For a moment, heavyweight boxing made sense. Tyson Fury, the (allegedly) six-foot-nine “Gypsy King,” was simply the greatest heavyweight boxer alive, and perhaps the best who had ever lived. Triumphant after three wins—one of which was technically a draw, but three—over the hardest puncher in heavyweight history, what more was there to see? If Fury could pulverise the WBC champion Deontay Wilder (aka the Bronze Bomber), then surely he was alone at the top.
So, Fury embarked on a victory tour, rehashing a closed rivalry with an ageing Derek Chisora at the NFL’s Tottenham Hotspur Stadium. The bout ended in a tenth-round technical-knockout win for the champion, Fury’s third win over Chisora. Fury didn’t care. He cared so little that he booked his next fight against a man who had never boxed professionally in his life—former heavyweight world champion of the UFC mixed-martial-arts league, Francis Ngannou.
