Sitting upon a dais in Toronto at UFC 206, draped in formal wear colored-coded with implications — black suit for the funeral of a legend, golden lining for the ride yet to come — Holloway ended 2016 by letting the MMA world in on a secret of how exactly the new year would play out. “Tune in,” he insisted, his gold-plated tie shimmering in the night. “This is just the beginning.” That was before the hunt for Jose (W)aldo kicked into high gear, before Holloway did the damn thing not just once, but twice, ending the reign of an all-timer with two of the most eye-opening back-to-back performances in UFC championship history. No one knew then that when Holloway casually dismissed the 145-pound GOAT as just another guy, he really meant it.

But time would show it soon enough.

“I’m going to prove to you guys, prove to myself, and prove to everyone that I’m the best motherf*cker walking on two feet,” Holloway promised. “And you guys are all going to witness it. This is the ‘Blessed’ show now.”

Prophetic? No, Holloway was merely telling the truth.

So it is fitting that in a year personified by young lions devouring an elder guard, the most seasoned of those lions reigned supreme by campaign’s end.

What Holloway accomplished in 2017 was the vindication of a philosophy long thought dead, the antithesis to a movement that has pervaded and poisoned the UFC well since a billion-dollar sale transferred the sport from the clutches of fights fans into the hands of the Hollywood elite. In an era where the chase of the money fight takes precedence over divisional sense, Holloway’s run to the top of the featherweight division was a breath of fresh air. Ten straight wins to land interim gold, then two more to erase any doubt about the reign of the new king.

Not bad for a guy who was once 3-3 in the UFC. And it was his definitive dispatching of Aldo that earned Holloway MMA Fighting’s honor of 2017 Fighter of the Year.

The circumstances were never favorable. Holloway began 2017 by traveling to Aldo’s home country of Brazil for UFC 212’s unification bout, venturing into the belly of the beast to unseat the division’s greatest champion. There, his ‘anyone, anywhere’ mantra was tested. Surrounded by thousands of his foe’s countrymen in the ultimate away game, Holloway was forced to overcome a wake-up call of an opening round before overwhelming Aldo with a masterful display of Hawaiian attrition. His pressure was suffocating, inescapable, a Diaz-like march that gradually sucked the will out of Jeunesse Arena before consuming Aldo in an awe-inspiring third stanza.

As far as changing of the guards go, it was a thunderous statement. The sort of coronation Holloway always knew himself capable of.

In a sport of big-game hunting, he had finally captured his silver back gorilla. Who was next? As long as they could sign on the dotted line, Holloway didn’t care.

“Too many cry babies in this game,” the new champion said dismissively that night. “I could've sat there and wept and cried, ‘Where is my title shot, blah, blah, blah.’ I don't want to say it, but you’re a b*tch. You're a b*tch if you act like that, for real.

“I never cried one time. When we got the Aldo fight, the email was in my inbox for 15 minutes. It took me a under a minute to send it back. I didn't even know it was in there, I was randomly checking my email and I was like, ‘Oh UFC agreement, what?’ and send it back with my signature. Stop crying. ‘I deserve this, I deserve that.’ You guys don't deserve sh*t. Keep trying, keep working hard. We’re here now. They can't deny me now.

How right he was…

And he proved the truth of his words the second time around, when disaster struck less than three weeks before UFC 218.

In retrospect, it was another crossroads decision that didn’t even end up entertained. Frankie Edgar broke a bone in his face, and now a re-motivated Aldo wants to step up on short notice and run things back? Come on, brah. Haven’t you been paying attention? They’re all just cupcakes in the end, and Max Holloway is a fan of every cupcake flavor. He doesn’t discriminate. There are plenty of whoopings to go around.

So Holloway did himself one better, one-upping his own coming out party with the kind of repeat performance that words struggle to do justice. The rematch at UFC 218 was a supped up version of his masterclass at UFC 212. Holloway needed an additional 48 seconds to bring things to a close. He landed 70 more significant strikes. He was a terrifying force. And he was once again crowned UFC featherweight king.

Heading into 2018, who knows the heights this ride can climb? Edgar is undoubtedly next, but what happens if Holloway does it again? How long until the roundtable of all-time greats must fetch another seat for the pride of Waianae?

It may be sooner than you’d think.