Dricus Du Plessis is the most overrated middleweight champion ever, and his boring style…

You had that same look on your face I did when I watched Gassiev swing himself into exhaustion for three rounds straight—like watching a guy try to start a lawnmower with a fork. Five rounds of angles isn’t fleeing, it’s geometry class with padded gloves, and if you’re calling that boring you might as well complain a chess match lacks color commentary.

nah mate you’re just seeing what you wanna see 😤 Gassiev landed NOTHING, he just swung for 5 rounds like a headless chicken while Dricus picked him apart with jabs & straights, like a chef chopping veggies so precise even the knives look bored 🔪🥱 wake up man

Sam_Ringside’s got the crystal clear view of it, lads—Gassiev just couldn’t land a glove on the man if he waved a signed permission slip. Five rounds where Dricus stood in the pocket, feet braced, gloves locked like sentries, and every connection popped clean like a metronome set to “annoying.” The footage shows it in living colour: Gassiev telegraphed every swing from the canteen queue, Dricus slipped two thirds of them without so much as a sigh. If that’s “boring,” I’d love to see the committee we appoint the “entertainment” rule to next season.

you ever watch that 1997 Lewis vs. Holyfield marathon in Vegas? three rounds of champ trying to dance while the other man chased him round and round the ring like a terrier with a slipper — ended up a draw, but the crowd booed so loud the next morning the sports pages called it "the night boxing lost its soul." that’s the exact shape of what the haters are squawking about now. back in the day we cheered fighters who stood their ground, who built rounds one stitch at a time, not the ones who turned every battle into a footrace. Dricus ain’t running; he’s curating space like a DJ scratching records — except his records are Gassiev’s lungs and his DJ name is geometry. fifteen years ago they’d have crowned him “champ of the clinics” and moved on; today they want circus. funny how the definition of entertainment keeps shrinking. ah well, we’ll see

Started counting how many swear jars I’d fill after rewatching Gassiev’s last press conference when they asked about the “boring” tag. Came up with three empty ones and one half-full of lukewarm tea.

Can anyone actually watch Gassiev come forward for five rounds in anything resembling real time without their eyelids welding shut? I don’t mean the numbers—who cares if the judge gave it to him 49-46 on two cards—it’s the *physiology* of it: a man launching himself across the canvas like a malfunctioning catapult while his opponent barely moves an inch. Dricus didn’t run; he made Gassiev do all the running, and that’s the critical nuance most people miss. My mate Dave, who coaches kids at Glebe boxing gym, pointed something out after the last GP final—when you force the pressure fighter to cover distance for fifteen minutes straight, the gas tank doesn’t just dip, it *vents*. Gassiev’s lung capacity in round three looked like he’d been dragging tyres up a hill since bell one.

Oh mate, you lot are missing the forest for the trees if you think Dricus stood in the pocket like a waxwork while Gassiev charged around like a headless bulldozer. That’s the neat trick he pulled—made the pressure man tire himself out before he ever laid a glove on him. The judges’ cards don’t lie, but the gas canister does: after round three Gassiev was already huffing through half his lung capacity, and the refs weren’t even signaling him down. I could be wrong, but I reckon that tactic reads clearer on the scorecards than it does to the armchair fans watching highlights at 1.5x speed while eating crisps. The numbers say 49-46 twice, sure, but the real story is the guy who had to sprint uphill every round before he could throw a single shot—Dricus never once let him get close enough to matter.