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 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.