BoxingP4P

On Saturday, May 23, 2026, Oleksandr Usyk fought Rico Verhoeven. The matchup was surprising from the outset: Rico is a kickboxing legend with only one professional boxing bout roughly a decade ago. Usyk taking this fight made little sporting sense — he is near the end of his career, has already proved he rules the heavyweight division, and it was not an obvious money play either; in mainstream boxing, Rico was largely unknown. Yet what everyone expected to be an easy night for Usyk turned on its head. Rico is a serious physical problem: taller, heavier, impressively muscled, and he sustained a very high pace of movement and activity for the entire fight. From the opening rounds, his style recalled a bob-and-weave that heavyweights had not seen in a long time. A reminder for those who may have forgotten: bob-and-weave, hugely popular in the 1950s and 60s, suited a different heavyweight body type — closer to 6 ft 3 in than 6 ft 10 in. Fighters used the upper body heavily, leaned forward, could bring their head down to the opponent's belt line and move low and to the sides to slip and provoke. With the head down around the opponent's midsection, the shoulder line sits in the middle of the visual field: it is hard to read whether the next shot will be a hook to the head or the body. A forward centre of gravity pushes on the opponent — a style that can look crude, but it worked in many fights of the 60s before fading away. It disappeared gradually as heavyweights grew taller (Foreman, Ali…): a low head means vulnerability to uppercuts; against longer opponents, you get picked off at range with the lead hand and punished with rear uppercuts. Rico probably did not adopt that technique consciously, but his approach resembled it: always forward, lunging at Usyk, shoulder line neither high nor low — Usyk struggled to read punches and was caught by hooks he did not see coming, which is striking for a fighter of his calibre. Rico was also clearly taller and heavier: Usyk could not dominate him physically, hold him at distance, or punish him with the rear uppercut. From the start, Usyk's lead uppercut seemed to be the only punch that really worked. Usyk must have assumed that Rico, with all that movement (legs, guard, torso) and that mass, would tire — except Rico did not tire. In the fourth or fifth round, an uppercut already hurt Rico; Usyk tried to capitalise, Rico held on. For the whole fight, Usyk was in deep trouble against a Rico who kept repeating the same pattern — and it kept working. Usyk is a very clever boxer, used to reading an opponent's style to counter it (Dubois, Tyson Fury…). Here, he did not find the right keys: jab, wait for the attack, finish with the hook — his usual playbook — but Rico's head, forward and low, sent many of Usyk's hooks sailing over; he did not follow today's orthodox posture. Many of Usyk's shots hit air; only the uppercut landed at times, and Usyk was too short physically to throw it while staying safe — not enough reach or mass to keep Rico at bay, and Rico clinched after his attacks to wear him down. In the 11th round, late in the session, Usyk finally landed an uppercut that hurt Rico and put him down. That is when the buzz exploded — buzz that is almost funny, so much does it show how many live commentators, journalists, and social feeds no longer read the fight. With about a minute left in the 11th, Rico is on the canvas, gets up at the referee's count, and signals that he no longer has his mouthguard. Perhaps 40 seconds remain. The referee makes a bad call: he sends Rico to his corner to replace the mouthguard. Rico staggers; the coach puts it back in (it drops once, then is fitted again). Between the count of ten and the restart, easily 20 to 30 seconds pass. The fight resumes; Usyk pours it on, Rico does not answer, and the referee stops it after 5–6 seconds — the end-of-round bell sounds as the referee steps between them. Instant drama: "the referee robbed Rico because Usyk was losing." It is true that Usyk was behind on the cards (this writer would give him perhaps only two rounds in the whole fight). But the "robbery" logic does not hold: if the referee wanted to cheat for Usyk, why grant Rico more than 30 extra seconds of recovery when he was already unable to stand properly? With only the regulation ten seconds, Usyk would probably have finished him even faster. That is the major contradiction in the "robbery" narrative. The referee's real mistake was the corner time for the mouthguard. Then, an implicit correction by stopping the fight quickly after the restart — it happens in boxing, 11th round, decision fatigue. No robbery: Rico was hurt; less rest means a quicker end. Usyk was losing, yes — in trouble, without a lasting answer at range — but like a great champion he found his uppercut late in the 11th and closed the show. No scandal warranted: Rico was ahead, but winning in boxing means either a knockout or points over 12 rounds; Rico turned in 11 exceptional rounds, not 12. Tough luck for him, a hair's breadth from one of the greatest upsets ever; the emotion is understandable, the buzz is out of proportion. Usyk flirted with defeat — proof that anything can flip at the top, that invincibility eventually cracks (as may one day happen to Naoya Inoue). His record still stands today, but there is plenty to think about.

