In Defence of the Draw - Badou Jack vs James Degale

The Draw. The most unlikely, frustrating and derided result in professional boxing. Rarely is this proclamation met with great enthusiasm. Surely one man must be superior to the other. Why sit so dubiously on the fence. In professionalised violence, where subjectivism is the scorers weapon of choice, why impoverish the contest with such an anti-climatic judgement.

Lewis versus Holyfield I offers this argument a great deal of capital. More so, did every other drawn fight which were crudely deemed illegitimate. In truth, bar the most blatant robberies, most drawn fights will produce a reactionary response; especially if you thought your man threw the cleaner punches. If your man looked the more active. If your boy in there took less damage. But these biases often overwrite the analysis of this sport, and as such explain why the concept of a drawn contest is met with such derision.

Many in Brooklyn on Saturday night called the fight one way of the other. In ode to every great misappropriation of the scores, no draw is celebrated; rather people fret in expectancy of it. Nor in fact does any true boxing enthusiast confidently call it. They fear its existence. People disdainfully dread the possibility of those scorecards getting shared evenly. But the fight on Saturday night, and more acutely the result, should come very close to being celebrated.

The reformation of boxing, which must strike against the stench of illegitimacy, is fuelled by fights like Jack versus Degale. Without resorting to sentiment or appearing mawkish, bouts fought in the manner of Saturday night’s main event are a testament to why this sport can be so absorbing. Yes, admittedly the contest was looked upon dubiously beforehand. And as such exceeded expectations. But the fight was also thrillingly unpredictable, as such it ebbed and flowed in either direction a multitude of times. A tale of two knockdowns, numerous frenetic exchanges and closely fought rounds.

Degale struck early, a first round knock down that, whilst appeared quite benign, did provide great impetus for the first three to four rounds. You were cautiously optimistic that James Degale, besotted by mediocre performances against Bute and Medina, would rise to the elite level expected of him. But the frustration present in those aforementioned fights were founded upon Degale’s inability to capitalise upon early gains. And following this worrying blueprint, he began to drop in the mid range of this fight. Credit of course must be distributed to Jack. Who, after his own unimpressive display against Bute, was able to offer some cutting moments across rounds five through to nine. For me, Degale always offered more stylistic combinations, and even within these rounds he lost he often appeared the slicker fighter. But in testament to the new, mid-fight New York medical checks, Jack was clearly offering the more severe punishment.

The oddity of this fight was that Degale appeared to compose himself in its latter stages. Moreover, his physical conditioning looked superior to Jack’s. But in ode to every cliche ever written in any final round; one or two combinations do change contests. And so they proved to, as Jack unknowingly entered the final round two points down. His knockdown of Degale was fashioned from the same brutality that took Degale’s front tooth out mid-fight. It left therefore a frantic final 90 seconds, the knockdown had punctured Degale, but he refused to be flattened. An indicative reminder that, whilst often viewed under suspicion, the IBF world champion is a raw pugilist. A technically elite boxer, but a fighter nonetheless.

The stoicism of both competitors was one admirable platitude that could be deduced from a typically weak post-fight set of interviews. The Draw, a centrifugal point within the conversation of Degale, Jack and a flustered Floyd Mayweather. They of course poured scorn upon the result, each dissecting its alleged illegitimacy in an expectantly rushed manner. The adrenaline surging through James Degale in particular was striking. We now arrive at the final crux of the draw in professional combat. The respectful, yet ardent criticism of the result. Yet interestingly whilst both fighters were able to thrust semi-compelling arguments for their own cause. Only one pestered the other for another wager. James Degale, imploring one the Greatest of all time, Floyd Maywether Jr, to drag his fighter to London this summer for a rematch. Hardly a toothless proposition.

But it appears Jack is ready to depart the Super Middleweight division. He has attempted to comply to Degale’s demands, but many expert eyes within the fight game look upon it as mere talk. Under Hayman and flagged by Mayweather, Jack must now commodify his brash approach within boxing. There’s no room at this point in his career for repeating history.

