Billy's Boxing Blog

The party isn’t over, so don’t turn out the lights. Not yet anyway.

On Saturday, October 31, Canelo Alvarez faces Christian Mbilli in Riyadh. The Saudi money is still there, and American fans are being asked to pay $79.99 to watch it on DAZN pay-per-view.

The concerns surrounding this event go beyond travel complications. On Thursday, Saudi authorities reported that air defenses intercepted two ballistic missiles launched toward Riyadh. An emergency alert was later lifted, and the fight remains scheduled for Saturday.

With fighters and their teams already dealing with travel difficulties, missing flights, alternate routes and undercard changes, the road to fight night has become a story of its own. Lindolfo Delgado’s title opportunity was among the bouts caught up in the travel chaos.

Saudi money has not disappeared. Far from it. The event is still happening. But it raises a reasonable question: Is staging major boxing events in a region facing missile attacks worth the risks and logistical complications for the fighters, their teams and everyone involved?

And how much longer can boxing count on this kind of money being available?

That question has been at the heart of this series.

We began by examining Zuffa Boxing and the promise of a different business model. We looked at Shakur Stevenson and the difficult distinction between being a generational talent and being worth whatever number gets attached to your name. Then we turned to Bob Arum, a promoter who has lived through enough financial cycles to recognize that boxing’s money never stays in one place forever.

Now comes the uncomfortable part. What happens when everybody has to start doing the math?

The Money Is One Problem. The Price of the Product Is Another

Oscar De La Hoya recently announced a December 5 card headlined by David Benavidez against Michal Cieslak, with Vergil Ortiz Jr. facing Keith “Father Time” Thurman underneath.

Benavidez is a champion. Cieslak is a world champion, too, although he is hardly a household name to the casual American fan. Ortiz is an unbeaten star with plenty to prove. Thurman is a former champion whose best years are behind him and who is coming off a stoppage loss to Sebastian Fundora.

Those are the matchups.

Now comes the sales pitch: Pay-Per-View.

Why?

We just watched O’Shaquie Foster and Emanuel Navarrete meet in a three-belt unification fight on DAZN without an additional pay-per-view charge. Two world champions, three belts at stake, and a fight with real consequences and intrigue for the division.

Why should fans have to pay extra to watch one champion face an opponent many of them barely know, and another face a former, oft-injured champion trying to legitimize himself?

There are genuine sporting arguments for both December matchups. Cieslak is not a nobody simply because his name doesn’t sell tickets in every American market. Thurman still has a name and years and years and years of experience that must account for something. But the question isn’t whether these fights have merit. It’s whether the price being demanded matches the value being offered.

Promoters can complain about Zuffa, argue about its business model and question its intentions. They can debate the future of boxing until the next press conference or they are blue in the face, whichever comes first.

They still have to sell their own product.

Pointing fingers at Dana White is all well and good, but my advice is to worry about your own company and take care of your own business. That’s how the reboot will begin.

The Promoter Has to Earn the Price Tag

And speaking of Oscar, there is a little history worth remembering.

On April 25, 2024, when Turki Alalshikh selected Eddie Hearn to promote the Riyadh Season card at Los Angeles’ BMO Stadium, De La Hoya fired back with his famous declaration: “This is war!”

Oscar was defending his territory, or so he said. No promoter, he insisted, was going to come into his backyard and take over his sport.

Seven months later, in November 2024, Oscar sold The Ring to Turki for a reported $10 million.

Fast-forward to 2026, and Oscar says he regrets the sale. He has publicly attacked the magazine’s credibility and rankings, arguing that its reputation has been damaged.

That’s quite a journey from declaring war to selling one of boxing’s most historic institutions to the very man whose growing influence had prompted the declaration.

Oscar is entitled to his opinion, and his criticism doesn’t automatically settle the question of The Ring’s credibility. But it does illustrate the larger issue running through this series: money changes relationships, ownership changes, and the institutions fans once trusted can become part of the same commercial struggle as everybody else.

As a kid, I always looked forward to seeing my father walk through the door with the latest issue of The Ring that he picked up at the local newsstand, tucked under his arm. To me, it was indeed the “Bible of Boxing.” It was a connection to the sport, its history and the fighters who made it what it was.

Nat Fleischer died in 1972, and since then, the magazine has passed through several hands, with major ownership changes beginning in 1979. Over the decades, perhaps it was inevitable that some of what made The Ring special would get watered down.

I haven’t felt that same connection to The Ring in a very long time.

That’s not a personal shot at anyone currently involved with the magazine. It’s about what the publication represented to generations of boxing fans, myself included, and the feeling that something so important to the sport ought to stand on its own, independent of the interests of any promoter or financier.

The question is not whether boxing needs money. Of course it does.

The question is what the sport is building with it.

Because if all this money produces bigger purses but leaves fans paying more for questionable value, fighters struggling to reach events, and the sport’s institutions fighting over credibility, what exactly has been fixed?

Which brings me back to Bob Arum.

