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Being Deontay Wilder

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“He probably didn’t want to fight him anyway… He’s a creation.”

—An anonymous female fan of boxing

Oh the fame of female intuition. A woman’s guess is usually much more accurate than a man’s certainty. Ask Cam Newton. WBC heavyweight champion Deontay Wilder, the Rodney Dangerfield of heavyweight champions, exists in the shadows of Wladimir Klitschko and in the shade of rising sun Anthony Joshua.

Like a black Clark Kent ready to throw away his glasses, rip off his shirt and leap tall buildings in a single bound, the “Bronze Bomber” seemed determined to go superhero on Cuban monster Luiz “King Kong” Ortiz on November 4. He warned Kong, “Don’t fuck this up for us!” as if an eerie premonition served via X-Ray vision.

But alas, he did, paving the way for a paid off Bermane Stiverne to get paid again for a rematch no one wants to pay to see. Teeth sucking and head shaking fans complete with faces full of frown aside, the “champ” weighed in.
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“To be global, you’ve got to make your name in America and (Anthony) Joshua is not as big as he thinks he is over here.”

–Wilder

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This is just a guess, but I don’t think most sports fans of the NFL, NBA, MLB or MMA know who the hell Deontay Wilder is. His record of 38-0 with 37 KO’s is of far less significance than the unknown victims it took to build it. Joshua already has signature victories. Wilder has yet to sign up for one– while being a middling attraction in his native Alabama.

Wilder has the look and charismatic appeal of someone out of elite central casting. The fight game’s modern Shaquille O’Neal with a tan. But Shaq demanded to dunk on Michael Jordan, whereas today’s boxing version is reduced to talking about doing it on Facebook. Someone had better figure out what Being Deontay Wilder is.

It is hard to know.

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