I managed to persuade Pam to part with £15 last night and we watched the World Heavyweight fight between brash cocky David Haye, and freakish ubermensch Nikolay Valuev.
The trade off was that I had to cook dinner – an immaculate stuffed mushroom in white wine sauce, thanks for asking – but the pressure was still on for Sky to deliver value for money on the arrangement.
As the show started, it seemed that most of the subscription money had gone into putting the crew into a series of ill-fitting dinner jackets. Uniformly dressed and adorned with ubiquitous poppies, the only hint of rebellion was commentator Ian Darke’s rakish red bow-tie, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact his chin was hanging preciptously across it.
After a bit of perfunctory hype, we went to the undercard.
First up was George Groves – a young man with the sort of old-fashioned name you'd expect to see on a cenotaph. This was clearly recorded earlier in the evening and both fans enjoyed watching the angry little ginger man knock a gormless Slav around the ring for eight rounds. He looked really fast, and could be an interesting one for the future.
We reverted to more pre-fight hype, and listened to Haye’s increasingly shrill protestations of superiority. He and his team all appearing on camera in Sky Box Office t-shirts and hats. Haye loves the game and is a promoter’s dream.
The voice of Valuev, although his words came through a translator, sounds like Slavic whalesong.
The pundits were split towards the big Russian. Nicky Piper, whose head is perfectly shperical – like a bewigged football – was convinced that Haye wouldn’t be able to get near Valuev. Glenn McCrory, whose Sunderland slur might be the result of a twenty year boxing career, or, you know, being from Sunderland, was equally sure that it would be a points voctory for the champion.
Only Johnny Nelson put his money on Haye. Nelson is surely the most earnest man in sport. He could read out his shopping list and you'd get your wallet out.
There is a pre-fight weight difference of seven stones between the two fighters – can that have ever happened before? The Nicaraguan World Minimumweight Champion, Roman Gonzalez only weighs seven and a half!
Next on the undercard was German Edmund Gerber vs New Yorker Shaun McClean. The commentary team struggled as they started. "They're both wearing black shorts. McClean has red trim and Gerber has silver." It would of course been a lot easier to say that the American was black, but apparently the shorts are the way to go.
When the main event was ready to go, they revealed the king of the ringmasters, Michael Buffer. Only the best for this show – if you don’t know boxing, you might not recognise Buffer’s name. But you would recognise his voice, particularly as he labours towards his catchphrase, “Let’s get ready to rumbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!” I must admit this is getting a bit old now, but you can’t fight tradition.
Haye, with his freshly done corn rolls looking tight enough to slice baco, came out to, "Ain't no Stopping Us Now" and a cacophony of boos.
Next up was Valuev and, despite the fact I was expecting him to come out Darth Vader's theme, he actually had a live German metal band seranading him to the ring. With a normal human baseball cap perched on his gargantuan noggin, he led his oompa-lumpa trainer into the ring with some poor flunky holding up his belt, desparately trying to make himself seen.
Next were the respective National Anthems, and, although German fans wouldn't be so rude as to boo our anthem, our drunken fans managed to pay it ill respect by shouting it at the top of their voices. The Russian anthem seemed to bemuse everyone.
As we were watching this live, I had to suffer literally dozens of adverts. Since the advent of Sky Plus – a day we refer to in our house as “the arrival,” I don't normally watch adverts. In fact, this is probably the first thing I've watched live for three years.
The adverts were an object lesson into the demographic group into which I seemed to have been placed: poker websites, Carling, a ridiculous computer game that looked like a cross between Die Hard and Heartbreak Ridge with a hip hop soundtrack, and cars, and cars, and cars.
As they waited for the flunkeys to leave the ring, Haye pranced around the ring looking fabulous. Unusually for a Heavyweight, he looked cut with a scalpel – al muscle definition and casual physicality.
In contrast, Valuev stood motionless like a mountain of flesh. As the action started, I made notes at the end of each round and tried to call the round winner…
1. At the end of the first round, the oompa lumpa was eye to eye with Valuev on the stool. Very cagey. Too close to call.
2. This is not rivetting but Haye is being very disciplined. That's what's needed. Got gloves on the big man. Haye.
3. Chess in the ring. Caught him a couple of time. Haye.
4. Valuev is backing him into corners and cutitng him off. Haye's standoffish attitude won't impress the judges. Valuev.
5. Round to Valuev on account of a late combination that hurt Haye. Haye also landed a couple. He's done a lot more running around than Valuev. Valuev.