The biggest fight of the weekend in the United States was David Benavidez against Zurdo Ramirez on May 2, 2026. On paper, many presented the matchup as a real clash: on one side, a champion at cruiserweight in Ramirez; on the other, Benavidez moving up in weight to try to take his belt. From our side, though, this already looked like a fairly limited fight. We had discussed it on the _Dans les Cordes_ podcast: Ramirez, despite being only 34, already carries a lot of mileage in boxing. He has given a lot and he has already been beaten. There was little doubt even before the opening bell. The day before the fight, watching him walk, his legs already looked stiff, tired, almost limping. There was not much mystery: Benavidez looked set to win easily. That impression was confirmed as soon as the fight began. Ramirez had almost no head movement and was getting caught by nearly everything Benavidez threw. As entertainment, it was not unpleasant: Benavidez comes forward, looks for contact, brings aggression, and when he is on screen you are not bored. But in terms of pure boxing, it was still a very limited spectacle. At times, it felt like watching two heavy-set guys fight, far from the cleaner, more refined boxing usually expected from top champions. Benavidez's hand speed at this weight remains impressive, especially with the smaller gloves, and it does plenty of damage. But his dominance did not erase his flaws: he was in full _seek and destroy_ mode, constantly moving forward, and he still got hit often by Ramirez. Those shots had no real impact on him, but they were there, and against a fresher or more dangerous opponent, those openings could matter. Ramirez took a knee around the fourth round, apparently bothered by his eye. Then, in the sixth, after a Benavidez combination that also included an elbow that seemed accidental, Ramirez chose not to get back up. The elbow appeared to play a part in his decision, even if the fight was already clearly going Benavidez's way. The result was a knockout win for Benavidez, with no real surprise.

This weekend, on May 2, 2026, Japan hosted a massive clash between the pound-for-pound king, Naoya Inoue, and Junto Nakatani, who is himself established in the global top 10, and even in the top 5 in some rankings. On our side, Nakatani was number 2. The fight delivered on its promise, even if some will say they were bored by it. In a way, that made it a good test of who really understands boxing and who simply watches the sport as a series of spectacular exchanges. This was a true chess match. Two elite fighters in the division, both carrying serious power, but with very different body types and very different tactical plans. From the first round, the strategies were clear. Inoue had a major deficit in height and reach, but a technical and speed advantage that had to allow him to close the distance, get inside, and do damage. He did not really have another path. Across from him, Nakatani, who is often the aggressive fighter, had decided this time to become the one who waits, traps, and counters. He positioned himself very laterally, offering Inoue as little target as possible, forcing him to take risks on the way in. His left-hand counter, whether as a hook or a straight shot, came out extremely fast, and there is no doubt that a large part of his camp was built around that reaction speed. In his posture, there was a little of what David Picasso, Inoue's previous opponent, had tried to show: a tall frame, long arms, and a lot of bend in the legs. But where Picasso did not have the reaction speed to stop Inoue from staying inside and putting combinations together, Nakatani had the impact and timing to force Inoue to exit immediately after his attacks. For a long time, the fight stayed in that dynamic. Inoue feinted, searched for angles, and tried every possible way to cut the distance; Nakatani remained disciplined, patient, almost minimalist, waiting for the mistake. That is what may have created the impression of a closed or boring fight. In reality, the first fighter to make a real mistake could have gone down. And because these were two great boxers, that mistake never really came. Over the first six or seven rounds, Inoue still seemed ahead: he was leading the fight, he was the aggressor, he was imposing most of the initiative, while Nakatani waited for an opportunity that never arrived. We also saw that Inoue had prepared perfectly for that danger, with phenomenal upper-body pulls and head movement to avoid the counters.

