If a fighter’s safety isn’t at risk, there’s no shame in continuing to compete but at a lower level than before
I’ve seen a fair number of outlets exhort Regis Prograis to consider retirement after last Saturday’s loss to Jack Catterall. I’m inclined to join them; it’s not the fact that “Rougarou” lost to a very solid operator, it’s the fact that he simply can’t do the things that made him great anymore. The power’s still there, but the speed, aggression, and reflexes needed to deliver it have atrophied to the point where it’s no longer a threat, even against lower-class opponents like Danielito Zorrilla.
I’m less inclined to join those calling for Campbell Hatton to retire after his hard-fought loss to Jimmy Joe Flint in their rematch on that same card.
As far as scions of British boxing royalty go, he’s definitely near the bottom. He doesn’t hold a candle to the likes of Chris Eubank Jr or Conor Benn, and the saddest part about it is that it’s not through lack of effort. He’s not some conceited nepo baby getting huge, undeserved opportunities on name recognition and coasting on natural gifts; Hatton has quite clearly busted his ass to make the most of his talent, only to find out that said talent is insufficient foundation for a championship-caliber game. As Eddie Hearn puts it, he’s a domestic-level fighter at best.
Realizing his peak is lower than we’d hoped shouldn’t compel him to quit, though. If he’s healthy, supporting himself financially, and still has his heart in the game, what’s wrong with just keeping him out of the deep end?
A bad habit I see in MMA and boxing is a refusal to let former elites sink back into the general populace when they start to slip. One of my favorites of all time, former UFC heavyweight champ Junior dos Santos, got fed to high-level knockout artist after high-level knockout artist before leaving the promotion on an 0-4 skid.
A more pertinent example may be lightweight Tony Ferguson. Like Prograis, Ferguson built an esoteric style around his freakish athleticism, only to fall off a cliff when age and injury caught up to him. Justin Gaethje snapped his seven-year, 12-fight winning streak with a gruesome beating that became genuinely uncomfortable to watch by the end, after which grappling aces Charles Oliveira and Beneil Dariush easily neutralized him on the ground.
A saner organization would have slotted the clearly diminished Ferguson into the gatekeeper role, letting him fight the UFC’s increasingly prominent cadre of cheap bottom-feeders until the wheels completely fell off. Instead, they booked him against:
Ferguson was at least a +240 underdog against everyone in that group besides Diaz. We knew what we were in for.
I understand name value. I get the financial incentive of constantly facing the most prominent figures in your division. It just feels like a disservice to both the fighters and the sport to refuse to move the bar even when we all know they can’t clear it anymore.
Look at Anthony Joshua. There’s been plenty of clamoring for his retirement after the Dubois debacle, but there’s a difference between “no longer the cream of the crop” and “so shot that continuing to fight is a safety hazard.” Put him in there against a credible mid-tier guy like Jarrell Miller and find out if the skills are actually gone or if he just had a bad night. Same with Deontay Wilder; see if he can melt a Cassius Cheney or two and get some mojo back.
More careers should have a sensible denouement instead of a crash and subsequent flailing struggle to immediately get back on top. There needs to be less shame about either not being the best anymore or never getting there in the first place. If it’s unsafe to let them keep fighting, then by all means push them to hang ‘em up, but have the grace to not shame them out of a sport to which they can still contribute for the crime of lacking greatness.
