If you look at its history, boxing has always been a fluid, ever-changing beast. Over time its rings have changed, its gloves have changed, its rules have changed, its weight classes have changed, and its rewards have changed. Always, in fact, it has been in a process of change; trying to improve, or simply survive.
Some will say change is for the better, and that this evolution was both inevitable and necessary for the sport to continue defying those who have for years predicted its death. Others will highlight how boxing has only ever mirrored society and that the degradation of society continues to be reflected in the way in which the spectacle of two human beings hitting each other is presented to us.
Whichever view is true, there is comfort to be found in one thing at least: The boxers. These men and women, no matter what alters around them, forever remain the same. They will, without exception, throw the same punches, make the same moves, feel the same pain, and have, for the most part, the same goals and ambitions as all those who came before them. The only difference, really, is the way they are sold these days and the audience to whom the selling is done. For some, this shift is no big deal. They seem almost made for it. Yet for others, those not as vocal or with a less accessible fighting style, it can be tougher to have their language understood by a world wanting everything in plain and simple terms.
A man like Dmitry Bivol, for example, is a technician of the highest grade, but is also a man out of place at this time in boxing history. As the sport awaits his headlining rematch against Artur Beterbiev for the undisputed light heavyweight championship on Saturday at an event stitched together with gold, the Russian’s style remains all about patience and understanding — two atrophied muscles of everyday life. He wins in his own way, at his own pace, and in his own time, with judges often needed, and he is not a man one associates with drama, knockouts, or moments clipped for social media to generate interest and attract others. Rather, he is a boxer who rewards diligence and knowledge; a boxer who tests the attention span of fans conditioned to believe all fights take place over eight two-minute rounds on Netflix.
In 24 professional fights, only 12 of Bivol’s have ended before the final bell, and only one of the last 12 has not gone the full 12 rounds. These numbers, for purists, mean there is more of Bivol to see, yet to anyone either new to the sport or short on patience, they represent an endurance test. It is a fast-moving world, after all, and today’s fans have other things to both see and do. They have a multitude of tabs open at any one time and they have other boxers at their disposal who converse in uppercase rather than lowercase, and don’t require nearly an hour of their attention to understand what it is they are doing in the ring.
Bivol, you see, remains a challenge, unapologetically. Like the best art, or indeed any great artist, the size of his appeal and audience is not a reflection on his brilliance but merely a reminder that things difficult to do are things difficult to understand for those not equipped to do them. Rather than try, many in that scenario tend to just look away, or find something easier to digest and comprehend.
To truly appreciate the extent of Dmitry Bivol’s artistry, you are better off consulting his collaborators or rivals than his audience. Lyndon Arthur, for instance, is not only a former opponent of Bivol’s but is also a fan. He was a fan before fighting him and he became an even bigger fan after fighting him.
“Bivol’s one of my favorite fighters, so he didn’t surprise me in there,” says Arthur, who handily lost a 12-round decision to Bivol in 2023. “I know how good he is. I expected him to do what he did and he didn’t do anything more than what I expected.
“I love the way he flows — he flows so naturally and effortlessly. I also like the way he puts his combinations together. It doesn’t seem like he’s doing much but he’s always doing something. He’s a bit like [Oleksandr] Usyk in that sense.
“He’s not got that much power; he’s more of an out-and-out boxer. But he’s definitely the best boxer I have faced, one million percent.”
It is a sentiment shared by most light heavyweights who have found themselves on the end of Bivol’s jab in a boxing ring.
“It was like playing chess,” says Craig Richards, who, in 2021, gave Bivol one of his tougher fights, losing a close decision after 12 rounds. “We were both setting traps for each other the whole time. Sometimes you watch a fight and it looks like not a lot is going on, but a lot was going on between us mentally. We were both trying to put each other into certain positions. Although we weren’t always throwing hands, there were a lot of mental games going on.
“He’s got very good reaction times. His hand speed is tremendous. He can throw loads of punches in bunches at very high speeds. He can also react to anything you do. He’s like a cat. If you try to throw a shot, and it’s not textbook or perfect, he will react and punish you. There’s no playing around with him. You’ve got to make sure everything is correct and exactly right.”
