Conor McGregor’s latest energy drink stunt shows more tone-deaf crassness

Clean up in aisle eight. Picking up groceries at Stop and Shop supermarket last week, I happened upon a new display advertising an obscure energy drink called Bucked Up. The cardboard stand was emblazoned with shots of a bare-chested Conor McGregor, some of them backdropped by the Irish Tricolour.

With a Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship (BKFC) belt slung over his shoulder and a can of this elixir in hand, he is described in the branding as MMA champion, the copywriters having somehow forgotten to include the “ex” prefix in that sentence. Or to mention that he owns a piece of BKFC but has never fought in it. Yet.

Bucked Up are one of the main sponsors of the BKFC awfulness and, in case there were any doubts McGregor endorses the product wholeheartedly, his autograph was plastered all over. Like it will be on the many presidential decrees he intends to sign upon reaching Áras an Uachtaráin and swiftly rewriting Bunreacht na hÉireann.

The Notorious Buck flavoured cans come in the green and orange livery of the true commercial patriot, with an image of him poised for combat and a promise to deliver “superior focus” and “mind-body connection”. No, seriously.

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Amid all the ludicrous claims, no mention that last November the Irishman was found liable in a civil claim for raping Nikita Hand by a jury of his peers at the High Court in Dublin. Perhaps the folks at Bucked Up hadn’t heard about the judgment or read the extremely disturbing medical evidence presented when they dreamt up this marketing campaign.

Maybe their headquarters in Utah has poor wifi so nobody there knows a woman in Miami filed a similar sexual assault charge stemming from an incident at an NBA game in 2023. Or about the slew of other unseemly incidents where he has ended up, ahem, helping police or gendarmes with their inquiries.

Conor McGregor speaking at the White House on St Patrick's Day this year. Photograph: Jim Lo Scalzo/EPA/Bloomberg via Getty Images

In arguably the most competitive, over-populated corner of the non-alcoholic drinks market, the geniuses at Bucked Up are convinced there are still gullible fools out there willing to purchase something because of McGregor’s imprimatur. In 2025. Little wonder they have never cracked the top 15 in terms of nationwide sales. They have put their faith in a poltroon who punched a pensioner in a bar, encouraged his followers to “evaporate” any Irish property being used to house immigrants and, most recently, was filmed throwing digs at a fella in an Ibiza nightclub.

Near enough a decade since he last mattered as a serious athlete, after years of disturbing accusations across five countries, some ad guru believes that Beacon Hotel snarl, that sullied-forever name, can persuade teens to pay $2 for a can of this gut rot. Imagine there must actually have been a meeting where this strategy was conceived, proposed and approved by adults. How? Why? Who?

Amazed at this tone-deaf crassness, I stalked the rest of the aisles to see what other athletes are being deployed to flog food and drink to American consumers. I found Coco Gauff, the number-two ranked tennis player in the world, on the front of a box of Wheaties cereal, the most historic and prestigious commercial placement in sport here. Fresh off her second Grand Slam victory at the French Open, where she handled a temper tantrum by her defeated opponent with uncommon grace, the 21-year-old seems like a decent pitch person, even allowing for her early exit from Wimbledon this week.

Coco Gauff's early elimination from Wimbledon came as a big surprise this week. Photograph: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images

A former teen prodigy who has spoken eloquently about her mental health struggles, she carries herself in victory and defeat with class and dignity. In honour of a grandmother who was the first African-American student to break the colour barrier at her Florida high school in 1961, Gauff uses her own celebrity to help causes fighting social and racial inequity. Also, small detail. She has never been found liable for sexual assault in a civil trial or been interviewed in global cop shops following lurid incidents involving members of the opposite sex.

The same can be said for Arnold Palmer. Nearly a decade since his death, he remains big and beloved enough in these parts to stare down from shelves as the face of Arizona iced tea. Every bottle of the half-tea, half-lemonade flavour comes adorned with shots of him in his pomp, back when his charismatic play earned him the nickname “The King” and made modern golf into a television staple. More than half a century after his last major victory, the way Palmer’s fame has endured is a testament to his character.

Then again, he was never found liable for sexual assault against a woman by a jury of his peers. That might have something to do with his popularity too.

Aaron Judge in action for the New York Yankees. Photograph: Evan Bernstein/Getty Images

Elsewhere in the supermarket, I came upon special edition bottles of Prime (another putrid energy concoction) with Aaron Judge and his number 99 on every tin. Much classier than the contents, the collectible containers are pinstriped blue like the New York Yankees jersey he has worn with distinction this past nine years.

At 6ft 7in, tipping the scales at 127kg, the squeaky clean 33-year-old home-run machine might just be the purest hitter of his generation. A devout Methodist and most definitely not the sort to stumble conveniently upon some bowdlerised version of “break glass in case of legal emergency” Christianity on his way to court, he remains much sought-after for commercial endorsements.

Just like McGregor used to be. You know. Before he became so bucked up.

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