Arum has been down this road before. Beginning in 2013, Top Rank staged a series of major boxing events in Macau, including Manny Pacquiao’s fights against Brandon Rios and Chris Algieri, with backing from the Venetian. It was another ambitious venture built around international markets and casino money. Arum has been there, done that.

So, when Bob Arum has something to say about foreign investment, big money and the future of boxing, it’s probably worth putting down the phone, turning off the noise and paying attention. He’s not speaking from the sidelines. He’s speaking from experience.

This entire four-part series began with a four-minute video that crossed my feed. Arum was holding court with a group of media people. You could hear the laughter in the room. He was comfortable, surrounded by people who appeared to be enjoying the conversation.

There were nuggets in those four minutes worth examining. Arum was talking about the business, the money and what might happen when the financial landscape changes.

At one point, he offered a rather telling observation about boxing’s future:

“All I know is that the sport will continue, there will be great fights being made. How everybody will be compensated remains to be seen.”

I watched the clip and wondered how many people would actually stop to consider what he was saying.

The video was posted here and there on social media, got a few views, and then was most certainly replaced by the next four-minute video interview within the hour. No comments. No thoughts. Just post the interview and move on to the next one, ad infinitum.

Hardly journalism.

Outside of a couple of articles, I saw very little commentary examining Arum’s thoughts about the financial state of boxing.

Maybe I expected too much. But a veteran promoter talking about the future of the business deserved more than a clip, a laugh and a scroll to the next thing.

So, I started writing.

Over the past couple of years, my own enthusiasm for boxing has waned. Outside of covering some local shows, I found myself short on inspiration. I’d been around long enough to know that the sport could be maddening, and lately I wasn’t sure I had much interest in saying the same things all over again.

That four-minute clip changed something. It reminded me that there are still important questions to ask, still stories worth examining, and still a business worth challenging when the answers don’t add up.

Good news, fight fans:

I’m back.

For now.

If Arum is right and boxing is heading toward a financial reset, perhaps a full reboot is exactly what the sport needs. Maybe the next chapter will force promoters to rethink their expectations, fighters to reassess their options and worth, and the people financing the sport to decide what they actually want to accomplish.

Or maybe boxing will do what boxing has always done: find another pile of money, throw another press conference, and convince everybody that this time things will be different.

We’ll see.

If this reset produces better fights, more sensible business decisions and a sport that remembers the people paying to watch it, I may find myself writing more often again.

And if boxing gets back to being boxing — the rivalries, the characters, the controversy, the great fights and the occasional circus — you might just see me become that guy you loved to read.

Or the guy you loved to hate.

Either way, I’ll have something to say.

The money may change.

The promoters may change.

The business model may change.

But boxing will survive. Bob Arum knows that.

The question is who will be writing the checks, how much they’ll be worth, and who will be cashing them. And what will the sport look like when the dust settles?

By William Trillo

Shakur Stevenson is one of boxing’s most gifted fighters. His defensive instincts, timing, and ring intelligence are exceptional. But being a generational talent and being a generational attraction are two different things.

That distinction is at the center of the debate over Stevenson’s reported $15 million-per-fight expectations—and his brief, unsuccessful relationship with Zuffa Boxing.

The $15 Million Question

On October 19, boxing journalist Sean Zittel of Boxing News 24 reported that Stevenson had been seeking approximately $15 million per fight in discussions with Zuffa Boxing.

Sean is a longtime peer and friend of Pound4Pound.com, and we have considerable respect for his work. He represents a newer breed of boxing journalist with an old-school reporting style. He takes the job seriously and understands that covering the sport requires more than posting hot takes, chasing engagement, or mistaking a social-media following for journalistic credentials.

There is a difference between reporting the news and trying to become the news. Sean understands that distinction. We’ll take a closer look at the changing face of boxing journalism in our fourth and final installment.

The reported $15 million figure has not been established as a publicly verified contractual guarantee. Reports also suggested Zuffa discussed paying Stevenson around $7 million for a possible fight with Jose “Rayo” Valenzuela, but Stevenson’s manager, James Prince, disputed that the matchup had even been discussed with him.

What is clear is that Stevenson signed with Zuffa in July 2026 and departed in October without ever fighting under its banner.

That raises a fair question: was the deal unrealistic, did the parties fail to find the right opponent, or did the financial landscape change before they could get a fight made? The public record does not settle every detail, but the outcome speaks for itself. No fight happened.

Talent Versus Attraction

Stevenson’s January 2026 victory over Teofimo Lopez demonstrated his technical superiority. He controlled the fight and won decisively, but the performance also illustrated the challenge facing a defensive specialist: a masterclass in neutralizing an opponent does not always deliver the spectacle casual fans expect.

There is nothing wrong with appreciating the craft. Stevenson is superb at what he does. But fans and broadcasters also want compelling matchups, competitive tension, and opponents capable of pushing a star into uncomfortable territory.

