Top 5 Crown Techniques | Ciryl Gan
I’m typing this at 2 am on a laptop that’s lagging like a Delhi local train at rush hour while the neighbour’s Bollywood playlist is blasting “Jai Ho” on repeat. My brain’s half‑filled with biryani steam and half with the image of a 206 cm‑tall Frenchman—Ciryl “Bonga Min” Gane—floating around the cage like a lazy cloud that suddenly snaps a thunderbolt
👉 From Football Boots to Fight Boots
Gane didn’t grow up dreaming of a UFC belt. His dad was a pro footballer, and the boy inherited the knack for kicking a ball from him. The kid was tall enough to dunk a basketball in secondary school yet the only thing he ever thought about fighting was the next match of the French Ligue 1 on TV.
At 24 a friend dragged him to a Thai‑boxing gym. Gane thought it’d be a good cardio session after a long day of coding but the moment he slipped into the ring his body remembered the football field—long strides, wide stance, a reach that could hug a giraffe. Within a year he was already snapping early finishes and his trainer Fernando Lopez started calling him “Bonga Min”, which in our slang means “good guy”.
👉 The Arms That Keep the World at Bay
If you ever saw Gane’s arm span—206 cm, almost the length of a small bus—you’d think he was built for a different sport. He uses that reach like a giant’s ruler keeping opponents at a safe distance with jabs that feel like polite taps. Then out of nowhere a right cross lands with the weight of a Mumbai monsoon.
He doesn’t just jab; he mixes feints that make the opponent’s brain short‑circuit. One moment he’s pulling a hand back, the next he launches a hip‑fired left that looks like a mime’s invisible box, only to land a crushing elbow on the other side. It’s like watching a chess game where the pieces keep changing colors.
👉 Feints, Fakes, and the “Flying” Knee
The most fun part is his deception. He’ll step forward, lower his gaze as if he’s about to slip on a banana peel then—boom—launches a knee that feels like a hammer. Opponents often end up on the canvas wondering whether they just got hit by a leg or a meteor.
He’s also got a signature flying elbow that seems to appear out of thin air. The thing is Gane’s footwork—thanks to his basketball and football days—lets him shuffle, pivot and switch stance mid‑exchange. One second he’s in orthodox, the next he’s south‑paw and the opponent’s left hand ends up punching the air.
Side note 1: Last year, during a cricket match at Wankhede, I tried to copy Gane’s footwork while running between the wickets. Ended up tripping over the stumps and spilling chai on the scoreboard
👉 The Knees That Talk in French
Gane’s knees and elbows are sharpened from years in Muay Thai rings. When he clinches, it’s not a hug; it’s a barrage of knees that feel like a French baguette being smashed repeatedly. He can switch from a clinch to a flying knee in a heartbeat, sending the opponent sprawling like a badly folded sarong.
His elbows can slice through the air from a distance, targeting the body with a precision that would make a surgeon jealous. He sometimes throws a deceptive middle kick then steps in to land a flying elbow that lands on the opponent’s chin like a sudden rainstorm in the Sahara.
👉 The “Bongo” Rhythm
What makes Gane stand out isn’t just his reach or his kicks; it’s his rhythm. He can press forward, retreat, and then explode forward again all while keeping his balance like a tightrope walker on a windy night. When an opponent tries to dominate the center, Gane backs away, circles, and re‑enters at the perfect angle, landing a cross that knocks the wind out of the crowd.
His “dart” technique—slipping a jab and instantly moving to the side—makes him look like a cat dodging laser pointers. He can change stance mid‑overhand avoid a hook and pop back into range without missing a beat.
Side note 2: On a weird bus ride two weeks ago, the driver started playing “Eye of the Tiger” while we were stuck in traffic. I imagined Gane dodging the potholes with his footwork and the whole bus erupted in laughter
👉 The “Bonga” Arsenal
He’s got a toolbox that would make a handyman jealous
| Technique | What it looks like | Why it hurts |
|---|---|---|
| Long‑range jab | Light tap, almost polite | Sets up the cross |
| Right cross | Heavy, straight line | Cracks skull |
| Feint left‑hand | Fake pull | Opens guard |
| Hip‑fired left | Low, sweeping | Trips opponent |
| Flying elbow | Sudden upward strike | Cuts head |
| Knees from clinch | Repeated, vertical | Stomps torso |
| Middle kick | Low, snapping | Hits liver |
| Dart slip | Quick step, side | Evades hook |
He can also throw a front kick that looks like a gentle nudge then follow with a body punch that feels like a sack of bricks. He mixes in a lot of “multi‑level feints”—step‑ins, hip‑fakes, and sudden switches that make the opponent’s mind spin.
👉 When He Hits the Ground
Gane isn’t a ground‑and‑pound specialist but when the fight goes down he becomes a hammer. He’ll pin the opponent with his head, control the chin and then unleash a flurry of elbows and punches that feel like a machine gun. He’s not afraid to go to the mat; he just uses it as another playground.
Side note 3: My cousin once tried to teach me a “perfect” chai brewing method—boil water, add tea, wait exactly 3 minutes then add milk. I tried it while watching a Gane fight and the kettle boiled over just as he landed a knee. Guess the universe likes chaos
👉 The Unpredictable Frenchman
What’s crazy is how quickly he learns. He picks up new moves faster than his coach can say “défense”. He’s already mastering wrestling basics even though his style is built on striking. When an opponent tries to force a takedown, Gane uses his reach to keep them at bay then slips in a knee that sends them crashing back.
He can switch from a striking stance to a grappling stance in a blink and his opponents never know whether they’re about to get punched, kicked or slammed. He’s like a French mime who suddenly decides to break character and throw a punch.
👉 The Raw Energy
Watching Gane fight feels like being in a Mumbai bar on a rainy night—loud, chaotic and full of surprises. The crowd roars, the lights flicker and the fighter moves like he’s dancing to a drumbeat only he can hear. He doesn’t care about the “canonical” Ali line about butterflies and bees; he writes his own poetry with fists and feet.
His fights are a mix of elegance and brute force, like a perfectly cooked biryani where every grain of rice is distinct yet part of a whole. The way he uses his long arms, his feints, his knees, and his uncanny footwork makes every round feel like a new chapter.
The French giant keeps the cage alive, turning each bout into a story that’s part ballet, part street fight, part random bus ride soundtrack. He’s not just a fighter; he’s a living, breathing, unpredictable piece of art that makes you want to shout “Bonga Min!” at the top of your lungs even if you’re alone in your room typing on a laggy laptop with a plate of biryani cooling beside you.
