Around the holidays, boxing fans in the western world tend to zoom in on the Japanese boxing scene, with New Year’s events typically headlined by Kazuto Ioka and the big stars of the day headlining the calendar for a week or two. But as exciting as this time is for the Japanese boxing community, it’s also a time of mourning, as it also marks the anniversary of the final bout—and ultimately untimely passing—of one of its most beloved stars.

Masao Oba is one of the greatest flyweights of his generation and a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame, inducted in 2015 as part of the Old Timer category. At 21-years of age, Oba won the WBA flyweight title in 1970, knocking out Berkrerk Chartvanchai in the 13th round of a fight that portended what nearly all of Oba’s title bouts would look like—a high-level bloodbath with Oba ultimately eroding his opponent. He would make five defenses of the title, the last being on January 2, 1973. In what biographer Juntaro Oda described as the “most tragic and dramatic bout” in Japanese history, he defended his title against Chartchai Chionoi.

By the time he was preparing to face Chionoi, Oba was already having difficulty getting his 5-foot-6 frame down to the 112-pound limit. However, when he first began boxing, there were concerns about whether he would even be big enough to fight at all.

Oba was the son of a rabid boxing fan, introduced to the sport at a young age. His father made a steady income as a factory worker, but wagered much of it, struggling with a gambling addiction. As a result, Oba entered the workforce at a young age, dropping out of junior high school to work at a candy shop and help provide for the family. Even the staff discount sweets couldn’t sufficiently bulk him up, and when he entered the Teiken, trainer Shoji Ogata told Sakigake.jp that Oba "had a pale face and a slim body that seemed like it would break.” He was just 105 pounds in an era nearly three decades before the adoption of the minimumweight division by major sanctioning bodies. 

With few other options, he was determined to strike it rich with his fists. With a work ethic rooted in a childhood of extreme poverty, he both put on seven pounds of muscle and hit the jackpot with a growth spurt height-wise. Now he was not just talented, but a menacing figure physically. 

Oba doesn’t often get mentioned when discussing the greatest jabbers in boxing history, but he should. Unlike other great lead-hand artists who often use their jab to control the tempo as they ponder and strategize, Oba’s left hand was both persistent and dangerous. His fights would often follow a familiar pattern. Oba was often vulnerable early in fights, and on several occasions had to rally back from scary moments. Once he stabilized however, his left hand was in perpetual motion, prodding, jabbing, hooking. At a certain point it would take its toll, and Oba would tap into his relentless finishing ability, uncorking a right hand that had been waiting for its opportunity to shine all fight long. 

Oba was unlike any fighter Japan had seen before, and much like fighters like Kazuto Ioka and the Kamedas many years later, was willing to buck the trend of what was considered typical Japanese fighter behavior. His rivalry against Susumu Hanagata, which produced two tremendous battles, also produced one of the first instances of public animosity between two Japanese boxers, regarded as the first “war of words” between two countrymen. At the press conference and weigh-in prior to their 1972 title fight, the two turned their backs to one another, according to Hanagata, “looking for ways to spice things up” marketing-wise. Following that bout, which was the second world title fight between two Japanese fighters, they embraced in the ring and said “let’s do this again.”

The plan was seemingly for them to do exactly that. After a vacation in Hawaii (where he went to support Josephine Quitugua, Guam’s first female fight promoter), and a thrilling KO win over Orlando Amores, Oba moved on to face the great Chionoi, Thailand’s second-ever world boxing champion. Though he couldn’t afford to overlook his legendary opponent, he, Hanagata and fans no doubt dreamed of a rubber match.

Admittedly, Chionoi would turn out to be even tougher than Oba expected. It didn’t take long for that to become clear, as he was floored and hurt badly by a right hand just 40 seconds into the fight. "I did not expect the long hook that hit me first and made me groggy," he said following the fight. "I (also) did not expect the second (punch) that dropped me on my pants."

The right hand did more than just wobble him, it also sprained his right ankle. As Oba tumbled to the canvas, he landed awkwardly on his foot. For the rest of the fight, his trainer Isamu Kuwata applied ice on his leg in between rounds. 

Eventually his limp would diminish, and seemingly through sheer determination, Oba was able to rally back. His signature jab was still put to use, but with dimished mobility, Oba had to stand and trade with Chionoi much more than he’d perhaps intended to. As a result, the fight turned into what may have been 1973’s best, despite the award being given to George Foreman’s destruction of Joe Frazier by RING Magazine. 

