Dillian Whyte. Slobber-knocker.

It is 70 years since Orville Henry, the wiry Sports Editor at the Arkansas Gazette for the thick end of six decades, first put the term Slobber-knock to print. Filing copy in March 1964, he was describing the playing style of Dennis McLure via the words of Barry Switzer who had recruited McLure to the University of Arkansas’ football programme. This was long before Switzer’s own assent to the NFL, the position of head coach at the Dallas Cowboys in 1994 and a famous SuperBowl triumph in 1995.

“DENNIS doesn’t wait for anything to come at him,” says Barry Switzer, who recruited him. “He gets to where that ball carrier is going, meets him head-on, and I’d say he slobber-knocks ’em.”

Reading about Henry, who passed away in 2002, his status as a legend of the written word acquired in a life time of detailed and colourful coverage of the Arkansas Ridgebacks, I drew the conclusion he would’ve enjoyed the absurdity of Sunday’s heavyweight fight between the one-time contender Dillian Whyte and Ghana’s improbably named Ebenezer Tetteh.

It was, as Dan Rafael had forecast it to be on the BigFightWeekend preview podcast, “a heavyweight slobber-knocker“.

Fought in Gibraltar, a peninsular on the Southern tip of Spain, but an overseas territory of the United Kingdom, the bout proved appealing in the way a late night kebab does to a drunken reveller. Sloppy, dripping with fat and spice and of questionable value. The fight was intended to be the next incremental step in Dillian Whyte’s return from the humiliation of yet another failed PED test. PED, for listeners at the back and as a reminder for those numbed to their prevalence in boxing, is the acronym for Performance Enhancing Drug. A device used by boxers seeking to gain unfair advantage over an opponent in a sport in which combatants punch each other in the head. Thankfully, fighters never, ever imbibe these synthetic accoutrements intentionally and the implied guilt of being caught, even three times, should not detract from your cinematic image of the plucky pug.

For Whyte’s latest foray into this public relations Narnia of the lying, the bewitched and the law robes the failure was attributed, predictably, to a contaminated supplement and the now 36-year-old was permitted to resume his career – despite this being the third such ‘oversight’ in an unconventional decade as a prizefighter. And, so he did.

He is inevitably slower, older and the level of competition he has faced thus far much lower than his creditable run from 2016 to 2020 during which a busy sequence included wins over Joseph Parker, Oscar Rivas and Derek Chisora. It was assumed he would retain power to combine with his residual name value, and as such Tetteh was booked to be clobbered. A chaotic loss to a more fragile Daniel Dubois five years ago conspicuous evidence of his vulnerability to simple power shots and a mere four fights since held appeal to matchmakers too. For the morbidly curious who tuned in or bought a ticket to this pre-Christmas curio, Tetteh decided Sunday was an opportunity not merely a pay day and the resulting contest proved entirely more entertaining. Messy and clownish though it frequently became.

Walking forward, he barely flinched at Whyte’s pet punches – the left hook primary among them – and winged in over hand rights of his own. Whyte is prone to throwing wild right hands himself and he looked ever more ponderous and surprised by Tetteh’s resiliance as the two thudded arm punches into each other or missed by distances measured in yards, their feet often leaping from the canvas as the unhappy cocktail of negligible coordination and cartoonish intent betrayed them.

Between rounds the esteemed Buddy McGirt ducked, dipped and dodged as he tried to demonstrate to Whyte the adjustments he needed to make. The former WBC Interim belt holder neither listened nor looked able to implement anything McGirt was suggesting, but the American had his percentage to justify, so continued to roll with the imaginary punches.

Eventually, as the early rounds gave way to the middle rounds Tetteh’s eagerness eased and Whyte began to remember some of the tools of his trade. Working more consistently behind the jab and proving more able to maintain distance.

With Whyte formulating more composed attacks Tetteh’s prospects diminished and as he sat on the stool between the seventh and eighth he elected to remain seated. The sense he was exhausted from a creditable effort undermined by a shadow boxing exhibition he offered after the result was announced.

A glib garnish to a chaotic event.

Putting to one side misgivings about boxing’s willingness to embrace this return, given Whyte’s documented issues, and the wildness of much of what Sunday’s show offered, Whyte will have benefitted greatly from seven rounds of action.

Tougher tests await; and it seems any heavyweight worthy of contender ship should be able to capitalise on the decline evident in Whyte’s output, accuracy and speed – not that the latter was ever a key aspect of his game – and soon put a full stop on what has been a colourful and erratic career.

Given his starting point, he has achieved more than even the most optimistic supporter could’ve expected.