6. Haye caught him a canny left hook. It did nothing. Struggling to see how Haye can win this fight. KO seems unlikely and he's not done enough to win these rounds. Too close to call.
7. Valuev shook his head. Good sign. Can't see Haye winning this on pts. Needs a knockout. Rattled him for first time. Valuev.
8. Valuev is blowing and missing. Haye got a spring in his stride. Haye.
9. First clinch. Ref finally earned his money. Haye landed a couple. Valuev's face has marks. Haye's becoming more aggressive. Stamina's holding up. Haye.
10. More open. Haye dragging Valuev around. But as the fight opens up, Haye is opening himself up and getting caught. Valuev.
11. Coming together more but no-one is landing a good punch. Too close to call.
12. It all came alive in the last minute. Haye actually wobbled the big man. Why didn't he do that earlier? Haye.
I had Haye 5-4 with three rounds in the balance. I was not convinced he'd done enough, and Jim Watt in commentary was even more pessimistic. Haye, however, leapt onto the ropes, arms aloft and claiming the fight.
What the hell do we know, the judges gave a close majority verdict to Haye, with one judge calling it even, and the others scoring it 8-4 to Haye.
So he’s the World Heavyweight Champion and, in a world of massive Eastern Bloc stars, and no crdible American alternatives, he is going to be a massive star. The Americans will be all over him. He’s got the mouth and the personality to transform Heavyweight boxing and be the biggest name since Tyson. Until tonight there was still doubt over whether he had the talent to match the hype, but a disciplined performance showed he has more than one string to his bow.
Showing posts with label Boxing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boxing. Show all posts
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Tyrannosaurus Ref
I feel as though I ought to write about the weekend’s Ricky Hatton Fight, although I am struggling for anything original to say. I love Ricky, but I think the boring and sad truth is that he has now found his level.
He has fought two of the best boxers of the last twenty years, and they have both beaten him – there’s no shame in that. On Saturday night, Manny Pacquiao used his superior hand speed and phenomenal power to put what I hope is an end to the career of one of the most charismatic and, let’s be honest here, one of the most extraordinarily talented British fighters of my generation.
But what could be my unique take on this? I can hardly bang on about what a great fighter Ricky has been – it’s been done. I could talk about other British boxers who have found success in America, although I don’t think anyone has ever taken twenty-five thousand fans across with them.
I could talk about the dramatic impact Pacquiao is having on the world of boxing, eclipsing Floyd Mayweather as the now-universally acknowledged best boxer on the planet. But that’s all been said.
No, the real story here is Kenny Bayless. He is the American referee who pulled out Ricky’s gumshield two minutes into the second round. He has taken charge of several world title fights now, has established a reputation as one of the best in the business but best of all, he runs unmistakeably like a T-Rex.
Seriously, you have to see some footage of him – he sort of bounces around the fighters on his hind legs, moving his head around as though he’s looking for food, and his gloved hands sit limply in front of him like the vestigial limbs of a flightless bird. I reckon the only reason he is so good at what he does is that his vision is based mainly on movement.
It’s an odd job, that of the boxing referee. Almost exclusively the preserve of former pros, the crucial skills appear to be the ability to fasten a bow tie, and the willingness to stand between two psychopaths. Back in the old days, the ref was on the payroll of the promoter and there are countless examples of “long counts,” where the knocked out fighter would be nudged with the boot and encouraged to rise and continue. “These people need to get their money’s worth.”
Nowadays, boxing likes to hold the fiction that the safety of the boxers is paramount. I’m not anti-boxing – far from it – but I am anti-hypocrisy and there is no way you can describe this as a safe sport. Nonetheless, the referee these days is much more likely to step in and save a struggling fighter rather than allow the fight to continue and a serious injury to occur.
You can hardly blame Bayless for not stopping the Hatton fight early – not a single person in the state of Nevada saw that left hook coming, much less Ricky.
I love the unwritten rule that appears to dictate that the physical size of the ref has to be in inverse proportion to the fighters. So whereas Bayless towers over the welterweights, tiny Mickey Vann – something of a personality with his own catchphrase, “no naughties with the heads…” – always gets put in with the monstrous heavyweights.
I hope Ricky decides the time is right to retire. He has been one of the all-time greats and will have a long and lucrative career of TV punditry and after-dinner stand-up. My only concern is that, if he lets himself go and puts on the pounds, we’ll not be able to find a referee small enough for him.
