(Photo above by Richard Pelham/Getty Images)
OVERRATED OR HALL OF FAMER? HOW SHOULD WE REGARD THE STRANGE AND DEBATABLE CAREER OF THE AMERICAN HEAVYWEIGHT BOMBER?
On June 1st, Deontay Wilder, now 38, suffered the fourth loss in his last five fights. From what we saw at Kingdom Arena in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, things are unlikely to improve for his career or legacy, should he remain in the sport. There was very little on display suggesting he had much desire to turn his fortunes around, or even that he was excited by the vast fortune he was earning. He managed to land an anemic average of only three punches a round. Against Joseph Parker last December, Wilder landed an abysmal 39 punches in 12 rounds.
If Wilder retires from boxing and the final image in the strange 16-year career of this era’s heavyweight boogeyman was provided by Zhilei Zhang brutally knocking him out in the fifth round, how will we remember Wilder? How should we remember him? Was Wilder the most overrated fighter of his time, as promoter Eddie Hearn controversially taunted last year in the media? Or does Wilder in fact belong in the International Boxing Hall of Fame for his five-year reign as WBC heavyweight champion and the highest knockout-to-win percentage in the history of his division?
Back in Wilder’s home gym in Tuscaloosa, Alabama – where he put on his first pair of gloves at the advanced age of 20 in 2005 – his trainer, Jay Deas, hung up an orange sign after Wilder won the WBC world title in 2015. It showed a list of names separated by two columns: Short Term CHAMPS and Long Term CHAMPS.
Leon Spinks, Trevor Berbick, Pinklon Thomas, Tony Tubbs, Frank Bruno, and Bermane Stiverne were listed in the former. Rocky Marciano, Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Larry Holmes, and Lennox Lewis in the latter. Deas had also added WILDER, in bold capital letters, twice the font-size of the Hall of Famer names in his column, to the latter category. And indeed, his title reign lasted 61 months, from 2015-2020, longer than the notable reigns of Joe Frazier, Lennox Lewis and Rocky Marciano, among others. Despite that, legitimate questions will always remain about the quality of Wilder’s opposition on his resume and how protected he was. For those arguing Wilder’s resume is more the result of matchmaking smoke and mirrors, they may rightly point to how his celebrated knockout power shrinks to meek levels (25%) against the eight opponents he fought ranked in our magazine’s top 10.
Zhang’s knockout of Wilder did reveal one of Wilder’s most overlooked (or at least underappreciated) qualities as a fighter. It was easy to be distracted by the unfortunate grandeur of what preceded it. Before Zhang’s final blow, a counter-hook had spun Wilder like a top. Wilder’s surreal 360-degree stumbling pirouette – where he inexplicably raised a glove to complain to the referee for being hit? – was a maneuver any amateur in their first Golden Gloves tournament would be humiliated by in front of an audience. A second later, Wilder was knocked senseless when Zhang rushed over for the coup de grace, Wilder’s head slamming twice against the canvas like an auctioneer’s gavel. Yet, as we saw against Tyson Fury, Wilder’s bottomless courage and pride summoned the strength to get back to his feet before the referee mercifully waved off the fight. Wilder came back to win twice after being outboxed and nearly knocked out by an allegedly 38-year-old Luis Ortiz in their first fight. That victory also remains the best on his resume. In all three fights in the Wilder-Fury historic trilogy, while Wilder was largely dominated during every round in which he was unable to score a knockdown, Wilder’s nerve and character nearly gutted out knockout victories in all of them. Fury getting up rightfully blinds us to how close the moment was in sending Wilder’s legacy down an entirely different timeline and sinking Fury’s instead. Unlike Wilder, did Hall of Famer Mike Tyson ever come back to win a single fight he was behind in during his entire career? Not once. Wilder deserves sincere credit for this distinction over Tyson, whose once limitless potential saturates his legacy perhaps even more than his rather limited 20-year resume of impressive opponents bested.
