Konstantin Borisovich Tszyu, better known as Kostya “The Thunder from Down Under”, was a phenomenal boxer, with an amateur career second to few and the distinction of being the first unified super lightweight champion. Today he turns 56, twenty years after leaving the ring, yet boxing still runs through his veins.
Born in Serov, on the Siberian border, on September 19, 1969, Tszyu was the son of a nurse and a steelworker. As a boy, Kostya was hyperactive, so his father decided to take him to a boxing gym where he could release his energy, keeping him away from a certain kind of “Siberian education” that would likely have pushed him into a life of crime and corruption.
That’s how Kostya first learned the basics of the noble art, fighting older boys and inevitably knocking them down. Soon, he was noticed by the coaches of the Soviet amateur team.
From there, the step to amateur success was a short one. Medals poured in: silver in Havana at the Junior World Championships, bronze at the 1989 World Championships in Moscow, and gold in 1991 in Sydney, plus gold medals at the European Championships in Athens and Gothenburg. Impressive numbers that confirm a single truth: Kostya was an extraordinary boxer. What stood out was not only his skill but also his ability—often overlooked in amateur boxing—to punch with real power, with the iron will to send opponents to the canvas.
Sydney proved to be a turning point for the young Russian fighter. In 1991, Kostya stunned everyone by outclassing Vernon Forrest in the final with his technique, timing, and punching accuracy. The move to the professional ranks came naturally. Meanwhile, Kostya found a new home: fascinated by the atmosphere, the city, and its people, he chose to relocate to Australia, far from the deprivation and rigid indoctrination of his homeland, to which he had never truly adapted.
As a professional, Kostya did nothing but confirm his brilliance. Rock-solid technique, world-class timing, surgical accuracy, and a devastating right hand made him the undisputed super lightweight champion—the first unified champion of the division. But Tszyu’s skills went far beyond that: he possessed excellent footwork, sharp tactical intelligence—he always knew what to do, even when it meant “taking risks” to create openings—and above all a killer instinct. He could spot the faintest hint of fear, a single moment of weakness in an opponent’s eyes, and then pounce with ferocity, never losing composure.
He once fought and won an entire match with a perforated eardrum—against the undefeated Hugo Pineda—thanks to his calm and rare cold-bloodedness. As a pro, he became the executioner of the legendary Julio Cesar Chavez, being the only man to score a true technical knockout over him not caused by cuts or injuries.
The fight that secured Tszyu’s place in history, however, was the one against Zab Judah. Coming in as the clear underdog, he initially struggled against Judah’s speed and even took a big left uppercut. But he managed to recover, clinching smartly and neutralizing Judah’s attempt to knock him out. Kostya soon applied pressure, waiting for the right opening. He found it with five seconds left in the second round: a thunderous right hand crashed onto Judah’s jaw, flooring him. Zab got up immediately, but it was clear to everyone that the punch had scrambled his senses: his legs betrayed him, sending him stumbling around the ring in a grotesque, uncoordinated dance before collapsing again.
Absurd protests from Judah aside, the fight went down in history as a masterclass in technique and power, proving beyond doubt who the undisputed champion was.
In his career, Tszyu was defeated only twice. The first loss came from overconfidence, when he underestimated Vince Phillips. The second was against the late Ricky Hatton, ten years younger and at the peak of his physical prime. Kostya was nearly 36 then, well past his own prime.
With the same intelligence he showed inside the ropes, Tszyu understood after that fight that his time had come. He stepped away from boxing for good, without fanfare. Over the years, rumors of a comeback circulated, sometimes fueled by Tszyu himself—perhaps out of genuine longing for the ring. But he never returned, ultimately letting common sense prevail.
In the ring, he was always as fair as he was determined and ferocious. But those who know him outside the spotlight describe him as calm, kind, smiling, and playful, fully devoted to guiding the career of his son, Tim Tszyu, who is trying to follow in his father’s footsteps—though without the same talent or mental toughness.
Happy birthday to this unforgettable champion!