In what many thought was going to be a routine victory for Ben Whittaker against the resurgent Liam Cameron, the fight proved to be anything but that — and now, as a result, we have one of the most highly anticipated domestic rematches of the year this Sunday evening.

It’s raw. It’s brutal. It’s primal. And against all odds—it’s booming. Once written off as a relic from a more savage era, bare-knuckle boxing has made a thunderous comeback. What began as a niche spectacle has muscled its way into the mainstream. Sold-out arenas, multi-million-view knockouts, and fighters you thought you’d never see again are now going viral with bloodied fists and battered faces.

There was a time when referees were barely noticed. Silent guardians in the background, only stepping in when absolutely necessary. But in 2025, they’ve become central characters—praised for their protection, criticised for their caution, and, at times, blamed for ruining the show. And after last weekend, the spotlight on the referee has never burned brighter.

They’ve been out for a year. Maybe two. Injury, burnout, promotional gridlock—or just a brutal, unexpected defeat that knocked the momentum clean out of their career.

It’s the kind of detail casual fans barely notice, but fighters and trainers obsess over—ring size. Sometimes, it’s a 20-foot chessboard, where footwork reigns supreme. Other times, it’s a 16-foot phone booth, where escape is a fantasy, and every second is a firefight.

Boxing is a sport where the difference between victory and defeat can come down to the opinion of three people sitting ringside. And yet, how many of them have ever actually taken a punch?

Boxing is a sport built on moments—the knockouts that make headlines, the wars that turn unknown fighters into overnight stars. But while those moments are celebrated by fans, the fighters delivering them often leave with little more than a handshake and a pat on the back. Meanwhile, in MMA, standout performances don’t just earn applause—they earn cash.

Walk into any boxing gym worth its salt, and you’ll see them. Sun-faded, tattered at the edges, but still standing proud—posters of the all-time greats. Ali and Frazier glaring at each other in the legendary Thrilla in Manila artwork, Foreman and Ali frozen in history before the Rumble in the Jungle, Tyson’s menacing stare, Mayweather’s cocky smirk, Pacquiao’s quiet intensity.

For decades, if you wanted to make it big in boxing, there were two places you had to be—the United States or the United Kingdom. The bright lights of Las Vegas, the electric atmosphere of Madison Square Garden, the packed stadiums of London—this was where the sport’s biggest fights happened, where careers were made, and where the money flowed.

Boxing is a sport built on moments—the punch that changes everything, the split-second decision that seals a legacy. But too often, those defining moments aren’t determined by the fighters themselves, but by the ones with the scorecards and whistles. Judges and referees hold immense power in this sport, yet unlike fighters, promoters, or trainers, they rarely have to explain themselves.

Boxing is a sport built on preparation. Fighters spend months in training camp, fine-tuning their skills, sharpening their strategy, and peaking at just the right time. But what happens when all of that is thrown out the window? Short-notice fights have long been a staple of boxing’s unpredictable nature, but are they a genuine opportunity for fighters looking to break through, or just a brutal form of exploitation that stacks the deck against them?

On Wednesday afternoon, Turki Alalshikh, UFC President Dana White, and WWE President Nick Khan announced one of the most breathtaking collaborations in the history of sport, let alone boxing. The trio are set to create a new boxing league under TKO Promotions, which is expected to change the landscape of the sport forever.

Let’s cut straight to it—sponsorship deals are the holy grail for most fighters. They offer financial stability, brand exposure, and a much-needed buffer from boxing’s unpredictable paydays. Yet, while a select few at the top rake in fat endorsement checks, many rising fighters are left fighting just to pay the rent. It begs the question: why aren’t more young fighters getting the sponsorship deals they desperately need?

Let’s call it what it is—dodging mandatories has become a sport within the sport. Some of boxing’s biggest stars seem to treat their mandatory challengers like an inconvenient speed bump on the road to bigger paydays and headline-grabbing showdowns. And who can blame them? When there’s more money on the table for facing a fellow superstar rather than a relatively unknown contender, the business side of boxing often wins out. But here’s the question: should fighters be punished for it?

Let’s get straight to the point—boxing is a global sport with heroes hailing from every corner of the planet. Yet, the most prestigious honor in the sport, induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, is overwhelmingly US-centric. Sure, the Hall of Fame in Canastota, New York, has celebrated some of the sport’s international greats, but the fact remains: many fighters from outside the US are often overlooked.

It’s one of boxing’s dirtiest little secrets—top fighters gaming the system to stay at the top of the rankings without taking any real risks. While fresh contenders grind their way up, some big names cling to their status by staying inactive or facing low-level opponents. The question is: should boxing force ranked fighters to face top-10 opposition to keep their place? It’s a radical idea, but would it bring the competition back to life or push fighters to the breaking point?

Imagine this: you’re ringside at a big fight. The atmosphere’s electric, and the fighters are leaving it all in the ring. But with every passing round, one question gnaws at everyone—who’s winning? Fans speculate, trainers shout advice, and commentators guess. Then comes the decision. Boos echo through the arena as the result leaves half the crowd stunned. Was it a robbery or just another example of boxing’s opaque scoring system?

Boxing is no stranger to controversy—especially when it comes to judging decisions. You’ve heard it all before: “He was robbed!” or “Worst decision I’ve ever seen!” But here’s the million-dollar question: should fighters have the right to formally contest those dodgy scorecards?

Let’s pull no punches—women’s boxing has exploded over the past decade. From Katie Taylor’s historic rise to Claressa Shields’ undeniable dominance, female fighters are finally getting their due. But here’s the glaring omission: where are the women coaching these champions? For all the progress inside the ring, it seems the coaching corner remains stuck in the past. Female coaches are still rarer than a fair scorecard in a hometown decision, and it begs the question—why?

There’s something undeniably thrilling about a fighter stepping into the ring, introduced with a nickname that echoes like a war cry. But let’s be honest—how many times have you heard “The Beast,” “The Destroyer,” or “Iron” and thought, Here we go again?