Nearly three months have passed since Johann Duhaupas was on the receiving end of a savage 11-round beating from heavyweight champ Deontay Wilder. And yet we wouldn’t be at all surprised if the Frenchman’s ears are still ringing and his nose still bleeding.
If you should happen upon a certain lake in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, in the coming days, don’t trip if you see a 6-foot-7-inch fellow being pulled behind a fast-moving watercraft, arms in place of ski ropes, like a human inner tube—a human inner tube that just turned a Frenchman’s grill into the facial equivalent of a crumpled milk carton.
To say that Johann Duhaupas was a glutton for punishment would be to understate the buffet of abuse the man was force-fed at the hands of Deontay Wilder on Saturday.
Thirty years ago in Reno, Nevada, an era ended. Tonight in Birmingham, Alabama, a new one begins. And the same man will preside over both.
Heavyweight champion Deontay Wilder maintaining a contender’s hunger as he prepares to face Johann Duhaupas
It was one of those Super Glue stare downs, two large men with eyes locked as tightly as a bank vault.
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Deontay Wilder’s lady stood but a few feet away, though he was addressing another object of his affection, playing the knight in shining gold chains.
From an early age, trouble would find him. And then trouble would have to learn how to eat from a straw.