He has fought two of the best boxers of the last twenty years, and they have both beaten him – there’s no shame in that. On Saturday night, Manny Pacquiao used his superior hand speed and phenomenal power to put what I hope is an end to the career of one of the most charismatic and, let’s be honest here, one of the most extraordinarily talented British fighters of my generation.
But what could be my unique take on this? I can hardly bang on about what a great fighter Ricky has been – it’s been done. I could talk about other British boxers who have found success in America, although I don’t think anyone has ever taken twenty-five thousand fans across with them.
I could talk about the dramatic impact Pacquiao is having on the world of boxing, eclipsing Floyd Mayweather as the now-universally acknowledged best boxer on the planet. But that’s all been said.
No, the real story here is Kenny Bayless. He is the American referee who pulled out Ricky’s gumshield two minutes into the second round. He has taken charge of several world title fights now, has established a reputation as one of the best in the business but best of all, he runs unmistakeably like a T-Rex.
Seriously, you have to see some footage of him – he sort of bounces around the fighters on his hind legs, moving his head around as though he’s looking for food, and his gloved hands sit limply in front of him like the vestigial limbs of a flightless bird. I reckon the only reason he is so good at what he does is that his vision is based mainly on movement.
It’s an odd job, that of the boxing referee. Almost exclusively the preserve of former pros, the crucial skills appear to be the ability to fasten a bow tie, and the willingness to stand between two psychopaths. Back in the old days, the ref was on the payroll of the promoter and there are countless examples of “long counts,” where the knocked out fighter would be nudged with the boot and encouraged to rise and continue. “These people need to get their money’s worth.”
Nowadays, boxing likes to hold the fiction that the safety of the boxers is paramount. I’m not anti-boxing – far from it – but I am anti-hypocrisy and there is no way you can describe this as a safe sport. Nonetheless, the referee these days is much more likely to step in and save a struggling fighter rather than allow the fight to continue and a serious injury to occur.
You can hardly blame Bayless for not stopping the Hatton fight early – not a single person in the state of Nevada saw that left hook coming, much less Ricky.
I love the unwritten rule that appears to dictate that the physical size of the ref has to be in inverse proportion to the fighters. So whereas Bayless towers over the welterweights, tiny Mickey Vann – something of a personality with his own catchphrase, “no naughties with the heads…” – always gets put in with the monstrous heavyweights.
I hope Ricky decides the time is right to retire. He has been one of the all-time greats and will have a long and lucrative career of TV punditry and after-dinner stand-up. My only concern is that, if he lets himself go and puts on the pounds, we’ll not be able to find a referee small enough for him.
Monday, 6 April 2009
David Haye Sets a Date
It’s surprising, when talking to friends and family, how few people have heard of David Haye, much less seen him in action. All this despite the fact he has all the pre-requisites for the modern boxer – the hand speed of a Mexican welterweight, the power of the most clubbing of heavyweights, and the mouth of Mohammed Ali.
No stranger to the dark arts of self-promotion, the “Hayemaker” promotes his own fights, negotiates his own deals, and sells his own merchandise. He has fought on Sky and, in the era of Calzaghe and Hatton, he has stayed hidden from the wider British public.
Having come up through the ranks at cruiserweight, he beat Frenchman Jean-Marc Mormeck to take a world title before knocking out Enzo Maccarinelli to become undisputed champion. All the while, he grumbled about making the 200lb limit so it was no surprise that he left his cruiserweight titles behind and moved up to heavyweight.
What is a surprise is that, in only his second fight at the top weight, he will be fighting for the world title.
With a combination of his talent and his talk, he has forced him onto the agenda of the Klitschko brothers – the Ukrainian monsters who hold most of the cards in the alphabet soup of world titles, and are recognised as the dominant force of post-Lennox Lewis heavyweights.
This week, contracts were signed for a June fight against Wladimir Klitschko. No shrinking violet, Haye greeted the news with great confidence. ”I’ve been studying Wladimir for years. I know him better than he knows himself. I guarantee I’ll knock him out – I’m his worst nightmare.”
It could be Ali before the Liston fight – the smaller man against the established champ, talking himself up at every opportunity. If he can do it, he’ll be World Heavyweight Champion. You’ll have heard of him then.
No stranger to the dark arts of self-promotion, the “Hayemaker” promotes his own fights, negotiates his own deals, and sells his own merchandise. He has fought on Sky and, in the era of Calzaghe and Hatton, he has stayed hidden from the wider British public.
Having come up through the ranks at cruiserweight, he beat Frenchman Jean-Marc Mormeck to take a world title before knocking out Enzo Maccarinelli to become undisputed champion. All the while, he grumbled about making the 200lb limit so it was no surprise that he left his cruiserweight titles behind and moved up to heavyweight.
