Someone tells me when heavyweight boxing was converted into Saturday pubs with judges. Brandon Moore against Skylar Lacy was not a match – he was a pure embarrassment, an act of comedy so ridiculous, and even the referee probably wanted to come out.
Let’s start with Moore (17-1), the man who won technically. I say “Won”, but let’s be real-it got Ragdolled, a bear-tired, and got out of the ring as someone hit by a nightclub. The guy looked like he was waiting for a real struggle to break out, but no, all he got was an excessive encounter with a man who clearly had no idea of ​​competing sports.
And then we have Lacy (8-1-2). Oh, lany. A man so determined to make this struggle indifferent that he put three separate violations he holds – which, sincerely, is impressive. Three. You have to try to be so bad in boxing. Maybe he thought the REF just gave friendly warnings. Maybe he thought it was a better than five. Either way, he just kept struggling like a lost MMA fighter.
And as soon as you thought he couldn’t get worse, he was going full WWE, takes Moore and starts him through the ropes on the announcement table. I mean, companion, if you wanted to fight out of the ring, just go to have a perforation in the car park like normal people.
Ref, blesses his patience, begins to count. It is done at 15 before realizing that Moore does not get up because Lacy is still on him like a collapsing wardrobe. So, with zero better choices, he does what any reasonable person would do – dissolves Lacy to be an absolute Muppet.
Moore wins if you want to name that. Boxing loses. The dignity of the sport packs its bags and left the building the second lacy turned into a human tibia.
So what do we calculate? Next time, we just deliver them folding chairs and call what it is?
