In the hours after Tyson Fury’s labored victory over the German-Italian Francesco Pianeta at Windsor Park in August 2018, I was among three ringside reporters questioning the wisdom of his officially agreeing to fight Deontay Wilder less than four months later, on the night of December 1.
Fury-Pianeta had unfolded over 10 one-sided, predictable and largely one-paced rounds on the undercard of Carl Frampton’s considerably more entertaining victory over Luke Jackson at Windsor Park in Belfast, Northern Ireland’s capital.
That Fury had walked to the ring that night to the strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama to acknowledge both Wilder’s presence at ringside and their plans provided a reminder of his being so natural a showman. But little about his performance – which followed four near-farcical rounds with Sefer Seferi that June, which in turn had concluded two-and-a-half years of inactivity – gave cause for optimism surrounding his prospects against one of the most dangerous and heavy-handed heavyweights of all time.
Wilder, then 32 and the WBC champion, was at his intimidating peak. A fight between him and Anthony Joshua, who had retired Wladimir Klitschko, then represented the most appealing in their division. Fury had also struggled with his mental health and substance abuse after his own victory over Klitschko, and his weight had swelled to a damaging 385lbs. Physically, let alone psychologically, how could he ever again be the same?
The last was prominent among the other questions privately being asked that wet evening in Northern Ireland. Among the conclusions made were that Fury, then 30, had recognized in the months since starting his comeback that he was battling more than just ring rust and his psychological demons. He, too, had detected that he had lost so many of his natural talents and was accepting the significant money available to fight Wilder before exposing his limitations in a lower-profile, less lucrative contest and therefore before a date with one of the world’s leading heavyweights lost its appeal.
Whispers regarding a fight between them grew steadily throughout the Frampton-Jackson fight week. Wilder was then present at the weigh-in, and, despite the exhaustion that accompanied his arrival from the US, conducted countless one-on-one interviews that afternoon with I and others with all of the energy and charisma that defined him at his peak.
In the build-up to, during the fight itself and in the months after Fury’s era-transforming victory over Klitschko in 2015, he had become one of Britain’s highest-profile athletes. His struggles for his mental health and then, ultimately, his future also unfolded, to varying degrees, in the public eye at the same time that Joshua – the groomed-for-greatness poster boy of heavyweight boxing – succeeded him as the best heavyweight in the world.
Even for those doubting – not without reason – Fury’s hopes of succeeding against Wilder, the prospect of their fight intrigued. How wise was he to entrust his preparations to the inexperienced, little-known and youthful Ben Davison? What would the consequences be of the devastating defeat that was likely to follow?
Los Angeles represented an unusual location for a fight of such significance between one fighter from Alabama and another from England, and by the time of Fury’s arrival there, there had been further cause to question his prospects. He and Davison had attempted to prepare for Wilder at Big Bear in California, but Fury – whose stamina was considered one of the advantages he held over the champion – struggled at altitude, forcing them to relocate to Freddie Roach’s revered Wild Card Gym in LA.
By the arrival of fight week, anticipation – in one small part because of the landscape of the heavyweight division, in another because there were those who considered it the most appealing heavyweight title fight staged in the US since Lennox Lewis-Vitali Klitschko at the same venue in 2003, and above all else because of Fury’s humility and willingness to discuss his suicidal thoughts and wider demons – had grown significantly, and throughout the build-up there existed an energy in the air.
Wilder-Fury wasn’t just a fight attended by long-term boxing reporters, it also attracted the celebrated chief sports writers of the British national newspapers. It was also revealed that Roach – it was suggested partly because of his significance to the fight scene in LA, and therefore the potential his presence may have had of influencing the judges on fight night – and the retired Ricky Hatton, another who had struggled with suicidal thoughts and substance abuse and another of Britain’s most celebrated fighters, would join Davison in Fury’s corner.
I had organized an interview with Davison on the Wednesday evening of fight week at Fury’s fight hotel which, instead of being far from the Staples Center at which he was due to challenge Wilder, was in DTLA. On reflection, Fury, the showman, became energized by being in the eye of the storm; upon arrival at the hotel, I saw and briefly spoke to him and found him particularly upbeat, on his way to dinner, and dressed like he was about to audition for a role in Miami Vice.
On Friday, before that afternoon’s weigh-in, in an attempt to further lift the significance of the fight and also in recognition of its potential influence, the broadcasters Showtime hosted a panel of retired heavyweights to discuss the contest that would take place the following evening and also their own careers.
