Tony Thompson was once again booed as he entered Liverpool?s Echo Arena tonight in England, but it seemed to me that the heart of the crowd was not in it this time?rather they played their part in what they now understood was no longer the pantomime of the first fight, complete with jester and stooge briefly visiting these shores in February of this year for a hiding and a paycheck, but rather was a genuine sporting contest, one in which Thompson, the winner of that first encounter, was the more crucial combatant. He was the winner. The British respect a winner for all that, in boxing, they are not given to respecting the opponent?s national anthem. Again though, the noise was more habit and echo than vitriol.
By this time, both men were in the ring, Price having entered to the raucous strains of You?ll Never Walk Alone, a local anthem known to every man woman and child in the arena. The two grinned and nodded at each other across the ring before the first note of either anthem was sounded, but there were no smiles at the bell for the first.
The considerable pre-fight tension evaporated almost immediately in an inevitably dull first round. There was an occasional clash as a more aggressive Thompson looked to establish his southpaw jab whilst Price did the same, but there was as much pawing as actual throwing with Price arguably stealing the round with a pair of half-landed right hands.
It was a surprise, then, when a full on war broke out in round two, untidy, confused, but war nonetheless.
Thompson?s strategy appeared to be one of moving and crowding in spells, and when he crowded Price in the second, the giant Englishman looked a little uncomfortable, especially when Thompson pushed him even after swallowing a shot, as he did in the opening seconds behind a Price right hand. Thompson kept the pressure on, and Price capitulated, letting his man inside where they fought scrappily and inelegantly. Bodywork saved him, driving a hard right hand into the American?s soft looking midriff, forcing him back onto the ropes. Suddenly bedraggled looking, Thompson leaned on Price as he tilted forwards and was half thrown, half fell to the canvas, an action that was correctly ruled a slip. A legitimate knockdown was to follow however, a half formed right hook from a near square stance followed by a legitimate bruiser of a right hand landed on or near the excellent chin of the American, who took an eight. Price showed conservatism and Thompson escaped in the final seconds.
Front and center at the beginning of the third, Thompson was immediately caught with a decent shot with his hands down going away before swallowing another hard right after dinking a jab to Price?s midriff. For just a moment the older man (Thompson is 41) looked very much the smaller man and then he was back into the movement phase of his fight, bringing Price onto him in the corner before spinning him in the old pro?s trick, forcing him to walk through a shot in order to escape. All at once the 30-year-old looked a little uncertain, like he had been caught with something I hadn?t seen. Rather, he had recognized the fact that he was being caught up in the spell the American was weaving, though he seemed powerless to break it. Still, he threw, and Thompson was forced again to demonstrate his excellent chin as Price landed shots even as he was forced back by persistent stalking. Even in the final seconds, Price was being pushed back and away.
After likely having lost the three opening rounds in one way and another, Thompson won the fourth out of sight. In the opening seconds he landed an uppercut that set the tone for the entire round, forcing Price to escape along the ropes as Thompson chiselled away at the space between them, swallowing some cuffing punches and a good right hand as he followed. When he closed the distance though, Price took on the appearance of a lion being stung by bees, rearing up and away as Thompson landed shot after shot, many of them sharp rather than clubbing, but one or two were very hard. The American was proving the most disheartening of truths about the Englishman, a truth perhaps even more disturbing than the one he exposed in their first fight, he was proving that Price did not have the basic tools to keep Thompson?an excellent and wily infighter, but not a great one?away from him. Hitting Thompson with a good uppercut, Price then had to suffer the ignominy of seeing Thompson grin at him. Accumulatively, Thompson had hurt his man and now that man was struggling to get his legs under him against a persistent and granite-chinned foe. Using every pound of his 259-pound frame to force his 250-pound opponent back to the ropes, Thompson was cooking with gas and Price was looking increasingly skittish.
The writing was on the wall at the beginning of the fifth. Price looked mysteriously but utterly spent. Having spent much of his time since scoring that second round knockdown swinging for the rigging he was a weakening force whilst the older, heavier Thompson was throwing sniping, short punches, economizing even as the two waded through one another?s blows.
The ending was not kind. Almost giraffe like, Price was all but running from a confident, cocky opponent and pinned in a neutral corner he was beaten almost senseless, ironically and perversely proving that he carried with him a very decent chin absorbing, as it was, a seemingly ceaseless wave of heavyweight punches before the referee stepped into to first administer a standing eight-count and then correctly wave off the fight. Neither Price nor his corner protested. Neither did he provide a television interview. His heart was broken. ?I know there?s nowhere to go if I lose,? he had said, pre-fight. ?It?s all or nothing.?
Nothing, then. At one time, Price had looked like the savior of the division. Now, sadly, and like nowhere else in the sporting world upon the occasion of the earth shattering loss, he looks like nobody. Harsh? Probably. A journeyman, then, and perhaps at some stage a British champion.
Tony Thompson did give a post-fight interview and it was a hoot.
?A big athletic fighter like David?he scares the hell out of me?but he brought the fucking best out of me! Can I say ?fucking??
??not really.?
?Sorry.?
Asked, for the second time victorious in a British ring about who he would like to meet next, he again mentioned, ?that big pussy? Tyson Fury, and as I said in coverage for the first Price-Thompson fight, nobody will write this man off now as long as he does not take to the ring with a man named Klitschko. He looked smart, sharp and neat. He also showed a lot of heart, ?first to the middle? in his own words after suffering that knockdown, ready to force the fight against a taller, younger, more powerful fighter.
But how was he going to celebrate?
?I?m going to go home and break my wife?s hip. I haven?t had sex with her for a while?she?s going to feel the pain! She might become a cripple. Anyone want to donate a wheelchair??
Whatever the machinations of his private life with the soon to be forcefully engaged Mrs. Thompson, Tony has earned something that can?t be donated but only earned?the respect of fight fans in his fallen opponent?s backyard. There has been some talk of Thompson moving to the UK on a semi-permanent and professional basis and I?ll speak above my pay grade and on behalf of the entire British boxing fraternity when I say we would love to see more of him here.
Maybe even boxing as the loser one of these days.
But not today.
