Sometimes, especially when it comes to social media, it is best not to say anything at all. If, for example, someone dies, famous or otherwise, there is really no need for JoeBloggs649264883 to comment publicly or express what the deceased meant to them. Similarly, if a big news story appears to be trending, there is no need for JoeBloggs649264883 to offer his opinion on said story in the hope his opinion – and therefore JoeBloggs649264883 – will be seen.
Sometimes it is best just to sit still, wait, watch. This is particularly true when a news story is about to break, whereupon the temptation is to jump the gun and pounce before anyone else. Indeed, it could even be argued that the hunger to win this race has today never been greater, with good taste yielding to haste and a news outlet’s greatest enemy the restless fingers of those with the power to scroll up and down.
In that regard, and only that regard, Ohara Davies was not wrong to act the way he did on Tuesday (September 3). That was the day Davies learned via @NoSmokeBoxing that a fight against Adam Azim, one of the UK’s hot prospects, was being lined up for him on October 19. It was also the day Davies called out @NoSmokeBoxing for spreading what he claimed was “fake news” before adding on his own account: “This is what I mean about the boxing media.”
And yet, despite the denial, because this is boxing there was always a chance Davies would end up fighting Azim anyway and so it proved, the official announcement of their fight arriving just two days later. That, rather than come as a surprise, or a Shyamalan-esque plot twist, was merely a reminder. It was a reminder that the only groups of people content to lie as much as the media are actors, addicts, and professional boxers, these men and women who must lie to themselves just to get to the ring on fight night; these men and women who lie to the media as much as the media lies to them.
Davies, by playing coy, did nothing wrong. It is his prerogative, after all, to keep his cards close to his chest and try to retain an illusion of control. In all likelihood he was probably just annoyed to have been gazumped; robbed of his own exclusive by the eagerness of online fans.
Either way, when Davies writes, “Don’t call me or message me about interviews you can all f**k off,” we should at least acknowledge in these words his exasperation. We should acknowledge as well how the constant thirst for a news line these days could become a little tiresome for those boxers from whom the news is ultimately gathered. For instance, upon hearing the Azim rumour, one can only imagine how many fans with webcams contacted Davies in the hope of catching him driving somewhere and then asking him inane questions in pursuit of the video clip they craved. To do this once is demoralizing enough, but make a career of it and it is understandable why the likes of Davies are liable to have their Falling Down moment on a random Tuesday afternoon.
For these are not interviews in any traditional sense. Instead, Davies, when asked to do one, knows he is merely being used, relevant only in the context of Adam Azim and the need to produce content for an online audience. He knows that when fielding these calls people are not interested in his career, or how he felt following his defeat in January, but rather what they want from him is confirmation; confirmation of a rumour spread without his approval. He is reminded in that moment of a boxer’s place. He is reminded both of his worth and how it fluctuates.
In truth, were traditional interviews not such a rarity nowadays, Davies might feel differently about what he considers media and indeed interviews. He might know what an interview actually entails and in turn appreciate how creating clickbait and engagement farming are not the only reasons why people want to speak with a boxer when offered six minutes on Zoom by a publicist. He might understand the difference between journalists and content creators.
A few weeks ago, Joshua Buatsi, a British light heavyweight, expressed a similar weariness when asked about pre-fight interviews. “Usually,” he said, “we’re just asked the same stuff over and over again and I’m like, ‘Oh my goodness, I have been asked this a hundred times.’
“This is quite different.”
It was only different, our interview, by virtue of the interviewer pre-empting the mood of the interviewee and therefore doing all they could to make them feel (a) as though they meant more than just a news headline and (b) remotely stimulated – or at least made to think – by the line of questioning. This, with the bar so low, was no real feat, in truth, yet it was depressing all the same to think that such measures needed to be taken. It was then just as depressing to think that there are boxers like Buatsi, protected from journalists by a legion of publicists and managers, who have never really experienced what it is like to be properly interviewed.
In the case of Davies, 25-3 (18), I have no doubt he is a character worthy of being interviewed – properly. In fact, I interviewed Davies properly back in 2018, around the time he reinvented himself as a mature, reformed character, having once believed the best way to court attention was to be as loud and obnoxious as possible. By the time we spoke Davies, or “OD”, was a different man altogether. He realised only with the passing of time, and some humbling defeats, that no amount of fame is worth the energy required to simultaneously hold a mask in place, juggle balls, and dance on command.
Now, at 32, Davies says he has learned his lesson and found his voice; his real voice. He no longer boasts about beating every fighter in his weight class, nor claims to possess all the answers. He has, in other words, been humbled, disciplined. He was humbled first by Josh Taylor in 2017, then again by Jack Catterall in 2018, and last time out he was caught cold and stopped inside a round by Ismael Barroso, a loss so humbling one might dare suggest Davies should be thankful for “media” picking up the phone, let alone pretending they care.
Yet a boxer, of course, will never think like that. Some struggle to think at all, whereas some, like Davies, who perhaps overthink, or simply offer too much of themselves to the public, will use a Me vs. The World mentality as both motivation and, when needed, a way of creating separation. “You can all “f**k off,” he said on Tuesday and at the time he probably meant it too. That doesn’t mean he is right to think that, nor that he wants people to stop contacting him indefinitely, but maybe Davies, on that day, was just a bit tired. Tired of being used. Tired of having no control. Tired of having to contemplate the idea of now being someone else’s stepping stone. Tired of boxing itself; its cruelty, the speed with which it moves on. Or maybe that day he was just bored. Maybe what Davies needed to do on Tuesday was stay quiet and say nothing; something he should have done two days prior when, on the same Twitter account, he wrote: “I hate doing my medicals because I (have) got to sit in that MRI place for so long, and it’s so boring.”
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