The smell of fish and chips wafts through the air, but the speed of smell is slower than the speed of sound. “BOOOOOOMB SQUAAAAAAAAD!” screams Deontay Wilder, hurling his catchphrase down the hall like he might hurl a signature right hand, before forming a pearly-white grin. Draped in a long brown coat, Wilder strides through the building on gangly legs, eating his meal from a cardboard box, as his intense eyes lurk behind sunglasses. He tows along a sizeable entourage, as usual.
There is certainly something gravitational about the granite-knuckled Wilder, who boasts an awe-inspiring claim to being the hardest puncher that boxing has ever produced. He is a complicated character, one whose excuses have multiplied as his meanness in the ring has admittedly dwindled. After he arrives in the venue for a press conference with upcoming opponent Derek Chisora, two days into February, it doesn’t take long for whispers to bounce from mouth to mouth: the American, now 40, just erupted in a rage at TalkSport host Simon Jordan, at the organisation’s office around the corner. Then, not a whisper but an order from a PR: “Do not ask Deontay about Tyson Fury.”