Contrary to this disposition, it is argued all draws should be settled eventually. Lennox Lewis, for me the greatest boxer to fight under the Union flag, beat every man put in front of him. He successfully avenged both losses, and that criminal draw inflicted upon him by Holyfield. It makes me consider whether that draw, in New York 18 years ago, is the only of those results that still stifles Lewis. Rahman and McCall were inferior technicians that caught Lewis in fluxes of his own vulnerability. The draw though, the draw wrongly incarcerated Lewis for eight months, until he was mercifully able to seek redemption.

Thankfully this stalemate does not have to be dragged through the formal entities of the WBC or IBF. I would adore each fighter to settle upon a rematch. But the most pragmatic proposition for each fighter suggests we will never see it. Degale can now visualise a series of highly ranked British fighters fresh through his optic lens. Groves in another unification, Smith for a maximum payday or even Eubank Jr. The future of Badou Jack is admittedly more blurry. His ability to fight in the same realm as Ward, Kovelev and Stevenson must be questioned. But Jack does look more capable of fighting at 175 than Degale; and the economics might just affirm this bold career move.

Nevertheless, the fight on Saturday night fully deserved the scores given. An odd exclamation considering both sides reluctance to accept the draw. But as denoted, the draw should not be feared. The bookies are not the only constituent which carry the right to celebrate a drawn contest. Ok, there is no closure to the fight. We dwell sheepishly on what could of happened. But critically, we can also appreciate what did happen, as well. What happened on Saturday night was a terrific bout took place, one fought with a sense of gusto we are too quick to decry the sport often lacks. Its only problem was that it was a little too close to call.

The Tao of Muhammad Ali - Davis Miller

Boxing cinematography is often curtailed by a sense of inevitability. It is an area of film dogged by imitative plot lines, which tirelessly all conclude with an over edible, yet entirely predictable moment of glory or truth. For me, the structural hegemony of the Rocky franchise has unfortunately blighted the creation of more nuanced boxing pictures. 2016 produced two mainstream motion pictures which can be broadly placed within this nexus. Hands of Stone, marred by a quite formulaic plot, told the story of Roberto Duran and his heroic search for redemption after beating, then losing to Sugar Ray Leonard. This incidentally was also emblematic of Creed, a decent attempt at restructuring the Rocky franchise, but one that also felt extremely typical of the genre. The other film produced from the last calendar year, narrates the story of Vinny Pazienza or Vinny Paz as he is affectionally known. In his stoic and quite remarkable battle against injury, he of course defends his middleweight crown in a moment of glory. A story which reciprocally follows the established plot routes of its predecessors.  

I feel that literature can often defy this catch 22 mentality that infects the film industry. The written word obviously offers a more layered approach to storytelling, and thus has the potential to break conventional plot lines. Of course it would be myopic to forget a great deal of boxing books can tread the aforementioned routine structure, moreover many works of literature are translated to the cinema through various adaptions. Yet you sense there is a profound difference to say Lars Saabye Christensen’s work on the Half Brother to your average hollywood tale. The Half Brother is an erudite example of how nuanced boxing literature can also become bestselling novels.

Yet Christensen’s account is the purest form of escapism. A fictional tale which follows the life of amateur Arnold Nielsen. Yet, there are works of literature which stylistically are able to follow real life events. The most audible being Norman Mailer’s classic account of the Ali/Foreman bout. This is a historiographical assessment, but curtailed under the eloquent prose of Mailer. Written in a similar fashion, yet treading closer to the genre of half-fiction is the equally sublime; the Tao of Muhammad Ali. This book is more than a mere biographical account of Ali. It is a bespoke spiritual journey which attempts to articulate the extent to which people idolised the greatest of all time.

