Let’s get one thing straight: just because you’ve conquered the amateur ranks, draped yourself in gold medals, and been hailed as the next big thing, doesn’t mean you’re destined for professional glory. Boxing history is littered with amateur stars who failed to transition into successful pros. But why? What is it about crossing over to the professional ranks that separates the hype from the hope, the contenders from the pretenders?

Once upon a time, boxing was America’s game. The US held the keys to the kingdom, dominating world champions, fight nights, and pay-per-view numbers. But as we sit in 2025, the global landscape of professional boxing has shifted dramatically. A sport once ruled by American icons is now showcasing its international flair, with fighters from Europe, Asia, and beyond claiming titles across weight classes.

The walkout. It’s the moment a fighter steps into the spotlight, leaving the comfort of the dressing room and entering the cauldron of noise, expectation, and pressure. More than just an entrance, it’s a spectacle, a psychological statement, and a chance to seize control before the first punch is thrown.

In the electrifying world of boxing, few phrases are as polarising as “lucky punch.” It’s the ultimate insult to a knockout artist, dismissing their victory as the result of random chance rather than skill, timing, or preparation. But is the lucky punch a real phenomenon? Or is it a convenient excuse, wielded by fans and fighters alike to discredit a defeat or diminish a victory? Let’s explore whether luck truly has a place in a sport built on precision, discipline, and strategy.

There’s something undeniably electric about today’s heavyweight boxing scene. From the towering charisma of Tyson Fury to the explosive power of Deontay Wilder, the gritty resilience of Oleksandr Usyk, and the redemption-seeking spirit of Anthony Joshua—we’re living in an era that feels like it’s on the edge of something legendary. But as these giants contemplate hanging up their gloves, the big question looms: Is this the last golden age of heavyweight boxing?

In the high-stakes world of boxing, we focus so much on the fighter—their grit, power, and discipline—that we often forget about the constellation of people orbiting them: the entourage. An entourage can be many things: a lifeline, a fortress, a support system. But it can also be a source of distraction, indulgence, and ego. The question is: Do entourages truly keep fighters grounded, or are they just a circus of “yes men” who can derail a career as fast as a right hook?

In the world of boxing, few things ignite debate quite like the rematch clause. Initially intended to ensure deserving fighters a fair shot at redemption, rematch clauses have evolved into one of the sport’s most controversial mechanisms. Today, they’ve become a staple in boxing contracts—a tool to guarantee another shot, another payday, another chance to reclaim glory. But here’s the question: Is this truly about fairness, or are fighters and promoters gaming the system to secure lucrative returns?

In boxing, fighters are celebrated for their toughness, resilience, and the grit to withstand anything thrown their way. But what happens when the battles extend beyond the ring, into their minds and hearts? Boxing is one of the loneliest sports, and its pressures are staggering. Fighters don’t just face their opponents in the ring; they face themselves. The question is: are we doing enough to support these warriors beyond the ropes, or are they left to fight their demons alone?

Netflix’s foray into live boxing with the Jake Paul vs. Mike Tyson exhibition fight has sparked debate across the sport. With 60 million reported streams, it was undeniably a massive event, but does it signal the start of a new era for boxing, or has it exposed critical flaws in the streaming model? From the PPV dilemma to piracy, technical reliability, and the sustainability of multimillion-dollar fight purses, Netflix’s big night has raised more questions than it answered.

In boxing, the decision to retire is as much about the heart as it is about the head. Fighters are wired differently—unwavering in their belief that there’s always one more fight, one more shot at glory. But as careers stretch into their twilight years, the question becomes: are boxers holding on too long, risking their health and legacy for dreams that might never materialise? And who, if anyone, has the right to tell a fighter when to hang up their gloves?

