FROM HERE TO ETERNITY

There's a popular expression - "fuck around and find out" and I think on Saturday night in the Kingdom Arena in Saudi Arabia, heavyweight boxers, Oleksandr Usyk and Tyson Fury, presented us with the fiercest example of this idiom outside of an actual war scenario.

All the taunting and posturing from the gypsy king (now dethroned) was exposed in a brutal ninth round where even those watching ringside and from their armchairs could see his life flash before our eyes so on the brink of oblivion did he appear to be and so intense the fight that it was as if you were inside the ring itself.

I had a strange emotional reaction to seeing Tyson Fury, the clown king, being punched to within an inch of his life in round nine, flailing like a drunk sailor with 'Bambi' legs across the canvas, held up only by the grace of the ropes. It was like watching your favourite eccentric character from an old comedy show being beaten up by an ultimate chess master crossed with Cossack warrior. All the braggadocios shouts and growls and faux machismo reduced to hollow whispers. Having said that, few men "born from his mother" could have gone back into the final three rounds of an undisputed heavyweight fight after being nearly rendered unconscious by a barrage of coma-inducing punches. Fury did and proved that despite the bi-polar division he creates within the boxing fans community, he's got a huge heart and tremendous gypsy courage. People are fickle these days and forget the great drama and entertainment this madcap and gobby character has brought into a sport that can sometimes be dominated by slick promoters and corporate PR machines. I also maintain that in this current age where Artificial Intelligence threatens to render all human value near-obsolete, it might just be our flaws that distinguish us from machines. We need our mad bastards despite them upsetting the silicon communists and corporate political ideologues with their globalist diktats.

Of course, no would begrudge the winner, Oleksandr Usyk, his victory as he is a most worthy champion who any one would be proud to call a son, a father, a friend. The alignment between his body, mind and spirit seem completely harmonious and his devotion to his family, his country and God are unquestioned. Watching his remarkable consistency throughout the build up to this historic fight was like watching an unflappable zen monk observe a buzzing fly (Fury) without demonstrating the remotest of irritation. Having had a very noisy fly buzzing around my office this morning I only wish I possessed such equanimity.

And, of course, the dedication to winning the undisputed crown went to his late father and no-one who has lost a parent of their own could possibly fail to be moved by his openly expressive emotion at the post-fight press conference.

“I say to my father,” Usyk said, looking toward the heavens, revealing a recent dream conversation he'd had about his late father much like something from an Andrei Tarkovsky movie. “Hey listen, you live there … I live here. Please, no coming for me. I love you."

A flash of his 'gap-toothed' smile briefly tried to mask Uysk's obvious grief and heartbreak but a single 'strong tear' fell from his eye and broke everyone else's heart in the moment.

"I know he is here."

Before leaving the bench of journalists with his profound reflections, Usyk clutched his child's toy Eeyore (a lucky mascot no doubt) and saluted the room, having regrouped himself emotionally to go and recover from the epic battle with Fury and celebrate his incredible win.

As for Fury, one wonders how the Gypsy King ('Prince?) will recover from this defeat. Will he spring back into action like Tigger for a re-match or be left like Eeyore in his 'Gloomy Place' in Morecambe? At the last press conference before the fight, Usyk's consigliere and promoter, Alexander Krassyuk, had warned Fury in ominous fashion, quoting the English poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, of the 'dark and dreary days' to come.

Perhaps Fury might rewind the tape of that moment and listen carefully to the words of Longfellow's 'The Rainy Day'. They are as devastating as those raining bombs of Usyk's fists in round nine.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.