Errol Spence Jr. is a human oxymoron. He is a fierce, undefeated, punishing boxer. And he might be the nicest, most understated superstar in sports. That’s Spence: kind fighter, pleasant champion. And it’s a duality he embraces, because, to him, it’s not a duality at all.
“People see me outside the ring, I’m so nonchalant. I’m chill,” he says. “I don’t let too much bother me. I don’t let people inside my world. A lot of people can’t even believe I box.”
Spence points to one particular fight as evidence over a Zoom call in mid-June. Maybe his fourth. Maybe his seventh. Maybe in between. But his opponent sauntered up to him beforehand, saying he enjoyed Spence’s demeanor, which Spence took as a backhanded compliment. Did this dude find his personality—laid-flat, rather than laid-back—indicative of his in-ring prowess? He shrugged. Said nothing. Spoke with fists. He won each of those bouts, ending three via knockout. Same as his 28 pro fights, with 20 delivered by KO.
