RIGHTING WRONGS

A lot has changed since we were last waiting for Golovkin and Canelo to share a ring. But has it really? Elliot Worsell explains further…

WHAT a difference a year makes. Last September, a world middleweight title clash between Gennady Golovkin and Saul “Canelo” Alvarez was viewed as the elixir the fight game needed, a throwback to halcyon days, and a fine representation of everything wonderful about an art deemed noble. It was a meeting of the two best 160lb fighters in the world; a storyline stretched and manipulated to breaking point and then delivered right in the nick of time. It was boxer versus puncher; superstar versus superstar. It was, we were told, as good as it gets. And yet, 12 months on, the rematch between Golovkin and Alvarez, a necessary denouement to what has become a controversial and complicated drama, is now considered a microcosm of all that is wrong with boxing. Unlike before, it is sullied by its grubbiness, its history, and the stench of greed that permeates. Where the first fight was seemingly pure in its conception, this one, they say, is cynical in the extreme, more business deal than sporting contest, and goes ahead not in the name of resolution but because a number of men in suits – and, yes, boxing trunks – want to get filthy rich.

The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle: just as fight number one wasn’t as virginal as many liked to believe, nor is fight number two a despicable harlot corrupting innocent fight fans. In fact, it’s quite simple. Golovkin vs. Alvarez II, set for the T-mobile Arena, Las Vegas this Saturday (September 15), perfectly encapsulates where boxing finds itself circa 2018. The good, the bad and the ugly, it could even be argued there’s no better advert for what the sport means today.

Newsflash: it was like this from day one. Remember, for instance, how long it took the boxers’ respective promotional teams to come to an agreement and announce the first fight. There was talk of marinating. There were semi-finals and foreplay and deliberate attempts to stall a natural fight in order to maximise everyone’s earning potential. The whole charade was a test of patience and a sign of things to come.

Even when the fight eventually happened, and was as magnificent as expected, judge Adelaide Byrd conspired to remind us all that boxing utopia is an unobtainable destination and that a transcendent high will often be followed by a depressing comedown. Terrific fight, terrible scorecard, by now it’s a well-travelled path. Moreover, because this has become part of the sport’s fabric, and because we’ve come to understand how the business works, we didn’t just accept it, we also saw the strategy behind it. We were almost resigned to it. Accepting of it. A close fight would lead to a money-spinning rematch. We knew that going in. But a controversial decision and, better yet, a controversial draw, was about as effective as having the two boxers sign bout agreements on their stools ahead of the 12th round. It was at this point the beauty of the whole affair, if such a thing ever existed, started to fade. We heard the sound of cash registers over the sound of pictureperfect hooks and crosses. We could smell rich people getting richer.

This is nothing new. A trick as old as the rabbit punch, the chaos and controversy tactic has instigated plenty of rematches down the years – some more deserving than others – and ensures ➤

TAKE YOUR CUE FROM GOLOVKIN WHO INITIALLY SCOLDED CANELO AND TURNED HIS ATTENTION ELSEWHERE... INEVITABLY, THIS DIDN’T LAST

that if the fight itself doesn’t warrant a remake at least the cloud hanging over it will. In this case, thanks to Adelaide Byrd, the ploy worked. Rematch date: May 5, 2018. By now, we’d forgiven the scandalous scorecard, if not forgotten it, and did so because it helped accelerate the process of getting Golovkin and Canelo in the ring again. We were excited about the rematch, looking forward to it, and wondered if this time justice would be served and Golovkin would be awarded the victory many felt he earned last September. Some believed it was written, while others, those who saw potential in Canelo’s defence and movement, felt the Mexican could add to this, do a little bit more next time, and capitalise on an ageing Golovkin. The fight was again just that – a fight. We treated it as such.

That, however, was before traces of clenbuterol were found in Canelo’s system – the result, he said, of eating contaminated meat in Mexico – and a performanceenhancing drug test came back dirty. It was then the merits and credibility of the fight changed in an instant. Cheat. Liar. ‘Clenelo’. At first, there was widespread shock and outrage, and then only confusion, as for weeks it remained unclear whether the fight was going to take place or not.

Worse than the failed test was the silence, the skulduggery and the shameless scurrying in the background. With damage control the name of the game, people in positions of power rallied around their tainted superstar, assured him and us that everything would be all right, and then wiped sweat and grime from their foreheads with soggy dollar bills. When they weren’t crossing their fingers and saying prayers, they were jamming fingers in their ears and humming loudly to drown out the backlash and the truth. It was juvenile, unprofessional behaviour. It was, within the parameters of this business, to be expected.

It worked out okay, too. Canelo, the franchise fighter whose failed drug test was always going to be handled differently to others, was gifted a backdated six-month ban and told he couldn’t box competitively until September’s weekend of Mexican Independence. Pure coincidence, no doubt, Canelo’s total punishment amounted to a six-month layoff – giving him ample time to recover from a knee surgery – and the chance to rethink his training regime, nutrition and the restaurants from which he ordered meat.

