There is little in boxing worth speaking about beyond the action. Put a better way, one that is not so embittered by the recent inaction, the lack of entertainment in what should be a timelessly entertaining mode: the action is primary, and makes the rest anything from interesting to tolerable.
It is a good thing then, that in a sport that paid men nine figures to land less than ten punches a round, there are fighters like Sergey Kovalev, who broke Nadjib Mohammedi at the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, on Saturday night, stopping the hapless fighter in three rounds. In an era that sips ?shampaign? while blathering on about brands and business (non)sense, an era that will be remembered for the LIE of TBE, the apotheosis of self-preservation on the bloodiest, most dramatic proving ground in sports, at least there is Kovalev and those of his ilk: men who do their worst in an effort to be best.
But make no mistake, Kovalev had as little business sharing a ring with Mohammedi as Mohammedi did with him, and none of the brave talk and trumped up ill will of a conference call or an HBO vignette was going to change that.
Signal phrases are often used to introduce fighters; these phrases employ pertinent biographical details to conjure images meant to impress, to sell. No introduction of Kovalev, 28-0-1 (25), misses an opportunity to mention his frightening power, or his capacity for cruelty?because a slugger with a mean streak is a bewitching thing in boxing. The Russian, who now makes his home in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, once feared he lacked the power to be a professional fighter. And what an interesting fear to have; one that might speak to a kernel of doubt beneath Kovalev?s vicious veneer, his predatory patina. Kovalev was not worried about being good enough to make a living as a boxer, no, Kovalev was concerned primarily with being able to hurt people enough. He is now in the midst of a career at odds with referees, cornermen, ringside physicians, and opponents over just what ?enough? hurt means.
What might the signal phrases for Mohammedi include? That he appreciates the look and feel of a tilted fedora, that he aspired to be a sommelier, that his favorite short story is ?On the River? by Mauppassant, that he adores his Cavalier King Charles Spaniel? Are any of these details true? Save for the fedora tidbit, probably not; the 175 words that comprise his Wikipedia entry certainly bring us no closer to the truth. And yet these details, fictional or not, do as much to justify Mohemmedi, from Gardanne, Bouches-du-Rhone, France, challenging Kovalev as anything he has done in the ring. He was the mandatory to Kovalev?s IBS title, you say? Very well, Kovalev had to pulp him to preserve his title, but that distinction does not make Mohammedi a worthy opponent. A room full of chimpanzees making gifs, even with eternity on their side, would struggle to compile 28 seconds of evidence that Mohammedi, 37-4 (23), could even pester Kovalev.
It seems Kovalev?s mandatories are mandatory programming for HBO though, which might be one of the reasons Main Events pumped the brakes on a purse bid that would have forced that ?piece of shit? (Kovalev?s words) Adonis Stevenson into fighting their Kovalev. Even with the backing of HBO, Main Events was going to lose that purse bid because Al Haymon, who controls Stevenson, has access to deeper pockets than the Duvas anticipated.
Besides, there is little reason?beyond it being the best fight possible at light heavyweight, and one that seems to favor Kovalev more with each of Stevenson?s passing performances?to risk business with Haymon when loyalty to HBO permits you the likes of Mohammedi in Las Vegas in the dead of summer or encourages you to re-heat Jean Pascal, beaten senseless by Kovalev in March and who struggled against unheralded Yunieski Gonzalez on the undercard Saturday. From the perspective of the action, there is no justification for Kovalev-Pascal II. The only mystery in a second instalment of Kovalev-Pascal involves the severity of the outcome, and whether the referee will again be able to spare Pascal the ?deep sleep? Kovalev pursues.
Forget recycling Pascal, stop entertaining empty talk of Kovalev facing Artur Beterbiev, because there is a far worthier opponent available, one unshackled by obstacles beyond his maddeningly ignorant estimation of his market worth (admittedly, this is no meager obstacle). Andre Ward has returned to action. Despite a disastrous self-imposed exile, one that saw Gennady Golovkin supplant him in the hearts of the HBO brass, Ward remains one of the best fighters in the world. Ward is not exciting but he is equipped with the tools to diffuse Kovalev.
Ward does not sell tickets, however, and having squandered both the pull he earned in winning Showtime?s Super Six tournament nearly four years ago and the privilege afforded HBO?s latest protagonist, he has scant negotiating leverage. This reality not only allows more popular fighters to dismiss his challenges, but is completely lost on Ward, whose conceit and expectations of special treatment make him a nightmare to negotiate with. Still, he is fighting again, so why not mention him when men like Mohammedi are headlining on HBO? Arrogant, smug, hypocritical, as insufferable as the most spoiled and coddled professional athletes can be, Ward is nearly impossible to like. Yet, buried in the open loathing Ward garners is a nod to the threat he poses to the Eastern Invasion. He is disliked, in part, because people recognize he can spoil the fun; he would be irrelevant otherwise. And if this isn?t true, let Kovalev prove as much. What better fate for a fighter most everyone wants stretched than a date with the ?Krusher??