What is a surprise is that, in only his second fight at the top weight, he will be fighting for the world title.
With a combination of his talent and his talk, he has forced him onto the agenda of the Klitschko brothers – the Ukrainian monsters who hold most of the cards in the alphabet soup of world titles, and are recognised as the dominant force of post-Lennox Lewis heavyweights.
This week, contracts were signed for a June fight against Wladimir Klitschko. No shrinking violet, Haye greeted the news with great confidence. ”I’ve been studying Wladimir for years. I know him better than he knows himself. I guarantee I’ll knock him out – I’m his worst nightmare.”
It could be Ali before the Liston fight – the smaller man against the established champ, talking himself up at every opportunity. If he can do it, he’ll be World Heavyweight Champion. You’ll have heard of him then.
Sunday, 15 March 2009
Introducing Tyson Fury
While Amir Khan was announcing himself to the world on Saturday night by beating up Marco Antonio Barrera, I was sitting sulkily at home refusing to pay £15 to fall asleep in front of Sky’s pay-per-view evening.
By way of consolation, ITV4 had an interesting evening of domestic boxing, the bill-topper of which was the British Middleweight Title. The highlight for me though, was this young heavyweight who is making waves and, I reckon, is going to be the next big star of British Boxing.
His name is Tyson Fury – and truly there was never a better name for a boxer. This is his real name, by the way – he comes from a from a family of Irish travellers with boxing in the blood. Grandfather “Gypsy John” Fury was a heavyweight contender in the eighties, and his uncle Hughie is his trainer. With that heritage, small wonder he was named after Mike Tyson – the self-styled “baddest man on the planet.”
Tyson is now four fights into his professional career and, having knocked over a couple of nobodies, this weekend, he took apart Lee Swaby. Swaby is by no means the greatest boxer in the world, but he’s a tough cookie who has been in with the best, stopped Enzo Maccarinelli, and fought for British Titles at Cruiserweight. Fury fought him to a standstill. At the end of the fourth, the fight was knocked out of Swaby, and he retired on his stool.
The striking thing about Fury is that, despite his fearsome stature – 6’8” in his socks – despite his terrific speed and heavy-handedness, despite the ominous career path he is already describing to the world, he comes across as just a lovely lad.
Despite his size, and the stubbly growth on his chin, he still looks like the dopey tall kid in class who didn’t know his own strength. He mouths off about David Price (recent Olympian, former amateur opponent and, like Fury, new to the professional ranks) having no chin, but he does it with such a boyish grin, that you just want to ruffle his hair (if you could reach it).
He is fighting again on the undercard of Carl Froch’s showdown with Jermain Taylor next month and, with ITV heavily trailing him as the next big star, I think you will be hearing more about him soon.
By way of consolation, ITV4 had an interesting evening of domestic boxing, the bill-topper of which was the British Middleweight Title. The highlight for me though, was this young heavyweight who is making waves and, I reckon, is going to be the next big star of British Boxing.
His name is Tyson Fury – and truly there was never a better name for a boxer. This is his real name, by the way – he comes from a from a family of Irish travellers with boxing in the blood. Grandfather “Gypsy John” Fury was a heavyweight contender in the eighties, and his uncle Hughie is his trainer. With that heritage, small wonder he was named after Mike Tyson – the self-styled “baddest man on the planet.”
Tyson is now four fights into his professional career and, having knocked over a couple of nobodies, this weekend, he took apart Lee Swaby. Swaby is by no means the greatest boxer in the world, but he’s a tough cookie who has been in with the best, stopped Enzo Maccarinelli, and fought for British Titles at Cruiserweight. Fury fought him to a standstill. At the end of the fourth, the fight was knocked out of Swaby, and he retired on his stool.
The striking thing about Fury is that, despite his fearsome stature – 6’8” in his socks – despite his terrific speed and heavy-handedness, despite the ominous career path he is already describing to the world, he comes across as just a lovely lad.
Despite his size, and the stubbly growth on his chin, he still looks like the dopey tall kid in class who didn’t know his own strength. He mouths off about David Price (recent Olympian, former amateur opponent and, like Fury, new to the professional ranks) having no chin, but he does it with such a boyish grin, that you just want to ruffle his hair (if you could reach it).
He is fighting again on the undercard of Carl Froch’s showdown with Jermain Taylor next month and, with ITV heavily trailing him as the next big star, I think you will be hearing more about him soon.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