Against a legendary but aging Kazuto Ioka, Takuma Inoue produced a display of rare control, perhaps the most complete performance of his career. Naoya Inoue's younger brother was defending his world bantamweight title against one of the great names of Japanese boxing, a fighter who was trying to win a belt in a fifth weight class. But Ioka, at 37, never really managed to establish his boxing against an untouchable Takuma Inoue. Inoue brought out his very best: precise, sharp, confident, and in control in a way we may never have seen from him at this level before. That is even more striking when you remember that after his defeat to Seiya Tsutsumi, he seemed almost ready to consider ending his career. His win over Tenshin Nasukawa had apparently served as a springboard, especially mentally. This victory over Ioka says something different, though: against Nasukawa, Inoue had cooled the ambition of a young, explosive boxer in a hurry to take a belt; here, he dominated a great veteran full of experience, looking for one last piece of history. Two opposite profiles, two very strong answers. In the ring, the visual impression could sometimes be misleading: Ioka was moving forward, applying pressure and taking up space. But Inoue, on the back foot, punished him constantly. He countered him, placed his combinations at the right moments and used his footwork to stop Ioka from building beyond two punches at a time. The start of the fight was especially rough for Ioka, who went down in the opening round and again in the second. In the first round, a beautiful right-hand counter from Takuma Inoue hurt him before Inoue immediately jumped on the opportunity, followed up and forced him to touch the canvas. In the second round, it was a magnificent uppercut that sat him down. Ioka is tough, he does not quit, and he made it to the end of the twelve rounds, but the gap was clear. Inoue's jab was sharp, incisive and fast; his combinations came only when they needed to; and even when he accepted the inside fight, he remained in control of that tight boxing, with elegant arm work and plenty of uppercuts. With this victory, Takuma Inoue really gives the impression that he has reached a new dimension. We knew him as a serious boxer, solid in his fundamentals, capable of controlling opponents over the distance, but he may have been missing this kind of spectacular performance to establish himself as a more attractive headliner. Against Ioka, he added knockdowns, entertainment and a very pure boxing aesthetic to his usual discipline. Of course, one can ask how much Ioka's age and declining hand speed played into it, but that takes nothing away from the quality of what Inoue produced: discipline, measure, speed and precision. If someone wants to understand what clean, intelligent and beautiful boxing looks like, this fight is an excellent example. And when you add what his older brother did in the following fight, you can truly say that the Inoue brothers are on top of the world. For Kazuto Ioka, however, it may be time to hang up the gloves. He will remain a legend, a future Hall of Famer, a champion in four divisions, with absolutely nothing to reproach himself for. On this night, he simply ran into a superior, very sharp Takuma Inoue, carried by the best momentum of his career. In the lower weight classes, Japan, and especially the Ohashi Gym, continues to weigh heavily on the international boxing scene. And with Jesse "Bam" Rodriguez also moving toward bantamweight, the idea of Bam Rodriguez against Takuma Inoue may be more realistic in the short term than a direct clash with Naoya Inoue. It would already be a major test of what Bam is worth in this division.

Scheduled for May 2, 2026 at around 11:00 a.m. in France, Inoue vs Nakatani has the feel of the kind of fight we do not get often enough, but that Japanese boxing still seems capable of producing. Two unbeaten fighters, two 32-0-0 records, an all-Japanese matchup, and a sporting stake that goes far beyond local prestige. On paper, the fight is almost ideal: Naoya Inoue has little left to prove, apart from continuing to give concrete shape to his place among the great fighters of his era, while Junto Nakatani enters with the aura of a fascinating challenger, dangerous, unusual, accomplished enough for the matchup to be fully credible, yet still mysterious enough to leave several scenarios on the table. This fight also says something broader about Japanese boxing, which for several years has looked like one of the liveliest scenes in the sport. The cards are ambitious, risks are accepted more regularly, and the best fighters often seem less protected by the logic of undefeated records than in other markets. Inoue-Nakatani fits that pattern: it is not only a major fight between two names, but a showcase for what boxing can still be when it accepts real sporting demand. There is, however, one major reservation: timing. This fight may be happening because it had to happen now or never. Nakatani was already struggling to stay at 118 pounds, while Inoue is also beginning to reach the limits of the 122-pound division. If their weight trajectories start moving in different directions, the window could close quickly. Commercially, the matchup is obvious; sportingly, it is too. But the real question is whether Nakatani is arriving at the best possible moment to challenge such a complete fighter. His most recent fight against Hernandez left a mixed impression: he showed his usual quality in the early rounds, with clean movement, genuine technical control and clear superiority in several sequences, but he could not do what he so often does, which is break the opponent before the fight truly settles. Hernandez held on, came forward, applied pressure, and forced Nakatani to deal with a tougher reality: at 122 pounds, his punches remain dangerous, but they do not necessarily produce the same immediate effects. Many punchers discover, when moving up in weight, that their power does not disappear but changes in nature. Opponents absorb better, rounds stretch out, and dominance has to become more constructed. Inoue has gone through that evolution himself. In the lower divisions, he could sometimes destroy opponents with almost unreal brutality; higher up, he has had to accept other forms of victory, sometimes over distance, sometimes through accumulation, sometimes by managing risk more carefully. The difference today is that he has already proved he can do it. Against Akhmadaliev, he showed he could control a fight over twelve rounds. Against Picasso, he chased the knockout, but also adapted when his opponent resisted. That maturity may be his most impressive quality at this stage of his career: Inoue is no longer just a destroyer, he is a fighter capable of reading, correcting, slowing down, accelerating and taking back control when a fight does not follow the initial plan. Nakatani, by contrast, is intriguing precisely because he does not always look spectacular at first glance. His boxing can seem almost nonchalant, with the sense that he moves at his own rhythm, as if refusing to be dragged into the urgency of the fight. Then the punches arrive, heavy and precise, and it becomes clear why his record is still intact. That stylistic strangeness is probably his best chance: he is not merely a taller or longer version of a familiar profile, he imposes a different tempo, a less immediate read, a way of landing that can surprise even elite fighters.