Given several years of acrimony between the Tyson Fury and Oleksandr Usyk camps – the most recent expression of which was an unfortunate headbutt that left Fury’s father, John, in his preferred state of both bloody and gleefully livid – I am deeply disappointed to find Fury ego for best behavior.

He didn’t ridicule three-belt heavyweight champion Usyk as just a middleweight.

I didn’t call him a “dosser”, British for “tramp”. He didn’t even promise to knock out Usyk earlier, as Fury predicted on the eve of his second fight against Deontay Wilder in 2020.

“What should I do?” – Furia asks. “I’ll do what I always do: go out there and solve the problem.”

Sorry, but good manners and restraint do not befit Fury, the most intriguing heavyweight champion since his namesake Mike Tyson and the most talkative since Muhammad Ali. But he’s not playing to the script here.

“He finished his training and I finished mine,” Fury tells ESPN on Zoom from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where on Saturday (ESPN+ PPV, noon ET) will fight Usyk for a chance to become boxing’s first undisputed heavyweight champion in almost a quarter of a century and the first in the four-belt era. “Tonight we will find out who the actor is and who the killer is. That’s all. Nothing more. No bullshit. Contracts signed, the fight continues. There is nothing left to sell. The fight of the century sells itself.”

“Fight of the century” is a term of art in boxing. Typically refers to a heavyweight bout that will determine the legitimacy of the lineal champion title. There have been three such fights in my lifetime, all between undefeated heavyweights: Ali-Frazier (1971), Tyson-Spinks (1988) and now this one. Fury holds the WBC belt. Usyk won the remaining ones – IBF, WBO and WBA. The winner is set to become the first undisputed heavyweight champion since April 2000, when Lennox Lewis lost his WBA belt, not in the ring, of course, but – this is boxing, after all – in federal court.

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Fury vs. Usyk: The importance of the undisputed heavyweight champion

It’s been 24 years since the undisputed heavyweight champion emerged, and the fight between Tyson Fury and Oleksandr Usyk will change that, with one boxer making history.

Boxing is indeed going where the heavyweights lead. But while every other sport has routinely produced undisputed champions, boxing has spawned a controversy of its own – with a string of forgotten “champions” (John Ruiz, Bermane Stiverne, Samuel Peter, etc.). It’s no coincidence that this fallow period in boxing coincided with the UFC’s rise from proscribed enterprise to hegemony in the world of combat sports. After all, regardless of your preference – boxing or MMA – it is not too much to expect one champion in each category.

Still, Fury-Usyk is that rarest of fights, and one that the UFC has yet to replicate. Since 1997, when Mark Coleman won the inaugural UFC heavyweight title, the belt has changed hands 22 times. Up-to-date champions defend their titles only once on average, and many not at all. Only one heavyweight – Stipe Miocic – was able to defend himself three times in a row.

But boxing’s undisputed heavyweight champions – the “Baddest Man” types – aren’t associated with a single defense for even a specific decade. They are still considered in dynastic terms. For example, the Roaring Twenties are said to have begun in 1919 when Jack Dempsey knocked out Jess Willard. Along the same lines, Ali may not have come of age until the 1960s. While the great heavyweight boxing champions may have reigned in the previous millennium, their names still ring true: Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Jack Johnson and Sonny Liston.

Not everyone belonged to a distinct cultural moment. Some were just great fighters (Larry Holmes and Lennox Lewis come to mind, both terribly underrated).

You could argue that boxing has gotten smaller, and it has certainly changed. The heavyweight division will never again be an American protectorate. But Fury-Usyk offers something that has never been seen before. Not only are they undefeated. They are bigger, more experienced (or older, depending on how you analyze it), and more technically skilled than any previous heavyweight pair.

Usyk, a 37-year-old southerner from Ukraine, has evolved from Olympic gold medalist to undisputed cruiserweight champion to three-lane heavyweight champion. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to describe him as a heavyweight version of Vasily Lomachenko, his friend and former Olympic teammate. Even as Usyk increased his weight, he maintained balletic control over striking distance.

“He’s a good boxer with great footwork,” Fury says. “What more does a warrior need?”

Don’t call Usyk diminutive either. At 6-foot-3, normally weighing just over 220 pounds, he’s the same height as “Large” George Foreman when he fought Ali in Zaire, and bigger than the version of Evander Holyfield who beat Foreman in 1991. If Usyk is diminutive this can only be compared to today’s heavyweights – substantial, forceful guys like Anthony Joshua, whose belts were won without much difficulty.

“Where is he defenseless?”

“I would say in his mind,” Fury says.

This is an intriguing answer because Usyk and Lomachenko, both drafted by Loma’s father Anatoly, are known for their tenacity. Following the “Papachenko” regimen, Usyk’s training still includes 10 km swimming and underwater breath-holding sessions lasting as long as 4 minutes and 40 seconds.

Fury, of course, claims to be unimpressed: “Any man can be mentally broken.”

It’s a topic he’s familiar with, having dealt with his own mental health. Shortly after Fury defeated Wladimir Klitschko to win his first three heavyweight titles and recognition as lineal champion in 2015, he began drinking and using drugs. He increased the speed of his Ferrari to 300 km/h and within a few seconds drove it onto a bridge. He attributes everything that caused Fury to stop his suicide attempt and overcome his depression to God. He also became a better, more resilient fighter.

Fury was 27 when he defeated Klitschko, mostly with knuckles and jabs. Like Usyk, he also had good footwork, but at 6-9 and with an incredibly long reach of 85 inches. Boxing has never seen such a substantial man move so well. But now, at the age of 35, Fury is heavier, more tough and more powerful. He didn’t beat Wilder; he beat him. And if you’re confusing Fury, who will face Usyk, with a guy who fought in a close “exhibition” against former UFC champion Francis Ngannou, you’re making a substantial mistake.

Fury comes from a long line of bare-knuckle fighters. “It took a thousand years to raise my son,” his father once told me.

But just like Mike Tyson, Tyson Fury is also a boxing maniac. “I admire all the masters, all the greats,” he says. – I watched them all.

The peculiar personality traits of lineal champions include an ego so powerful that it requires comparison not only with their peers, but also with all-time champions. Ultimately, it was Ali who was fed up with hearing about Louis and Marciano, who was thinking about declaring himself “the greatest of all time” long before anyone had heard of Floyd Mayweather. And it was Tyson, who was just 18 and about to turn pro, who once cried while watching Liston defeat Cleveland Williams.

“I could never beat him,” Tyson said.

“But you’ll never have to,” my friend pointed out. “He is dead.”

“But I do it all the time,” Tyson said, touching his temple with his index finger. ‘Up here. All the time.”

Forty years from now I ask Fury who he compares himself to, what legend he imagines himself fighting.

“I never compared myself to other men,” he says. “The only person who can beat Tyson Fury is Tyson Fury.”