There’s an exceptional piece of text hidden within this relatively short book which augments the adoration felt for Ali. Clay, at his farm in Berrien Springs presents the author, Davis Miller,  with a series of pamphlets, provocatively entitled with the question ‘IS JESUS REALLY GOD?’. Ali precedes to lament the fact that the only way he can get rid of these leaflets is through scribing his name on them. The great Ali, perhaps even bigger than any religious affiliation. The book is littered with these annotations of how important Ali was to 20th century America. However, the fundamental relation of importance is between Ali and Miller. The relationship is not obsessive nor does it ever appear sickly; it is founded upon the authors sheer love and admiration for the champ.

I believe this homage, which clearly eschews moments of fictional imagination, still omits a great deal about Ali and his global significance. Miller astutely suggests Ali could well be recognised as the first truly international hero of his time. A combative statement, yet one that rings true in a world that is just getting to grips with hyper-globalism. The book offers little if you are looking for a broad dissection of world boxing. Little time is offered to other boxing idols. Miller even admits later in the book that he holds no true affection for the sport. A martial artist at heart, he merely subscribes to the view that Ali transcends the game itself. This is prescient when he is paid to write about Sugar Ray Leonard, facing Roberto Duran for the third time. His attendance at the Mirage in Vegas is prompted by the potential of meeting Clay again. And only meeting Clay. His love for Ali also tempers his disdain for other boxers such as Mike Tyson. Written in an era where Tyson was seen as unbeatable, Miller proudly concocts the blueprint of defeating him; around you guessed it, the great Ali.

There are more focused accounts, where Miller is able to experience Ali spar. These are the most cutting observations, the eloquence of Ali, even in retirement is a glorious picture, beautifully painted by the author. His language, from both a linguistic and physical sense in the ring is the determinable factor to why so many see Clay as the greatest ever. His stylistic pomposity, urging and mocking his opponents to fight even in training, is an indictment of his stature within the sport. This is apparent outside the ring too, often declaring himself in reference of others, to be the greatest ever. Sugar Ray and Joe Louis are mere boxers, not greats, and when he left the sport, the sport itself became futile. These appear brash statements, but they are articulated in a referential fashion. Miller never reproaches these outbursts because they are often reciprocated with unearthly acts of kindness. The amount of time and energy Ali offers to both Miller and all his other adoring fans is made quite salient throughout the book. Miller even quips that Ali has probably met over 200,000 people in his time. Each one of them feeling like they have knew him all their lives.

Miller uncovers so much more in this ‘spiritual’ journey between himself and Ali than pure admiration. As denoted, Ali’s resonance is universally felt. But his importance to Miller is the reason this book feels so endearing. Davis Miller is an anonymous figure, carrying out an anonymous job, submerged by an above average amount of personal loss and pain. Ali is beautifully constructed as the salvation to Miller’s quite dreary existence. The ‘Zen’ of Clay, which Miller later writes in ode to him is based on this spiritual belief that he is so much more nuanced and important than a mere boxer.

At this point of intersection you may lose faith in the idea that this piece of work can be classified as a boxing book. Davis Miller, attempting to mimic the egotism of Ali declares that he wishes to be the next Norman Mailer. The next great author who is a pure Ali enthusiast. Yet he never lives up to this persona. Rather he writes not merely as an Ali enthusiast, but under the mutually inclusive tag of a great author. His work, currently in the process of becoming an Opera, reflects an alternative to the formulaic impression of boxing offered by the big screen. The book curtails any explicit evaluation of Ali’s health. Yet whilst uplifting, the shadow Parkinson’s casts over the greatest champion of all time, strikes an important tone. The glory of boxing has always been counterbalanced by contemplating its effect on the body. There is no comeback, no great moment where Ali reinstates his boxing superiority. Rather, there is just a recurrent reminder of how superior he once was.

