This weekend, Dereck Chisora takes on Kubrat Pulev in a rematch nobody really needed and nobody really wanted.
Yes, they might be wildcards out of the ring and provide some promotional highlights for the reels selling the fight before they meet at London’s O2 Arena on Saturday night, but Pulev decisively won their first fight six years ago and Chisora is coming off a run of three straight defeats, albeit showing he’s got something left in all of the losses. Pulev has boxed twice in three years, including a defeat to Anthony Joshua.
It’s not an insult to say Chisora has taken punishment that will affect him down the line. It’s also now not revolutionary thinking.
And more and more observers are recognizing the cumulative damage of careers in the ring.
Of course, boxing is king of the divisive sports. Many don’t care. Many will endorse his right to fight, and rightly so, many won’t know what the dangers are and many will just want another good fight. That’s all fine. But should his health deteriorate post-boxing, where will these people be to help Dereck then? Those who egged him on, encouraged him, backed him and even profited from him, where will they be if he needs their help and support?
It’s a quandary when you think about it, which is probably why many people choose not to.
But how do you tell a man who could still beat many heavyweights that enough is enough? And should you? He has a right to fight. But he also has the right to informed advice about the risks of pursuing the dream or chasing the buzz and not surrendering his identity as a professional prizefighter. The risks do not start and end on fight night. The true cost of a career in the ring can manifest itself for years before it is shown in any form, be it depression, tremors, slurred speech, an unsteady walk or severe memory loss.
This is not an attack on Chisora. But as Dr Margaret Goodman, recently inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, said during her acceptance speech, more needs to be done. Presently there is very little knowledge or education about long-term damage, CTE and even concussions in boxing when it should be a priority and universally accepted, discussed and debated.
We all love a war, but for some fighters – and we all know who they are – they start to live and fight in a dangerous territory where they are at greater risk in the short-term.
At present, managers, promoters and trainers are not given any lengthy education about these matters. Neither are the fighters. We all know getting hit in the head is not good for you, and that brains were not made to be hit, but they are basically catchy slogans used by those without true understanding of what’s really at stake.
The dangers are very real, but because they are not always immediate it does not mean that they do not exist.
Fighters at the Chisora stage need access to neurologists who can forewarn them of the dangers that lie ahead, and who can explain to them about the true risks.
This should all have been done at the start of their careers, too, but you could forgive a young, hungry and ambitious pro for not caring about long-term issues that they think might or might not happen to them. Especially when you consider that the alternative to a career in the prize ring for plenty of them is nothing like as attractive. Many fighters come from trauma, and fight for an escape, either as a way out of their neighborhood or out of their own heads. Boxing is a welcome distraction. But there is a lot of life to live away from the sport, and particularly when a career is over.
It's often said that “you don’t play boxing” but you don’t play real life, either. And there’s a lot left to do when the final bell sounds on a career, including families to look after and children to bring up.
This will all just sound boring to some while striking a chord with others but the facts remain; once a career is over there’s no retirement plan, no pension fund, minimal aftercare and negligible support for those bridging the gap from fighter to retired warrior. This all might sound rather preachy and maybe people don’t care. Hours before Chisora gets into the ring in London, less than 100 miles further south, former fighters and a handful of boxing people are uniting to firewalk across hot coals to raise money for Ringside Rest and Care, a charity that helps retired fighters and has a goal of setting up a rest home for former boxers in need. They already have started a helpline to offer support. The firewalk has been advertised for months, but until last week, a grand total of about 80 people had donated. That number is now at the 150 mark, but it’s a damning indictment if only 150 people really care about these guys after they have finished entertaining the public.
Chisora is insulted by people suggesting retirement to him and that’s fine. But someone needs to be strong somewhere and have the hard conversations with him. There are further structural issues in boxing here, though. Say promoter Eddie Hearn wasn’t at the helm for Chisora now and say he’d taken an ethical stance and decided not to promote Chisora, do you think an upcoming promoter, hungry to make his own name, wouldn’t fasten his load to the Chisora bandwagon and use Del Boy’s name to make a few bucks, live in a small window of fame or launch their own promotional or managerial careers? Someone somewhere would be waiting in the wings, but it's the same if British Boxing Board of Control chose not to license him, someone somewhere else would. You get the picture.
It’s a cliché to say fighters are too brave for their own good but there comes a point where they need help and support and too often, they don’t get it. This is an uncomfortable truth for a lot of people in the sport, but as Dr Goodman said, we must do better when it comes to helping our fighters. The last thing a brave fighter needs is even ‘braver’ people around them.
