IN BOXING MORE than in most sports, the build-up can be as breathless as the event itself. A championship fight is a rare event, and can be all too brief. To drum up interest, not least from the pay-per-view (PPV) television audience on which a bout’s finances partly depend, the days leading up to it include all sorts of stage-managed drama—press conferences, weigh-ins, behind-the-scenes documentaries and more.
Asked about an opponent in a grand-slam tennis final, Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal might acknowledge a rival’s skills and underplay his own prospects. Not so the typical boxer. Long before stepping into the ring, he will promise the utter demolition of his foe. He may or may not mean it; but he says it with more than half an eye on those ppv sales. The build-up to world heavyweight-title bouts, the sport’s biggest draw, can be especially frenzied. Yet the mood during the preamble to the World Boxing Council (WBC) clash between Tyson Fury and Dillian Whyte, two Britons, due to take place on April 23rd at Wembley Stadium in London, has been muted.
Preparations have been overshadowed by the American government’s imposition of sanctions on Daniel Kinahan, the Irish co-founder of MTK Global, an agency that represented more than 300 fighters, including Mr Fury (though he says he cut ties two years ago). America has accused Mr Kinahan of overseeing a “murderous” drug cartel (which he denies). MTK Global was forced to shut down on April 20th but it complains of “unfair scrutiny” by the American authorities; Mr Kinahan, it said, had played no part in its operations since he sold his stake in 2017. Even so, he still wielded enormous clout in the sport. Last year Josh Taylor, a light-welterweight world champion, called Mr Kinahan a “great adviser” doing great things for boxing. And just weeks ago Mr Fury was photographed beaming next to Mr Kinahan in Dubai.
Mr Fury (pictured defending his title last October, against Deontay Wilder of America) has a penchant for pre-fight gimmicks: he once turned up for a press conference in a Batman costume. But ahead of this weekend’s clash he has had to fend off questions about his connections to Mr Kinahan. “It’s none of my business,” he said. “I keep my own business to myself.”
It is, however, very much boxing’s business. The “sweet science” has a long, sour history of association with crime, to the chagrin of its honest toilers. The genesis of the modern sport lay in bare-knuckle boxing, or prizefighting, in Britain in the 17th century. As they do today, fighters agreed on a purse while fans could bet on the outcome; but back then the whole enterprise was illegal. In the mid-20th century the Kray twins, notorious London gangsters, boxed professionally before going on to rule the East End. Don King was imprisoned for beating a man to death before he became arguably the sport’s best-known promoter (in which role he was indicted and sued many times).
It doesn’t help that boxing has no single governing body. The professional game has four, the WBC, the International Boxing Federation, the World Boxing Association and the World Boxing Organisation. Each pursues its own agenda. The global body overseeing amateur boxing had to reinvent itself after it was suspended in 2019 by the International Olympic Committee, partly because its president at the time was linked to a criminal group.
A single body might have more incentive to maintain the reputation of the sport as a whole—inside as well as outside the ring. Because each of the authorities awards its own titles, there is no single world heavyweight champion (in the 34 years four belts have been on offer no one has ever held them all, though the feat has been achieved at lower weights). Bouts between the world’s best fighters are rare. The Ring, a magazine that attempts to cut through the confusion, ranks Mr Fury the world’s leading heavyweight, but he holds only the WBC title. It places Mr Whyte only fifth. The fight that many fans crave would be between Mr Fury and Anthony Joshua, another Briton who until recently held the other three belts and is rated third by The Ring. With Mr Fury suggesting he may retire after fighting Mr Whyte, it may never happen. It is as if Mr Federer and Mr Nadal had never played each other (they have done so 40 times).
Not surprisingly, fans are fed up. Many have switched allegiance to the Ultimate Fighting Championship, a tournament for mixed martial arts. It is more violent, but for many that is not its main appeal. One relatively transparent body manages UFC, which has just eight weight divisions for men to boxing’s 17, and match-ups between leading fighters are frequent.
Yet boxing has by no means lost all its lustre. About 94,000 fans are expected to throng to Wembley and thousands more may shell out £25 ($32) for PPV. Win or lose, Mr Fury, the bigger draw, will pocket £22m. Little wonder that boxers, their promoters and governing bodies are in no hurry to make the fight game fitter.■