The same question applies to that reported $15 million price tag. Wins over Josh Padley and Artem Harutyunyan might look good on a record but ask the average boxing fan who these guys are and you’ll likely get a blank stare. There’s a difference between padding a record and building a star, and those fights did precious little to establish why Stevenson should command $15 million a night.

Potential matchups with Devin Haney and Gary Antuanne Russell have also failed to materialize. Negotiations are complicated, and blame cannot automatically be assigned to one side. Still, every fight that falls apart is a missed opportunity to build a rivalry, generate revenue, and give fans a reason to invest.

Stevenson has the ability. Now he needs the fights that demonstrate why his ability commands a premium.

Zuffa and the Money Question

In an interview on the Big Fight Weekend podcast, Bob Arum questioned the economics behind the reported sums associated with Zuffa and Stevenson. Arum suggested that expectations of virtually unlimited Saudi backing had changed, making enormous guarantees harder to justify.

His point was straightforward: a promoter cannot keep paying purses that the business cannot support simply because the money was once available.

Big spending can attract fighters and create headlines. But when one extraordinary payday becomes the benchmark for every subsequent negotiation, the numbers can quickly lose touch with the revenue a fight can generate.

That does not prove Zuffa cannot succeed. New businesses sometimes accept losses while establishing themselves. But the model must eventually produce a return—or find a reliable source of funding willing to cover the difference.

Stevenson’s short stay with Zuffa is a case study in how quickly big expectations can collide with the practical business of making fights.

Arum, Muratalla, and a Return to the Ring

Arum has indicated that there is no animosity between Top Rank and Stevenson. He said he had spoken with Stevenson’s manager, James Prince, about the possibility of working together again and expressed optimism that they could make fights.

That matters. Arum helped guide Stevenson’s early professional career, and a renewed working relationship could offer a path forward now that the Zuffa arrangement has ended.

One possibility is Raymond Muratalla, the undefeated lightweight champion promoted by Top Rank. The WBO has ordered Stevenson to negotiate a mandatory title fight with Muratalla by November 16, 2026, or the matter could proceed to a purse bid.

Stevenson is entitled to negotiate the best deal he can. Muratalla, meanwhile, has earned his opportunity. A mandatory challenger cannot be expected to wait indefinitely while a champion searches for a more attractive payday.

Muratalla would face a formidable assignment against Stevenson, but he is a legitimate contender, not a name plucked from a hat.

Back to the Bubble

Muratalla’s story offers a reminder of a remarkable period in boxing history.

When the COVID-19 pandemic brought much of the sporting world to a standstill in 2020, Top Rank staged televised fights inside the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. The controlled environment became known as the Bubble. There were no regular crowds, limited access, and none of the usual arena atmosphere. The fighters had to make their impression through the television screen.

Muratalla made the most of the opportunity. On August 29, 2020, he stopped Cesar Alan Valenzuela Zatarain in the seventh round in a fight in which both men were knocked down. On November 14, he returned to stop Luis Porozo in the third.

Those were strange nights for boxing, but they kept the sport moving when much of the world was locked down. Arum and Top Rank adapted, put on fights, and gave fighters a place to work.

Arum’s words from an earlier interview bear repeating:

“All I know is that the sport will continue, there will be great fights being made,” Arum said. “How everybody will be compensated remains to be seen.”

That quote feels particularly relevant now. Boxing survived the Bubble by adapting to extraordinary circumstances. It may now have to adapt to a different challenge: financial expectations that grew during a period of lavish spending.

The Bottom Line

Stevenson remains an exceptional fighter. His departure from Zuffa does not change that, nor does it prove that Zuffa cannot build a viable boxing business.

But talent, marketability, and earning power are not interchangeable. A fighter can be brilliant and still face questions about whether the available matchups can support the purse he wants.

The WBO’s order gives Stevenson a clear next step. Muratalla is waiting, Arum is open to doing business, and the mandatory deadline is approaching. The parties now have to decide whether they can make the fight work.

Stevenson has every right to pursue the best financial terms available. The challenge is finding a deal that rewards his ability while making sense for the people paying the bills.

Arum knows boxing will continue. He was making fights during the Bubble, when the future of live sports was uncertain. The question today is not whether boxing survives, but how the money gets distributed—and whether the sport can keep making the fights fans want to see.

For Stevenson, the next answer should come in the ring, not in another round of negotiations.

In our final installment, we’ll examine boxing’s coming financial reset, the promoters betting big on the sport’s future, and the question nobody can avoid forever: Who gets paid when the easy money runs out?

We’ll also take a look at another issue affecting the sport: the changing face of boxing journalism, where old-school reporting and accountability are increasingly competing with social-media noise.

By William Trillo

Dana White has spent years telling boxing what is wrong with its business: too many promoters, too many complications, and too many people standing between fighters and the fights fans want to see. His answer is familiar—centralize control, make the big fights, and build a bigger business around them. With TKO’s backing and a Paramount+ media deal, Zuffa Boxing has resources most new promotions can only dream about.

But having the money to launch is one thing. Building a business that can sustain itself is another.

