I remember being thigh-high, glued to the screen, bug-eyed and likely drooling as I watched the violent poetry of Roy Jones Jr., the precise destructiveness of Felix “Tito” Trinidad, the technical mastery of Pernell Whitaker, the infinite hearts of Arturo Gatti & Evander Holyfield, and the absolute spectacle that was Oscar De La Hoya.
As if that wasn’t enough, watching the rivalry between Marco Antonio Barrera, Erik Morales, and Juan Manuel Marquez as they vied to become the new “Gallo” de Mexico following the Chavez era was like watching Caesar square off against Pompey with Rome itself as the prize—there is no other word but breathtaking, if you could stomach the blood.
Even fighters I overlooked at first, like Bernard Hopkins, Lennox Lewis, and Ricardo “Finito” Lopez, turned out to be one-of-a-kind, all-time greats that I study to this day.
As a child with no sense of history or heritage, I thought this was the pinnacle of boxing and the height of the sport’s development. Luckily, my grandfather was a boxer, and his daughter—my mother—is a boxing fan with a solid right cross. They showed me the greats of generations past: Ali, Hagler, Wilfred Benitez, Sugar Ray Leonard, Roberto Duran, Tommy Hearns, Carlos De Leon, Aaron Pryor, Alexis Argüello, Wilfredo Gomez, Salvador Sanchez, Azumah Nelson, and I could go on….
Half a generation after the era that made me a fan, new greats would emerge to carry the torch and further the sport, like Manny Pacquiao, Miguel Cotto, Floyd Mayweather Jr., Ivan Calderon, and, later, Andre Ward, Sergio “Maravilla” Martinez, and Saul “Canelo” Alvarez would do the same.
Today, however—and I do mean today, literally—the sport was represented by Ryan Garcia and Conor Benn—a once-promising amateur standout turned influencer who was gift-wrapped a title shot against middling competition not once but twice after being caught doping, against a half-trained nepo-baby who also has a history of adverse findings on drug tests.
Naturally, the fight played out more or less how I expected. One man fought like a drunk rugby player looking to end a barroom brawl before his body gave out, while the other man looked like a frat boy trying to remember the boxing he learned at a local Boys & Girls Club back in high school.
Both men’s movements were sloppy, exaggerated, imprecise, rushed, and reactive. Their hands and chins were out of position more often than not. Neither appeared comfortable or in control of himself at any point in the fight. Their techniques were basic and flawed in their execution. Neither man would have lasted two rounds with any of the fighters mentioned above who were in or around their weight class, yet the commentators and guest speakers—at least on the English-language telecast—clapped like seals hoping to have a fish thrown to them by their trainers. They sold lie after lie to the public about the quality of the spectacle before them without hesitation or any sign of remorse.
I can only describe the circus as sad—no more, no less. American boxing is at an undeniable low point and, while there are a couple of exceptions, is being dominated by influencers, snake oil salesmen, and fighters of middling quality.
I hate to sound like that old man talking about how things were better back in the day, but… things were better back in the day—point blank and period.
Admittedly, one would be correct in pointing out that boxing has always had its share of corruption, scandals, and circus acts. The careers of men like George Foreman, Mike Tyson, Hector “Macho” Camacho, Max Baer, Julio Cesar Chavez, and Oscar De La Hoya capitalized off narratives, spectacle, and controversy in their own respective ways—yes. However, each of those men had skill, talent, and heart, fought the best of their generation, and would knock their opponents’ heads off their shoulders in the blink of an eye. That is to say that, although every generation previous to this one had its issues, the core product was always quality. The sport always delivered.
Nowadays, at least in the USA, the same cannot be said.
More troubling still, there is no clear sign that the situation will improve. As long as you have fighters looking to cut corners, sell lies, and cash out before the milk around their lips dries, the sport will suffer.
As long as you have sanctioning bodies more concerned with lining their own pockets and living the celebrity life than providing structure to the sport, it will decay.
As long as you have promoters looking to take a poor man’s sport and put it behind an 80-dollar paywall, boxing will rot.
As long as you have announcers who scream instead of project their voices, the sport will continue to be dumbed down.
As long as you have commentators and internet personalities posing as journalists who are more concerned with being friends with the fighters, aggrandizing themselves by predicting how the fight is going to end rather than calling the actual play-by-play, showing how cool they are by using the popular kids’ slang from high schools they are about 30 to 40 years too old to attend, and more concerned with selling you a product than discussing the sport with the public honestly, THE SWEET SCIENCE WILL DIE.
Call me old-fashioned, but it’s the journalists’ and commentators’ job to hold the promoters, fighters, and sanctioning bodies to account, educate the public with truth, and demand more from the sport. Moreover, it’s the fighters’ job to perfect their craft and chase greatness.
Right now, I do not believe I see that… at least not in the United States.
