ON a tense night inside Birmingham’s BP Pulse Arena, Ben Whittaker annoyed the crowd, provided a grandiose ringwalk, delivered a second-round stoppage of Liam Cameron and caused a stir when taunting his opponent’s team. That’s quite the spreadsheet of activities.
All of Whittaker’s first eight bouts ended in his favour but lacked stress or intrigue. