The Gypsy King’s Last Battle
The book of Tyson Fury as a professional boxer has written its final chapter
One. Last. Dance. It’s been a week since the one and only Tyson Fury defeated Dillian Whyte to retain his WBC Heavyweight title with a vicious right uppercut clean through the guard in the final seconds of the 6th round. With a giant Gypsy King-sized hole left in my heart, I want to take the time to give a little gratitude to the man who reignited my love for boxing.
The art of boxing
You see, when I first tuned into combat sports, it was to the sport of Mixed Martial Arts, which, as a matter of fact, carries the same love that was present in the mind of a 12-year-old kid as now, 7 years later. Like many, I was enamoured by the likes of Jose Aldo, Chuck Liddell, and Kimbo Slice. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, those three are all considered legends of the MMA game — all with various levels of technicality in their arsenal. Jose was swift and used his agility to the best of his ability. Chuck was an absolute animal who only knew how to go forward — never taking a step back in the cage, and as for Kimbo, well, he was just a different breed. The embodiment of street fighting. But one thing they all had in common was that they all threw the most beautiful striking combinations you’ve ever seen amongst the brutality that was Mixed Martial Arts.
For now, I was still not deep into the “art” of it, let alone a fan of boxing. Why? Well, because I wanted to see killers locked in a cage, gladiator style. Barbaric, I know. Well, that all changed when one day my dad, who also was a fleeting combat sports fan showed me a boxing match from 1974. The Rumble in the Jungle. The footage was blurry and grainy and the commentary was horrendous, to my ears, at least. Keep in mind, I wasn’t born during boomer-central years.
But there was something undeniably special about it. A true David and Goliath story unfolded before my very eyes. George Foreman, a power-puncher was outwitted by the smaller Muhammad Ali in a spectacular 8th-round knockout. I was amazed, not only by the backstory but the famous rope-a-dope technique. Ali, being his usual braggadocios self, dared Foreman to punch him as he stood against the ropes. A flurry of strikes rained down, and not a single one hit him. Not a single one. As I watched the greatest display of defensive boxing ever, I was stunned. Then I realised exactly what Ali was doing. I was speechless. Then the 8th round came and Foreman hit the ground. And I had just become schooled in the art of defence.
From then on, I was hooked on the sport. Studying the greats, especially Manny Pacquiao… since I looked (sort of) like him. As the last days of the greats of yesteryear played out, my interest in the sport died out and at the end of 2015, I quit watching the sport in its entirety.
Redemption
2018. Deontay Wilder v. Tyson Fury. I remember, for some odd reason, I was excited for this one. I don’t remember much of it, but all I do remember was the backstory behind the fight. Billed as a monumental comeback, Fury was to fight an in-form Wilder in America for the WBC Heavyweight Championship.
Actually, you know what? Scratch that. It was not a return, but a redemption arc, straight out of an anime. The hero had gone through inhumane suffering and trauma, only to come back and defeat the villain. No, Wilder wasn’t the villain in this story, but depression. You see, before this night, we last saw Fury in the ring fighting for a belt in 2015. He won, of course, unifying all titles to become the undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World.
But then everything came crumbling down. He lost control. At the very top of the game, he became surrounded by the wrong group of people. Drinking and partying every night. Slowly but surely, his weight ballooned and according to the man himself, he weighed a whopping 400+ pounds before he decided to do something about it. Then depression hit. He was forced to vacate his titles and became consumed in darkness. Now, a shell of the man he once was. As the years passed, he was all but forgotten as the world moved on, leaving the once greatest heavyweight of the modern era behind.
But that was old news. 2017 saw rumblings of a return and in 2018, after a gimme bout with Francesco Pianeta, he was catapulted, rightly so, to avenge his rightful throne. It was here, that we saw the closest thing to the rope-a-dope I’ve seen to date. Ducking, weaving, slipping, and rolling, Fury, for the most part, was too quick, and too agile for Wilder to catch.
Well, fast forward to the end of the 12 rounds, and a draw was announced as the official result. the 27–0 record yes, he was undefeated turned into 27–0–1. While the result itself was controversial, the match was remembered by one particular moment of disbelief…
Remember when I said The Gypsy King dodged MOST of Wilder’s power shots? Well, one knocked him down in the 9th.
1,2,3…8.
Like that one scene from Creed where Adonis rises from what seemed like a for-sure knockout blow, Tyson Fury overcame the impossible and stood back up. Deontay was literally about to celebrate his victory until he turned back and there he was. The one and only, Tyson Fury, staring him straight in the eye. A man possessed, The Gypsy King showed the heart of a champion and marched forward. Hands up and ready to fight. Herein, he had already won. Marking his return in spectacular fashion, Tyson Fury vs. Depression. Winner: Tyson f**cking Fury.
4 fights later, I can now confidently say that Tyson Fury is the closest thing to Muhammad Ali I have ever seen in my life and that I am very much blessed to witness such an incredible rise to redemption.
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
“I am a heavyweight who moves like a cruiserweight.”
Has the same ring to it, huh?
Curtain call
Fast forward to 2022, April 24th. In front of 94,000 at Wembley, the last time we’ll ever see The Gypsy King in the ring professionally was preceded by an incredible walkout. First, the Notorious B.I.G. set the tone for a cool, calm, and collected shot backstage. Then a transition.
“Lay where you’re laying, don’t make a sound.”
Fury emerges from the tunnel, with 94,000 belting Kings of Leon’s Sex on Fire. The greatest walkout I have laid my eyes on. Better than Conor McGregor’s walkout to Sinead O’Connor singing the Irish National Anthem… it might just be. We knew then, that we were in store for something truly spectacular. As the bell rings and the two men prepare to take the life of one another in the centre of the ring, we see the signature Tyson Fury jab, using that massive 85-inch reach to his advantage.
Shades of Foreman/Ali were on full display as Fury smothered the power-puncher every time he came forward, closing the distance. In range, he chipped away, using the lead jab to cut off angles. Shifty as he’ll ever be, shots from Whyte barely bothered him and by the 5th, one was swinging wildly, while the other was as calm as waves on a hot summer’s day. I’ll let you guess who was who. A fatigued Whyte had to close the distance, attempting to get under the guard. But Fury, savvy to the game plan used his large frame in blocking and weaving, avoiding any damage. Meanwhile, smothering and smashing Whyte’s nose in did the trick and in the 6th… timber!
A right uppercut was all that was needed and the end was nigh. The crowd erupted, and I jumped from my seat — The Gypsy King remained champion. Seemingly retiring from the Pro boxing game in the ring, he left Wembley, serenading the 94,000-strong crowd with a majestic rendition of Don McLean’s American Pie, and left us all thinking if he was gonna go on The Voice as his next venture, away from the ring. Alas, a silver lining in the form of a fight with current UFC Heavyweight champion Francis Ngannou could be on the horizon, in another crossover between the two disciplines…
Well, if this is really the end of Tyson “The Gypsy King” Fury’s in-ring career, it was a bloody good one. Leaving the sport with an undeniable legacy. A legend carrying the Fury name. Undefeated. Inspirational for not only his astronomical rise but the way he redeemed himself after past transgressions of a life of excess, to finally retire, rightfully, where he belongs, at the precipice.
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