovan bit down and pushed forward, closing the gap to smother the kicks. He locked up a clinch, but this was Geen’s world. A brutal knee stabbed into his body, then another. A short, slicing elbow skimmed his temple. Donovan gritted his teeth and muscled free, answering with a looping overhand right that clipped Geen behind the ear, sending a ripple through the crowd. Sensing a shift, Donovan stormed forward, fists flying. Geen absorbed a left hook on the gloves, then a right to the body. He didn’t panic. He pivoted, reset, took the heat out of the moment. When Donovan tried to push him into the fence, Geen shot for a takedown. Donovan stuffed it, digging his hips in, refusing to give an inch. They separated and let their hands go until the horn, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. First round down, and already, the fight had teeth.

ROUND TWO: Donovan came out with a new plan, and it didn’t take long for everyone, including Hendrik Geen, to feel it. A brutal calf kick slammed into Geen’s lead leg, jolting him off balance. He winced, just slightly, but Donovan caught it. He went back to the well, chopping at the leg again, then again, each one landing with a dull, unforgiving thud. Geen’s stance wavered for a beat, and the crowd, sensing weakness, roared in approval. For the first time, the Champion looked a little uncomfortable. He adjusted, switching to orthodox to take some sting off the damage, but Donovan kept coming. He feinted a jab, then slammed another low kick into the same spot. Geen had seen enough. He planted his feet and whipped a spinning back kick into Donovan’s ribs, the heel digging in just under the floating ribs. Donovan staggered, sucking in a breath, and Geen seized the opening. The clinch came fast and heavy. Geen muscled Donovan against the fence, his grip like iron. Knees slammed into Donovan’s thighs, his ribs with short, nasty shots designed to sap the Challenger’s energy. Donovan tried to circle out, but Geen kept his frame tight, grinding him down, making every inch of movement a battle. Then, with seconds left in the round, Geen hit a slick inside trip, dumping Donovan onto his back with authority. The Dutchman slid into half guard and went to work, dropping short, slicing elbows, pressing his weight down to drain the fight out of Donovan. The Aussie covered up well, ate a few but stayed composed, riding out the storm until the horn. Another round down, and Geen was making it a fight on his terms. And yet, Donovan was still there, still fighting, and Melbourne was still behind him.

ROUND THREE: Both men were wearing it now. Donovan’s lead leg was chewed up, the skin darkening from the steady diet of kicks he’d absorbed. Geen’s ribs, on the other hand, were an angry shade of red, a testament to the body shots Donovan had been sinking in all night. But damage meant nothing now, this was about who wanted it more. Donovan came out with fire, his urgency on display. He let his hands go, threading crisp combinations through Geen’s guard. Then he found gold. An uppercut, sharp and sudden, snapped Geen’s head back like a Pez dispenser. The crowd exploded as Donovan smelled blood and swarmed, fists flying. Even in the dangerous storm, with veteran-like poise, Geen didn’t panic. He clinched up, locking Donovan in a tight grip and slowed the pace. Just like that, the momentum shifted, Donovan’s flurry smothered before it could become something more. They fought for position, neither man conceding ground, and then, an abrupt pause. Donovan crumpled slightly, a groan slipping out as he doubled over. The replay told the story, an inadvertent knee had strayed low. The crowd erupted in boos, their patience wearing thin with the Champion. The referee stepped in, giving Donovan time to recover while issuing a stern warning to Geen. The Aussie faithful weren’t having it, jeering as Geen backed away, expression unreadable. Then the fight resumed, and Donovan came back like a man possessed. He poured it on, looping hooks into Geen’s high guard, forcing him back against the fence. The Dutchman held firm though, absorbing, rolling, mitigating the worst of the damage. The final moments were a fistfight, both men trading in the center, throwing with malice, but neither finding the fight changing blow. The round ended in a dead heat, and as Donovan stalked to his corner, the energy in the arena was deafening.

ROUND FOUR: Championship rounds are where the will gets tested, where the body begs for relief but the mind forces it forward. And as the fourth began, Hendrik Geen showed why he had the belt wrapped around his waist in the first place. He fired a high kick with surgical precision, grazing Donovan’s temple. It didn’t land flush, but it was enough to send the Australian off balance, his footing betraying him for a split second. Geen pounced, closing the distance with a suffocating clinch, his knees hammering into Donovan’s ribs with mechanical efficiency. Each one landed with a resounding thud, drawing a pained grimace from the Challenger. Donovan wasn’t about to fold in front of his people. He dug his heels in and answered back, his hooks burying into Geen’s midsection like a pickaxe chipping away at stone. Then, he found the mark, a left hook to the liver, perfectly placed. Geen winced, his breath catching in his throat. Donovan saw it. And he went for the kill. He unleashed hell, fists flying in a desperate bid to break the Champion. One hook finally cracked through, rattling Geen’s skull and sending him stumbling. The crowd roared as Donovan surged forward, eyes burning with the kind of hunger that turns contenders into kings. But Geen wasn’t just a Champion in name. He clinched again, wrapping Donovan up, forcing him to carry his weight, buying just enough time to steady himself. Then, with calculated cruelty, he slipped in an elbow, just a flicker of movement, but it was enough. Blood welled above Donovan’s right eye, a crimson stream snaking down his cheek. Geen sensed it, and he pressed forward. The final minute was a battle of attrition, both men spent but refusing to break. Geen shot for a takedown once again, but Donovan stuffed it, keeping the fight on the feet. When the horn sounded, neither man had fully claimed the round. The war raged on, and the belt still hung in the balance.