That is the question veteran promoter Bob Arum raised in a recent interview. Arum believes Zuffa’s ambitions were built around OPM—other people’s money—and questions what happens if the Saudi financial backing the promotion anticipated becomes less available.

His warning echoes a familiar chapter in boxing history: Al Haymon’s Premier Boxing Champions arrived promising to change the sport, bringing a deep stable of fighters and major television exposure. PBC changed the business landscape, but it also helped reinforce a model in which huge purses could become detached from how frequently fighters competed or what individual events could realistically earn.

We don’t need to settle the history of PBC’s finances to recognize the question Arum is raising. Boxing has seen outside money reshape the market before. The sport will survive, Arum believes, but what happens to fighter compensation when the people supplying the money change their priorities?

“All I know is that the sport will continue, there will be great fights being made,” Arum said. “How everybody will be compensated remains to be seen.”

That brings us to Conor Benn.

Whatever the thinking behind the Benn hype, Zuffa was prepared to make a substantial investment. The reported $15 million figure associated with his April fight against Regis Prograis was never officially confirmed, but it became part of the conversation surrounding Zuffa’s willingness to spend. Benn won that fight on points and arrived at his September 12 showdown with Ryan Garcia carrying a familiar British boxing name, a loud promotional profile, and expectations that had clearly traveled well across the Atlantic.

Then the bell rang.

Garcia stopped Benn in the second round.

For a fighter whose reputation had been built largely on performances seen by audiences across the pond, the American debut was a rude introduction. Benn either left his best work back in Britain or arrived in Las Vegas as a brash, big-talking Ham-and-Egger whose reputation had outpaced his ability to compete at that level. Either way, the result was a long way from the spectacle Zuffa had invested in promoting.

Dana White subsequently stood by the investment, saying Benn was worth “every penny.” That is his prerogative. But the question remains: what exactly was Zuffa buying, and how much of that value existed outside the promotional hype?

To be fair, we do not have a complete public accounting of the Garcia–Benn event. We cannot declare it a financial failure simply because Benn was stopped in two rounds, nor can we assume the reported $15 million figure was the purse for that particular fight. The figure was associated with the Prograis bout. But a promoter spending that kind of money on a fighter needs more than a recognizable name and a compelling sales pitch. The investment has to make sense beyond the signing announcement.

And that is the OPM problem. If outside money makes it possible to offer purses that a fight’s realistic commercial value cannot support, the operation may look powerful while the funding remains plentiful. The real test comes when the people writing the checks expect the business to stand on its own.

White has every right to challenge boxing’s old guard. The sport has given its critics plenty of ammunition. But if Zuffa’s answer is simply to spend more than everyone else, it risks reproducing the same old economics under a new banner. Big purses make headlines. They do not automatically make good business, and they certainly do not guarantee good fights.

Arum is a promoter with his own interests, so his warning should not be treated as impartial financial analysis. But the underlying question is legitimate: is Zuffa using its resources to build a sustainable boxing operation, or can it maintain its ambitions only while outside money covers the difference?

Boxing has seen big promises before. It has seen new players arrive with deep pockets, challenge the established order, and push the market in new directions. The sport survived. The question is whether the economics that follow those promises can survive, too.

And here is a thought that may sound counterintuitive: perhaps the best thing that could happen to boxing fans is for the well to run dry.

Not because boxing needs to suffer, and certainly not because fighters shouldn’t be paid well. But if the money flowing into the sport finally becomes less generous, fighters and their representatives may have to confront a reality that has been obscured by years of inflated expectations: promoters have only so much money to work with. A fighter’s asking price cannot exist in a vacuum, disconnected from the revenue a fight can realistically generate.

That could mean swallowing a considerable amount of pride. It could mean accepting purses that reflect the actual marketplace rather than the biggest payday somebody once managed to negotiate. It could mean making fights because they make sense for the sport and its audience, instead of allowing financial demands to keep them from happening.

In other words, boxing might need a reset.

A painful adjustment could create an opportunity to build a more fan-friendly, financially viable sport—one where the best fights are easier to make, fighters are rewarded fairly, and the business isn’t forever chasing the next outside investor willing to bankroll the difference.

That is the irony of the Zuffa experiment. The company says it wants to change boxing. But if the money behind the latest revolution eventually runs short, the most important change may come from the fighters, promoters, and managers who finally have to adjust to reality.

Boxing doesn’t need another revolution financed by somebody else’s money. It needs a business model that works when the money is its own.

In Part Three of our four-part series, we turn to Shakur Stevenson, the $15 million question, and the breakdown of his relationship with Zuffa. Stevenson signed a multi-fight deal but departed before ever fighting under its banner. What happened—and what does it tell us about the price of talent in today’s boxing marketplace?

Part One of a Four-Part Series
By William Trillo

The O’Shaquie Foster–Emanuel Navarrete fight in Texas over the weekend was a good one, although not quite the Fight of the Year candidate some had anticipated. Nevertheless, it was a step in the right direction. A meaningful championship unification bout, presented on DAZN without an additional pay-per-view charge, was something boxing fans could appreciate. That it was a Top Rank promotion was hardly a coincidence.