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2017 (1st Quarter) Preview

The humble boxing blog. As in demand as an WBU title shot. Essentially, the written equivalent of the CSI franchise; once you've seen one, you've seen em all. This blog is in part the product of both a love for the sport and a searing dislike of the day job. More the latter than the former admittedly, but nevertheless I will try to articulate my love of the sport in a post at some point in the future. To inaugurate this fleeting blog though, which will presumably have a shelf life akin to Scott Quigg’s reign as World Champion, I have reverted to the Meat and Potato of sports writing. A tedious and ill informed look into what 2017 offers the Sport. And why not just focus on British fighters. In the spirit of our new Brexit Overlords, where internationalism is sadly deemed a dissent relic of the past.

Haye vs Bellew (March 4th 2017, 02 Arena, London)

Eagerly anticipating the expected announcement of Vince McMahon as guest referee, this bout should probably climax around the final presser in late February. Its a fight which fits the fashion of 2016. Not only is the underdog Bellew considered technically inferior to Haye, he is stepping up weights to take the fight. For me, there’s a clear bounty on Bellew’s head, and it fortunately for him, pays well for both fighters. As such Haye should be a step too far for the Liverpudlian. Think Everton/Villarreal in the 2005 Champions League playoffs. Could be mistaken, but I thinks that’s who Bellew supports, right? Yet maybe not. There could be a danger of perhaps underselling this. Both Chisora and Whyte can sit smugly as prima facie evidence that the ‘insight’ of the boxing fraternity can be proved so very wrong. Could there be a shock on the cards, could this actually materialise into an interesting fight?

An important side note is that Chisora and Whyte fought in the dying light of the year of our lord 2016. 2016, the year that Lucas Browne became Heavyweight World Champion. Yes Lucas Browne. World Heavyweight Champion. Donald Trump, Leicester City, Brexit, David Bowie. But more importantly Lucas Browne yeah. So the year should basically be written off as a stained outlier of our human epoch. One that should never be mentioned again. Probably on a similar tone nor should this fight. The hand speed previewed by Haye in that first press conference gave a frighteningly small glimpse of the physical proficiency of Haye. Assessing their relative records, Haye stands only to have been beaten once by a better fighter. He lost the Thompson fight because of ill discipline, a propensity to work too hard at the wrong moments. His only other defeat against the much bigger Vladimir Klitschko. Who at that time was surely at his peak. Bellew, naturally smaller than Haye, has been more active; and has fought opponents in the last 18 months with actual Wikipedia pages. But you do sense that both Flores and Makubu (Bellews greatest scalp) don't posses anything close to the speed, range or technical ability of Haye.

As you may denote, I am slightly pessimistic about both Bellew’s chances and the fight itself. A scripted rivalry which hinges on one incorrectly calling the other Spongebob Squarepants, and the other, perhaps correctly, a bellend. The state of boxing circa 2017. It can and probably will be rescued by a solid knockout. A hook ideally thrown from Haye’s hip. The type that gets written into future memes. The type of KO so brutal your da’ will be trying to show you it on Facebook three months later. Haye, even at 36 should demolish Bellew. And look to move onto Joshua in time.

Joshua/Klitschko (April 19th 2017, Wembley Stadium, London)

And so moving onto Joshua myself and to a heavyweight bout which should actually carry some significance. Klitschko, now 56 years old, sleeping rough in his car outside Matchroom HQ is expected to help break Carl Froch’s record (and in the process his heart) by boxing in front of 90,000 at Wembley Stadium. Yet even those 40 quid seats up in the high heavens of North West London should be able to anticipate whats coming. Vlad looks desperate for one last cheque. Fury, whilst technically impotent, proved in Germany the endemic frailties of an ageing Klitschko. Fury and Joshua are two polemic fighters admittedly. Joshua isn’t awkward nor will he be patient. No prior evidence suggests AJ will approach this fight in any other way to his previous 18. He will front up, throw a decent number of combinations and try to out-power the Ukrainian.