Best of all, the delay provided Canelo, 49-1-2 (34), and Golovkin, 38-0-1 (34), with six months of additional marinating as well as a reason to hate each other, an angle unexplored first time around. This meant the return, tarnished in the eyes of do-gooders and those naïve enough to believe in clean sport, was, for all the wrong reasons, now even more alluring and universally popular than the pair’s first encounter.

When announced for September 15, the earliest available opportunity, it came as no surprise. There was some righteous indignation, naturally, but that died down as the weeks passed, the failed drug test was repackaged as a key plot device, and training videos of the two started to emerge.

On reflection, the failed test was relevant only for as long as it was a talking point. Once the slap on the wrists was administered, and contracts were signed, the rematch returned to being what it was first time around – a fight. Not only that, it remains a fight between the two best middleweights in the world, a repeat of one of the best fights of last year, and one, we are promised, is now enhanced by an additional ingredient: bad blood.

Even so, some will stand firm. They will maintain the rivalry is now ruined beyond repair and that the magic is gone and that they will not, under any circumstances, watch Golovkin and Canelo trade punches for another 12 rounds on Saturday night. A few might even stick to this promise.

Most, however, won’t. Nor should they. Because a fight fan who professes to enjoy boxing but refuses to acknowledge Golovkin

vs. Canelo II is akin to a film buff earmarking Quentin Tarantino as their favourite director yet condemning on-screen violence and vulgarity. If it comes with the territory, you either like it or you don’t. In the case of boxing, the drug issue, like death and serious injury, is not a new one. Today, it’s as pertinent to most fights and their outcomes as experience, stamina, speed and punch power. You’re in or you’re out. Besides, who’s to say Golovkin vs. Alvarez I, this so-called dream fight, was all it seemed on the surface? We only treated it as such because the finer details of its production were kept under wraps and because we wanted to believe in a level playing field, a clean fight, in much the same way we want to believe the achievements of yesterday’s heroes weren’t in any way aided by performance-enhancing drugs.

But think about it. Last summer, we saw only the interviews and training clips they wanted us to see. We saw press conferences. We saw a weigh-in. Finally, on September 16, 2017, we saw a fight. The rest of it, though, was strictly confidential; in layman’s terms, a top-notch promotion.

Frankly, all that’s happened in the last 12 months is we’ve discovered information we were never supposed to discover because, in general, standards are slipping. With greater knowledge and transparency, we’ve come to understand many of today’s fights contain one or two fighters who have failed a performance-enhancing drug test, and we’re also aware that each incident will be treated on a case-by-case basis. Some fighters, often those unpopular or not as marketable, will be chastised for their dastardly ways; others, meanwhile, the ones who excite fans and deliver for promoters, will reap the benefits of their talent and earning potential trumping all else (namely, appropriate punishment).

It’s happening everywhere. A week after Golovkin vs. Canelo II, for example, Anthony Joshua, the world heavyweight champion with three belts to his name, fights Alexander Povetkin, a Russian with two failed PED tests to his. It’s a big event, yet the impact of flunked tests – and the implication of allowing a cheat to prosper – will be judged a moot point in the minds of anyone with a vested interest. After all, it’s just a fight: two big heavyweights throwing punches. Two years on from Povetkin’s misdemeanours, that’s all that matters. Forget it. Move on. Do you want to watch boxing or not?

The same theory applies on Saturday. We have a fight, a potentially great one, but one that regrettably involves a boxer who recently failed a drug test. Those are the facts. They won’t change the dynamics of the bout – the two boxers will still be throwing punches – nor make it a spectacle to avoid.

Instead, take your cue from Gennady Golovkin. Like any self-respecting fight purist, the Kazakh initially scolded Alvarez for his traces of clenbuterol, ridiculed his contaminated meat excuse, turned his attentions to another opponent in May (Vanes Martirosyan), and claimed he was so angry he didn’t want to hear any mention of the Mexican’s name. He sulked. He punched away his disappointment. In saying all the right things, he fleetingly embodied principles in a sport of few. He was the superstar taking a stand: zero tolerance, no drug cheats allowed.

Yet, inevitably, this didn’t last, and now, just as Canelo’s meagre six-month suspension said so much about the state of boxing and the officials who regulate it, so Golovkin’s decision to rematch Canelo, thus placing money over moral grandstanding, says all we need to know about how performance-enhancing drugs are viewed by those who take punches from souped-up versions of boxers assumed to be clean. Which begs the question: if they don’t care, why should

PEOPLE IN POSITIONS OF POWER RALLIED AROUND CANELO AND WIPED THE SWEAT AND GRIME FROM THEIR FOREHEADS WITH SOGGY DOLLAR BILLS