The great Lewis, Evander Holyfield, Earnie Shavers, Michael Spinks, Riddick Bowe, Gerry Cooney and James “Buster” Douglas formed that panel. I appreciated meeting and speaking, for the first time, to Douglas, because of his contribution to one of boxing’s greatest stories, but – Lewis and the energetic and articulate Cooney aside – I struggled to overlook the often-alarming decline in health of each of the other participants and the potential consequences for Fury of heading into the following night’s fight.
The same air of anticipation – perhaps enhanced by my having by then accepted an invitation to the Wild Card to spend some time with Roach, and also by hearing the respected Naazim Richardson appearing to very accurately analyze the fight everyone was in town for when he said he expected Fury’s boxing abilities to build a lead but that his inactivity would contribute to him eventually getting stopped by the heavy-handed Wilder – could also be detected at the weigh-in outside of the Staples. It had also been nurtured while waiting with Matt Christie, the then-editor of Boxing News, to interview Fury, observing Fury’s unique energy and presence, and sharing the view that he would one day be the subject of a documentary like that made about Andre the Giant. One experienced commentator even told me that Fury’s father John had shared a concern about the consequences of defeat on Fury’s mental health.
To be there, in the warmth and sunshine – Fury’s promoter Frank Warren, wearing sunglasses, looked like he could have been on holiday – brought another reminder to a resident of London at a time of year when London is cold and dark of the fact that it was an occasion to be relished. Once the weigh-in had concluded and I found somewhere indoors and nearby to file the latest copy I'd written, it became apparent how many had flown over from Britain to support Fury, and how much they were enjoying being in town.
Fight weeks often represent bubbles. A fight week build-up is often designed to deliver the impression that the relevant fight is the most important thing in the world, but it’s when there’s increased interest from those outside of that bubble when those within it start to grasp the extent of its potential reach.
I had received messages about it not only from those in London but also from a friend in nearby Hermosa Beach who had never previously had any interest in boxing, ultimately because the huge and charismatic British heavyweight who was daring to confront the intimidating-looking Wilder was capturing the imagination of unlikely followers in the US.
On the Thursday evening, when at dinner with other reporters in town for the same reason, predictions of success for Wilder were sufficiently strong that a meeting between Wilder and Joshua was spoken about. By Friday evening, when the last pre-fight copy was filed and, aware that my professional responsibilities ought to have been fulfilled until the time came to head to the Staples, I finally had an opportunity to be still. There existed a chance for conversations like that that had taken place the night before and for the remainder of the build-up to percolate in my subconscious; to very deliberately question if a mistake had been made by those doubting Fury when his hopes of victory were dismissed.
That stillness also presented a sense of freedom, which was capitalized on when the same friend traveled from Hermosa to lead a memorable night out in energetic DTLA. One bar, on a high-up rooftop with a swimming pool and a very good view of the city, particularly encouraged similar reflections and – in the polluted, energy-filled air that counter-intuitively would have felt so freeing – further nurtured the anticipation of what was to come.
The following evening I encountered, while at a coffee shop while walking from DTLA to the Staples, one of Britain’s most successful sports photographers and detected in him a shift that meant he, too, was aware of the need to be fully focused on his professional obligations. Even more energy and anticipation could be detected on the streets surrounding the fight venue, which multiplied again inside as the evening progressed.
If it is a privilege to be ringside for a fight, there can exist a further privilege when seated near those capable of enhancing analyses of what’s unfolding. It was my good fortune to be seated that evening next to the late Ron Lewis, then of The Times and a valued friend, and behind Mike Costello, the celebrated commentator for the BBC.
None other than Forest Whitaker made his way past us to his ringside seat shortly before footage of Fury warming up with Davison could be seen, and before Fury – flanked by Davison, Roach and Hatton – made his way to the ring to Gala’s anthemic dance track Freed From Desire and lifted the near-18,000-strong crowd.
When Wilder followed, wearing a gold mask, he looked the epitome of an intimidating, dangerous puncher. Above all else, I couldn’t avoid concluding how brave and daring Fury was about to be. He then proceeded to box with all of the composure, grace and tactical awareness of a great heavyweight and – as Richardson had predicted – to build a promising lead.