But some of the weekend’s most interesting punches weren’t thrown inside the ring.

While in Texas, longtime promoter Bob Arum sat down with members of the boxing media before the fight and offered a few minutes of commentary on Zuffa Boxing, Shakur Stevenson, and the increasingly uncertain economics of a sport that has grown accustomed to spending enormous amounts of somebody else’s money.

It was an interview worth paying attention to, not because Arum said something particularly surprising, but because he said something that too many people in boxing would rather ignore.

The Money Isn’t Necessarily Going to Be There Forever

Arum has been promoting fights for nearly six decades. During that time, he has watched countless promoters, investors, and self-proclaimed visionaries arrive with grand promises of revolutionizing boxing. Some made a significant impact. Others discovered that making promises is considerably easier than making money. Many eventually disappeared, while Arum kept right on promoting fights.

So, when the veteran promoter began discussing Zuffa’s reliance on Saudi-backed financing and the reported $15 million figure associated with Stevenson, his observations deserved more than a passing glance.

Arum was not particularly interested in dressing up his message.

“The truth is Zuffa Boxing thought that they would do great things using OPM, “other people’s money,” he told the assembled reporters.

There it was. Three words that cut through much of the promotional hype surrounding boxing’s latest supposed revolution.

Other. People’s. Money.

Arum’s contention was straightforward. It is one thing to put on fights when someone else is willing to finance the operation and absorb the potential losses. It is quite another to build a sustainable promotional business when the money must come from the business itself.

He went further, questioning whether Zuffa could afford the kind of purses it had been discussing if the Saudi money it had anticipated was no longer available at the same level.

“It’s this cold, hard business,” Arum said.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the part of the conversation that deserves some serious attention.

Boxing has seen this movie before. New money arrives, a new power broker promises to change everything, and suddenly the old rules of business supposedly no longer apply. Fighters hear enormous purse figures, promoters make ambitious plans, and everybody starts acting as though the financial resources behind the operation are limitless.

Until somebody has to pay the bill.

Arum’s comments raise a fundamental question about Zuffa Boxing and the ambitions of Dana White. Is Zuffa building a promotional business that can sustain itself, or has access to outside capital created the appearance of a financial model that has yet to prove its long-term viability?

Zuffa arrived in boxing with a considerable profile and the promise of doing things differently. But a big name, a powerful corporate structure, and the ability to offer enormous purses do not automatically translate into a successful boxing business. Eventually, the numbers have to work.

And if the financial landscape is changing, as Arum believes it is, the consequences could extend well beyond one promotional company or one fighter’s contract.

That is why this interview caught my attention. Arum wasn’t simply talking about a disagreement over a purse. He was talking about the economics of a sport that has become increasingly dependent on outside money to make its biggest events happen.

For anyone who cares about boxing’s future, that should be enough to stop and listen.

This conversation deserves more than a few minutes of video and a passing mention on social media.

Over the next four installments of Billy’s Boxing Blog, we’ll examine the issues Arum raised, take a hard look at Zuffa Boxing and Shakur Stevenson, and consider whether boxing is approaching a financial reset that could fundamentally change the way the sport does business. No sacred cows, no promotional talking points, and no guarantee that everyone will like what they read. Just an honest look at where boxing stands and where it may be headed.

Because if Arum is right about the money, the consequences could be significant. And if Zuffa truly intends to change boxing, it is going to have to demonstrate that its business model can survive without relying on an endless supply of somebody else’s cash.

In Part Two of our four-part series, we’ll take a closer look at Zuffa Boxing and Dana White. The promises have been made, the ambitions have been advertised, and the money has helped make a splash. Now comes the uncomfortable question: can Zuffa pay its own way, or was this boxing revolution always dependent on somebody else picking up the tab?

By William Trillo
Photo: Cris Esqueda – PBC

Did you actually pay $79.99 for Teofimo Lopez-Rolly Romero?

Really?

In 2026?

Congratulations. You just helped finance another installment of,
Boxing: The Slow, Sad Decline of a Once-Great Sport.

And before somebody tells me I’m being too negative, let’s be honest about what happened Saturday night. The fight was exactly what far too many people expected it to be: a $79.99 pay-per-view built around two fighters who spent large portions of the night looking like they had somewhere else to be.

Romero barely engaged. Lopez did just enough to win, but this was hardly the kind of performance that makes anyone want to throw another $80 at the television next weekend.

And yet fans will complain.

They always do.

“Boxing isn’t what it used to be.”

You’re right.

But then the next big fight is announced, the promotional machine starts cranking, and the same fans who swear they are done with boxing pull out the credit card.

Why would the promoters change?

You are paying them not to.

Promoters have spent years teaching fighters that the biggest payday doesn’t necessarily require the biggest performance. Put a recognizable name on the poster, attach a championship belt, call it a major event and charge $79.99.

