Not all punchers are the same. Some can “turn off the lights” with a single decisive blow, while others break down their opponents’ physical and mental resistance strike after strike, through a demolition process that bears fruit as the rounds go by. The latter are no less lethal than the former; in fact, they can sometimes turn into a real nightmare for their opponents, relentlessly pressing them from one corner of the ring to the other. Among the greatest representatives of the demolition category that Italy has produced in recent decades, Cristian Sanavia, who turns 50 today, undoubtedly played a leading role.
The southpaw from Piove di Sacco climbed every rung on the ladder to glory one by one: a classic path that started with the Italian title, passed through the European championship, and ultimately led him to the top of the world on a historic night for Italian boxing, in the fiery atmosphere of the Chemnitz Arena in Germany.
The road that led the Venetian fighter to defeat Markus Beyer—the most beloved champion among German boxing fans after Sven Ottke’s retirement—was not without obstacles. More than once, between disappointments and personal struggles, he found himself on the verge of hanging up his gloves. But Cristian never gave up, and today, more than ten years after retiring from professional boxing, he remains deeply connected to the sport that gave him so much joy and satisfaction.
We reached out to Sanavia to hear the inside story of his journey as an indomitable fighter. Here are the answers he kindly provided for the episode dedicated to him in our “Great Italian Boxing” section!
Your first professional title was the Italian championship. Among your title defenses, one of the most notable was your four-round victory over the excellent Claudio Ciarlante—a fight that looked competitive on paper, but one you dominated from the start before winning due to a cut. Did you expect such an overwhelming triumph?
The Italian title had been missing from Piove di Sacco for forty years. Ciarlante was a great friend—he used to travel from Rome to train with us. Facing a close friend in an official title defense isn’t easy. We had often sparred together, but I always lost. I was never a great sparring partner; I needed the crowd and the tension of a real fight. All my coaches can confirm this—I struggled in sparring, but when it came to actual fights, I always won. In the gym, you’re often exhausted from training, and motivation isn’t always high [laughs]. But when you step into the ring, you’re prepared and focused. I didn’t think I would win against Ciarlante; two hours before the fight, we were having tea together. It’s not easy for two fighters to put friendship aside. But when I saw that he came out trying to knock me out, I went all-in with a “sink or swim” mentality, and it worked out.
After the Italian title, you won the WBC International belt by defeating a true powerhouse—Nigeria’s undefeated Jerry Elliott, who had a knockout-heavy record. A fight like that for a mere international belt would be unthinkable today. Where did you find the strength to fight back after such a rough start?
That was a fight meant to fast-track my career. I was in great shape, but it was a tough challenge because he almost always won by knockout. At the time, he was the strongest fighter managed by Universum. His knockouts usually came within three or four rounds. But what really fueled my aggression was what happened during the weigh-in and the press conference. He told me, “You’ll last three rounds with me.” He called himself a “big champion” and said I was “small” in comparison. So I told him, “I’ll make you suffer until the twelfth round.” I never went to press conferences to disrespect my opponents—I always let my fists do the talking. So when I heard him say he would knock me out in three rounds, I thought to myself, “He’ll have to kill me first.” After that, he never returned to fight in Italy—no one wanted to face him.
You won the European title by defeating France’s Morrade Hakkar in a razor-thin decision, but he took the belt back from you five months later. How difficult was it to figure out his awkward style, with his constant movement and relentless punching volume?
When I first faced him at home, the fight was close, but I did just enough to win on points. It was a really tricky match because he countered every single punch. I would throw heavy shots, and he would reply with soft ones. But in the months that followed, I switched gyms, left my longtime coach Gino Freo, and was completely inactive for three months. I wanted to retire because I had seen things in boxing that I never expected to see. Money rules everything. I never fought for money—I did it for my love of the sport, and I never got rich from it. In the end, they convinced me to go through with the title defense. I trained in Forlì with national team coach Valerio Nati, a dear friend of mine, and commuted from Piove di Sacco. I went into the fight mentally drained. Physically, I was ready, but at the first sign of trouble, I just gave up.
The highlight of your career was undoubtedly your incredible victory in Germany over WBC world champion Markus Beyer. What memories do you associate with that unforgettable night, when you defied the odds to reach the top of the boxing world?
I was a 10-to-1 underdog. If I had a thousand euros, I would have bet them on myself—but I didn’t. When Cherchi called me to meet him in Milan, I didn’t even have money for the train. I borrowed some from a friend, and when I got to Milan, the first thing I demanded was a reimbursement for my ticket. Cherchi made me an offer, but the purse for a world title fight was laughable. Then he played a videotape of Beyer’s fights. I watched the first, fourth, seventh, and twelfth rounds, then I asked, “Will you double my purse if I become world champion?” He said no [laughs]. I went home convinced I would win the title.
Unfortunately, as often happened after I won a belt, I lost the rematch. Just when I had him in trouble, I got caught because of a momentary lapse in focus. I still remember Cherchi telling me not to let up, and me replying, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” A split second later… Crack!
The satisfaction of winning the first match, however, is something no one can take away from you. It was twelve high-paced rounds—how crucial was physical preparation in achieving that sporting masterpiece?
I had hired a top-level athletic trainer who pushed me harder than ever. However, it wasn’t the physical preparation that made the difference; the difference is always in the mind. When you are mentally strong and free from worries, no one can stop you. When I fought for the European title in Denmark against James DeGale at the end of my career, I was physically prepared, but my head wasn’t in the right place—I was going through a separation from my wife, with whom I had two children. A true champion would have been able to overcome such problems; apparently, I wasn’t a champion. I am very harsh on myself about these things. During those three days in Denmark, I should have focused solely on the fight, but my mind was in Piove di Sacco, and that weakened my character. I always had the determination to face difficulties in the ring, but those outside of it destroyed me.
The brutal KO in the rematch with Beyer didn’t stop you from giving Italy another European reign. It also gave you the chance to get revenge on Danilo Haussler, who had beaten you two years earlier with a scandalous decision in Nuremberg, but once again, they tried to put obstacles in your way with a completely biased referee. How tough is life for a fighter on the road?
I agree that in my first fight with Haussler, I had done more than him, but to win in Germany, doing just a little more wasn’t enough. Fighting away from home is like going into battle, but to be fair, it’s also tough for foreign fighters who come to Italy. I never needed any favors in Italy because what I won at home, I won with the support of the crowd. I had an entire community following me, organizing buses to come and watch my fights, and I would draw between five and six thousand people to the arena. In such an atmosphere, your motivation is three times higher than your opponent’s. When you fight abroad, instead, you have to take things with a bit of indifference. That said, I have to admit that the Germans respected me—after fighting there so many times, they ended up liking me.
Today, you turn 50. It’s been almost 11 years since you retired. Do you still feel the passion for boxing? What are you doing at this stage of your life?
Fifty years, and I feel every single one of them! Maybe I don’t look it, but I definitely feel it… That’s what happens when you dedicate your life to sports, especially at a high competitive level—you eventually pay the price. Today, I’m in the gym every afternoon until evening. I train five-year-old kids, ten-year-olds, fourteen-year-olds, all the way up to competitive fighters. The hope is always that one of those kids who starts at five can go through the whole journey, reach the competitive level, and achieve some success. And who knows—maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find someone with the talent to accomplish something big. In the mornings, I’m currently free; I’m looking for a little job to keep me busy during that time. My passion for boxing is still strong today—boxing has given me so much and taken so much from me, but it’s something I grew up with, and now I have it in my blood.