Reckoning with Vasiliy Lomachenko

Vasiliy Lomachenko (pictured) giving an interview on his official YouTube channel, published on 12/18/2020.

Unquestionably, professional boxers are among the most highly competitive of all athletes; it’s safe to say they don’t like to lose. What’s more, there’s little room for humility in a sport dominated by bravado and larger-than-life personalities. It is difficult for those of us who sit by the sidelines to truly understand the devastation that comes when one’s best simply isn’t enough, especially when that person has been elevated to near superhuman heights in our minds. The most natural response from a fighter? Assure devoted fans and detractors alike that it wasn’t your best.

Boxing fans are notoriously hard on any fighters whom they perceive to be making excuses. David Haye was ridiculed for displaying his broken toe after his unanimous decision loss to Wladimir Klitschko. Of course, these “explanations” are nothing new: Roberto Durán blamed stomach cramps in the infamous “no más” fight, and George Foreman claimed he was drugged before stepping into the ring with Ali in the “Rumble in the Jungle” (sound familiar?). Despite their pleading nature, none of these justifications fell on particularly sympathetic ears.

Boxing fans are notoriously hard on any fighters whom they perceive to be making excuses.

Part of this comes down to what we, the fans, expect of fighters. Debates swirled around the boxing media a few weeks ago when Daniel DuBois suffered his first loss to Olympian and jabber extraordinaire Joe Joyce when he took a knee in round ten of their contest; he was counted out and Joyce was subsequently awarded the KO victory. Immediately, on-the-scene commentators David Haye and Carl Frampton described DuBois as having quit in the face of adversity. Similar accusations were parroted by other boxers as well as media and fans, but how much can we reasonably expect a fighter to endure inside the ring? DuBois took a knee after Joyce landed a particularly stiff jab directly on his left eye, which had swollen shut and was later revealed to be the result of a broken eye socket which caused excruciating nerve damage (unless, of course, you find yourself doubting the story as did Mr. Eddie Hearn).

So, what are the outer limits of our expectations? Can we really expect a boxer to go blind in the ring for our entertainment? Should we expect them to risk their very lives merely to enthrall us for the better part of an hour on what may otherwise be an uneventful Saturday night? Surely, the answer must be a resounding “no.” And yet, every time a fighter is taking brutal punishment and the fight ends by prematurely by election rather than oblivion, critics unfailingly come out of the woodwork to question the man’s heart, will, and determination.

On the other hand, a fighter must go into the ring conscious that he may come out forever changed; he must knowingly accept this ultimate risk, for not to do so would be a purblind error. Most of our sport’s great heroes are remembered not solely for dominant victories, but for overcoming extreme physical and mental adversity; Arturo Gatti and Micky Ward were not world-beaters or master boxers, but they will be forever remembered because of the extreme pain that each inflicted on and endure from the other. These are our heroes, men who would laugh at a swelled eye.

Most of our sport’s great heroes are remembered not solely for dominant victories, but for overcoming extreme physical and mental adversity

How, then, do we reconcile our admiration for the gladiators, who bravely place their lives on the line, with our humanity and compassion for fighters as people, not merely as mythical figures? We can start by remembering that we aren’t fighters; they say hindsight is 20/20, well “fan sight” is only slightly above 0/0. It’s categorically unfair and immensely ignorant for us as fans to call a boxer “quitter,” whether commenting from our couches or ringside.

What does this have to do Mr. Vasiliy Lomachenko? He’s certainly no stranger to injury, nor a stranger to fighting through the concomitant pain. No one’s ever called him a quitter, although as much has been said of numerous opponents who chose not to see out the end of their bouts with Loma. The relevance of our discussion of fighters as “quitters” is that it is in large part our expectations, manifested in harsh criticism for all but the most blood-and-guts performances, that lead boxers to offer up excuses for off performances.

On December 18th, 2020, Lomachenko released a video on his official YouTube channel in which he is interviewed in Ukrainian, his native tongue, by a sympathetic questioner. The video is the source of much maligned statements, including that the judges were bribed. Perhaps most interesting is Vasiliy’s unofficial scoring of the fight: after watching it back a purported five times, he believes that the fight was a draw, and according to an “unwritten rule” in championship boxing, the judges should score the bout based on the final three rounds, of which he believes (and probably rightly) he won at least two. Irrespective of where he came up with that idea, it must be noted that championship fights, like all boxing matches, are scored round by round. Even if he truly believes in that alleged unwritten rule, it's clearly not a sportsmanlike or objectively fair method of scoring a championship contest.

Vasiliy also indicated that his shoulder injury, initially thought only to be bursitis, was worse than pre-fight examinations had revealed: he also had a torn labrum. It’s a fascinating video that I encourage fans and detractors alike to watch (go ahead and put it on 1.5x speed, you’ll thank me later). For one, we learn that what appeared to be an inexplicable strategy by Loma in the first half of the López fight, whereby he threw hardly any punches for six rounds, was tactical (even if wrongheaded): “…I had to be careful and not get injured within the first six rounds because if I were injured, I wouldn’t be able to fight” said the former unified champion.

