The absence of pageantry. If not the absence, then a poorly executed attempt at the usual poorly executed attempts—a simulacrum, a knock-off. And yet it befits the event: because what makes this an event is not pride in nation, culture, or race, neither the typical kindling nor smoldering embers. Not even popularity explains its appeal—not in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, thousands of miles from Russia and Kyrgyzstan, and even more from Quebec and California. What makes this an event are the stakes: the winner becomes undisputed, becomes he who is greater than the sum of his parts. The winner becomes the rarest quality in a sport dependent on judges, one without a schedule to prevent avoidance, where mandatory challengers—but not only them—make challenging yourself anything but mandatory. The winner becomes the man.
Artur Beterbiev, unified light heavyweight champion, begins his ringwalk. He is dressed in simple black: black trunks, black gloves, a complement to his dark features and darker intentions, to the lights that go out when his fists land. A white T-shirt transparent with perspiration sticks to his chest. Stitched onto its front is a Fred Perry logo. A subtle sponsorship? Or did he simply pull a clean shirt out of his luggage on his way to the arena, a half-conscious decision determined by convenience? “Rival” runs along the outside of each glove; this is sponsorship, but more—it is his role.
Minutes later, Dmitrii Bivol, possessor of the only title Beterbiev has yet to claim, descends the ramp. He wears the icy expression that seems to leave him only in the wake of victory (and only for a moment or two). Bivol is serious, self-possessed, and profoundly confident. After twelve (or fewer) rounds with Beterbiev will he still be? He sports a sleeveless hoodie, black and blue, the colors of abuse, of a beating expertly dealt. But who will administer it?
***
Before Saturday, the final bell in a Beterbiev fight always came early. The end of the twelfth round was a moment that eluded all, a point in time that moved forever away; a sort of bloody Zeno’s paradox where every aspiring Achilles might gain ground, only to give it back—before finally laying sprawled across it in varying states of trauma and consciousness. Thus, expectations for Beterbiev–Bivol, when they drifted toward carnage, were influenced primarily by Beterbiev and the reputation produced by twenty knockouts in twenty professional fights.
Bivol, for all his success, cannot quicken pulses with the promise of ultraviolence: he is concerned primarily, perhaps exclusively, with winning, and rare are the moments when he deviates from that goal to satisfy the sanguinary. Despite a style predicated on movement and selective hostility, Bivol does not suffer belligerence. There was the chance that he would answer every successful assault from Beterbiev in kind, if not in the name of payback, then of negation, nullifying the moments that might swing a round in Beterbiev’s favor. And if he did that, if Bivol planted his feet when freeing his hands, he could win rounds with his speed, albeit at the price of becoming but one more Achilles.
***
114-114, 115-113, 116-112. For the first time in his professional career, Beterbiev depended on the judges for victory. By that narrow margin, they crowned him the undisputed light-heavyweight champion of the world. However, that margin and the disbelief of both Bivol supporters and Beterbiev himself when the winner was announced suggest that though the titles have been consolidated consensus evades.
***
There was no ring robbery in Riyadh: only the time of those who endured the undercard was stolen. But the question: Who is the best 175-pound fighter in the world? (provided that question permits a definitive answer), will need at least another twelve rounds to determine.
Bivol, 23-1(12), started well, banking rounds with his movement and sharper punching, especially the right hands he used to counter Beterbiev’s jab. But Beterbiev, 21-0 (20), was undeterred, scoring with thudding body shots and cuffing Bivol with punches whose cumulative effect bore out over the second half of the fight.
The seventh round produced the first moment of genuine weakness from either fighter. Bivol hurt Beterbiev with a hook and, spurred by his opponent’s sudden fragility, attacked. This aggression allowed Beterbiev to exchange with his elusive opponent, and while nothing dramatic landed, he buried something that put Bivol on the back foot. Bivol quickly regained his nerve, but Beterbiev—having confirmed that his fight was only a punch away—let his hands go, moving Bivol to the ropes and hitting whatever he could.
Bivol’s style is calibrated perfectly to a fight with rules, one divided into increments of fixed duration. There is no fury in it, and little fire—its defining trait is its rigidity, its steadfastness. But Bivol is hard as iron, something he proved repeatedly. As the fight progressed Bivol’s periods of inaction became more frequent, those moments when Beterbiev found his body or thumped through his guard were now met with footwork as much as flurries. And while he seemed to catch many of Beterbiev’s punches on his guard, the optics of Bivol covering up on the ropes, or shifting from subtle evasion to obvious escape perhaps hurt him in the minds of the judges (judges most everyone expected Bivol would need to win). But both men fought the championship round like champions: Beterbiev stalking and pulverizing, Bivol ripping combinations, repositioning, ripping again. While action fell short of expectations, the effort did not.
***
Beterbiev was critical of his performance and graciously attributed his poor showing to his opponent. Bivol, unlike his most indignant supporters, bore responsibility for coming up short and did not explain his loss lest that explanation be interpreted as an excuse. He believed it would take perfection to beat Beterbiev and admitted that, on this night, he was less than perfect.
No one can be perfect against Beterbiev or Bivol, which is for the better in a sport where drama is the by-product of mistakes, of errors violently exploited. When they meet again (and they should), let’s hope each makes an extra mistake or two, and we get perfection not from the fighters but from their combined efforts to make obvious what tonight left unclear.
The post The Good Left Undone: Artur Beterbiev Decisions Dmitrii Bivol to Become Undisputed appeared first on Hannibal Boxing.
