By Jimmy Tobin-
Heavyweights Anthony “AJ” Joshua and Wladimir “Dr. Steelhammer” Klitschko met before 90,000 or so strong at Wembley Stadium in London Saturday night and put forth a spectacle deserving of what national pride and expectations surged each man through the crowd and into the ring. It was Joshua who emerged victorious, ending Klitschko in the eleventh courtesy of a barrage born of a right uppercut likely to attend each man’s glory as a compliment from that moment forth. A proper heavyweight prizefight, delivered on the grandest stage—it is okay to feel good about that.
A word on what could have been. Joshua could have quickly cut down the 41-year-old former champion. There was proof enough in Klitschko’s recent performances to think he would go quietly. His unimpressive decision over debunked contender, Bryant Jennings, was evidence enough of slippage, though at the time that evidence was outweighed by a career of boring decisions against opponents with the audacity to strike back. Then there was Klitschko’s embarrassing effort against Tyson Fury, who lifted all of Klitschko’s hardware and much of his pride in 2015 and who has been an embarrassment in his own right ever since, reminding all that titles are made by the men who carry them.
Of course, there was nothing in Joshua’s résumé to indicate he was ready for Klitschko; the calculus for his victory drew primarily on his gaudy eye test scores and Klitschko’s deterioration. The aged Klitschko might’ve drawn Joshua into the type of fight the younger man had yet to experience, clutching and grabbing between right hands, waltzing dully the future of the division into limbo.
Instead, what transpired was drama the heavyweight division hasn’t offered in years, the type of fight that produces the rarest and often most painful of feelings in aficionados: hope.
As no such spectacle can be achieved without two willing participants it bears repeating that one of them was Klitschko; a man whose near decade reign was marked by dominance, yes, but also by the irreconcilable image of a 6’7”, 240-pound, chiseled specimen clinging desperately to men who would go willingly to their end should he only show the nerve to send them there. Yet in what might be his last performance, and almost certainly will be the last performance he could give of such quality, Klitschko was his most daring and inspired self, earning what his history never hinted at: a dignified defeat. For Klitschko to fight as he did required he suppress his strongest instincts and a decade of programming. He did not discover a more aggressive spirit or remove the patina of self-preservation—rather, he fought in spite of himself, fought remarkably, admirably, for as long as he could.
Yet did Klitschko momentarily heed the voices pleading retreat? Was it their warning that saw him squander a sixth-round knockdown and 100 seconds at arm’s length of an opponent dazed and temporarily exhausted? Perhaps. Perhaps it was timid old Klitschko getting the best of himself; but then, who is to say what the fifth round—a round likely to develop its own identity—took from him? Perhaps surviving a knockdown thirty seconds into that round and eventually turning the tide, battering Joshua as the round drew to a close took what fire Klitschko would have used to finish Joshua minutes later.
Either way, Klitschko pressed on to his own and Joshua’s glory. And that is for the better, not simply because of the quality of the fight—which was very good—but because those eleven rounds served to ratify the future, something Manny Pacquiao has yet to do, something Floyd Mayweather could not. The future, be it of the division, of boxing, of athlete earnings, looks like Joshua. And that can be said with greater confidence because of the quality of the challenge he faced. Had Klitschko folded at the first left hook it would be easier to still dismiss Joshua because it would be easy to dismiss Klitschko’s effort. But Joshua had to prove himself Saturday, and while he proved that there is some work to be done you cannot say he is a fabrication. Or perhaps you still can, because you are joyless, or committed to being contrarian, or have lost your love for boxing if not your obsession with hearing yourself speak about it.
Because Joshua is a reason to be excited. He crumpled from a perfect right hand delivered by a proven puncher, yet weathered not only that punch but all of the unknown awaiting him that night, and with the fight very much in the balance, stormed through his opponent to in the championship rounds. His chin is better than assumed, though his stamina is not, and his defense has holes, but he is a fast learner, evidenced by how few right hands Klitschko landed once Joshua figured out when to slip them. There is work to be done with Joshua, but it is not unreasonable to think that he will learn his craft turning back the best fighters in the division, which is almost all that can be asked of him. He will do so before crowds that would make American promoters, were they capable of embarrassment, blush.
There was his conduct in the aftermath of the stoppage, too. When referee, David Fields, wedged himself between the two fighters Joshua simply turned and walked away, no more than a brewing smile on his face even as his team mobbed him in jubilation; he is the anti-Wilder in that regard (and many important others). Joshua carries himself like a man who believes he is entitled to a success he cannot doubt is coming; the biggest win of his career merely confirmed what he believes of himself, which is why he responded to it as he did—without a hint of surprise. A champion constituted for his calling—it’s okay to feel good about that too.