But Wilder’s phenomenal power justifiably has and always will overshadow every other aspect of his legacy. It might in fact do far more. With his power and the persuasive force of recency bias distorting perception about his rather thin resume (objectively better than the resumes of Ron Lyle, Gerry Cooney, Ray Mercer, Andrew Golata, Razor Ruddock, David Tua, or Tommy Morrison?), Wilder may well have a puncher’s chance at rising above those names and getting into the IBHOF. He has his supporters in the media and certainly among boxing fans who believe he belongs there. And this could happen despite Deontay Wilder perhaps amounting to little more than his generation’s answer to Michael Grant. Grant was the 1990s’ version of a towering knockout artist who went undefeated for his first 30 fights with notable victories against the likes of David Izon, Obed Sullivan, Lou Savarese, and Andrew Golota before being demolished by Lennox Lewis in the second round at MSG on April 29, 2000. Grant was matched with considerably stiffer competition on his way up the ladder than Wilder ever was. How would Wilder have fared in the 1990s era?
Wilder’s phenomenal power justifiably has and always will overshadow every other aspect of his legacy.
I asked boxing historian and IBHOF voter Patrick Connor about his views on Wilder’s Hall of Fame potential.
“Wilder will probably get in,” Connor sighed. “There is recency bias. It’s a real thing. I’d argue that Ron Lyle, Gerry Cooney, Ray Mercer, Andrew Golata, Razor Ruddock, David Tua and Tommy Morrison all have victories on their resumes of opponents equal to or greater than the caliber of Deontay Wilder. Does Wilder have a victory equal or greater than the caliber of any of those names on his resume? I would argue he doesn’t. The HOF seems to give extra credit for fighters who deliver visceral thrills. Arturo Gatti is a prime example of that. His inclusion was contentious, but people defend it because he was so exciting. But in terms of ‘greatness,’ did Gatti really belong? Probably not. Same with Wilder. We need to ask what is the HOF really celebrating? The scope is getting wider and wider. Should inclusion be based on being great or are we celebrating any and every thrilling fighter?”
Covering boxing for the last 15 years, I have never seen a more shocking offensive weapon in the sport than Wilder’s right hand. If there were any doubts about the menacing intent behind the force of Wilder’s knockouts, he once ignominiously bragged, “I want a body on my record. I want one. I really do.” Even when Wilder missed with that majestic right hand, tens of thousands of boxing fans rubbernecked in awe with something like the collective trauma of imaginationing what might have been. This felt a bit like boxing’s answer to Babe Ruth insofar as the most exciting thing in Ruth’s day was hitting a homerun and the second most exciting thing was him striking out. But in Wilder’s case, that such a thrilling weapon also belonged to the most one-dimensional, clownishly unskilled champion I have ever witnessed – not just at boxing but anything – is inescapably how I will remember his peculiar legacy. Deontay Wilder encompassed both extremes, often simultaneously. He exists in my imagination, thanks to Brian Harty’s inspired metaphor, “like a howitzer mounted on a baby carriage.” However, the only thing I’d argue was more shocking than watching many of his signature knockouts in the ring was getting backstage to see the shocking ineptitude of his shadow boxing and sparring in the gym. Wilder often moved around the ring with the grace of a drunken baby deer, hooves loosely strapped into roller skates, shoved onto the surface of a frozen lake. Even more surreal, his team seemed entirely delighted by the results.
The power took him a long way, but Wilder’s fights — this being the moment he was floored by Zhilei Zhang — have always been a highwire act blending devastating punches with questionable boxing skills. (Photo by Mark Robinson/Matchroom Boxing/Getty Images)
I first interviewed Deontay Wilder in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, in late 2018. It was the last day of sparring in preparation for his first fight with Tyson Fury. Wilder, the WBC heavyweight champion, 40-0 as a pro at that point, with 39 knockouts, was a favorite going into the Fury contest. Wilder’s cartoonishly devastating right hand was already being seriously discussed by journalists and boxing fans alike as perhaps the most dangerous weapon in the history of heavyweight boxing. And besides, Fury’s reputation as a trainwreck going into the fight included leaving the sport for three years, ballooning to 400 pounds, substance abuse, and unhinged offensive rants. For these reasons, Fury had been a cherry-picked opponent for Wilder. Fury was little more than the stepping stone to build even more anticipation for a Wilder and Anthony Joshua showdown with almost limitless riches at stake and becoming the face of the sport.
