Since I bemoaned the seemingly indefinite residence of a host of flawed heavyweight relics this week, every day seems to have brought news of another comeback or fight from fossilised big man. I’m not sure whether it reminds me of Groundhog Day or Cocoon but I wish boxing could find a youthful puncher to start stamping the bus passes of these creaking contenders. Yesterday it was Akinwande, today Andrew Golota.
Despite reports of being knocked out cold in sparring, being 39 years old and holding a long history for failure at the elite level he threatened to join before pummelling Riddick Bowe in the coconuts one time too many, Golota will return on June 9th against the always accommodating Jeremy Bates who will tax even an ancient version of Golota about as much as an off-shore account.
Presumably, the relative activity of Riddick Bowe creates one potentially lucrative avenue and he could well be saleable as an opponent for the likes of Tommy Morrison, Evander Holyfield and Joe Mesi down the line but aspirations of claiming the world-title he came perilously close to doing in those fights with Bowe are misplaced.
I wish him well because his unique brand of neurotic hyper-tension and punching power has provided some stimulation to a flacid heavyweight picture over the past decade. For reference, it’s two years since he was flattened in a round by Lamon Brewster, seven since he quit versus Mike Tyson and almost ten since Lennox Lewis stretched him in the opener.
Fragile of mind is the big Pole.