The heavyweight division, historically, is both the most lucrative and forgiving weight class in boxing. It is where money-making prospects are nurtured for as long as possible and, in turn, it is where faltering stalwarts with name value become their dinner of choice.
It explains why Dave Allen, after seven losses, was invited in December to serve the unbeaten Johnny Fisher, a likeable slugger, with a wholly digestible feast. That Fisher, now 13-1, choked over their two courses should really be no surprise.
Because for every champion-in-the-making that comes along and cleans their plate, there are plenty more who find the extra seasoning too much to stomach.
So, though promoters and managers might look at the blueprint designed by Joe Louis, when he chewed through former champions and fading contenders with ease to become the most feared heavyweight on the planet, they should also keep in mind that even a young, 24-0 “Brown Bomber” wasn’t quite ready for Max Schmeling in 1936.
By the time Louis was all but done in 1951, he found himself on the menu for Rocky Marciano, a fierce contender who would ultimately go through his entire career without suffering a loss. But there’s an art - and a certain skillset - required to build a fearsome heavyweight king, one in which risks must indeed be taken while promotional bluster is hidden from the ears of the giant on the rise. Because the moment the boxer believes the hype is when the boxer takes their eye off the ball, or, in this case, the gloved fist heading straight towards their chin.
Duane Bobick came along in the 1970s after a promising amateur career that concluded at the quarter-final stage of the 1972 Munich Olympics when he lost to Teofilio Stevenson. No shame there, of course.
But by the time he was 38-0 and highly ranked in 1977 he was yet to meet anyone even approaching Stevenson’s quality. Though matching Fisher with Allen was more than justifiable, throwing Bobick at Ken Norton, fresh off a highly contentious loss to Muhammad Ali in their trilogy bout, was like dumping a three-year-old in a faraway forest in the middle of the night and telling them to make their own way home. It took Bobick less than a minute to get lost in the darkness.
Mike Tyson rose to greatness by spitting out the remnants of his elders. He turned professional in 1985 and within two years he was deemed so unbeatable the boxing world was eager for someone who could provide a fitting challenge. Mike Williams, unproven but a body beautiful with a punch to match, was named by The Ring as their Prospect of the Year in 1986 – exactly 12 months after Tyson was called as such – and so began brief talk of a match-up between them.
Enter the wily Tim Witherspoon who was navigating the oblivion he found himself in following an upset defeat by “Bonecrusher” Smith and his parting company with Don King. Williams, 13-0, gave it a good go but simply couldn’t compete with the smarts of his more experienced foe and lost on points over 10 rounds. Never again was he spoken of as a potential contender for the heavyweight crown.
The United Kingdom has a long history of churning out promising big men. Pele Reid, a former kickboxer who once knocked out Vitali Klitschko with a spinning round kick, was one such highly regarded up-and-comer as he won his first 13 bouts by stoppage, seven of which in the first round. The 18-7 Julius Francis, even though British champion, was expected to meet a similar fate in 1999 before he drew all the energy from his crude foe and scored a knockout himself in the third round. Francis would go on to snare a date with Tyson but Reid, particularly after some homicidal matchmaking paired him with Orlin Norris in his comeback bout, drifted out of contention.
David Price was an even brighter British starlet. The 2008 Olympic bronze medallist had munched his way to 15-0 (13 KOs) and talk of him toppling the Klitschkos was more than just idle chatter when the 41-year-old fringe contender Tony Thompson was invited to Liverpool in 2013. The 7-1 underdog clouted Price with a blow in the second round so discombobulating it’s arguable his career, though it would include a victory over Allen, never really recovered.
And therein lies more bad news for Johnny Fisher. Even though they always return to the table, prospects built on padded records rarely regain their appetites after becoming fodder themselves.