Here comes the sound of the final bell: the match is over, the fighters return to their corners, and the coaches remove the gloves from their athletes’ hands. A hush falls over the arena; everyone awaits the judges’ verdict with trepidation. The outcome seems uncertain and mysterious: the two boxers were essentially even, each answering the other’s blows immediately, no dominance, no clear superiority. Yet one of them is already a long-time member of the National Team and perhaps belongs to a Military Sports Group—and every spectator, in their heart, already knows which hand is going to be raised…
A Problem of Subservience
Let’s clear up any misunderstandings immediately: this article is not about robberies, bad faith, or corruption. We would never dream of making such accusations against our judges without evidence, and until proven otherwise, we assume they are all gentlemen of unquestionable integrity.
We are instead referring to those razor-thin matches in which, out of three rounds, at least two are genuinely debatable and open to divergent interpretation depending on the viewer’s personal scoring criteria. It is no secret that such matches—when they involve a boxer who is already a member of the National Team or belongs to a Military Sports Group—almost always end the same way.
The author of this piece does not believe that this is the result of “orders from above” or some diabolical scheme cooked up behind the scenes. Far more plausibly, there exists a problem of psychological subservience affecting a large portion of our judges. Faced with a well-known name or that “GS” acronym—which newcomers often mistake for a regional abbreviation—they fall victim to an automatic reflex and award the canonical 10 points to the one who, in their imagination, is “supposed” to be the better boxer.
That this represents a real problem is well known to the overwhelming majority of Italian coaches and fighters. These dynamics create distrust, convince teachers and students alike that overturning the status quo is almost impossible, and push potentially valuable athletes away from our sport. Yet, paradoxical as it may seem, I am convinced that even the “VIP boxers,” who systematically receive the benefit of the doubt, are themselves harmed by this subservience.
To make this clearer, I will use two real examples from Italy in recent years. I will omit dates, locations, and names because the purpose is not to attack individuals. These cases are emblematic of a system that, for a long time—regardless of leadership changes, rule adjustments, or referee turnover—has maintained the same shortcomings.
Chaos Beats Technique
We’re at the women’s regional championships of a certain Italian region; the winner earns a spot at that year’s national championships. A boxer who is already a stable member of the National Team climbs into the ring: the idea that she might miss out on the nationals feels almost sacrilegious. Across from her stands an athlete who had won much in the youth categories but had only entered the Elite ranks less than a year earlier.
For about 20 or 30 seconds we see beautiful boxing. The two girls try to outdo each other with timing, firing jabs and using in-and-out footwork. That’s enough for the National Team boxer to realize she risks being given a lesson, so she decides to fling herself onto her opponent and turn the match into a wild brawl.
This produces two unjudgeable rounds, with the boxers clinched for much of the time and the referee—no lionhearted figure—far more inclined to scold the lesser-known fighter, even allowing himself to be openly insulted by the pre-fight favorite without taking action.
In the third round, the National Team boxer’s frenzy and stamina fade slightly, allowing her opponent to resume elegant boxing and win the round clearly. However, it is not enough to sway the judges: the architect of the chaos advances to the next stage.
A Victory with Almost No Punches Thrown
We move to an edition of the Italian Under-19 Championships. In the ring is a boxer from a Military Sports Group, something made obvious not only by the graphics on the broadcast but also by the uniforms of his corner men. His opponent represents only his gym and has less than half the number of fights of his counterpart.
Across the three rounds, the number of meaningful punches landed by either boxer could be counted on one hand. The Military boxer, who enjoys a massive height and reach advantage, mostly bounces around, retreats, and clinches. His rival, desperate to win, lunges from afar with wide, predictable shots, then gets trapped in clinches. But at least he tries.
After three action-poor rounds—between one boxer who can’t execute his attacks and the other who doesn’t even try—the judges reward the latter: the inexperienced kid goes home empty-handed, and the Military boxer moves on to the next stage.
Two Examples to Denounce a Thousand Cases: A Problem That Hurts Everyone
Neither of the decisions at the end of the matches described can be classified as scandalous, incomprehensible, or outrageous. In the first case, one could legitimately argue that the National Team boxer’s aggression should have been rewarded in the early rounds; in the second, one might prefer the better composure of the Military boxer.
One might therefore assume that these are mere coincidences. But when the coincidences reach ten, a hundred, a thousand, it becomes impossible to dismiss the suspicion that the phenomenon is widespread and habitual—ignoring it becomes like ignoring an elephant sitting in your living room.
These examples help illustrate how this pattern harms the winners as well as the losers. Had the National Team boxer been denied the victory, she would have learned that dragging opponents into a brawl will not always save her, and she might have been pushed to work hard in the gym to improve her long-range boxing, timing, and technical repertoire.
Had the Military boxer lost, he would have learned that boxing requires throwing punches as well as moving the feet, that excessive passivity is counterproductive, and that reach should be used not only to defend but also to attack.
By continually receiving every close decision under the sun, our top athletes grow accustomed to thinking that doing the bare minimum is enough to win. No wonder then that when we lose a close match abroad, there are tears, protests, and outbursts. And no wonder that some fighters, after showing immense potential as youngsters, stop improving once they enter the “inner circle.”
How do we fix this? I don’t know. But it would be nice if the federal leadership and referee committee occasionally issued public appeals to judges, urging them to choose impartiality as their guiding star and avoid being influenced by the surnames, résumés, or affiliations of those who step into the ring.