Observe the heavyweight landscape before you. In the background lies Anthony Joshua, Britain’s fallen heavyweight hero, beaten once again. In the foreground, perhaps unnervingly close and paying no respect to your personal space, is Tyson Fury, bleating about his compatriot’s alleged cowardice and beckoning forward old foe Derek Chisora, who is lumbering into frame. Not enjoying the scenery?
Squint, and spy, if you can, Deontay Wilder. That’s right, there he is, somewhere before the horizon but not yet over the hill – a glove on one hand and remote in the other, ready to detonate the very scene that you and the rest of boxing’s fandom finds so distasteful.
