Let’s clear up any confusion right from the start: the author of this article does not intend to compare Gervonta Davis and Deontay Wilder in terms of their boxing skills. The two American athletes are completely different in style and characteristics, with Davis undoubtedly possessing a far superior technical repertoire compared to his compatriot. However, there is one aspect, purely psychological, where a potential parallel can be drawn between the Bronze Bomber and the small puncher from Baltimore.
After becoming world champion in January 2015, Deontay Wilder remained on the WBC throne for more than five years, successfully defending his world title ten times. In each of those ten defenses, he entered the ring as a clear favorite. However, despite always retaining his crown, several of his performances were far from perfect. Sometimes he fell behind on the scorecards, sometimes he was shaken by his opponent’s punches, and sometimes he displayed significant technical flaws. Nevertheless, his inhuman right-hand power always bailed him out, allowing him to keep both his belt and his unbeaten record.
This string of victories against lower-level opponents, while solidifying Wilder’s status as an elite heavyweight of his era, also had a significant and not entirely beneficial impact on the American boxer’s psyche. The Bronze Bomber became convinced that his right hand would always save him and that the numerous imperfections in his game plan were essentially insignificant and unworthy of excessive attention. Wilder genuinely believed he no longer needed to improve, a conviction he repeatedly expressed in various interviews as world champion. For instance, in Rome, he told Italian journalists that technique in heavyweight boxing is not that important, and after his second victory over Cuban Luis Ortiz, he stated that his opponents must be perfect for 36 minutes, whereas he only needs to be perfect for 2 seconds.
Wilder’s belief that he could always turn the tide in his favor with a single well-placed punch backfired when the level of his opposition increased, and his lethal weapon subsequently faltered. Lacking a Plan B that he likely deemed unnecessary, the American crumbled in the face of adversity, with his facial expression betraying the disbelief of someone seeing all their certainties shatter in a short time.
Like Wilder, Gervonta Davis, after becoming a world champion for the first time back in 2017, has always prompted bookmakers to set highly skewed odds in his favor. Every time he stepped into the ring, regardless of weight class, almost all experts and fans were convinced he had victory in the bag. Judging by his attitude in many of his fights, he seemed to believe that too: extremely low work rate, single punches predominating over combinations, little attention to defense, entire rounds “gifted” to the opponent—these have been his trademarks for years without ever seriously risking defeat.
Even in his last fight against Frank Martin, after which Davis received deserved praise from many insiders, the body language of the two fighters was quite telling. The palpable tension of the challenger, constantly worried about making the decisive mistake, contrasted with the almost irreverent confidence of the champion. Advancing in a straight line, absorbing the opponent’s counters without flinching, and delivering his punches with maximum power, Davis seemed utterly certain of victory, even after losing the first three rounds.
Now, Gervonta Davis’s career seems to be at a turning point. Negotiations with IBF champion Vasyl Lomachenko appear to be progressing well, and WBC champion Shakur Stevenson is eagerly awaiting his chance to unify the world titles. If Davis were indeed to fight one of these champions, he would, for the first time since turning pro, share the ring with a true champion. And there is a world of difference between facing good fighters and facing champions. A champion won’t let you recover if you give them too much advantage on the scorecards; a champion will punish you if you neglect defense; a champion can anticipate telegraphed power punches if they are not preceded by quick combinations; a champion doesn’t panic at the first hard punch or flurry: they regroup and resume working.
All this suggests that the “basic version” of Gervonta Davis, the one we’ve seen so many times in recent years, may not be enough to become the undisputed lightweight champion. If the Baltimore fighter has indeed contracted the “Wilder syndrome” and believes he can simply up his game to sweep away formidable fighters like Lomachenko and Stevenson, he will face a rude awakening. However, no one can rule out the possibility that, in the face of such champions, Davis is ready to show us his “deluxe version”: boxing history is full of top fighters who only did the bare minimum in “easy” fights but unleashed their full talent on big occasions, from Larry Holmes to James Toney to Joe Calzaghe and many others. Could this be the case for Gervonta Davis? We’ll have to wait and see, hoping that the wait will soon be over!