...and I have been a BIG fan of boxing for forty years.
Seven years ago, Deontay Wilder was the George Foreman of the modern era. The guy went 40-0 with 39 knockouts in his first decade in the pros, with the great majority of those fights ending inside of three rounds. The fact that he threw off-balance windmill punches you could see coming from a mile away didn't seem to matter, mainly because he was in the ring against tomato cans, most of whom began to look for a comfortable spot on the canvas to lay down from the opening bell.
Then, in 2018, he began to face actual professional heavyweight boxers, and the chinks in the armor became obvious. In winning his first belt he could not knock down or even seriously hurt a terrified, 100 percent defensive-minded Bermane Stiverne in winning a lopsided 12-round decision. Then he struggled to finish Luis Ortiz in ten rounds. And at the end of the year, in his first fight against an actual skilled fighter, he was lucky to get a draw against Tyson Fury, a blubbery, rusty, aging ex-champ looking to make a comeback after gaining fifty pounds and spiraling into alcohol-fueled depression.
Since that first Tyson fight, Wilder is 3-4 (1-4 in his last five fights) and has been knocked out (each time quite brutally) three times. He hasn't fought since last June, when he was pole-axed in five rounds by a guy who went on to be KO'd in his very next fight. The general consensus after that disaster was that Wilder's legs were gone, his balance was gone, his chin was gone, and he needed to just walk away from the sport which made him very wealthy before he found himself going down an all-too-familiar road for practitioners of the Sweet Science: In pursuit of One More Big Payday, becoming a punching bag and eventually dying young and broke and not in full command of one's faculties.
In a few days, Wilder- who once headlined Pay-per-View cards in Nevada, New York and the new capital of heavyweight boxing, Riyadh, will step into the ring in that famous Mecca of American Championship Boxing, Wichita, to take on Tyrell Anthony Herndon, a clubfighter with a record of 24-5 who has been stopped four times in his five losses. Somehow this is being sold as a Pay-per-View event despite being only marginally more legitimate than a Jake Paul "fight." Such is the power of a Name in this sport- the name being "Wilder" of course, since nobody knows who Tyrell Anthony Herndon is except that he's exactly the kind of fighter Wilder feasted on BEFORE he became a belt holder.
Other than a quick paycheck, it's hard to see what Wilder is getting out of this (and I'm quite certain that Herndon expects absolutely NOTHING other than the quick paycheck, except to wake up the next day with a bad headache and possibly a sore back from hitting the canvas at an awkward angle sometime in the first three minutes of the "fight.") But I'm afraid that he's aiming for another, bigger fight down the road with an actual professional who will batter him to a pulp but make his bank account fatter in the process.
It's said that boxers are the very worst among sports professionals at knowing when the tank is empty and it's time to hang it up and enjoy the kids and grandkids. There are endless examples of ex-stars who flamed out and fought on long after the glory had faded because it was all that they knew or had blown through their money with no thought for tomorrow. I'm afraid that Deontay Wilder is just the latest chapter in the saddest cliche of sports. For his sake, and for the sake of his wife and kids, I hope that he just wants to go out a winner and after he's plastered this guy Herndon this weekend he finds peace and something else to do with his brain. I'm not optimistic though. As I said, I've seen this movie many times and I know how it usually ends.
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