The frustration came from how he did it. Running into a wall has its merits, of course, anyone who’s anyone knows that, but this wasn’t that. Woodley was the sort to gently settle his head against the wall, the way a mother comforts her fawn, forehead to forehead, and then repeat. If he’d been running full stream, that would’ve been something. You can do something stupid but make it worthwhile for the viewing public. Woodley did nothing. It wasn’t good for us, for him, for his bank account, for his health. He shut himself down and in the process shut down Usman.
For 30 seconds at the end of the 4th round, a fever came over them both and they exchanged hell filled leather. Then the round ended and the lull returned when the fifth began.
Thankfully, Woodley wasn’t perfect in his ineptitude and so Usman had enough moments to do damage enough for a judge to decide, “That was enough.”
Usman is your new champion but how good do you feel about yourself when you win a world title over a narcoleptic on ambien who fought like an overtired two year old, complete with one brief tantrum?
You feel like a champion, that’s how you feel, I’m sure he’d reply.