I’ve watched countless fighters come and go, but few have left an imprint on the sport like Vasiliy Lomachenko. On June 5, 2025, when the Ukrainian maestro announced his retirement at age 37, it felt like the final bell had rung on an era. The man they called “Hi-Tech” and “The Matrix” hung up his gloves, leaving behind a legacy that’s equal parts artistry and grit—a career that made me, and so many others, fall in love with boxing all over again.
From the moment I first saw Lomachenko fight, I knew I was witnessing something special. It wasn’t just his record—though an amateur mark of 396-1, with two Olympic golds (2008 and 2012), is the stuff of legend. It wasn’t even the world titles he won across three weight classes (featherweight, super-featherweight, and lightweight) in a professional career that spanned just 21 fights. No, it was the way he fought. The footwork that seemed to defy physics, the angles that left opponents swinging at ghosts, the ring IQ that made you feel like he was playing chess while everyone else was stuck in checkers. Watching Lomachenko was like watching a painter create a masterpiece, stroke by precise stroke.
I remember his pro debut in 2013, when he stepped into the ring with the audacity to chase a world title by his second fight. He came up short against Orlando Salido in a controversial split decision—Salido was over the weight limit, and the fight was scrappy—but even then, you could see the brilliance. He bounced back in his next bout, outclassing Gary Russell Jr. to claim the WBO featherweight title in just his third pro fight. That was Loma: fearless, fast-tracking his way to greatness, never padding his record with easy wins.
What set Lomachenko apart wasn’t just his skill but his willingness to take on the best. He didn’t duck anyone. From Nicholas Walters to Guillermo Rigondeaux, he faced elite fighters and made them look ordinary. I’ll never forget his 2017 fight against Rigondeaux, another Olympic gold medalist and pound-for-pound great. Lomachenko dismantled him so thoroughly that Rigondeaux quit on his stool after six rounds, citing a hand injury. It was the fourth straight opponent to retire mid-fight against Loma, earning him the nickname “No Más Chenko.” I laughed out loud when he quipped about it in the post-fight interview, but it spoke to his dominance—his ability to break not just bodies but wills.
His 2018 fight against Jorge Linares was another moment that had me glued to the screen. Linares dropped him in the sixth round, a rare moment of vulnerability, but Loma got up, adjusted, and stopped him in the tenth to claim the WBA lightweight title. That fight showed his heart, his adaptability, and his refusal to be rattled. Even in his losses—against Teofimo Lopez in 2020 and Devin Haney in 2023, both razor-close decisions many fans (myself included) thought he deserved to win—he never looked outclassed. The Salido loss, the Lopez fight where he started slow after a year of inactivity, the Haney bout where judges seemed to favor the younger star—those moments stung, but they didn’t define him. They showed he was human, and somehow, that made his brilliance even more relatable.
His final fight in May 2024 against George Kambosos Jr. was vintage Loma. At 36, with a balky shoulder and a year away from the ring, he went to Australia and dismantled the former undisputed lightweight champ, stopping him in the 11th round to claim the IBF lightweight title. It was a reminder of why we called him The Matrix: the way he slipped punches, pivoted, and landed combinations was like watching a highlight reel in real-time. That win felt like a perfect bookend, a chance to walk away as a champion on his own terms.
As a fan, what I’ll miss most isn’t just the wins but the artistry. Lomachenko’s footwork, honed by years of Ukrainian dance classes his father Anatoly insisted he take, was unlike anything I’d seen. Those pivots, those resets, the way he’d bait opponents into overcommitting before countering with surgical precision—it was beautiful.
His legacy isn’t just in the belts or the records. It’s in the way he made boxing feel like high art. He wasn’t the biggest or the strongest—often outsized at lightweight—but he outsmarted and outmaneuvered everyone. His father, Anatoly, was the architect of his success, not just teaching him boxing but shaping him into a role model. Loma’s emotional retirement video, where he thanked his family, his faith, and the fans, hit me hard. “I’m grateful for every victory and every defeat, both in the ring and in life,” he said. “I’ve gained clarity about the direction a person must take to achieve true victory.” That’s not just a boxer talking—that’s a man who’s lived with purpose.
The sport feels emptier without him. There were talks of a blockbuster fight with Gervonta “Tank” Davis, but Loma, citing a lack of motivation, passed on it. Maybe he knew he’d already done enough. At 18-3 with 12 knockouts, his pro record might not scream “all-time great” to casual fans, but those of us who watched know better. He was a comet, blazing through the sport with unmatched skill and leaving a trail of unforgettable moments.
As I reflect on his career, I will always remember a fighter who made me fall for boxing. Who made me say ‘how does he do that?’ countless times during a single fight. That’s what Lomachenko did—he made us marvel. He didn’t just fight; he redefined what was possible in the ring. Here’s to you, Loma. Thanks for the memories.
