Misfits threw the scales on the table and let everyone pretend this is normal. Andrew Tate rocked up at 199.5 like a cruiserweight who fancies his chances, and Chase DeMoor came in at 200 flat, looking like he’s eaten more leather lately than Tate’s seen in five years. Those figures tell you everything: Tate wants speed, DeMoor wants pressure.
Tony Ferguson at 163.2 versus Warren Spencer at 169.4 looks like a size gamble more than a tactic. Ferguson has never been a man who cared about physical logic. Spencer will try to bully, and Ferguson will try to survive long enough to nick moments. If this turns into clinch-and-maul, Ferguson will look tiny.
Carla Jade and Taylor Starling were the only ones who played it like serious pros. 115.4 and 114.5, tidy, tight, ready. Women saving the card’s dignity again. Starling boxes sharp. Jade scraps. Someone bleeds.
Deen the Great came in at 132, Amado Vargas at 130.5. Deen loves the chaos, Vargas brings technique. Throw them into a phone-booth and you’ll finally see who panics first. Deen hasn’t lived under an educated jab for long. Vargas will test that chin.
Neeraj Goyat at 157.2 versus Anthony Taylor at 164.3 feels like two men who would fight in a lift if the door jammed. Taylor’s heavier, louder, and will try to drag this into a brawl immediately because he hates being out-boxed.
Tai Emery at 124 and Pearl Gonzalez at 125 is a women’s middleweight strap that might actually steal the show. Gonzalez has the frame to bully. Emery has the edge in meanness. That one won’t need guides.
Nichlmao at 154.5 and Ben Williams 153.7 is Misfits roulette: someone throws something stupid, someone gets clipped, and half the crowd pretends it was tactical.
Then there’s Amir Anderson and Joe Laws, both 169.7, same digits, same division, same headache. That’s the one proper boxing heads will watch because weight parity means no excuses. Laws can box. Anderson can crack. Someone’s ego dies.
David Lopez at 146.5 versus Luis Garcia at 147 closes the title tally. Lopez has that stubborn pace no influencer likes dealing with. Garcia looks like he wants to break ribs. If that goes the distance, someone boxed scared.
Andrew Tate vs DeMoor: Five-Year Layoff Meets Zero Technique
Andrew Tate hasn’t boxed in half a decade, yet he’s parachuted straight into a Misfits title slot against Chase DeMoor. You don’t need a press pass to understand why. Misfits is selling chaos, headlines, and algorithm traffic. Tate is the algorithm. DeMoor is the stuntman. Boxing quality doesn’t enter the room.
Tate hasn’t had a real fight since before half the TikTok audience was in secondary school, but Misfits handed him CEO duties and a belt shot in the same breath. That tells you everything. This isn’t merit. It’s conversion metrics. Still, Tate walks in acting like he’s reclaiming some throne, talking like a bloke who fell into conspiracy quicksand and mistook it for destiny.
Tate’s CV lives in kickboxing, not boxing, and even that history is museum-dust by now. Five years out of combat isn’t ring rust, it’s shrink-wrap. He turns 40 soon. The reflexes don’t refresh because he has a Bugatti and a Telegram channel. A jab exchanges timing for mileage. Once it goes, it goes.
He keeps saying he “wanted to fight anyone” and the “matrix stopped him.” That’s not a training assessment. That’s theatre. He’s still in the middle of criminal accusations and PR firestorms. Misfits didn’t give him a fight because he’s sharp. They gave him a fight because negativity prints money.
Chase DeMoor has seven outings this year. Quantity isn’t quality. He’s a reality-TV product wearing gloves, filling dates on influencer cards because someone has to. He spent months pleading for Tate to wager a Bugatti, like playground taunting is strategic pressure. Fair to say, that’s his level.
Even his Christmas-present stunt in Dubai — handing Tate a toy Bugatti — wasn’t psychological warfare. It was pantomime. Misfits sells pantomime. If this was a gym floor in Manchester, lads would’ve laughed him back into the showers.
Tate eventually snapped because even he knows there’s no edge there. If a joke needs three explanations, there’s no bite. DeMoor’s plan is obvious: drag Tate into talk, not technique. If he had technical confidence, you’d hear specifics. You’d hear tempo talk, range, jab patterns, side-steps. Instead, you get “what colour is your Bugatti.”
The real unknown: can Tate still throw with intent after five dead years?
Kickboxers rely on rhythm and muscle memory. Boxing asks for economy, tight hands, measured footwork. Tate was stiff even when active. Five years doesn’t loosen stiffness. It deepens it. You don’t get sharper by arguing online. You don’t fix timing by running a promotion.
If Tate wins, it’s because DeMoor gives him everything. DeMoor comes forward sloppy, leaves openings, sells his chin like it’s digital merch. Tate still has a straight right in theory, and against influencer resistance, theory probably lands.
If Tate loses? That’s the headline Misfits wants. A 39-year-old ex-kickboxer and online agitator taking a L to a reality-TV heavyweight. It would embarrass him and deepen the narrative. Misfits feeds on humiliation loops.
There’s no boxing integrity here — only business choices.
So what matters Saturday?
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Tate’s timing. If it’s gone, it’s gone.
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DeMoor’s chin. He gets clipped a lot.
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Who freezes under lights.
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Who gasses.
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Who panics when caught clean.
Nobody’s shadow-boxing tactical IQ. Nobody’s controlling range like a pro.
You’re watching a monetised dare.
Prediction?
Tate lands early because Chase walks into punches. Call it a two-round correction. If Tate somehow struggles, the entire Misfits leadership plan collapses in real time. A CEO who can’t punch out a reality lad is dead stock.
Event Details
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Date: Saturday, December 21, 2024
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Approx. Start Time: 6:00 PM ET / 11:00 PM UK
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Venue: Dubai, UAE (facility announced by Misfits)
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Stream: Rumble
