Boxing.com

The heralded accomplishment of Bernard Hopkins is a lasting headline. The achievement of being the oldest fighter to win a championship at the age of 46 has taken precedence over comparable successes in other sports. That precedence has been earned; Hopkins’ feat is one of great magnitude. In truth, it is unparalleled—because boxing is almost exclusively reserved for the involvement of youth. It requires of its practitioners a willful mix of physical and mental stamina. It demands a balance between visceral and cerebral impulses—a demonstration of aggression commanded by deliberation. 

Hopkins took the naysayers by the throat with his cultivated performance against the young and dangerous Jean Pascal. He studied the texts of the classics and firmly enclosed himself within their pages. He redressed a pervasive cynicism, one that has been directed at several of his long-in-the-tooth peers. These are the fighters who refuse to acknowledge a shelf-life for their contributions to the craft. They continue to chase the romantic notion of victory, and are little concerned with practical capability. They are the fighters who carry on for money or for adulation—or sometimes perhaps for unknowable, personal incentives. At the hands of their ardor, some suffer abrupt disposals, others suffer deteriorated physical conditions. Most suffer an unnecessary dampening of legacies hard earned in their primes.

Hopkins is a singular representative of mastery preserved through age, but the potency of his accomplishment is not detected in the end alone. It blazes forth from the preservation of the means to that end. He is a consummate technician, and while his intelligence allows him to outwit less experienced opponents, the technician needs more to operate with optimum efficiency. He must be confident of his body’s prompt and accurate response to his mind’s commands. His reflexes cannot diminish; balance cannot falter; endurance cannot betray him. Time will usually wear away at one or more of these, ravaging the arsenal and leaving the fighter’s style compromised. It is a natural and often inevitable result.     

Hopkins has avoided the inevitable, maintaining the intricacies of his complex style in the process. He has been privileged to keep the integral element of self-reliance. He can rely on his mechanics to provide for him. He hasn’t been forced to delude himself. At least not yet.

Hopkins is one-of-a-kind. But he is not alone. Recent circumstances have allowed for focus to be directed at another vintage warrior—one who is no more likely to attract cynicism than “The Executioner” himself. Showtime’s Super Six World Boxing Classic began as a noble invention that has gone slightly awry. The ever-looming business angle in the sport, the personalities of some of its players, and the interruptions generated by injuries have facilitated complications. Fighters have been simultaneously swapped or dropped. Point determinations accrued by one fighter have become the burden or advantage of another. 

“The Road Warrior” Glen Johnson was not an original member of the cast. At 42 years of age, Johnson has been fighting as a light heavyweight. While he has been held in high regard as a durable, game opponent, vast popularity has eluded him. Johnson, like Hopkins, is an older fighter who can rely on his mechanics. He was able to retire fellow substitute, Allan Green, from the tournament in his first bout. Now, he is primed to face England’s Carl Froch. 

Froch has been met with mixed success thus far in the tournament. He holds decision wins over Andre Dirrell and Arthur Abraham. In between the victories, he dropped a decision to Mikkel Kessler. With Abraham’s ultimate elimination at the hands of Andre Ward, one of the Super Six finalists has already been determined. Now Johnson, motivated to honor the opportunity, will see if he can share in a bit of Hopkins’ glory.

Johnson’s style is marked by consistency. He compulsively moves toward his target, applying strong pressure. Depriving his opponent of personal space, he hunkers down holding his hands up. He is an unrelenting force. Johnson does not use Hopkins’ array of tactics; repetition is more characteristic of his presentation. And while it isn’t outwardly as frustrating as maneuvering the unpredictable actions of the technician, there is an element of intimidation involved. It is a constant battle against oppression, a battle where he excels as the aggressor. 

Johnson tries to encourage his opponent to open up through the dogged use of his jab. Sometimes, he follows with a right hand; other times, he throws the jab in succession. A preferential tool to set up combinations, Johnson favors it more in the manner of heavier fighters. He uses it as an indicator of proximity, as a preliminary shot, and for its own virtue. He doesn’t depend on perceived openings to act; he moves forward and punches, regardless. 

Johnson is gritty, but as he is not a technician in the vein of Hopkins, he doesn’t use wile to conceal any flaws in his game. His automatic pilot methods are solid and they have provided him with longevity. Froch will be looking for opportunities to slyly accost his elder, and he might just find some. Johnson has a habit of not monitoring his opponent’s position too closely. With his head tilted down and his hands up for cover, he commits to his own combinations, apparently by some measure of pugilistic sonar. Johnson’s punches tend to be shorter, because of his position in relation to his target. It has served him well in the past, but lacks the potency that variety brings. Punches delivered with different extensions can affect the body differently. He will have a tendency to keep assaulting the same hot spots. 

Johnson shines in climates where pressure agitates the opponent. His original bout against Chad Dawson is an example. Dawson had a tough time handling Johnson’s aggression, and though he was judged the winner of the contest, the issue of adaptability arose as a thorn in the young fighter’s side. A formula for Johnson is easily calculated, but knowing the attack and defending against it are two different things. Dawson had the talent, and by the time of their rematch, he realized that by turning Johnson, he gave him a moving target to attack. Johnson then had to focus more on stalking in the right direction, and he often found himself out of position to punch. This simple tactic will not elude the Englishman. 

Carl Froch is ultimately graced by power. He has an individual, almost peculiar, manner of conducting himself in the ring. Rather than crouching down, he seems to almost hunch over, fashioning a kind of bent posture.  His defense appears overtly negligible. But there is a system in place. Like a fighter with confidence furnished by great speed, he keeps his arms down and his face and body exposed. He lunges forward or arcs backwards, depending on whether he’s in offensive or defensive mode. His punches have impact, but lack the substance of clean form. With hands riding low, his shots launch from his midsection. His arms almost dangle, as though they’ve been relieved of their sockets.

The success of Froch’s style is derived from its illusory aspects. He seems like he should be easier to hit. It is a grand deception. With a target who chronically carries his hands low, it is difficult to predict an order of offense. Froch knows this, and he uses it to confuse the expectations of his opponents. He launches his combinations in different patterns. It presents an enigma for those fighters who are dependent on traditional cues. Luckily for Johnson, he isn’t one of those fighters.

Showtime’s tournament has given Johnson an unexpected opportunity to attract a popularity commensurate with his longevity. He has an opportunity to remind boxing enthusiasts that Hopkins is not the only older, viable contender. It will serve as a meaningful inspiration for him. Froch, by contrast, has labored valiantly in the tournament since its inception. He is hungry to prove that he is the best super middleweight in the world. The acquisition of the crown would serve as an important validation for him. He would be entered into the class of fellow British champion, Joe Calzaghe, a fighter deemed to stand apart from the rest. Ultimately, his call for an engagement with the retired champ may go unanswered, but he will legitimize any curiosity that surrounds the outcome of a fight between them. 

Both Johnson and Froch will have to exert an intense energy and focus for their face-to-face encounter. They will be equally prepared for the task at hand. But both men know that for all their efforts, the bout is a steppingstone. It is the final eliminator before the true, final eliminator. On that night, exaltation for one of the combatants will be temporary, because the challenge ahead will be even greater than the vanquished threat. Focus will instantly realign. 

It will be the man who raises his hands in victory who will next have to raise his fists to the “Son of God.”