British boxing fans have called long and hard for stacked cards, fifty-fifty fights and future world stars. We got them, but were also handed Sky PPVs, highly-anticipated fights that cannot possibly live up to the hype, long bills and talented prospects beating up guys they are supposed to beat up in a bid to get them rounds.
Many modern fans call the current situation a “Disgrace” (or another hyperbolic world of your choice); the older, dejected and sceptical amongst us call it “Boxing” (or “that perennial arse ache”, as it is called down my way). As Tony Soprano said: “Every day is a gift, but does it have to be a pair of socks?” Well, to sock someone is to punch them, and the sport of boxing is more often than not a blow to the guts rather than a kiss under the mistletoe.
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Many modern fans call the current situation a “Disgrace” (or another hyperbolic world of your choice); the older, dejected and sceptical amongst us call it “Boxing” (or “that perennial arse ache”, as it is called down my way). As Tony Soprano said: “Every day is a gift, but does it have to be a pair of socks?” Well, to sock someone is to punch them, and the sport of boxing is more often than not a blow to the guts rather than a kiss under the mistletoe.
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