Ignoring the amount of time Klitschko has spent out of the ring, this will still be a great eye opener to just how good of a job Fury did in 2015. If, and for me this is a large if, Klitschko can establish his jab, allow the fight to tick on his time schedule, there is an air of intrigue added to the result. But I think it is an incredibly shrewd move by Eddie Hearn. From a purely promotional perspective Hearn has produced a fully operational machine. An animatronic knockout artist who has had his career moulded and protected as proficiently as any Conservative member of Parliament. I don't as such see this as a huge step up considering Klitschko’s inactivity. And as a result of the Molina fight, who happened to go nine rounds with Wilder, I’m not even sure Wilder is really at that elite level yet either.

Frampton/Santa Cruz II (January 29th 2017, MGM Grand, Las Vegas)

A World Championship fight I'm actually looking forward to! A rarity in a sport which feels like every other World Title fight is merely a promotional stepping stone for just one of the two competitors. This point was recently emphasised by Steve Bunce, writing in the independent, and essentially writing off (with a degree of truth) Anthony Joshua’s entire 2016. As a rule, it is mildly refreshing to see a world title contender fighting on odds lower 1/40.  

The first bout between these two created a spectacle which amalgamated two very different styles. Santa Cruz probably threw about 20,000 punches whilst Frampton boxed in beautiful flurries. Thankfully, the technique embroiled within these combinations won Frampton the fight. And as a caveat, I actually thought he won by more than two rounds. Yet the closeness of at least two scores (and maybe some contractual necessities) mean that we can see it again this January. For me, it was also my fight of the year. Whilst you are often presented with glorious slugfests like Whyte and Chisora, which are undeniably enjoyable bouts. They are not, in ode to the great AJ Liebling, a true articulation of the sweet science. Any fight of the year contender must be at world level for me. It has to accurately showcase elite boxers. I believe Santa Cruz and Frampton both slot neatly into this description. As such therefore, the sequel promises a great deal.

Santa Cruz has already offered a prelude to a trilogy, moreover has hinted at retirement if the bout goes against him. So whether spoken in the spirit of promotional hyperbole or even in sincerity, the stage is set. Cue a fucking dreadful fight…

Crolla/Linares II (25th March, Manchester Arena, Manchester)

At the risk of carrying a level of bias akin to the Sky Sports Boxing twitter feed, I have sought to incorporate another Matchroom show into the preview. Partly out of love for Anthony Crolla, and also an indictment of how few concrete fights have been made so far. I don't actually believe a rematch is a fair product of the original bout. Linares, looked a level too far for Crolla. Despite been tagged ‘the most genuine man in boxing’, you do sense that politics is ultimately preventing the most ‘genuine’ fight in the division, the dust up between Crolla and Terry Flanagan.

Nevertheless, I am not seeking to argue the first fight was not a quality affair. It was a frenetic fight which produced a lot of interesting moments. Crolla’s style as oppose to Linares’ expansive repertoire of punches is why the fight was fashioned in this manner. More to this point, it is his movements which are so integral to why most of his recent bouts have been fought in this manner. Even though the Columbian did throw the far slicker hits. Crolla, as instructed by a coach who as it happens is readily tagged the ‘greatest trainer in boxing’, kept his defence tight and was acutely patient to strike in his own right. This was the precedent set against both Perez and Barroso. And it was the latter fight in which he used it so effectively.

The problem is, and this is also a reflection of Bellew, as mentioned earlier, it is really hard to grasp any strategic path to victory. Bar any dramatic change in style, it is hard to see how Crolla will step up to a level that is seemingly beyond him. Of course it would make success even sweeter, victory even greater. A Crolla win would be on par with United winning the league come what May. United being who he supports, right?

Four fights there, involving British fighters in the first quarter of 2017. I could of attempted to write about five, but generally lost interest in the post. An apt written representation of over 50% of these fights. A tenner on a Frampton, Haye, Linares and Joshua four fold pays out 40 quid. So maybe stick to the horses.