Dodgy Tackle: Andy Ruiz Jr victory over Anthony Joshua is worth its weight in cream buns
TWITTER is a rare place to be scrolling when you’re in the refined carb-loading phase of your personal non-existent nutritional plan.
One minute you’re watching fat globules drip off Stephen Nolan’s dwindling chassis faster than icing dust off your first creamy dan of the morning.
The next minute you’re mauling a second creamy dan and toasting highlights of Andy Ruiz Jr’s spare JCB tyres striking game-changing blows for Morbid Obesity plc.
As if steering clear of the fridge-cum-food bank isn’t tough enough on a Sunday/day of the week, such conflicting narratives are never helpful to the hefty unit – for want of a three-letter adjective followed by a seven-letter noun. Trust my authority on this one.
Ripping four non-elasticated world heavyweight title belts – WBA, WBO, IBF, KFC – from Anthony Joshua’s sculpted and fairly sore solar plexus was some going altogether for a bona fide BMI bomb-scare.
Big Andy’s name wasn’t even printed on many of the tickets for the Madison Square Garden bill. The man was supposed to be a stand-in speed ball with galactic jowls and adenoids. Then AJ the Invincible goes and hits the deck four times in seven rounds like a party balloon spooning a hedgehog.
On boxing’s shockometer, this was up there with ‘Buster’ Douglas’s 1990 clipping of Iron Mike, though not quite as seismic as Tommy Fury pretending to be Miley Cyrus on Love Island two nights ago... according to sources.
The fresh wave of confusion lingering from last Sunday’s Stateside slaughter as regards the drawbacks or benefits of flaunting more loose beef than a butcher’s barbecue could only end one way – threatening to hit the gym only to hit the home bakery instead on all three judges’ scorecards.
And how does that decision play out in real time? Another comforting creamy dan circa midnight prior to catching some zeds and dreaming sweet dreams of becoming [Gravy] Ring Magazine pound-for-pound creamy dan champion of the world.
Obviously, that’s no bad thing in itself. Sugar-coated success is success still in this world, no matter the skill-set...
Mind you, a crushing elbow to the right temple and a sharp knee to the long-lost ribcage from the demented corner-woman can easily knock you right back to [Rice Krispie] Square One at this point.
Injuries like these, never mind the trash talk of borderline sleep apnoea, are hard to bounce back from for even the most upholstered contenders. Know what I mean ’Arry?
Adh Mór to Nolan though, with all due respect, as he treadmills, cross-trains and cycles past us all daily en route to a sub-14 stone picture of health, a potential lightweight title crack at Lomachenko and a moobless future on those skeleton-rich beaches of Santa Monica.
If pea-green jealousy is seeping through the gaps here, it’s probably just coincidence and stuff.
The broadcaster’s local charity shop could well reap dividends from his Trojan efforts into the bargain. A Jacamo pre-loved outlet of sorts in and around the Ards peninsula would be a tidy by-product given the beast mode with which this guy seems to be shedding the timber. Anyone fancy a jaunt down that neck of the woods next week? Andy?
All said, if you’re only seeking reassurance that you can still reach boxing’s pinnacle without gargling avocado and purple broccoli gazpacho from a dehydrated bird’s nest of spiralized kale and organic spinach dust, or doing multiple crunches as opposed to multi-pack crunchies inside a bin bag, then big, beautiful Andy ‘The Destroyer’ Ruiz Jr is forever yours... forever ours.
Six days after smashing that most celebrated six-pack in the noble art to smithereens – possibly in between two three-packs of Snickers and the odd chimichanga or six – what should the widest world heavyweight champion Slimming World has never seen take away from his plate-shifting achievement?
Simples. Don’t let success change you, Andy. Eat all the beautiful foods. Clog all the beautiful arteries. Dance round championship rings like no-one’s watching and scream No Más to stomach staplers.
Park protein balls. Pick deep fried cheese balls. Take the re-match with AJ to London this winter. Full English smoothies for breakfast, nachos supreme for elevensies.
Demand those 50 million Benjamins from Eddie Hearn at Christmas. That’s 60 million bars of Snickers on Dodgy’s abacus, depending on your vending machine and the exchange rate after this Brexit melt is sorted.
Just think Andy... enough nougat, caramel and peanuts until the ‘Gypsy King’ catches up with you some time in the new year.
Sure what’s not to love about that if God spares us all, muchacho, eh?