Wilder worked several rounds against three towering sparring partners specifically chosen for their formidable size and ability to mimic Fury’s quirky tendencies in the ring. To all our surprise watching, Wilder didn’t get the better of anyone during sparring. Several British journalists in attendance were incredulous with the results. I was told by one journalist, shaking his head, “If Wilder can’t knock out Fury, I can hardly see him winning a single round.”
I walked over to Wilder’s assistant trainer, Mark Breland, the 1984 Olympic champion and two-time world champion as a professional. Breland had his arms folded across his chest, watching Wilder intensely as he struggled with all three sparring partners.
I asked Breland, who started boxing at the age of 8, how the WBC champion’s skills compared to his own as a child. He told me Wilder’s skills were about where his were at the age of 11. Even before I could gasp, Breland added, “But you gotta remember, he’s a heavyweight in today’s era. And you seen how he can punch. If you can bang? Hell, that’s enough now.”
When Tyson Fury not only got up but surged after tasting Wilder’s power in their first fight, the resulting draw on Wilder’s record put a major dent in his mystique. (Photo by Esther Lin/Showtime)
And Breland’s point at the time – while Anthony Joshua, Tyson Fury, and Deontay Wilder were all undefeated fighters – suggests Wilder’s legacy might offer something of a canary in the coal mine for his era’s limitations and subsequent reliance on inflated marketing. A year earlier, in 2017, Anthony Joshua dethroned a rejuvenated Wladimir Klitschko (two years after Wladimir lost an uninspired unanimous decision to heavy underdog Fury) and was hailed as a generational champion. Two years later, Andy Ruiz would demolish Anthony Joshua at Madison Square Garden in an upset that recalled the Buster Douglas massacre of Mike Tyson in Tokyo. Oleksandr Usyk would enter the heavyweight division the same year and, after only two fights, outclass Joshua in back-to-back efforts. At this point in time, it wasn’t hard to overhear journalists and fans alike suggesting Tyson Fury might be the most formidable heavyweight champion of all time. What was the evidence for this? Presumably the definitive litmus test of beating Deontay Wilder twice. That Deontay Wilder narrowly failed to knock out Fury in two of those fights was immaterial. But consider what has happened since. Last May, Usyk would dethrone Tyson Fury, seven months after a bloated and pompous Fury got dropped and humiliated by Francis Ngannou, in Ngannou’s debut fight in the sport no less. Now even more hyperbolic accolades are being heaped on Usyk than Joshua, Wilder, and Fury enjoyed, despite all of their stock having dropped considerably as fighters. Which isn’t to in any way dismiss Usyk as a superb fighter and the greatest heavyweight of his era. But any talk of Usyk as an all-time great heavyweight might do well to consider he’s had all of six fights as a heavyweight thus far.
What if Deontay Wilder refuses to retire, knocks out his next opponent, and gets an opportunity to fight Usyk? If Wilder’s resume has dropped below that of Joseph Parker or Zhilei Zhang’s at this point, where would he ultimately rank among heavyweights in his era if he knocked out Usyk and walked away from the sport?
Why are we at the point where the line between a total heavyweight fraud and an all-time great is so thin that even a solitary second between counting a man out or them rising to their feet separates the two extreme verdicts? Historically we haven’t been this fickle in evaluating careers. What exactly did Wilder engender that allowed his stock to be so elevated beyond anything on his resume or even ability before the collapse? Our desperation and yearning for an American champion? Brand loyalty for an American heavyweight champion? Cynical hype and marketing? Regardless of where Wilder goes from here – retirement, getting knocked out again, even knocking out Usyk – the fact that “yes” could satisfy all of those questions might make Wilder the most emblematic heavyweight of his time.
Brin-Jonathan Butler is the author of three books — A Cuban Boxer’s Journey: The Domino Diaries; and The Grandmaster: Magnus Carlsen and the Match That Made Chess Great Again. His freelance work has been published in such places as Harper’s, The Paris Review, Vice and Salon.com. He also teaches boxing.
Deontay Wilder and author Brin-Jonathan Butler recreate the iconic image of Muhammad Ali standing over Sonny Liston after winning the heavyweight championship of the world.
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