The fight doesn’t have to be great. It only has to sell.

And Saturday night was another reminder of how broken that formula has become.

The problem isn’t simply Rolly Romero. It isn’t simply Teofimo Lopez. It isn’t even simply PBC.

The problem is the business model.

Promoters continue to push expensive pay-per-views because fans continue to buy them. Fighters continue to command enormous purses while fighting once a year or less because somebody continues to pay those purses. And fans continue to accept mediocre fights because they have convinced themselves that maybe, just maybe, this one will finally be worth the money.

Then the fight happens.

Then everybody complains.

Then the next $79.99 fight comes along.

And we do it all over again.

Boxing has always found a way to crawl out of the holes it digs, but this time it’s going to need a rescue team, a crane and maybe a miracle. As long as promoters worship at the altar of Riyadh Season and slap their logos on everything from ring posts to toilet seats, and keep overpaying fighters while passing the bill to fans through endless PPVs, boxing will stay exactly where it is:

Swirling The Drain.

At some point, fans have to accept that they have more power than they think.

Stop buying every PPV.

Stop rewarding mediocre matchups with premium prices.

Stop flying to Las Vegas for another supposedly can’t-miss Mexican Holiday event that turns into a glorified sparring session with Margaritas and Mariachis.

And stop pretending that paying for it while complaining afterward is somehow sending a message.

It isn’t.

The only message promoters understand is when the money stops.

Boxing has survived bad promoters, bad decisions, bad matchmaking and bad business before. It will probably survive this too.

But it won’t happen because somebody in a boardroom suddenly discovers common sense.

It will happen when the people paying for the product finally decide they’ve had enough.

Because somewhere, in some dusty local gym, there’s a kid with real talent dreaming of becoming a champion.

Do it for him — before the wolves drag him into the same broken system and shred his career like they’ve shredded the sport.

Check out www.Pound4Pound.com for all the latest boxing truth

By William Trillo

Heavyweight boxing finally cleared the hurdle it has spent years tripping over.

Anthony Joshua and Tyson Fury both won their tune-up fights, keeping alive plans for a long-awaited showdown later this year.

Whether that’s still a fight the public has been anxiously waiting for is another matter.

Joshua’s evening nearly unraveled before it had a chance to begin.

He was dropped just 20 seconds into the opening round by Kristian Prenga, then found himself on the canvas again before the round was over. It was the kind of start that momentarily had promoters wondering whether another lucrative heavyweight matchup was about to disappear before contracts could even be announced.

Joshua recovered quickly, stopping Prenga in the second round.

But the result raised as many questions as it answered.

If Joshua could dispatch Prenga one round after being dropped twice, it says as much about Prenga as it does Joshua. For one brief round, the previously unknown challenger looked capable of producing one of boxing’s biggest upsets. Moments later, he looked every bit the overmatched opponent many expected.

Joshua deserves credit for keeping his composure and finishing the job.

His chin, however, remains an entirely different conversation.

At this point, comparing it to glass almost feels too generous. Glass can be strengthened. Fine china at least carries some value. Joshua’s durability is beginning to resemble an old adobe clay pot—perfectly functional until the slightest bump sends cracks running in every direction.

That concern isn’t going away.

Meanwhile, Fury’s outing against Mariusz Wach provided little more than seven rounds of work before a stoppage.

It was described by many as a glorified sparring session.

The “sparring session” part was accurate.

The “glorified” part may have been overstating things.

The fight was never in doubt, never particularly compelling and, because it wasn’t televised, offered little evidence that Fury has suddenly rediscovered the form that once made him the division’s most fascinating heavyweight.

It served its purpose.

Nothing more.

Cheerio.

Promoter Eddie Hearn continues to insist the Joshua-Fury fight is signed, legally binding and finally ready to happen.

Forgive boxing fans if they’re reluctant to celebrate.

We’ve heard this before.

For years.

Contracts have been announced, negotiations declared complete and dates discussed, only for another obstacle to appear before anyone ever made the walk to the ring.

Perhaps this time is different. Saudi backing, Netflix involvement and legally binding agreements certainly suggest there’s more substance than previous attempts.

We’ll know for certain when the opening bell rings.

The larger question is whether the fight still carries the significance it once did.

Five years ago, Joshua versus Fury was the defining heavyweight matchup of its era.

Today, it feels more like an overdue appointment.

Outside of the Hertfordshire-versus-Manchester bragging rights—and a healthy dose of British pride—it’s difficult to imagine this matchup generating the same excitement it would have at either fighter’s peak.

It will still draw enormous attention.

Heavyweight boxing always does.

But after Joshua survived two knockdowns against an opponent few expected to threaten him, and Fury completed what amounted to little more than a controlled workout, it’s fair to wonder whether this fight is arriving just a few years too late.

Or, as they might say across the pond…

Bloody hell…what took so long?

