Once Deontay Wilder accepted the dangers of boxing, he was in the middle of the door

WHILE many will rightly point to recent talk of retirement as the reason why Deontay Wilder struggled to be Deontay Wilder last night (June 1) in Saudi Arabia, the explanation for the “Bronze Bomber's” recent slump in form may go back further than that.

It's true, of course, that a boxer hinting at retirement usually leads to some kind of performance — usually, a loss — but Wilder's fears of late have been concerned with more than just a setback or an End. In fact, while he used to be the man from whom violence was expected, now, in what may be the cruelest twist of all, Wilder has become his own man. to be aware violence, whether personal or in general terms, has interfered with his ability to be himself.

It began, this doubt, during his most violent act: the one-round demolition of Robert Helenius in 2022. That night, when many wondered what Wilder would look like after a long layoff, the former WBC heavyweight champion left him. The Finnish opponent, a former sparring partner, wobbled across the ring canvas following one of the most devastating right hands of a career full of them. The manner of this particular win, which is about as successful as it gets, not only brought Wilder into the heavyweight division but also, unexpectedly, took something from him that he could never get back.

Afterwards, at a press conference, Wilder spoke of his respect for Helenius before touching on the tragic end of Prichard Colon, a boxer whose career ended and life changed forever in 2015. As he does so the world watches Wilder in a mysterious, emotional way. , a person. Fighting through tears, he showed a side of himself that many have never seen and many who have seen it find this kind of Wilder – someone, let's not forget, who once said he wanted “the body” on his record – as a lovable, beautiful person. , the better.

And yet, in many ways, that, for Wilder, was the beginning of the end. After all, in revealing this hidden side of himself, he was revealing not only an awareness of the difficulty of his game, and its stakes, but also a change in his attitude and, subsequently, his purpose. That is to say, if before Wilder had the necessary ignorance and lack of feeling, now he suddenly seemed mature; although it is worse for the boxer.

Indeed, perhaps the worst thing than a boxer who is afraid of the damage that can be done to him is the boxer who is afraid of the damage that he can do to himself and the damage that he can do to his opponent. This, even if it's a cut, is basically what Deontay Wilder has been since that night against Helenius. He was affected, too, by his innate flaws, natural deterioration – he remembers, now aged 38 – and the fact that he has, in Joseph Parker and Zhilei Zhang, sharing the ring with quality opposition, it is still true to say that the Wilder we see today is not the same as the Wilder of old. Everything about him, in fact, is different. The look in his eyes when he is taken out by an opponent is different, for example; because there is no longer the look of a person looking for an opportunity, but instead it looks like a person who is wondering when he will get the next breath. More important, however, is the look on Wilder's face when he tries to land his shots, because these shots are no longer thrown with the intention of protecting the “body” but instead simply change the momentum or bring relaxation. That difference, while encouraging in some respects, clearly took its toll on Wilder, the fighter. Moreover, for a fighter his whole game was his attitude and his faith in his ability to make a man unconscious, even the slightest hesitation or hesitation in this both paralyzes and destroys the ancient monster.

We also saw evidence of this comparison with Zhang. Like Parker before him, Zhang was able to stalk Wilder, work for him, and do so with no fear of when he would come back to him. Quite a feat, especially considering the look of fear on the faces of Wilder's previous opponents, Zhang was free to use his significant size (68 pounds heavier than Wilder on the scale) to guide Wilder into the ring, trapping him. corners, and throw punches whenever he wants to throw punches. This, for a thrifty man like Zhang, was very good. He made sure he was winning rounds without doing much, or taking much, and he knew there was constant pressure on Wilder to improve, take more risks, and, ultimately, leave himself open to something bigger.

Which brings us to the fifth round, where Zhang cut Wilder down with a right hook counter before finishing him off with a second hook later. These two shots – the first spinning Wilder around, and the second putting him out – weren't exactly shocking, admittedly, but we still have to appreciate how surreal it was to see a feared heavyweight handled so easily. It happens to the best of them, of course, especially the big punchers, but what, I think, makes Wilder's death so interesting is that he was involved in what happened to him. Regardless of what it means or not, Wilder, in aging in the sport, has both matured and at the same time moved away from what made him an unpredictable, damaging and intimidating proposition for any heavyweight who shares the ring with him. He has, in accepting the reality and consequences of both his injury and the damage done to him by others, become part of the person he was once again. twice the man he was; which ironically is of no help to any boxer who needs to get rid of his human side so that, on fight night, he can become a machine that can hurt another human being with a beating heart and a loving family. “Once a thing is known, it cannot be unknown,” writes Anita Brookner. “It can only be forgotten.”

Certainly, when he fights now, Wilder, he sees and feels different things. If, for example, he doesn't see Prichard Colon being retaught in the way of life, he sees pictures of him curling up against Tyson Fury under great pressure in 2020 or 2021. If not, he sees pictures of Robert Helenius solidly following the right hand delivered by him, the purpose of which is to achieve exactly that goal.

No matter what Wilder sees these days, the images come with emotions and feelings that were never there before. Now they have three dimensions, these images. They can be touched, they melt. Accompanying them, like images of a dead relative, Wilder is now no longer the cold and ruthless destroyer the boxing world has come to love but instead a retired army general forced to accept the brutal actions he hoped to banish. in the past.

Mere memory – and indeed compatibility – does not work like that. Although, yes, a boxer may be able to forget or separate some time, a person does not have the same luck and opportunity. Rather, it is ultimately man's inability to forget and distinguish that is often the reason why he does or does not act, the definition of his character. In the case of Deontay Wilder, suddenly more human than ever before, the inability to forget defines delay, doubt, and defeat. It also describes the need, now pressing, to go completely from professional boxer to being a normal person, at which point the emotions can be a good thing as opposed to something that puts him in danger right now; in danger, that is, one day to forget everything.