THE INSIDE VERDICT
Elliot Worsell saw reasons to be exceptionally concerned about David Haye on Saturday night and, more concerning still, reasons why it might not yet be over
What will Haye do next following his damaging defeat to Bellew?
THE line “I have a bad feeling about this” is said in every one of the Star Wars movies. It has also become something I’ve found myself saying before each of David Haye’s recent fights.
Back in January 2016, for instance, just before Haye was due to return to the ring and demolish an Australian called Mark de Mori, I wrote in Boxing
News: “This isn’t a preview I ever envisaged writing, nor one I ever hoped to write, but David Haye is back fighting in 2016 and this Saturday [January 16] at London’s O2 Arena has his first bout for three-and-a-half years.”
My concern at that stage wasn’t that Haye would be unable to beat the likes of Mark de Mori. He could beat the likes of de Mori and his subsequent opponent, Arnold Gjergjaj, with a ruptured Achilles, torn bicep and a blindfold over his eyes.
No, the concern was not the immediate threat but the reality that Haye’s desire to make big money, combined with his star power, considerable in 2016 and greater still in 2018, would eventually land him opportunities – fights – his poor body couldn’t cope with. In choosing to be his own pimp, he’d make good scratch initially and then one day hook up with the wrong trick and discover he is illequipped to protect himself.
It’s not even necessarily the punches and punishment Haye is now receiving that unsettles. You become desensitised to that. Instead, it’s the other stuff. The stuff that leads to the punches Haye couldn’t avoid from Tony Bellew on Saturday night (May 5) at London’s O2 Arena.
It’s the mentioning of Muhammad Ali, as if to justify prolonging a career, completely ignoring the fact Ali, though triumphant against George Foreman in Zaire, represents the most famous and distressing example of a boxer accruing brain damage in the unwinnable game of One More Fight.
It’s the sparring clip Haye released on the eve of the fight. An old ploy, this was intended to spook Bellew, fool him into thinking “The Hayemaker” was back and that the injury problems were behind him. But all the footage really demonstrated was that Malik Scott, bombed out inside a round by Deontay Wilder in 2014, was throwing more punches in Haye’s presence than I’d ever seen him throw and was getting through with a fair amount, too. Again, this was a bad omen.
As was Haye’s public workout on the Wednesday of fight week. Typically a non-event, Haye somehow managed to reveal, even during this perfunctory exercise, that he was either unwilling or unable to throw anything like a straight right cross, formerly his money shot. Scarier still, he looked out of breath during the interviews conducted afterwards.
Still he talked, though. Still the right things were said. “You’ll see something different,” he promised, before suggesting he would listen to Ismael Salas, his new Cuban coach, and deliberately go rounds.
It was, of course, all a ruse. Seconds into round one, it became clear Haye wanted the bout over as soon as possible and presumably did so because he wasn’t fit – physically or mentally – for the long haul at 37. There was no new look; there was no attempt to box and drown Bellew late.
Salas, we discovered, had no say in the matter. Nor did anyone in his team. “I can assure you David certainly doesn’t listen to me or anyone else,” confirmed Adam Morallee, a lawyer, at a press conference in February. “He does what he wants to do. He is who he is.”
It explained everything. It explained why Salas was there, in body at least, and it explained why Ruben Tabares, an ‘ultimate sports performance expert’ lauded for getting the old Haye body back into shape, was now overseeing sparring sessions, wrapping the fighter’s hands in the changing room, and getting in the ring between rounds. Tabares is good at what he does. I don’t doubt that. But boxing has never been what he does.
I detected these signs beforehand, yet ignored them the way everybody ignored them in the hope the rematch would be competitive and worthwhile. But the signs were obvious and if they weren’t strong enough to persuade people to back Bellew on May 5, the hope now, in light of what happened, is that they persuade Haye to call it a day.
Because he truly has nothing left to prove. As a once-brilliant two-weight world champion, he reached the pinnacle and achieved more than most. As a big personality, he experienced fame and made obscene amounts of money. As a promoter, he has definite potential.
But, on Saturday, Haye wasn’t Ali in Zaire in 1974. He was Ali in Caesars Palace in 1980, on the night “The Greatest” was
pummelled for 10 rounds by Larry Holmes. Even Bellew, someone who admires Haye, was seen despondently shaking his head after sending two right hands towards the former champion’s skull and staggering him in round four. He pitied him and wanted the referee to stop the fight. He didn’t want to be his Larry Holmes.
In the end, whereas Ali was saved on his stool, the lasting image from Saturday will be one of Haye unsteadily retreating to the ropes following the final knockdown and doing so with resignation in his eyes. He knew what was coming. He could see the devil in Bellew. But still he invited him in for the kill.
In fact, Haye’s body language welcomed the punishment – bring it on – just as it did 14 years ago, when hurt, exhausted and staring down the barrel of Carl Thompson’s 12 gauge shotgun. All out of ideas, all out of steam, the 37-year-old was resigned not only to defeat but to his own fate in this most unforgiving of sports. “This is me,” his expression seemed to say. “This is the path I have chosen.”
It was then I knew he’d fight again.