Shields, Marshall, Mayer & Baumgardner: The Night That Was

Shields, Marshall, Mayer & Baumgardner: The Night That Was

The fighters in the away corner on Saturday night will have gone to the O2 Arena on Saturday night with hope, but in truth, little expectation to leave London with anything but their paycheck. Eleven fights, only in two of them were the results in any way in doubt. If people don’t realise how scripted boxing is, they should.

The opponents are there for a reason. To lose. How they lose, will determine how many times they are brought back to the party. But even in defeat, most will still go home happy. Another defeat on their record, a few more selfies were collected. Memories of their night will fade, and they will bank their cheque, bills to pay, with little option but to go again and search for more work. Few will remember their contribution. Or their names.

But things get a little more serious at the top of the card. Four fighters with everything to gain. But brutally, with everything to lose also. One point, one punch, can change their lives. Three judges, attired in tuxedos and armed with a pen that carries more weight than any punch thrown just a few feet away from their privileged ringside unobstructed position. The best view of the action, an inexcusable fact when they seemingly get it wrong so many times.

The headline fight had little controversy. The winner was clear from very early. The North-East faithful roared their hero on. In blind faith, oblivious to reality. A very good fight. A savage fight. But not a close one. Savannah Marshall threw her hands up with little conviction. Claressa Shields knew. Savannah Marshall knew. We all did. Both came to win, nothing scripted. There was disappointment and jubilation, but no bitterness, just an acceptance of who was the better fighter. The bitterness had come earlier in the evening.

Shields, the imposing and immensely talented American danced her way into the ring. Strictly for the purposes of the show. The feet in rhythm, the boos loud. The pantomime villain. Shields was in her element. She loved it. Even the Marshall cheerleaders did if they are honest with themselves.

But once that final bell sounded, in relief to the fighters and an exhausted breathless audience also, who needed a breather just as much as the two brave warriors who had just done battle after 10 relentless unforgettable two-minute rounds, the boos had gone.

From that traumatic early life, a speech impediment that restricted many things. If people didn’t believe. They do now. Impressive all week long, the Apollo Creed outfit, the perfect attire for what she served up. It was straight out of Hollywood. Shields shined on the biggest night of her life. Booed into the ring. Cheered out of it. Point made. Doubters convinced. A superstar was born. In truth, she always has been.

Sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning, the obligatory media obligations fulfilled, a tired Shields, bruises of battle apparent, slowly entered the hotel. Obliging to all the selfie requests that came past the midnight hour, including one from this scribe. Happy to have another memory on a weekend of many, what quickly followed was a realisation that the next time I see Shields will likely be when she will be trying to beat my mate up. A post-fight call out, one fight done, the seeds of another planted. Any future selfie requests will be reserved for another day. Another fight. Sometimes you have to pick a side.

Unless an interviewer is too hard-hearted to care or is just in for the clicks, you grow closer to certain fighters the more you interview them. That emotional investment that takes it a little beyond interview and done. You feel their pain and share a little in their moments of triumph. There is something about them and their story that you gravitate to. You see the person, not just the fighter. In simple terms, you start to care. Sometimes you care a little too much.

Mikaela Mayer entered the ring on Saturday night not once thinking she would lose. She left it, thinking she hadn’t. The crowd who heavily booed Alycia Baumgardner and the decision agreed. But there is little solace in public opinion. The unbeaten record and her world titles now assigned to history.

Most agree it was a close fight with close rounds but that shouldn’t mean we have to accept the wrong person winning a fight. Especially one of such importance. The convenient excuse it wasn’t a robbery narrative gets pushed way too often. Too easily. Although on second viewing, a robbery wasn’t far off the mark.

Is the scoring criteria in need of serious reform? Or do the judges need a reminder of the criteria to score fights correctly? One bad scorecard after another. The same judge allowed to continue without remorse or further education. A broken system. A broken sport. Who actually won the fight gets lost. Once the frenzy dies down, it gets forgotten. Until next time. Rinse and repeat. Only the defeated fighter remembers.

The faithful PA and friend of Mayer would have spent the remaining hours of Saturday night, and many of the early hours the following day trying to console a fighter with the right words when in truth, there weren’t any. Mayer trying to process her thoughts, frustrated and more by a fight that started with the Spice Girls blasting out to a sold-out arena and two million people at home, and ending in such abject disappointment and rage. And more.

For much of the fight, I had the line, ‘Flawless Spice’ in my head. A fight report being written internally as her night seemed to be ending on an incredible high. A routine win, but two judges somehow saw it differently. A draw, at the very worst, was the least she deserved. But even that would have been an injustice. Opinions may differ, but some fights are not that hard to score. Subjective shouldn’t even come into it. I had Mayer winning from ringside 96-94, further viewing had me scoring it a little wider for Mayer. I couldn’t make any kind of case for giving the fight to Baumgardner. I found it a relatively easy fight to score.

The morning after a fight is hard. There is no magic pill, only a bitter one that can’t be swallowed. I saw Mayer on Sunday morning, her loyal PA still by her side. Mayer alone in her thoughts, confused, lost, and still living with internal anger. Once the embrace and the awkward pleasantries were out of the way, Mayer was still incensed. As the conversation it was fighter and interviewer again, roles both of us can’t seem to let go of.

“I won the fight. I didn’t lose that fight.” There were more, hard words in a hard sport. Words that most will have sympathy with. It changes nothing. Harsh but true. A short enough exchange, but in different ways, we both needed it.

Baumgardner will quite rightly celebrate and enjoy her moment, but a little more humility and empathy could come with it. It could easily have been her in the same position as Mayer. Public consensus says it should have been her. Shields and Marshall showed us how to win and lose. There are many lessons to be learned from how they conducted themselves in the post-fight melee. It won’t be coffee and cake just yet, but you feel one day it might be.

Mayer needs time and patience. You sense calls and emails are already in play. Baumgardner says no rematch. But things change in boxing, either way, Mayer will move on. Sometimes in boxing, you just have to.

Photo Credit: Lawrence Lustig/Boxxer