David Beckham of boxing: Flair outside the ring, no frills inside
“Isn’t he (Vijender Singh) like the David Beckham of boxing?”
For someone so visibly lacking in flair and creativity when he fought in the ring while never veering away from the tried and doubly tested techniques of not losing, a comparison with Beckham could only mean one thing — or two: that Vijender was a looker, who was in love with his hair.
It was right after his first round bout at the Glasgow Commonwealth Games in 2014, and the dazzled commentator was mesmerised by how the Indian was a fan-magnet at the Scottish Exhibition Centre, as followers kept rushing ringside, waiting for selfies with the boxer who’d run fingers through his hair before posing with each one. The voice behind the microphone would gush on about how India’s striking mascot always had the star quality since the Melbourne Games in 2006 — throwing in recollections from Beijing ’08, Delhi ’10, London ’12 for good measure.
“Win or lose, he has style,” the talker would talk on.
In the opener, Vijender had been uncharacteristically cavalier against an opponent from Kiribati, leaving loose his guard briefly and dishing out a flurry. Signalling to the heaving mob of fans waiting behind restraining ropes to wait, Vijender would talk about ‘sustaining minimum damage and landing maximum punches.’ India’s safest, distinctly defensive pugilist was beginning to see the need to change, though he’d settle for a silver eventually, pummelled by Antony Fowler in the first two rounds of the final where his opponent’s brute force brought him down on his knees leading to a standing count in his last amateur outing. Even the British commentator would shrug.
Within a year, Vijender Singh, India’s only male Olympic medallist, would announce that he was headed to Manchester, a country that couldn’t get enough of the Beckham of boxing, never mind giving up on the pursuit of a fairytale happy ending Olympic gold medal, et al, in amateur boxing. A dozen years ago at Bangalore in 2003, Vijender would first captivate followers: when he’d beat Kutappa, a later-day sparring coach, those watching apparently instinctively emptied their pockets showering him with money. He would of course make history at Beijing in 2008 picking India’s maiden bronze medal and become a rage, hitting fashion rampways with a gusto, breaking into a devilish crooked smile while he was poised for punching.
For all the glamour he courted, his bearing in the ring was unglamorous. Little flair or indulgences of creativity, Vijender wasn’t exactly the naturally gifted boxer, just very intelligent and with low economy of movements — no frills, just enough to get him the wins. From very early on, he would study and master the scoring system, and stick monkishly to the laser-straight punches that would fetch him the points.
As soon as six months after his Beijing medal, murmurs of his going professional would start — which had nothing to do with his style, which remained ill suited for pro rings. But when he started being spotted at fashion shows more than when fighting, he would go into a huddle with his team and bring back a World Championship medal from Milan in 2009, later chuckling that he hadn’t minded peeking into the fashion stores there coveting Armanis.
At the 2010 CWG fighting at home, he would lose a semifinal, act churlish, his excuses boorish. Withing a month though, he would again rise from the ashes of that defeat and claim Asiad gold at Guangzhou, securing a tiny revenge against arch rival Abbos Atoev in the process. His popularity still undiminished, he’d exit London Games without a medal, before watching Indian boxing plunge to the abyss with federation;s infighting. Embattled after a drug-case stuck against his name — he would return for a final fling at Glasgow where he’d march upto the silver, though with changing rules, the middleweight was aware that he was fast approaching the cut-off of 32 years when amateur careers ended.