It doesn’t seem like he’s doing much but he’s always doing something. He’s a bit like [Oleksandr] Usyk in that sense.Lyndon Arthur
It’s all well and good winning the respect of one’s peers, but for a boxer to truly flourish — both commercially and financially — they must also appeal to the sport’s promoters. These are the men and women responsible for telling the world what a boxer cannot find the words to say himself. They are also the ones responsible for highlighting to the world the genius of what a boxer does in the ring, particularly when that genius requires translation.
In the case of Bivol, 34, he has worked with Matchroom Boxing since appearing on one of their Monte Carlo shows in 2017. He is promoted officially by Eddie Hearn, the chairman of Matchroom, but has worked closely with Frank Smith, Matchroom’s chief executive officer. Indeed it was Smith who was in Bivol’s proverbial corner the night in 2022 when Bivol shocked both Saul “Canelo” Alvarez and Hearn, Alvarez’s promoter at the time.
“I think it was tough [promoting Bivol] until he beat ‘Canelo,’” says Smith. “Once you go in there and do something like that against someone like ‘Canelo,’ though, it all changes. To win like that in front of the audience ‘Canelo’ brings changed everything. You sort of take a bit of that stardom.
“He’s not an outspoken character, he’s very respectful. But I think people buy into the way he fights. When you take real fights, you are going to win the respect of people. He has done that. He has shown he is willing to take on hard tests, and I think that replaces the need to do the s*** talk other people need to do to build themselves because they haven’t got the ability he’s got.
“Maybe it takes longer, in all honesty, but if you believe in your ability, and you can beat the names he has beaten, eventually you will get those fans.”
Born in Tokmak, Kyrgyzstan, to a Moldovan father and Korean mother, Bivol began boxing at 6 years old, uprooted to Russia with his family by 11, and was, during this time, a happy child. Boxing, he stresses, was never a vehicle used to “break free,” nor a way for him to find his voice. It was merely something he enjoyed and did for fun.
“I grew up with my family, a good family,” Bivol told me in 2018. “I have a mother and a father and they both worked. I went to a good school. I didn’t have an uncomfortable or harsh life like most of the champions. I just enjoyed my life growing up.
“When I came to boxing, I enjoyed boxing. It was the same with Russia. When I came to Russia, I liked Russia very much. I like Russian people. There are many nationalities in Russia. I feel comfortable there.”
Competing for Russia as an amateur, Bivol won a bronze medal at the Youth World Championships in 2008 and a gold medal at the 2013 World Combat Games. He was raised on a steady diet of Mike Tyson and Roy Jones fights, before later developing a fondness for “Sugar” Ray Leonard. His amateur record, at the time of turning pro in 2014, consisted of a weighty 268 wins and just 15 defeats.
“I learn when I watch [Leonard’s] fights,” he said. “I like to watch his fights before my fights and many times it is the same fights. I watch his fights against [Thomas] Hearns, [Marvin] Hagler, [Roberto] Duran — both fights. I like all of those fights.
“I’m a boxer, I should be better than ‘Sugar’ Ray Leonard and Mike Tyson and Muhammad Ali. I think about that a lot. Maybe I will never be better. Of course, I understand this. But if you want to be the best, you should think about being better than everyone else. If you shoot for the stars, maybe you can reach them. Maybe you won’t. Who knows?”
Not one for getting starstruck, or being seduced by bright lights and noise, Bivol has always had a very different idea of what a “hero” represents. It is, to him, a person of understatement; someone whose value is appreciated by others, perhaps only a few, and whose motive is neither fame nor the gathering of accolades and acolytes.
“My father is my hero and comes to every boxing session,” Bivol said. “He is part of my team. He is in the corner. Of course, he’s nervous every time. He once said, ‘Only I know how much pain I feel when my son gets punched. Only me.’
“My mother and my coach are also my heroes. They teach me how to be a boxer and how to be a man. I have learned to be responsible like my father. People who teach me are my heroes; people who are with me all the time.”
Interestingly, at the time of our conversation the Russian light heavyweight with whom Bivol was being linked was not Beterbiev but instead Sergey Kovalev. He was a more likely opponent for Bivol back then; any prospect of a fight against Beterbiev was strictly an idea rather than a certitude.
“I think it will be a good fight,” Bivol said back then of a…