ROUND FIVE: The air inside the Rod Laver Arena was thick with suspense, the crowd surging to their feet as the final round began. They knew what was at stake. So did Jack Donovan. Fueled by their deafening roar, the Challenger stormed forward, snapping out a sharp one-two that forced Hendrik Geen to take a cautious step back. Donovan pressed, urgency in his movement, throwing with the reckless determination of a man chasing his moment, but Geen wasn’t one to crumble under pressure. He stayed measured, using his footwork to circle out, peppering Donovan with a stiff jab that disrupted his rhythm. Then, with cold precision, he whipped a body kick into Donovan’s ribs. A deep, booming strike drew a sharp inhale from the Australian. Sensing an opportunity, Geen followed up with a left cross that snapped Donovan’s head back, a stark reminder of who still wore the belt. Both men were running on fumes now, but neither would surrender an inch. Donovan, gritting through the pain, stepped in and detonated a right hook against Geen’s jaw. The Champion staggered, his back colliding with the fence as the crowd erupted. Donovan swarmed, unleashing a barrage of hooks and uppercuts, pouring everything he had into the moment. With the veteran instinct, Geen clinched once more, smothering Donovan’s momentum, forcing the fight into the trenches where he was strongest. Then, with just over a minute left, Geen executed a slick inside trip, planting Donovan on the mat. The Champion went to work, hammering down elbows and short punches, grinding out the final moments of a grueling war. Donovan fought like hell to stand, bucking, shifting, clawing for daylight. And with seconds left, he found it, forcing his way to his feet just as the final horn blared. Exhausted, battered, and drenched in sweat, both warriors stood across from each other, sharing a glance that spoke louder than words. 

As the decision was read, a unanimous decision for Hendrik Geen, the crowd’s admiration remained unwavering. Despite the loss, Donovan had earned the respect of the crowd and the MMA world with his valiant effort. As Geen had his hand raised, the two shared a respectful nod, two modern day warriors who had pushed each other to the limit.

	JUDGE RILEY HUGHES	JUDGE AUSTIN SPENCER	JUDGE CALLUM JACKSON
ROUND ONE	10-9 Geen	10-9 Geen	10-9 Donovan
ROUND TWO	10-9 Geen	10-9 Geen	10-9 Geen
ROUND THREE	10-9 Donovan	10-9 Donovan	10-9 Donovan
ROUND FOUR	10-9 Geen	10-9 Donovan	10-9 Geen
ROUND FIVE	10-9 Geen	10-9 Geen	10-9 Geen
FINAL SCORE	49-46 Geen	48-47 Geen	48-47 Geen

Winner: Hendrik Geen by Unanimous Decision 

Statistics: Hendrik Geen
Punches 98/216 (45%)
Kicks 52/71 (73%)
Clinch strikes 41/63 (65%)
Takedowns 2/4 (50%)
GnP strikes 18/32 (56%)
Submissions 0/1 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 5/7 (71%)
Time on the ground 137 s

Statistics: Jack Donovan 
Punches 122/275 (44%)
Kicks 34/55 (62%)
Clinch strikes 29/52 (56%)
Takedowns 1/3 (33%)
GnP strikes 10/22 (45%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/5 (60%)
Time on the ground 137 s

Venue: Rod Laver Arena
Location: Melbourne, Victoria, Australia
Attendance: 14,820
Date: March 23, 2025
Fighter Payouts: $4,825,000
Gate: $3,335,000

FIGHT OF THE NIGHT
Hendrik Geen vs Jack Donovan

PERFORMANCE OF THE NIGHT
KJ Lindsay, Tristano D’Amico

DISCLOSED EARNINGS
Hendrik Geen ($1,600,000)
Sadie Williams ($1,550,000)
Nigel Musgrove ($435,000)
Erick Costa ($310,000)
Jack Donovan ($150,000)
Eden Reid ($120,000)
Tristano D’Amico ($120,000)
KJ Lindsay ($120,000)
Dillon Mills ($100,000)
Shintaro Okano ($70,000)
Nyles Stephens ($70,000)
Felix Rosario ($60,000)
Sam Steele ($60,000)
Hideo Sasaki ($60,000)

QUICK RECAP
Nyles Stephens def. Hideo Sasaki by KO (Hook) at 2:31 Round 2
Shintaro Okano def. Sam Steele by Split Decision (29-28 x2, 29-28)
KJ Lindsay def. Nigel Musgrove by KO (Uppercut) at 4:12 Round 1
Tristano D’Amico def. Felix Rosario by TKO (High Kick) at 3:01 Round 2
Eden Reid def. Erick Costa by KO (Spinning Elbow) at 2:35 Round 2
Sadie Williams def. Dillon Mills by Submission (Arm Triangle Choke) at 2:51 Round 3
Hendrik Geen def. Jack Donovan by Unanimous Decision (49-46, 48-47 x2)

EVENT EARNINGS
Ticket Sales: $3,335,000
Media Rights: $5,000,000
Sponsorship Deals: $5,000,000
Merchandise Sales: $750,000
Concessions: $375,000
Site Fee: $5,000,000

Total Event Revenue: $19,460,000

EVENT EXPENSES
Fighter Payouts: $4,825,000
Staff Salaries: $2,000,000
Venue Rental: $1,000,000
Production Costs: $3,500,000
Medical Staff and Equipment: $500,000
Marketing and Advertising: $2,000,000
Insurance: $500,000
Miscellaneous Expenses: $1,000,000

Total Event Expenses: $15,325,000

Net Event Profit: $4,135,000