By William Trillo

In boxing, the spotlight usually belongs to champions, promoters, and the chaos under the bright lights. But every so often there is someone working just outside the ropes whose influence runs just as deep. Bill Caplan was one of those people.

For decades, Caplan was one of boxing’s most respected publicists and trusted architects behind the scenes, a rare figure who could move comfortably between fighters, promoters, writers and television executives, all the while somehow earning the affection of nearly all of them — no small feat in this sport.

He was, of course, best known as George Foreman’s long-time publicist and close confidant, helping shape one of the greatest reinventions in sports history. Foreman’s remarkable second act — from heavyweight champion reborn to beloved global icon — did not happen by accident. Caplan helped build that image with the same care others devote to training champions.

But his imprint stretched far beyond Big George. His tenures with Don King Productions, Top Rank, and later Golden Boy Promotions placed him at the center of multiple generations of boxing history. Big fights, bigger personalities, title nights that became folklore — Bill Caplan seemed to be around all of it.

The Los Angeles Times once called him “boxing’s warm-hearted friend in a world of pirates.” It may be the most accurate line ever written about a boxing publicist.

I first met Bill at the World Boxing Hall of Fame luncheon in 2002, the year I was just beginning what was then a fledgling journalism career with Fightnews. George Foreman was being inducted that same year, and naturally Bill was there at his side — where he so often was.

Through the years we crossed paths often at cards in Southern California and Las Vegas. And every time, without fail, he would greet me with a smile and a cheerful, “Hello Memo,” using the Spanish nickname for William. I’d grin and answer back, “Hello Memo,” and that became our running joke — our shorthand for good to see you, have a great weekend at the fights.

Then Bill would saunter off toward the press room, usually stopping to greet what seemed like every person in it.

That was Bill. He made people feel seen. He made boxing feel a little smaller, a little friendlier. And in a sport not always known for warmth, that mattered.

There are publicists who promote events. Bill Caplan promoted relationships. He built trust. He built legacies. And in many ways, he helped humanize a business that often resists it.

Both Bret Newton and I were deeply saddened to hear of his passing. He was one of the good ones — and there are darn few of them left.

He will be missed by his boxing family.

And I suspect every time I think of Bill, I will hear that familiar greeting.

Hello, Memo.

This time, though, it feels tough to have to answer another way.

Good-bye, Memo.

By William Trillo

Let’s not get carried away here.

Yes, the heavyweight scrap between Deontay Wilder and Derek Chisora this past weekend was entertaining. It had drama, knockdowns, and just enough chaos to keep people from checking their phones. By modern boxing standards, that apparently qualifies as an “epic.” Some have even floated “Fight of the Year,” which is either wildly generous or a sign that expectations have quietly been lowered to ankle height.

Because what this really was—once you peel away the noise—was a fairly even fight between two heavyweights who are well past their expiration dates.

Coming in, Wilder had dropped four of his last six fights, getting stopped three times. Chisora wasn’t exactly riding a wave either, losing four of his last eight. These aren’t résumés screaming “title implications.” These are the kind that usually headline a decent night at your local club, somewhere between the raffle drawing and the main event chili.

And yet, here we are.

The fight itself played out about how you’d expect. Wilder, now more plod than shock, managed to score knockdowns in rounds eight and eleven—moments that ultimately carried him to a split decision win. Two judges had it for Wilder (115-113, 115-111), while a third somehow saw it for Chisora, because boxing judging remains the sport’s most consistent wildcard.

To his credit, Chisora did exactly what Chisora always does: show up, absorb punishment, and give everything he has until there’s nothing left in the tank. It’s admirable, even if it’s no longer particularly competitive at the highest level. He’s said he’ll retire after his 50th fight, which feels less like a plan and more like a mercy rule waiting to be enforced.

As for Wilder, yes, he won. And yes, he looked slightly better than in recent outings. But let’s not pretend this was a resurrection. The version of Wilder who once terrified the division—the one who turned fights off like a light switch—was nowhere to be found. This was a diminished “Bronze Bomber,” still dangerous in spots, but a clear shadow of the fighter he used to be.

Which makes the post-fight chatter all the more puzzling.

Names like Oleksandr Usyk and Anthony Joshua have already been tossed around as potential next opponents. Seriously? Based on what, exactly? Beating a 40-year-old Chisora in a competitive fight? That’s not a springboard to the top—it’s a reminder of how far removed both men are from it.

In a better, more coherent era of boxing, this fight would have been appreciated for what it was: a gritty, entertaining clash between two veterans on the downside. Respectable, even admirable in its own way—but nowhere near elite.

Instead, it’s being inflated into something it clearly wasn’t.

None of this is to take away from the fighters themselves. Stepping into a ring at that level—at any level—is something most of us wouldn’t consider on our bravest day. And the mutual respect they showed afterward, speaking warmly to and about one another, might have been the best moment of the entire night. That kind of perspective is worth more than another 12 rounds of punishment.

But the reaction to this fight? That tells you everything you need to know about the current state of professional boxing.

When a glorified club fight gets dressed up as must-see, top-tier action, the issue isn’t the fighters.

