A storybook year is about to have its pages set ablaze, so says the fireball on the other of the end of line.
Dominic Breazeale has done some impressive things in his 30 years on this planet: qualified for the Olympics in 2012, scoring a trip to the White House and a photo op with President Barack Obama as a result; successfully gone from a college football quarterback to a pro boxer despite limited amateur experience; and established himself as a top prospect in a resurgent crop of American heavyweights. Last, but not least, he’s just referred to a 6-foot-1, 218-pound man as “little.”
His fists used to be like the DMV, or psychotherapists in the presence of Gary Busey: busy, always.
There’s fighting fire with fire, and then there’s taking a flamethrower to a flicked Bic. This is how Sammy Vasquez used to carry himself in the ring, like the no-huddle offense incarnate, with leather in place of pigskin. Defense? That was as much an afterthought as a purity ring on prom night.
Everybody heard that “Pin” drop.
There has never been a French or a Mexican heavyweight champion, a drought prolonged in 2015 by the man on the other end of the phone, his voice as emphatic as the sound of one of his punches landing home. Now, Deontay Wilder looks to start the new year by denying yet another country its shot at boxing history. Poland, you’re up.
His Christmas Grinch'd by a canceled fight, Dominic Breazeale is ready to take it out on Amir Mansour
It wasn’t that a lump of coal was deposited in Dominic Breazeale's stocking. It was more like Santa used the thing as an air-sickness bag.
The blood coming from his face said one thing. Sammy Vasquez says another.