A lot was said on Saturday night, the night of Tyson Fury’s comeback fight against Arslanbek Makhmudov. There was plenty said by Fury and Anthony Joshua – watching from ringside – and plenty said by Turki Alalshikh, who suggested, prematurely, that a fight between Fury and Joshua had been agreed. As it turned out, of course, that wasn’t strictly true. But why let the truth get in the way of a good story?
Likewise, the approach on Netflix seemed to be something along the lines of “Why use only 10 words when you can use 10,000?” That was certainly the ethos of its commentary team, particularly Mauro Ranallo, who is presumably still mamma-mia’ing his way through the action now, almost a week later.
There was in fact only one real moment of calm on Saturday night; one moment of insight; one moment worth remembering. It arrived between rounds eight and nine of a heavyweight fight between Justis Huni and Frazer Clarke and lasted no more than 60 seconds. That, in the end, was all it took to shatter the wall of sound and provide those watching on Netflix with a chance to breathe and to think.
For this, we had Joe Gallagher, Frazer Clarke’s trainer, to thank. It was his voice we heard between rounds eight and nine and the second we heard it we listened to his words as intently as Clarke, his heavyweight. In fact, so inspiring was Gallagher’s pep talk ahead of round nine, even those who had earlier fought so obstinately to have their voice heard now had no option but to quieten down. “Save me, Joe Louis,” said a black man on death row in the 1930s. But this was more a case of “Save us, Joe Gallagher.” Save us from the noise. Save us from the bullshit. Restore us to sanity.
“Two rounds left, okay?” he said to start, with Clarke breathing heavily on his stool. “Listen, I’ve got you two behind, all right? Big breaths. You need these two rounds, Frazer. You need them. Honest to God, you need them. He’s just coming on with big shots, you’re holding, he’s nicking. Let your hands go. You keep leading with that right hand. You can’t lead with the right hand, son. He’s coming with that left hook. Right hand-left hook, and jab-right hook. You landed it lovely there, boom-boom. Next time, jab-right uppercut and bring it over, son. You’ve been in Manchester for four months, three months. I need to see a bit of grit, a bit of desire, a bit of determination. You want this. You sacrificed everything. You’ve only got six minutes to do it. That doesn’t mean go out like a headless chicken, but reset, round one, chin down, good basics, all right? Do you hear me? Punch to hurt, not punch to survive, all right?”
It was only fair to transcribe that speech and include it in full. For though he had just 60 seconds to deliver it, Gallagher wasted not a single word and managed to convey both a sense of urgency and an appreciation for hard work often in the same breath. Not only that, when a speech like this is heard on a night of hysterics and hyperbole, it resonates even more, sounding to abused ears like an alien language; a language in which we were once fluent but, due to amnesia or some catastrophic accident, have all forgotten.
If nothing else, Gallagher’s words, the sincerity of them, reminded us of what really matters: fights, fighters, the truth. Whereas everywhere else you looked on Saturday night people were tripping over each other to genuflect at the feet of His Excellency, Gallagher alone returned the collective focus to what is important: those small but crucial moments between fighter and coach in the heat of battle. There was, for once, no dressing up, no lying, no gaslighting. This was instead good old-fashioned real talk, the very language the sport has in recent times lost.
Even when it comes to coaches and fighters, it is rare to hear such honesty in the corner these days. With there being so much at stake, many coaches, big names included, struggle to tell their fighter exactly what they are thinking, how they see the fight, and what they must change.
That, you might argue, is a dereliction of duty, to look the other way. Yet still it happens. It happens not only because emotions run high and the coach feels the pressure, but also because there is the small matter of their relationship, which a coach aims to protect at all costs. That is why so many of them avoid the tough, difficult moments between rounds. It is why, when a fighter sits down on their stool, they prefer to let the noise of the crowd drown out their honest thoughts and count down the 60 seconds in their head. Suddenly they hear “Seconds out!” and it’s time for the fighter to stand up again and go back to work. Suddenly the moment has passed. Oh well.
Worse than just saying nothing is when a coach blatantly lies to their fighter. You see this a lot, especially if a fight is close on the scorecards or their fighter has just clearly lost a round. In those two scenarios, you will sometimes hear a coach feed the delusion of their fighter, either by telling them they had just won the round they had lost or that they are leading a fight that could still go the other way.
Typically, this is an attempt to maintain the status quo and safeguard their position. It is the easy option. The safe option. By staying on side, you see, a coach can remain confident of getting invited back and remaining in the fighter’s good books. It is only by going against them, or disagreeing with them, that they run the risk of upsetting them and losing their job. This is something true of not only coaches in corners but many of the people who were sitting around the ring at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium on Saturday.
In fact, as is often the case, it was only inside the ring that night that any real honesty was detected. It was detected in the actions of the numerous boxers giving their all in each fight and it was detected in the work of Joe Gallagher between rounds eight and nine of a fight his man ultimately lost.
