Come as you are, Deontay Wilder

By Jimmy Tobin-

Saturday night, at Barclays Center in Brooklyn, American heavyweight Deontay “The Bronze Bomber” Wilder made the seventh defense of his title, knocking out Cuban, Luis “King Kong” Ortiz in ten rounds. In a tense and sporadically torrid fight, Ortiz went loudly to his fate, but Wilder, always louder, left him silent in the end. A right uppercut, the brutal punctuation to another of Wilder’s inarticulate tantrums, broke Ortiz, leaving him bowed like a penitent.

Of course, with a lucrative fight with Anthony Joshua looming, Wilder was unlikely to lose. Ortiz, 38 years old, had failed two drug tests in the past three years, including one in September that temporarily canceled the Wilder fight. When it was revealed that Ortiz’ second dirty test was the result of blood pressure medication he was free to pursue Wilder again, and did so, though the New York State Athletic Commission was so concerned about his condition that the PBC brass flew Charles Martin to New York as a replacement opponent.

Then there was the strange delay to the start of the eighth round, where Wilder, pulped by Ortiz in the seventh, was examined a second time by the ringside physician. If the precipitous fatigue that colored his ensuing efforts was any indication, Ortiz wasn’t going to end the fight in the opening seconds of the eighth, but the reason to deny him the chance is best explained with a nod and a wink. And the scorecards? Conveniently though not egregiously all in Wilder’s favor, and identical in their tally. With respect to Errol Spence—throw in an apology as well, considering the disparity in craft between the two—it is Wilder who most controls the fortunes of the PBC—and he benefits accordingly.

This is how boxing operates, and such privileges, while certainly not available to all, are there for enough that no one would prefer the potential for such preferential treatment removed. Nor will anyone be thinking about Saturday night when the opening bell for Joshua-Wilder rings.

Besides, Wilder earned his knockout of Ortiz and proved something of himself in the process. A scatologist could lose himself for hours examining Wilder’s technique; those ridiculous flaps of his wings, that backward-leaning and floppy bugalooing to safety. But Ortiz proved that Wilder can take a punch, and that, for however spastic he is defensively, it is difficult to hit him cleanly. Yes, much of that can be attributed to his height (and a little also to the perils of being countered) but there are few fighters in the division tall enough to negate that advantage. It is worth noting too that Wilder steadied himself through the sternest challenge of his career and won by knockout; that on the night he most had to prove himself he did, and in a manner that thrilled the crowd.

All of this is to say that Wilder did what he had to against Ortiz, which is all he can do, and that this remains enough for now. Imagining what a heavyweight version of Adonis Stevenson would have done to Wilder Saturday might make you laugh, might make you cringe, but as there are no such threats on the horizon, and considering Wilder can only fight the fighters available to him, it is possible that this reign of lucky genetics and auspicious timing persists well into the future. Size, power, and a fighter’s constitution have taken him some distance in this sport, and matchmaking has picked up the considerable slack.

Still, for all the earnestness of his effort, and for the improvements trainer Mark Breland has managed to instill, the notion that Wilder will one day suffer a beheading befitting of both his shortcomings and his personality is an easy one to endorse; one made easier not only by the eye-test but by the performance of Jose Uzcategui on the undercard. While talk of Wilder-Ortiz dominates—a fight characterized as much for its pregnant stretches of inaction as by those violent eruptions easiest recalled—Uzcategui, who unmade boxing repeat offender Andre Dirrell in nine rounds, was the most impressive fighter on the broadcast.

When Uzcategui and Dirrell first fought, the Venezuelan was sucker punched twice by Dirrell’s uncle after being disqualified for hitting after the bell—a foul “Bolivita” indeed committed, but one hardly worse than Dirrell’s cheap (and successful) efforts to steal another victory as a man unfit to continue. Yet to the rematch, Uzcategui brought little malice. Instead, wearing a smile impossible to suppress, he appeared appreciative of both the opportunity to remedy the past and his successes to that end. With intelligence and gusto, head, arms, fists, working kaleidoscopically within harm’s way, this king of limbs parried and slipped his way past Dirrell’s punches and battered him to (another!) bungling submission. In a manner reminiscent of Roman Gonzalez, Uzcategui treated Dirrell with a respect nearing affection and made multiple efforts to celebrate his victim in the aftermath. (One can only hope Uncle Leon was watching.)

No easy task that, following a performance of such skill and comportment. But then, a comparison isn’t quite fair, is it? Uzcategui is a very good fighter, and Wilder might not even be that. There is no fight Uzcategui can make that holds nearly the appeal of Joshua-Wilder, though, and criticisms of Wilder that fail to recognize this currency either ignore or miss this point. Somehow a fighter who doesn’t understand how to navigate a southpaw jab has managed to make himself into one half of the biggest heavyweight fight that can be made (Tyson Fury being irrelevant until he can prove otherwise). Any honest explanation of Wilder’s rise to that position will be complex, and the greater the complexity the less likely a favorable estimation of Wilder should persist.

But then, no one will be thinking about that either when the opening bell for Joshua-Wilder rings.

***Thank you to Anthony Wilson for the wonderful artwork in this column. Expect further contributions from him here. You can find him on Twitter at @antwonomous and more of his artwork at https://www.behance.net/collection/168268093/Boxing.***