In the 12th round, mere moments after eating a colossal right hand that his chin and ankle somehow stood up to, Oba rattled Chionoi with a right hand of his own. After a flurry that consisted of roughly 35 punches, Chinoi finally hit the mat, his back against the bottom rope. When he got back to his feet, Oba threw another 23 punches at him, causing Chinoi to simply turn, walk to the corner and slump with his back against the corner pad. The referee allowed the bout to continue, but Oba, seeing red through a brutally swollen left eye, jumped on Chionoi immediately and caused the referee to wave it off. 

Chionoi said afterwards that he had “no excuses” for losing the fight. Although his management protested the finish, which the WBA ruled was not improper days later, it was clear that there was no controversy. This was simply one of the most breathtaking displays of courage seen in a ring in some time. 
Oba was now living the life he’d always wanted. A lover of cars, he’d never been able to afford one, but now he had the money to purchase a Chevrolet Corvette. A month before his win over Chionoi, he’d acquired a driver’s license. His earnings from the Chionoi fight also made him comfortable enough to purchase his parents a home. 

"I owe them so much,” Oba said. “They always dreamed of living in a house that didn't have a leaking roof, a home with a garden. They did whatever they could to give me and my brothers a chance."

On January 22 of 1973, Oba ran into fellow world champion Koichi Wajima at Korakuen Hall. The two were friends, sharing an interest in automobiles, as Wajima was also a truck driver before his boxing career. Wajima looked up to Oba, who was older than him by six years but won a world title before him. Wajima noticed that Oba was still limping, “dragging his leg” due to his injury sustained in his most recent fight. Oba’s bravery in that fight, Wajima said, inspired him to rally and retain his light middleweight crown in a draw with Miguel de Oliveira.

After exchanging pleasantries, Wajima said he wanted to track Oba down in the arena and tell him that he should refrain from driving for a little while until his injury healed, but never got the chance to. 

Three days later, on January 25, 1973, Masao Oba passed away. Oba was heading back to the Teiken Gym driving his new ivory Corvette on the Shuto Expressway, lost control driving 60 miles per hour, crossed over a median and collided with an oncoming truck. Autopsies determined that Oba died on impact as a result of a skull fracture. Oba was just 23 years old. 

When Wajima heard the news, he wrote last year, he felt a deep sense of loss, like he’d “lost a comrade in arms,” and regretted not warning Oba when he had the chance. Fighting Harada expressed deep sadness as well, and suggested that boxers should not drive cars at all.

Oba’s rival, Hanagata, was watching on television when the news broke, and felt the same way. 

“There was no one with such a competitive spirit,” Hanagata said in an interview on the 50th anniversary of Oba’s death last year. Hanagata said that if Oba had lived, he believed would have went on to become a trainer. 

Wajima wrote that he believed Oba would have gone on to win world title in five weight classes. Instead, Oba is one of boxing’s most tragic “what ifs,” alongside the late Salvador Sanchez. However, his legacy has managed to live on in many beautiful ways in Japan where he is known as The Eternal Champion. 

In an early edition of Hajime no Ippo, perhaps the most popular manga series ever based on a fictional Japanese boxer, Oba is cited as an inspiration for the kind of heart Ippo needs to succeed as a fighter. Oba’s greatest rival, Hanagata opened his own gym in part to honor his fallen foe and friend, and in his office hangs a photo of the two posing together before their second fight.

The Oba lineage has carried on in the ring as well—with a connection to his final rival. His nephew Soh learned the sport from Isamu Kuawata, and eventually formed a close bond with Chartchai Chionoi, who took him under his wing before his passing in 2018. 

Soh Oba has fought his entire career in Thailand, and has a modest goal in mind with the hopes of honoring his late uncle: Becoming the first Japanese WBU champion at the age of 42. 

Each year, on the anniversary of Masao Oba’s passing, fans gather at his gravesite and join hands to honor him. Last year, one fan, Toshi Watanabe, who made the trip from Tokyo to Saitama, spoke with Yahoo Japan. 

"Every year, I visit on the anniversary of his death in spring and autumn. I pray that he rests in peace and that he watches over the Japanese boxing world from heaven,” he said. 

Corey Erdman is a boxing writer and commentator based in Toronto, ON, Canada. Follow him on Twitter @corey_erdman