It’s the product.

Check out www.Pound4Pound.com for all the latest boxing truth.

By William Trillo
Photo: Al Applerose

As with most Ryan Garcia fights, the spectacle often overshadows the substance. And since no one else seems willing to say it, here it is: Ryan Garcia fights feel less like sporting events and more like reality TV episodes that occasionally include punches.

So yes, congratulations to Garcia for finally grabbing a world title. But let’s not pretend this was some heroic climb up the mountain. He did it against Mario Barrios, a fighter who, even on his best day, simply does not have the athleticism or skill to beat him.

That’s not a knock on Barrios. In fact, quite the opposite. Here’s a fighter who used hard work, grit, and stubborn determination to reach the top of the sport. He should always be proud of that. But when Barrios stepped up against elite competition—against Keith Thurman and Gervonta Davis—he came up short. That’s not opinion. That’s history.

History will also tell you that Garcia hasn’t exactly thrived when the level rises. Gervonta Davis stopped him. Rolando Romero dropped him in the second round and went on to win a clear-cut unanimous decision.

Yes, Garcia did step up against Devin Haney. But let’s not rewrite history. Officially the fight went down as a No Contest. That result came with controversy, failed tests, and enough baggage to make the outcome permanently debatable. So, if we’re being honest, it’s hard to treat this as the defining proof of elite status his supporters want it to be.

If you don’t think the moment Barrios beat Yordenis Ugas for the welterweight belt that the executives at Golden Boy Promotions started mapping out a title shot for Garcia, then you might want to log off social media and learn how boxing actually works.

In my opinion, the “fix” was in the moment the contract was signed. No, I’m not talking about mob bosses, envelopes of cash, or some 1930s backroom deal. I’m talking about matchmaking. Everyone involved knew the odds of Barrios beating Garcia were slim at best. In boxing, that’s as close to a guarantee as you’re going to get.

As for the fight, Garcia dropped Barrios in the first round with a crushing right hand. It looked like it might be a short night. Instead, Barrios showed exactly why he made it this far in the first place—he got up, and lasted all twelve rounds. Garcia never came close to finishing him again.

And if you watched the buildup, you already knew how this was going to go. Most of Garcia’s training clips showed him sparring friends in his penthouse, sometimes in a living room setting that looked more like influencer content than championship preparation. He clearly didn’t expect much of a challenge. The scorecards—119-108, 120-107, 118-109—confirmed he didn’t get one.

Truthfully, in the boxing circles I run in, almost everyone was quietly hoping for the upset. Garcia is not nearly as respected among serious boxing people as he believes. TikTok reporters and content farms will crown him the next king because clicks matter more than credibility. Garcia’s social media reach is massive, and that means money. And in modern boxing, money usually wins.

He won’t be the first fighter fans love to hate. He won’t be the last.

But now he may have become something even more dangerous for the sport: a star who is bigger than the system that built him. With promotional uncertainty looming, Oscar De La Hoya and Golden Boy may have created their own version of Frankenstein’s monster—a champion with leverage, attention, and options.

The question now isn’t whether Ryan Garcia can win fights. It’s whether boxing can control what comes next.

Stay tuned.

Check out www.Pound4Pound.com for all the latest boxing truth.

By William Trillo



The 2025 Golden Turkey Award Winner

With a 100% degree of certainty, whenever I have a conversation with anyone who loves the sport as much as I do, the first thing they want to know is, “What the hell is wrong with boxing? It’s just not the same anymore?” Before I can answer that question, they will say something about the circus headlined by “RuPaul”, and who is buying into that sideshow?

“It’s simple”, I tell them. “Most of the people that are eating up that nonsense, are not real boxing fans to begin with and have just bought into the hype and hysteria that is being fed to them by…you guessed it…the so-called boxing media.”

I have been in this business for over 20 years now. It just kills me to see my peers, guys I have come to know and respect, giving any credibility to the carnival we are witnessing.

But I get it, (sort of), these “Influencers” and Fightschlub.com stars are willing to sell their souls if it means a couple more views on their social media platforms.

Whatever! You’re killing he sport. Yes YOU.

Check out what my friend and peer, Dave from Placentia, had to say about the current situation:
“Boxing completely ignored the opportunity to capitalize on the Crawford v Canelo fight and went right back to the exhibition YouTube crap. All of us “Boxing” fans were so energized by that Crawford v Canelo fight, but the shine wore off quickly as the garbage just kept coming immediately. Unfortunately, there is nothing that can be done as formerly legitimate Boxing sites and such embrace the nonsense….”

Did you read that?

He said, “formerly legitimate Boxing sites.”

That’s nail on the head stuff right there. He is talking about you boys, and so am I.

I don’t care who you are, where you received your education or who you work for. You have compromised your integrity, and boxing is the worse for wear because of that.

Take your Turkey of the Year Award.

Y’all should be very proud of yourselves.

Check out www.Pound4Pound.com for all the latest boxing truth.