Vasiliy’s “excuses” have drawn comparisons with Deontay Wilder, whose list of reasons for why he lost to Tyson Fury via TKO last February is so long it doesn’t lend itself to brief summary. Among other things, Wilder claims he was drugged, his ring walk suit was too heavy, referee Kenny Bayless was drunk, and Fury had egg weights in his gloves. Many have pointed out the disparate response to Wilder’s and Lomachenko’s explanations for their losses, and quickly chalked it up to racism among fans and media; this is too legitimate an accusation to be dismissed offhandedly. Racism is a serious problem in boxing and sports more generally, and it is at its most stark when we bear witness to the application of a double standard. Black fighters are often held to a higher standard and the language used to describe them and their achievements is coded, often dripping with disdain and thinly veneered subordination. A Black boxer must “earn” significant fights, a Black fighter with sensational power is an “animal” or a “beast,” and Black champions are endlessly criticized for their selection of opponents. Meanwhile, inane statements by a Black boxer who so much as mentions race are labeled “racist” without a second thought and certainly without a nuanced understanding of what racism is and how it is perpetuated.

Black fighters are often held to a higher standard and the language used to describe them and their achievements is coded...

With that said, a disparate treatment can only be fairly attributed to a racist undercurrent when the behavior of both fighters is substantially similar; otherwise, we are comparing apples to oranges. I invite the read to listen to Wilder’s interview with Brian Custer and watch Lomachenko’s interview slash public statement, and I submit that they are so dissimilar as to warrant independent analysis, rather than careful comparison. In essence, Lomachenko’s accusations are that the judges in his fight were bribed or influenced to shade the bout for López. Wilder’s accusations involve a complex conspiracy of unclear—but vast—scope in which his trainer Mark Breland, opponent Tyson Fury, spectator Anthony Dirrell, referee Kenny Bayless, and the Nevada State Athletic Commission all acted in collusion to hand him his first professional loss. It’s not difficult to understand why nearly everyone has turned on him, except those who revel in the deepest depths of the YouTube conspiracy rabbit holes. Lomachenko, on the other hand, is mostly accusing the judges of being paid off, or otherwise nefariously favoring López to his detriment.

Julie Lederman’s absurd 119 – 109 scorecard for López does lend minor credence to Loma’s assertions, and this is a sport not unfamiliar with corrupt judging, but Lomachenko’s claims are easily dismissed. If you don’t win a majority of the rounds, you usually don’t win the fight. Even if we point to Lederman’s scorecard as evidence of corruption or incompetence, this is still a fight that the public believes Lomachenko lost (or at best, drew). It is for this reason, more than any other, that Lomachenko’s grousing has fallen on deaf ears and drawn the ire of fans and commentators alike. Yes, it is possible for a boxer to be robbed blind by corrupt judges and officials; but no, that is simply not what happened in Las Vegas last October 17th.

So, the theories spouted by both Loma and Wilder are different both in magnitude and in kind. In their own way, both are ridiculous. Certainly, Wilder’s claims have drawn harsher and more widespread criticism than Loma’s, and undoubtedly some of the divergent response can be ascribed to the sort of bigotry that pervades professional sport. But the two are simply not comparable.

Yes, it is possible for a boxer to be robbed blind by corrupt judges and officials; but no, that is simply not what happened in Las Vegas last October 17th.

The question remains, where Lomachenko will go from here? Has he talked himself out of a rematch the way Wilder may well have done? Loma really, really wants the rematch (“the revenge” as the poorly translated subtitles put it). He even stated that such a fight either “…will be the end of [his] career or [he’ll] take all the belts.” He stated categorically that he will not return to super featherweight while he has “unfinished business” at lightweight, but the reality of that statement is difficult to assess. López has stated in multiple interviews – including minutes after the fight at the press conference – that he has no interest in a rematch. From a management standpoint, it’s probably the right move. Take the belts and run. Go to Australia and annihilate George Kambosos to continue building your brand and, if Loma really wants a rematch, make him wait a few years until he’s good and old.

I don’t think Lomachenko has objectively spoiled a rematch by making these accusations, and I don’t think that a rematch is sure to end in a López victory by knockout as some have confidently predicted. In fact, it’s one of the most compelling rematches to be made given the sky high stakes for the Ukrainian. His father will have to prove that his “Trainer of the Year” awards were not bestowed in vain by developing a clever game plan to thwart López’s formidable power and speed and, presumably, get something done in the first half of the fight. Some believe that if Lomachenko starts in on López earlier he'll risk getting knocked down or out, and others believe that if Loma works his podiatric magic and lets his hands go earlier on, he could secure his own knockout. It’s a fight that, if the Lomachenkos have learned anything, has to go much differently than the first one, and therein lies the intrigue.

There is a contingent of boxing media and fans that refuse entirely to validate “excuses” in the interest of giving the victor his fair credit. That is fair. There are some who would go as far as to advocate that we blackball the excuse-makers, those ne'er-do-wells who cast aspersions without hard evidence. Look, we all know that Lomachenko didn’t get robbed by the judges, but accusations that a corrupt sport is corrupt, even when for once it's not, probably don't do as much harm as some may think. My aim is not to generate sympathy for Lomachenko’s admittedly cringeworthy imputations, but to ensure they are examined within the broader context.

We must empathize when a person whose identity is rooted in victory and invincibility, derived largely from the public’s admiration, comes crashing down.

Vasiliy's statements should be identified for what they are: ridiculous excuses. But we must be conscious of the kind of expectations we place on fighters and their effects; we must empathize when a person whose identity is rooted in victory and invincibility, derived largely from the public’s admiration, comes crashing down. We should call out excuse-makers, particularly when their “reasons” are harmful to our sport or their unjustly maligned opponents, but we should retain our humanity and remember that despite all of their in-ring toughness, these men can be supremely fragile. Their careers and their very sense of self often hang in the balance. There’s an old phrase, biblical in origin, that reminds us to look past the shortcomings of men: it goes “love the sinner, hate the sin.” Such a proposition ought to be applied in this scenario. To Lomachenko and, yes, even to Deontay Wilder.