On May 18, 2024, exactly two years ago, Tyson Fury and Oleksandr Usyk stepped into the ring at the Kingdom Arena in Riyadh to determine the identity of the best heavyweight of this era. At the same time, seven Italian boxing fans from different parts of the country, united by their immense admiration for Usyk, followed the event with trembling excitement, cheering wildly for their hero and repeatedly risking heart attacks. This is the story of that unforgettable night.
United by Love, but Also by Hate
Andrea, Alessandro, Luca, Nicola, Massimo, Dante, and myself, Mario: these were the protagonists of our story, united, as mentioned, by our sporting affection for Oleksandr Usyk, but also by a considerable dislike for Tyson Fury.
A dislike rooted in the past, born from Fury’s doping controversy and strengthened over the years by a long series of episodes, the latest of which was the injury that postponed the fight — an injury whose origins many of us considered, at the very least, suspicious.
The radically different feelings the two fighters inspired in us emerge clearly from this exchange that took place a few months before the long-awaited showdown:
Massimo: “If Fury wins, I won’t watch boxing for a year.”
Andrea: “If Fury wins, I’ll never watch boxing again.”
Me: “If Fury wins, I’ll kill myself.”
The only exception was Alessandro, who, despite rooting for Usyk, considered Fury an amusing character. Unsurprisingly, he would also be the only one able to keep calm during the critical moments of the fight…
A Delicious Dinner Ruined by Growing Tension
Massimo and Dante arrived by plane from Puglia, Luca and I drove from Emilia, Nicola came from Trentino, while Alessandro and Andrea waited for us in Bergamo, the city chosen for the reunion. Before heading to Andrea’s house, we all went out to dinner together: the meat was exquisite, but the tension was far too intense for us to truly enjoy it.
By far the most worried among us was Dante. Ironically, he was the one who for years had done nothing but belittle Fury, deny him any credit, and mock his boxing abilities — yet now that the fight was finally near, he deeply feared the Gypsy King’s hidden weapons.
As always, it fell to me to inspire confidence within the group. For a very long time, I had argued with absolute conviction that Usyk’s style was perfect for neutralizing the British giant, that his compact size would prove to be a strength rather than a weakness, and that his ability to throw unpredictable combinations would short-circuit Fury’s reflex-based defense. The others listened, nodded, tried to convince themselves that I was right, but in their eyes I could read the fear of disaster.
The (Brief) Calm Before the Storm
After leaving the restaurant, Massimo suddenly started doing push-ups on the sidewalk to release his growing nervous tension. Under normal circumstances we would have thought he was insane, but at that moment we understood him: the main event was getting closer, and pretending to stay calm had become pointless.
Once we arrived at Andrea’s house, we tuned into DAZN: Jai Opetaia and Mairis Briedis were in the ring, but Alessandro was the only one capable of paying any real attention to the fight. The rest of us were all on edge, and whenever the stream briefly buffered for a second or two, furious curses exploded throughout the room.
Finally, it seemed the big moment had arrived, but the organizers had the unfortunate idea of preceding the heavyweight title fight with a musical performance by American rapper JID, who was showered with our loudest and most vulgar insults. Then, at long last, it was time for the two men everyone had been waiting for.
An Encouraging Start
During the ring walks, both fighters gave us positive vibes. Fury had wild eyes and looked tense as a violin string. Usyk’s stare, meanwhile — despite the different colors — resembled the one Mike Tyson used to give opponents before knocking them down like bowling pins.
The first round boosted our confidence: Usyk looked focused and sure of himself. He landed the best punches of the round and clearly won it, while Fury produced little more than grimaces and pointless provocations.
The next two rounds were more competitive, but it was still the Ukrainian who dictated the pace, constantly holding the center of the ring and showing greater consistency while Fury relied on sporadic counters. We consulted each other: we should have been up 30-27, but we agreed that the judges might have given at least one round to “the enemy.”
The Darkest Hour
Fury shifted gears in the fourth round. He increased the intensity, moved sharply, and fired from long range before Usyk could close the distance. His uppercuts, alternated between body and head, landed with increasing frequency and carried real sting. One of them, landed in the sixth round, caused visible damage: Usyk stiffened and circled away to avoid further trouble. A ghostly silence fell over Andrea’s house.
Dante and Massimo were petrified. I turned toward Nicola with a devastated expression, almost begging for words of comfort, but he simply whispered, “This looks bad,” without even taking his eyes off the screen. I retreated into myself and couldn’t stop thinking, remembering my pre-fight predictions, that “I don’t know s**t about boxing.”
When the internet connection briefly cut out, nobody complained. Behind us, Luca, who had been watching the fight standing up, said to Andrea: “It’s better if DAZN freezes. I can’t bear seeing Usyk like this.”
Once again, Alessandro was the only one resisting the general mood and handing out little doses of hope. Only he noticed, at the end of the seventh round, that Fury was beginning to tire, that Usyk was still in the fight, that there was still plenty of time left. But his wise words bounced off us like rubber bullets against bulletproof glass.
The Ukrainian Master Strikes Back
Our despair was wiped away within seconds by the genius from Simferopol. His sharp, precise, devastating punches in the eighth round completely transformed the atmosphere. Thinking back to those moments, I can still see myself screaming at the top of my lungs: “He broke his noooose!” while Fury was being tossed from one side of the ring to the other.
By then we were all standing, clinging to one another, our hearts pounding wildly. Our screams, as Usyk pushed Fury to the brink of collapse during the dramatic ninth round, could probably be heard on the other side of Bergamo, but none of us cared. Had a neighbor come to complain at that moment, he probably would have been buried alive before even opening his mouth.
But the Gypsy King has nine lives, like a cat, and the knockdown he suffered that night was the eighth of his career. He still had one life left, and he used it to survive until the final bell and the much-feared judges’ decision.
Good Triumphs
While Dante obsessively repeated, “They can’t rob him after a fight like this!”, Andrea, in a sudden flash of lucidity, rushed to close the windows, aware that whatever the outcome, the explosion of noise would be impossible to measure on the decibel scale. And of course, he was right.
Usyk was rightfully declared the winner, and we went completely insane with joy. Anyone watching us from outside would have thought we had won the lottery: we hugged each other, raised our arms to the sky, and finally smiled again after spending fifty minutes with our facial muscles paralyzed by tension.
We picked up our phones and replied to friends and relatives who had started to think we had disappeared, while Luca sent mocking WhatsApp messages to those who had predicted a Fury victory. Little by little, we returned to real life, savoring delicious Apulian focaccia and washing it down with excellent Belgian beer. Good had triumphed, evil had been defeated, and an unforgettable night had carved itself forever into our memories.