Sport
The real excitement of the Parker vs Joshua clash was provided by a pair of other fighters.
The real excitement of the Parker vs Joshua clash was provided by a pair of other fighters.
In mid-January, an experienced sportswriter declared Joseph Parker’s world heavyweight title fight against Englishman Anthony Joshua would be “the biggest moment in New Zealand’s rich sporting history”. It was a big statement, but not without substance. The encounter was broadcast in 215 “territories”, a classification favoured by promoters because it means different things to different people. Still, it’s pretty clear that on Easter Sunday, the eyes of a fair chunk of the world were on the 26-year-old from Mangere. And it’s highly unlikely that a Kiwi athlete has ever been as well rewarded as Parker: British reports of his payday ranged from $12 million to $25 million.
In other respects, the claim proved to be extravagant, since Parker’s game defeat hardly warrants comparison with Rugby World Cup or America’s Cup victories or secures his place in our sporting pantheon alongside the likes of Peter Snell, Sarah Ulmer and Valerie Adams, to name a few. And notwithstanding the pyrotechnics and 80,000 spectators at Cardiff’s Principality Stadium, the event was largely devoid of drama and prompted precious few of the surges of excitement we expect from
major sporting contests.
The bigger the hype, the bigger the let-down. As the UK seeks to supplant the US as the home of heavyweight boxing, British boxing seems determined to show that, when it comes to hype, anything the Yanks can do, it can do worse. Joshua’s absurdly drawn-out progress from dressing room to ring presented him as some kind of super-being, a notion his physical appearance admittedly encouraged but his grounded post-fight persona belied. For all this fluffing around to culminate in renditions of the full Samoan and New Zealand national anthems was taking delayed gratification to the verge of sadism. Say what you like about God Save the Queen, but it has the considerable virtue of brevity.
As for the fight itself, there was much to admire but little that would have had all those viewers leaping out of their seats. Joshua showed Parker considerable respect: despite having won all 20 of his previous professional fights by knockout, the Englishman chose to box rather than fight, adopting a strategy based on his reach advantage and precise footwork. Parker perhaps was too wary of Joshua, opting, ultimately, not to fight at a range – with all the risks that would have entailed – from which he could launch damaging punches. His performance hardened the suspicion that, courageous and durable as he is, he lacks the tools and innate ferocity to go all the way.
The main event was in stark contrast to the final fight on the undercard, between England’s David Price, once one of the hottest prospects in the heavyweight ranks, and Russian Alexander Povetkin, once banned indefinitely for failing drug tests. “Indefinitely” in this case meant nine months.
This was heavyweight boxing at its most compelling, in that you sensed within seconds of the opening bell that the fight wouldn’t go the distance, indeed could end at any moment. It was also
heavyweight boxing at its most gladiatorially brutal: with the Englishman out on his feet and unable to defend himself, Povetkin could have ended it with a tap; instead, he lined Price up and felled him with a pulverising left hook. As an urgent scrum of medics and paramedics formed over the prostrate Price, it was impossible not to be reminded of the hundreds of ring deaths dotted throughout boxing’s history.
Price later took to social media to assure fans he was okay and had “loved every minute” of it. He’d obviously forgotten the forgettable minutes. This fight lasted four and a bit rounds but the winner suffered more wear and tear than Parker did in 12. To be fair, Parker doubtless would have assessed risk and reward differently if he’d fought Price rather than Joshua.
For the record: in last week’s column, I wrote that Muhammad
Ali suffered a broken jaw in his 1971 loss to Joe Frazier. Ali left the ring with a jaw so swollen that observers assumed it was broken, a misapprehension that obviously persists. X-rays showed otherwise.
This was boxing at its most compelling: you sensed within seconds that the fight wouldn’t go the distance.