When taken out of context, everything seems a little silly. The two of them, Ben Whittaker and Liam Cameron, fighting in Saudi Arabia six months ago seemed silly when both are from England. The image of them then falling out of the ring in round five looked silly. The subsequent image of Whittaker leaving the ring in a wheelchair also looked silly. The reaction to it, that seemed silly. The drawn-out negotiations to get the rematch on seemed silly. The argument regarding an extra two rounds seemed silly. The wheelchair jokes seemed silly. Bringing an egg to a faceoff seemed silly. Pundits on “Super Sunday”, a football (soccer) show, discussing Whittaker vs. Cameron II seemed silly. The reaction of Whittaker to winning in round two seemed silly. The debate afterwards to the reaction of Whittaker winning in round two seemed silly. The crowning of Whittaker as British boxing’s greatest talent seemed silly. Writing this, a post-fight piece about something so silly, seems silly. 

It all seems a little silly not because Whittaker and Cameron are two unserious fighters, but simply because their fight, an English title fight in all but name, has been blown out of all proportion on account of controversy. As a result of it, Whittaker found himself under more scrutiny than he probably deserved and the rivalry itself ended up growing into something it was never meant to become. Suddenly, in the space of just a few months, a routine fight for Whittaker became a career-defining one and a man of just nine pro fights was being held to the standards of seasoned world champions. 

It was, on reflection, unnecessary, perhaps even unfair. But it was also symptomatic of both Whittaker’s personality and British boxing’s growing desperation to create something worthy of a headliner these days. In Whittaker and Cameron, you had, in theory, all the ingredients. You had a showman in Whittaker whose downfall many have either been predicting or praying to see since he turned pro, and you had a fight, the first one in Riyadh, so bizarre and controversial it could only ever lead to months of debate and back and forth. You then had the inevitable rematch and the chance to go viral all over again. 

Indeed, given that was forever the driving force, is it any wonder that Whittaker reacted the way he did when finally silencing the noise on Sunday in Birmingham? After all, before winning the fight in two rounds, he had been accompanied to the ring by a chorus of boos – this despite the venue being close to his hometown of Wolverhampton – and had for months been told he didn’t have the minerals for this game and that he had failed the warrior’s code by “tapping out” in October. That, of all the insults hurled at a boxer throughout their career, is arguably the worst. It is the worst because courage is usually the one thing uncontested; the one thing that separates a boxer from an ordinary civilian. Rarely is a boxer ever praised for their intelligence, or selflessness, or people skills, but courage, that’s another thing. That is a given. A prerequisite of their job. The bare minimum. 

To have it questioned, therefore, must have hurt Whittaker, just as it would have hurt the many fighters who have had the same said about them whether online or by commentators. It would explain, if not condone, his behaviour both before the fight and also after it, when, having stopped Cameron in round two, he made a beeline for Cameron’s cornerman, Grant Smith, and aggressively stuck his head through the ropes. Some claimed he then spat at Smith, but this Smith later denied. Either way, it was not something one usually expects to see after a fight, nor something Whittaker, in an ideal world, would have wanted to do following his career-best win. 

Yet this win was not like the other wins, of course. This win on Easter Sunday meant more to Whittaker than any previous and possibly future win as well. More than just a win, his second-round stoppage of Liam Cameron was vindication; a middle finger up to everybody who doubted him or, worse, questioned his commitment. It had, for Whittaker, become a battle bigger than simply boxing. Moreover, it had become a battle bigger in his head than it was in anybody else’s. 

That, you see, is the problem with being stuck there, in your own head, while also enjoying the glare of the spotlight; when you are told you are Britain’s greatest prospect; when accustomed to going viral; when pushed as a headliner from day one. All of a sudden, despite the fact you are still learning, you find yourself assessed from every angle and learn only when it is too late that you lack both the experience and maturity to handle it. 

Whittaker, in moving to Ireland to escape both the spotlight and the trappings of success, appears to have now realised this in the nick of time. “What happened in Saudi needed to happen,” he told Sky Sports’ Andy Scott in the ring last night. “It made me open up the door, it made me work harder. I’m still flashy, I’m still swaggy – you saw me on that ring walk, it was beautiful – but when I came in here, I was very disciplined and people know now I can hit. 

“People need to understand my lifestyle went a hundred miles an hour. I come from a humble family. My dad worked two jobs, my mum worked two jobs, and then everything was coming, people were following me, people were driving past my house, calling me, doing this and that, so I got lost in it. But what I did was calm down, go to Ireland, lock in, and you saw Ben Whittaker there; the real Ben Whittaker.”

Often the mere threat of defeat is all it will take for a fighter like Whittaker, 27, to see the silliness of everything going on around him. That he experienced this threat from Liam Cameron in October should now stand him in good stead going forward, even if the fallout from last night’s correction, and indeed his personality, will always make things trickier for Whittaker than for most. Natural or otherwise, the way Whittaker elects to carry himself invites pressure – both in the ring and outside it – and the way people with a vested interest in his progress talk about him does the same. In a world, too, where everything is, for attention’s sake, either the greatest thing ever or the worst thing ever, there is no longer the opportunity for someone like Whittaker to just be good; that is, humbly learn his craft and improve. He will, current trends dictate, either be brilliant or awful and must then live with the emotional rollercoaster which becomes a byproduct of these extremes. One minute he will be up; the next he will be down. One minute he will be a viral sensation; the next he will be a meme used to mock.  

All Whittaker, 9-0-1 (6), can do is keep winning and, in time, try to understand the nature of the beast – both boxing, and himself. Should he do so, he will be able to then place fights like last night in their proper context and see that winning is enough and that it speaks louder than anything he can say with his mouth or aim at his critics. He will realise in the process that nobody is out to get him and that, if they are, it is only because he has eyes on him and now a target on his back; two things he has wanted, it seems, from the very start.