During the middle rounds, with Fury continuing to impress and Costello so expertly and articulately relaying as much to the many listening on BBC Radio 5 Live, Costello’s producer Jack Davenport (who courtesy of Andy Lee had had dinner that week with Mickey Rourke) asked for my scores and those of Lewis and another so that they could be relayed to their listeners, and each of us had Fury in front.
The victory over Klitschko had been transformative, and yet Fury had been considerably less fluid and entertaining than he was proving against Wilder. Against Wilder, when it shouldn’t have been possible, Fury, incredibly, was re-establishing himself as the finest heavyweight in the world.
It was in the ninth round when he was first knocked down. Expecting that to happen, I started to formulate the introduction of the copy that needed to be filed within minutes of the fight finishing and was concluding that, despite defeat, Fury had enhanced his reputation, that he had considerably more left than anticipated and that with greater preparation – most specifically, more activity at a higher level – he may just have completed one of the greatest comebacks of all time.
Despite being dropped by the most explosive of punchers, Fury, almost routinely, then returned to his feet and continued to box, without hesitation, as he had up to then. There, regardless, was little time for the relative sense of disbelief that followed, because of the reality of the deadlines that were so near.
When he was knocked down again, considerably more heavily in the 12th, the ending seemed even more imminent than it had previously. Yet Fury, in a moment that – in so many respects rightly – has been immortalized, dared to once again return to his feet. One experienced ringside reporter, in disbelief, was therefore brought to his. The concerned Wilder, who had been celebrating and very transparently also couldn’t believe Fury was still in their fight, revealed one of the worst poker faces any fighter ever has.
I watched Fury towards the ropes and waited for the exhausted Wilder to throw the punch required to finish him, and then he somehow struggle to deliver it. Another ringside observer questioned why, partly through having – from the opening bell – also expected Fury to be stopped.
Fury, as has been repeatedly documented, proceeded to recover further and made it to the final bell so convincingly that he deserved victory. When a split draw was cruelly announced, he made sure that his supporters didn’t act on their sense of injustice by rioting. An immediate rematch, regardless, seemed certain.
At his post-fight press conference, Fury, who finished by singing Don McLean’s American Pie, carried the air of a victorious fighter. Wilder, unquestionably, did not.
Fury – who even with his natural gifts and the confidence that accompanies them, and the conviction with which he accepted a fight it was felt he should wait before pursuing – must have had doubts of his own but had won regardless of the official scorecards. He had proved he was still the fighter he was before battling for his mental health, and he had inspired countless others through his daring and his success.
I finally permanently left the fight-week bubble on Sunday morning, after Fury’s final press conference. Despite how late the previous night had finished, those at that press conference – Fury, inevitably, more than any other – were energized by the magnitude of what had been. In the world of Tyson Fury boxing news, Warren described how 'invigorating' he had found guiding Fury’s comeback. It was also significant that he and Matchroom’s Eddie Hearn remained such bitter rivals, and that Fury, by almost all estimations, had proven himself a superior fighter to Joshua.
After the last copy was filed, the opportunity arose for me to visit Hermosa, when the same friend insisted that the fight was discussed. In a bar in Venice Beach, before I reached Hermosa and after the topic of conversation had moved on, my London accent prompted questions from an Irishman at the same bar about whether I had watched what Fury had done the night before. Fury, even more so than Fury-Wilder, remained at the forefront of what appeared many minds.
I had to rise early on Monday morning to return to DTLA, pack, and fly back to London. Doing so presented the opportunity of a dog walk to the beautiful golden beach in Hermosa when it was still, close to deserted, the sun was rising, and the moon still visible. Towards the end of that walk, other early risers were running barefoot on roads and towards the beach with surfboards underarm; other surfboards were visible, without their owners, outside of front doors. For a visitor from south London, what followed was the wonderfully evocative feeling of being in a different world.
Within days, a long-term friend, also from London, spoke openly about his struggles with addiction and of how Fury had “inspired” him.
It remains the most memorable and rewarding fight week I’ve attended, because of its significance for what happened in both sporting and personal contexts, both inside and outside of the ring.
Declan Warrington has been writing about boxing for the British and Irish national newspapers since 2010. He is also a long-term contributor to Boxing News, Boxing News Presents and Talksport, and formerly the boxing correspondent for the Press Association, a pundit for BoxNation and a regular contributor to Boxing Monthly, Sport and The Ring, among other publications. In 2023, he conducted the interviews and wrote the script for the audio documentary “Froch-Groves: The Definitive Story”; he is also a member of the BWAA.
