I'm thankful for the World Series of Fighting.

Hear the words of Marlon Moraes, the fighter who rose from humble beginnings to forge his name in the arena: “I’m thankful for the World Series of Fighting.” Though brief, this declaration is heavy with meaning. It is the voice of one who knows that opportunity is rare, that the stage upon which he stood was not merely a place to fight, but a place to live out his destiny. To be thankful is to recognize that the World Series of Fighting was more than an organization—it was a gateway, a proving ground, a temple where dreams of greatness were tested with blood, sweat, and spirit.

The ancients, too, cherished the places where warriors were forged. The Greeks revered Olympia, not simply as a competition of strength, but as a sacred space where the glory of men was revealed before gods and mortals alike. Rome had its Colosseum, where gladiators, though bound by fate, carved their names into eternity through courage. In like manner, the World Series of Fighting became for Moraes a sacred battlefield, not defined only by wins and losses, but by the honor of standing in the fire and proving oneself worthy of the path.

Consider the story of Alexander the Great, who, before conquering empires, was tested in smaller campaigns against fierce tribes. These early battles, though less remembered, were the crucible in which he gained the strength to challenge the world. So too with Moraes: before he reached greater stages, he was tested within the World Series of Fighting, and it was there that his craft was sharpened, his spirit disciplined, and his name lifted among warriors. Gratitude, then, is not only for the triumphs, but for the forge that prepared him for greater battles.

The power of Moraes’s words lies also in their humility. Many would overlook the stepping-stones once they stand on higher ground. Yet Moraes does not forget. He knows that without the World Series of Fighting, his journey may have been delayed or derailed. Gratitude anchors him to his beginnings, reminding him—and all who listen—that greatness is never born in isolation. Every champion has an arena that first recognized his worth, and to honor it is to honor the roots of one’s own story.

This gratitude carries another meaning as well: recognition of the unseen labor behind the stage. For the World Series of Fighting was not only fighters in a cage, but organizers, coaches, staff, and supporters who created the environment in which warriors could shine. To say “I’m thankful” is to acknowledge that success is not the triumph of one man, but the collaboration of many, each playing their part in shaping a champion’s path.

The lesson, then, is clear. Wherever you are given a chance to grow—whether in humble beginnings or on grand stages—be thankful. Do not scorn the stepping-stones that carried you forward. Recognize the importance of every chapter, even the smaller ones, for they prepare you for the epics yet to be written. Gratitude is not weakness, but strength, for it keeps the soul grounded even as the body soars.

Practical wisdom follows: reflect often on the places, people, and opportunities that shaped your path. Speak thanks for them aloud, as Moraes has done, and let your gratitude be known. Support those who now walk the same roads you once traveled, and help keep those arenas alive for future dreamers.

Thus, Marlon Moraes’s words become more than a personal reflection; they are a timeless teaching. “I’m thankful for the World Series of Fighting.” It is the cry of one who honors the forge that shaped him, the arena that tested him, and the path that carried him toward greatness. Remember always: give thanks for the places that prepared you, for they are the roots of your triumphs and the pillars of your destiny.