Boxing is a sport defined by discipline, grit, and meticulous preparation. But look closer, and you’ll see another side to it—a world of quirky superstitions, pre-fight rituals, and deeply held beliefs that shape a fighter’s mindset long before they step into the ring. Are these rituals essential psychological armour, or are they simply comforting habits in a chaotic sport? For some fighters, superstitions and routines have become as indispensable as their gloves.

In today’s boxing world, it seems a fighter can’t step into the ring without first running their mouth. Trash talk has become as central to the fight game as the punches themselves—maybe even more so. But here’s the big question: Is this banter building excitement and giving fans a reason to tune in, or is it just cheapening the sport with cheap shots?

When we think of boxing, our minds are filled with images of sweat, grit, and glory. We see fighters in the ring, battling it out, driven by ambition and the desire to claim titles. But while we applaud the spectacle, there’s a side of the sport that remains hidden from the spotlight. Behind every punch thrown, every bruise, and every training camp lies a network of loved ones who feel the pain and bear the weight of their fighter’s journey. The question is: How much does a career in boxing cost the families who are left waiting, watching, and worrying?

Women’s boxing has been on a relentless journey, from near invisibility to a global force in combat sports. Today, with trailblazers like Katie Taylor, Claressa Shields, Natasha Jonas, and Chantelle Cameron leading the charge, the sport is gaining recognition, headlines, and fan excitement. But the question remains: Is women’s boxing truly getting the respect it deserves, or are female fighters still fighting for relevance in a sport long dominated by men?

In the heart of countless towns and cities across the UK, amateur boxing gyms provide more than just a place to train—they act as pillars of support, discipline, and community. With more than 1,500 amateur boxing clubs scattered throughout the UK, these gyms offer spaces where young people can learn discipline, respect, and resilience. Yet, despite the enormous value they bring, these gyms often struggle to stay afloat, and Chris Webb MP recently raised the issue in the House of Commons, calling for greater government support. 

Let’s face it, boxing purists are having a hard time swallowing the rise of influencer boxing. It's the elephant in the room, the big-money spectacle that's dragged the sport into a whole new world. You’ve got YouTubers and TikTokers stepping through the ropes, making more cash in one night than some pros make in a career. The question is, are these influencers bringing new life to the sport, or are they turning boxing into a circus?

Let’s cut the noise for a minute. In today’s boxing world, everyone’s shouting about “building stars.” Promoters love to parade around, telling us they’ve got the next pay-per-view king, the new 'face of boxing,' or the second coming of Ali. But here’s the real question: how many of these promoters are actually building legends? And how many are just packaging fighters in bubble wrap, feeding them soft touches, and selling hype like it’s gold dust?

In combat sports, the real fight often starts long before the athletes step into the ring or octagon. Before the first punch is thrown, many fighters engage in a dangerous game of brinkmanship, pushing their bodies to extreme limits just to hit a weight they won’t maintain for more than a few hours. Weight cuts—widely accepted as part of the sport—are an unrelenting, physically punishing process involving strict diets, dehydration, and hours spent sweating in saunas and baths. But are these practices necessary for fair competition, or is the tradition one that puts fighters in unnecessary danger?

Let’s talk about the fighters who rarely make headlines—the ones who step through the ropes knowing they’re likely leaving with another “L” on their record. Journeymen (and journeywomen) are the backbone of the sport, the ones brought in to test young prospects, provide experience, and keep the wheels turning. They’re the fighters with more losses than wins but more heart than most. The question is—are we celebrating their role, or are they being exploited to prop up boxing’s next star?

In combat sports, greatness isn’t always achieved inside the ring—sometimes, it’s carved out in the spaces between the punches. Fighters like Muhammad Ali, Tyson Fury, and others have become icons not only for their skills but for how they’ve dared to break the rules, challenge norms, and speak their minds, no matter the cost. The world demands more than just performances inside the ropes—fighters today are expected to entertain, agitate, or inspire from the outside too. But what happens when rebellion turns into revolution? And what role do these troublemakers play in keeping the sport alive?