Wladimir Klitschko Cements Heavyweight Supremacy, Kills Writer’s Interest In Boxing
by Anna John
When Stiff Jab started in 2010, I joked that I was a “boxing widow”. I identified with the term so much I listed it in my Twitter bio, right after my profession and alma mater.
Tonight I was forced to recall why, thanks to an unbearable hour spent watching Wladimir Klitschko (left) cement himself as the heavyweight champion of the world by bullying the vastly inferior Alexander Povetkin in Moscow on HBO.
The humor deflected the latent resentment I felt over the death of our social life. In all likelihood, we would never go out on either a Friday or Saturday night again, lest we miss a fight. The Sweet Science would be the sun we revolved around…and because I adore my man, I got on board the concussion/corrupti– I mean, boxing train.
While he watched Friday Night Fights or ShoBox, I found more interesting things to do, like picking lint out of my laptop keyboard or cleaning our puppy’s inevitably filthy butthole. But slowly, perhaps unavoidably, I started learning and noticing things by osmosis. While passing through the living room to get more puppy wipes, I was startled by an expletive-laden shout of joy — Sergio Martinez had just leveled Paul Williams with an explosive left jab overhand something.
“You’ve GOT to see this,” he said, before rewinding for my benefit. I dutifully stood there and watched…and grew surprised as I felt a flicker of excitement at Martinez’ decimation of Williams with a single blow.
“Whoa,” I blurted out, before returning to puppy shit.
The “You’ve GOT to see this”- maneuver became a frequent occurrence in our home. As I patiently paid attention to knockouts, knockdowns, and audience shenanigans, I grew to appreciate — slightly — the Sweet Science.
Sometimes, I even watched entire fights, especially if Miguel Cotto or Sergio Martinez was in the ring. The former owned adorable French Bulldogs, while a poignant interview with the latter on HBO had me regarding Maravilla with so much affection, I started calling him “my future ex-husband.”
Despite my assumptions to the contrary, I’ve grown to enjoy boxing, to be genuinely interested in it. I’m invested enough that I ache when Seth Mitchell falls to a competitor or Canelo gets destroyed by Floyd Mayweather.
But my “love” of boxing is a strawweight, fickly flickering flame. It is in danger of being easily extinguished, so I nurture it, I protect it, I cup my hand around it to protect it from the wind (and by “wind”, I mean all of the bullshit that people cite when they discuss why they hate boxing).
Tonight, that flame was terminated by a proficient yet boring heavyweight automaton whose fights are so unwatchable, they’re rarely broadcast in the U.S. Thank you, Wladimir Klitschko, for sticking my love-flame in your armpit and smothering it — oh, wait that wasn’t my interest in boxing suffocating in your pit, that was ALEXANDER POVETKIN’S HEAD.
I sat through 12 rounds of this BS, as clinch after clinch stole what little joy I know in life. Referee Luis Pabon should be dipped in honey and hogtied over an anthill for refusing to do his job and stop Klitschko from re-enacting every frat boy’s go-to move every 45 seconds. Klitshcko pushed Potemkin’s head down so brutally and so often, my own neck started to ache, which was awesome because I was already getting heartburn from the rage this fight was inspiring within me.
I spent an hour of my life I will never reclaim watching a sloppy, frustrating, boring, unfair fight that made me question everything, from my tentative interest in boxing to my belief in evolution. That’s how crappy this fight was. Povetkin, an erstwhile Olympic gold medalist, swung, missed, staggered around, and fell several times as Klitschko woodenly jabbed at him the way a bored cat toys with a half-dead mouse. After I screamed, “FINISH HIM” for the third time, I went looking for my Zantac and my sanity.
Meanwhile, Gautham grew ever more frustrated with my non-stop color (me disappointed) commentary; he regretted enticing me to watch the bout with his alluring come-on of, “I need to watch the Heavyweight Championship of the world. There was a flurry of betting something something twitter so there may be an upset!”
An upset? Of a Klitschko? In a heavyweight fight? Instead of all this welterweight bullshit? Sign me UP! Except…the only upset happened in my stomach, there was no fight, and at least welterweights are somewhat entertaining. Ugh. I STILL have heartburn and we switched to football over an hour ago.
If heavyweight boxing is what the “people” want, and this is the best heavyweight we’ve got, I can understand the distaste and irritation with boxing that usually forces me to roll my eyes. For me, as a writer, reader, and storyteller, the best part of boxing is the passion, the drama, the incredibly high stakes. I saw none of that tonight. So I’m back to wondering if laptop keyboards and puppy asses are a superior way to spend my Saturday night.
Thanks for nothing, Wladimir.
