In an obvious effort to maintain their dwindling popularity in the face of the rise of the UFC, boxing has decided to cram several good fights together over the last week or two. Of course, as is so often the case with the red-headed stepchild of professional sports, things did not exactly go according to plan…
Canello Alvarez UD12 over Miguel Cotto –
From the opening bell, Canello looked so much bigger than Cotto that it was shocking. I don’t know what the unofficial weigh-ins were on fight night, but Canelo looked about two weight classes bigger—and it showed. He consistently landed the bigger, nosier shots, and Cotto seemed to feel everything he was hit with while conversely being unable to dent Canelo’s chin at all. Before the ninth Freddie Roach told Cotto to basically make his last stand and he did, but again to no visible effect. After unloading everything he had, Cotto packed up his tent and coasted the last few rounds, content to lose the decision just as long as he made it to the final bell. A disappointing performance by Cotto, and an underwhelming fight all-around to say the least.
Tyson Fury UD12 over Wladimir Klitschko –
Disappointing and underwhelming would be about as positive a pair of adjectives you could possibly muster for this shit show, which was quite simply one of the worst heavyweight title fights of all-time. Alvarez-Cotto looked like Hagler-Hearns on meth compared to this. The fight had all the drama and excitement of watching a puddle of piss dry. From the start, Fury’s height, jab, quickness, and odd, awkward movement gave the Klit problems, and the big Ukranian galoot responded by being too frightnened to throw any punches, just like the colossal sopping wet pussy he’s always been. As the fight wore on and my eyelids grew heavy, at long last it mercifully ended with a lopsided decision victory for the giant drunken mic. Then the stupid spud grabbed the microphone only to scream whiskey-breathed gibberish about his boyfriend Jesus Christ for like five straight goddamn minutes. That idiotic display, along with his dreadful performance, have destroyed any possibilities of me rooting for this big pale shmoe ever again. The most important thing however is that the disgustingly long reign of the faggiest heavyweight champion in history has finally, and at long last, come to a fittingly unentertaining and boring end. It’s about fuckin time.
Adrien Granados TKO8 over Amir Imam –
Touted as one of the best young American fighters around, I happened to check out Amir Imam against Adrien Granados the other night, and boy was it fascinating. First of all, they showed some of Imam’s highlights before the fight, and he had three or four absolutely vicious one-punch knockout victories—like some of the best one-punch kayos you’ll ever see. He even knocked one muthafucka out of the ring. It was a frightening highlight reel indeed, and looked to gain yet another addition when Imam crushed Granados with a right hand in the first round. The shot caught the on-coming Granados cleanly on the chin, and sent him careening across the ring flat on his back. I thought the fight was over, but Granados astonishingly got to his feet almost immediately. Imam pursued calmly til the bell, but it seemed just a matter of time before Granados was just another stepping stone on the undefeated Imam’s path to a title shot in his next bout. Then, amazingly, round-by-round Granados chipped away at Imam with relentless aggression. As the fight wore on, the punishment Iman was soaking up grew heavier and heavier, and he began to lose the sting from his own shots. Finally, Granados started trapping him on the ropes and working him over with both hands to the body and head. Granados had Imam stunned and pulverized him for the last thirty seconds of the seventh before finishing the job in the eighth. It was amazing to watch this blue chip prospect get slowly worn down and then beaten to a pulp by a grittier if less talented opponent. Good for Granados, but bad for Showtime, because they had put a lot of promotion behind Imam. Based on that performance, Imam might be the Randall Bailey of the new millennium—great at starching bums, but not so good when the going gets tough.