There are opponents who simply refuse to go down. You overwhelm them with punches, shake them with all your strength, hit every part of their body that counts as a legal target — but they just stay there, standing, oblivious to pain, to the blood flowing from their cuts, to the swelling on their skin. Stubborn as mules, they categorically refuse to be knocked out, and trying to floor them at all costs can be a very dangerous game.
Ten days ago, a little after 10 p.m., I was in San Bonifacio, near Verona, sitting in the front row to watch the talented Cuban Angelo Morejon take on the heavy-handed Bosnian Danijal Alagic. For three rounds, it looked less like a boxing match and more like a full-on beating.
Morejon’s left hand landed on his opponent’s face like a piston. The impact was so strong that the Bosnian’s sweat flew outside the ring, while the large group of Balkan fans who had followed him on his Italian adventure watched the scene in terrified silence. The sharp, violent right hands Morejon landed to the body made even the spectators’ guts twist. And yet, the tenacious Alagic showed no sign of backing down.
So, little by little, “El Terrible” switched to plan B. Realizing he had an immovable rock in front of him, the Cuban slowed the pace, managed his energy, and continued to pile up points, elegantly dancing on his toes and striking hard only when his opponent became too aggressive.
At the end of the fight, despite a clear and unquestionable victory, some people still had complaints. “He should’ve used his right hand more,” “He shouldn’t have let himself be pressured,” “He should’ve gotten his hands dirty,” were among the remarks heard after the bout. His decision to manage the final rounds carefully was interpreted by some as a sign of fussiness, insecurity, or lack of fighting spirit.
I’ve been mulling over those comments for days, and my mind couldn’t help but go back to a fight from the late 1990s — seemingly unrelated, yet perfectly fitting the theme of this article. I’m talking about the unexpected defeat of the great Wladimir Klitschko against American Ross Puritty.
An Olympic champion, unbeaten, with a towering physique and excellent technical skills, Klitschko was considered destined for greatness and was rapidly climbing the world rankings, scoring one quick knockout after another. Puritty, on the other hand, already had thirteen losses on his record, three of them in his last four fights, and was seen as a limited, basic fighter, lacking class and creativity. On paper, it wasn’t supposed to be a contest.
And indeed, for nine full rounds, it wasn’t: Klitschko hit his opponent at will from every angle, bombarded him non-stop, and landed blows that could have felled a bull. For the first time since turning pro, “Dr. Steelhammer” was fighting in Ukraine, in front of his compatriots, and he wanted to put on a show. He wanted a knockout at all costs.
Anyone who’s seen that fight knows that Klitschko paid dearly for his stubbornness. By the end of the tenth round, he had burned through so much energy that he could barely stand. In the eleventh, his trainer Fritz Sdunek had to jump into the ring to save him from a relentless Puritty, forcing the referee to stop the fight.
I’ve thought about that dramatic night in recent days — and I’ve also thought about the striking difference between the faces of Angelo Morejon and Danijal Alagic as they left the locker rooms, an hour after their fight. Angelo’s was unmarked, flawless, not a scratch in sight. Alagic’s was swollen and unrecognizable: eyes reduced to slits, purple cheekbones, a deformed nose.
Perhaps Morejon didn’t thrill the most demanding spectators; perhaps he could have won just the same by trading a few more wild punches; perhaps, by pushing himself to the limit, he might have broken down Alagic’s resistance and delivered a knockout for the highlight reels. We’ll never know. What we do know is that El Terrible, besides securing the win, went home intact and healthy — which, in a sport as exhausting, dangerous, and at times cruel as boxing, is no small thing.
“You don’t have to be the strongest man in the ring. You just have to be the smartest.”
— Sugar Ray Leonard