
I’ve been playing the boxing oracle lately, calling fights like I’ve got some kind of sixth sense. I took Usyk over Fury without a second thought. But when it came to Dmitry Bivol versus Artur Beterbiev in their showdown at Riyadh, even I had to hedge my bets. I picked Bivol early, sure—Bivol’s got style, finesse, and a jab like a stiletto. But just before the bell rang, I put some money on Beterbiev. Bivol might outbox him, I thought. But Beterbiev? He’d land one of those seismic shots, and that could be all he’d need. Bivol was going to get touched, and Beterbiev’s fists don’t ask twice.
When the smoke cleared, Beterbiev took a twelve-round majority decision over Bivol to become the new undisputed light heavyweight champion. The numbers were there in black and white: 116-112, 115-113, and a tied-up 114-114. Some of the crowd grumbled about a robbery, but really, those calls were just the last gasp of Bivol’s diehards. It was close, sure – a draw wouldn’t have shocked me – but this wasn’t the kind of fight to leave you throwing your hat in the ring.
Beterbiev, with 21 wins and 20 knockouts to his name, found himself on the sharp end of Bivol’s jab in the early going. That left hand of Bivol’s was slicing through the air like it had someplace to be, and it kept peppering Beterbiev’s face with pinpoint precision. But Beterbiev isn’t the type to fold under fire. He kept coming, taking those shots like they were just another part of the game, hunting for the weak spots and looking to remind Bivol just who he was dealing with. Bivol, to his credit, wasn’t about to play the patsy. He answered back with combination punches that flowed as smooth as single malt, dancing through the middle rounds with a kind of grace that almost felt out of place in that blood-and-guts arena.
By the time they hit the sixth, it was a toss-up. Bivol dug deep and let loose with those quicksilver combinations, aiming to rack up rounds while he still had the gas. The crowd felt it too – they knew Bivol was in there, stealing rounds like a midnight prowler, but Beterbiev was on him, dragging him into deeper waters, making him pay a toll with every step. Bivol was still on his toes, but the energy he’d been spending was starting to show. When you’re dictating the pace, you look like Nureyev. But when Beterbiev’s walking you down, you start feeling every inch of that ring.
By the last two rounds, Bivol was huffing and hurt, his body starting to betray him. For a minute, it looked like he might edge it, but it wasn’t to be. Beterbiev had pushed him to the wall, and you could see it plain as day: Beterbiev wanted this one more. From round seven onward, he’d been pouring it on, maybe more than anyone expected, but he was fighting like a man who’d decided that coming up short wasn’t an option.
Beterbiev had done a fair bit of headhunting early on, but if he’d laid into Bivol’s body just a little sooner, he might have stamped his victory with more finality. Instead, we got what we got: a razor-close fight that left everyone hungry for more. By the end of it all, Beterbiev was the undisputed king, breathing the same rarefied air as Archie Moore, Bob Foster, and Michael Spinks.
When it was over, Bivol stood there with a look of raw disappointment, the bruises on his face a map of his struggle. But he wasn’t one to ask for pity. “I’m a warrior, and I have to do everything perfect,” he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. “Congratulations to Artur and his team… he deserves it. I did my job, but I felt like I could make it better.”
There was no room for excuses. He knew what he’d been up against. “He’s powerful, very powerful,” he said, rubbing a bruise under his eye, his dream of being undisputed slipping away like smoke. So Dimitry Bivol walked away with his first loss, and Artur Beterbiev walked away with the crown. They’ll be talking about this one for a long time – two unbeaten fighters, toe-to-toe, with everything on the line.
Boxing won’t forget it anytime soon.