WHETHER it was a result of insecurity, a victim mentality or genuine faith, Shakur Stevenson’s response to criticism over the nature of his latest victory was to take to social media to dub himself “the most hated man in the sport.”
Of course, this is patently untrue, but it is nonetheless engaging to watch Stevenson react in this way, and to believe that what drives the reaction to his performances is hatred, not reality: complete apathy.
Indeed, for some, being hated as a boxer in 2024 is a goal; an aspirational one. After all, with that comes the attention, interest, and emotional investment from “haters” that, if used correctly, can become something physical and financially rewarding. A hated fighter is, in fact, one of the most watchable and captivating commodities you can hope for in boxing, even if their fight soundtrack is more boos than cheers. People want to watch them fight—that is, lose—and they listen to what they say, if only to give themselves ammunition to apply against them. It’s not ideal, no, but if you’re not loved, being hated is certainly better than the alternative, that’s for sure.
The alternative, by the way, is this: being ignored. That’s a death sentence for a boxer, and the concern now for someone like Shakur Stevenson is that both his style and personality give him a much better chance of being ignored than being hated and talked about. Perhaps calling himself “the most hated man in the sport,” Stevenson understands this too, and is taking proactive measures to ensure he isn’t forgotten or irrelevant, especially as he enters free agency after his Top Rank contract expires. He certainly was busy on social media following his win over Artem Harutyunyan on Saturday (July 6). Picking fights with anyone who dares to challenge or criticize him (including fellow fighter Marcus Browne), the WBC lightweight champion has adopted a me-against-the-world mentality and refuses to accept views that don’t align with his own. Moreover, he reiterated that he will not change for anyone and will not adjust his style, although he has the right to do so in order to please homegrown critics who will want him to expose himself to more risks in the ring.
Shakur Stevenson knocks Artem Harutyunyan out of the box (Sarah Stier/Getty Images)
“The most hated man in the sport, I appreciate you for that, thank you,” Stevenson, 25, wrote on Sunday (July 7). “Substantial respect to Artem, he came in on form and did what he could last night, I respect that.. SO to those who support me, to you, to those who drive me, we are still undefeated and let’s keep it that way! Tell your favorite fighters to get in the ring because I am not, I will be ready and waiting. Thank you all for the good times and the bad.”
Stevenson’s social media feed also featured messages aimed at Floyd Mayweather, his hero. He was captured watching Stevenson’s recent victory backstage in Anaheim – where Mayweather’s protégé Curmel Moton was fighting his fourth professional fight – and the mutual appreciation is straightforward to understand. Mayweather was, after all, just another controversial fighter whose style was too much for many until he reached a level of fame and stardom where it didn’t matter how he won the fights, as long as he won them. Helped greatly by the fact that he won compelling fights against opponents who mattered and who could bring out the best in him, he transformed from “Pretty Boy,” an acquired taste with an excessive amount of skill, into “Money,” a love-it-or-hate character who eventually became the sport’s biggest attraction.
For Stevenson, 22-0 (10), a similar transition is needed, you feel. Being loved or hated must now be the goal, and achieving that goal will require, as he himself says, other fighters – large names, those with star power – to share the ring with him and thus allow Stevenson, a great technician, to make his tough style make sense to the general public; for whom boxing must always be a very basic, primal and easily understood language.
Until then, the idea that Stevenson is either loved or hated is a fantasy. At this point, a few snide tweets notwithstanding, the man from Newark hasn’t generated enough interest for fans to care about his progress, much less hate what he represents. Instead, they’re mostly indifferent, blasé. They’re not inspired, either by Stevenson as a personality or his fights as entertainment, to feel strongly one way or the other.
That’s why, generally speaking, the booing you hear on your way out is never the same as the booing you hear before the first bell. The latter suggests commitment and a certain degree of anticipation, while the former—which, unfortunately, cruelly became the soundtrack to Stevenson’s fights—suggests nothing more than boredom. The meaning of “the most hated man in the sport” is not the guy you boo on your way out, but the guy you boo on your way in. The guy you boo on your way out is the guy you never want to see again.
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