Saturday, December 6
GOLD COAST, Australia – Attending Jai Opetaia-Huseyin Cinkara proved little short of an attack on the senses.
Any walking into the Gold Coast Convention Centre on Saturday evening first confronted not only stools selling Opetaia-branded clothing, but countless others wearing it (Team Moloney t-shirts, in support of the bantamweight Jason on the occasion of his first fight back in his home country in over three years, were also very common).
The IBF cruiserweight champion is as proud of being Australian as he is of his Samoan heritage and, as the focal point of Saturday’s promotion, the influence of both cultures could regularly be seen, heard and felt. Before he made his way to the ring to confront his challenger the heavyweight Teremoana Teremoana, the most natural of showmen, had stopped German Garcia Montes inside a round and marked their fight’s conclusion by performing, from the centre of the ring, the haka. Paul Fleming, every inch as natural a showman but, in reality, a considerably less valuable commodity on account of his being 37 years old and a natural junior lightweight, followed him doing so by making his ring walk to indigenous music while joined by indigenous musicians and three of his seven children.
By some distance, however – and it is fitting that that would be the case – the most memorable contribution to the evening, until Opetaia stopped Cinkara with the most concussive of punches, was the tribute promoters Tasman Fighters paid to the late Keri Fiu, Opetaia’s long-term assistant trainer and most recently the trainer of Justis Huni. Fiu died, after collapsing during a training session with Huni, of a heart attack, contributing to Huni’s rematch with Kiki Toa Leutele being postponed.
The tribute to who was described as a “proud Samoan man” involved a group of Samoan singers complementing a photo montage of Fiu’s life, so much of which he gave to boxing, as photos of him in gyms and with Joseph Parker (another of Samoan descent), Tyson Fury, Ryan Garcia, Ben Whittaker, Moses Itauma and more again showed. Footage of Tasman’s Mick Francis and Opetaia speaking about him at his recent memorial followed, and showed the charisma and humour with which Opetaia, so often so intense during fight weeks, is capable of speaking to an audience when not on the eve of a fight. There was then a dancing tribute from the King Siva Academy, Huni and Francis presenting wreaths of red flowers to those of the Fiu family who were present, the boxing tradition of the 12 bells and then, finally, another song from a group of Samoan drummers. Had it not all been so moving to observe, the cultural influences being witnessed would have been something about which to feel charmed.
When the Turkish German Cinkara was later introduced as Opetaia’s opponent it was after the Turkish, not German, national anthem was played, and he was dressed as an ancient Turkish warrior. The national anthems of both Australia and Samoa played when came the turn of Opetaia, who among others was being watched by Liam Paro and Johnny Lewis, the former trainer of none other than Kostya Tszyu.
To watch Opetaia fight is to observe a both aggressive-and-destructive world-class fighter recklessly fight back, instead of protect himself, when he has been hurt. As against David Nyika in January, he regardless produced the nature of knockout that made it increasingly uncomfortable to observe the motionless Cinkara receive medical attention until he eventually started to move and recover. Opetaia, unquestionably, is a fighter at his physical peak and as ruthless as he is clinical. The stoppages of Nyika and Cinkara may be the two most brutal of any professional fighter in 2025. That a knockout of that chilling nature – given everything that preceded it – was what, above all else, observers would have taken away with them into the night said so much about its impact, which for all of Opetaia’s dissatisfaction would no doubt have particularly pleased the pay-per-view broadcaster Stan.
It was revealing of the high standards he sets for himself and of his winning mentality – and also of his honesty towards the top of a profession built as much on mirrors as on smoke – that he was so openly critical of his performance. His unhappiness meant him – unusually – refusing to speak to the media, post-fight, before seeing that only one reporter was left and finally agreeing to talk.
Whether that was a reflection of him by then having been soothed ultimately remains unclear, but he spoke of having become “complacent” and had a far more bruised-and-marked-up face than would have been anticipated given the one-sided nature of the contest – something that perhaps goes someway to explaining his perception of what unfolded in the ring.
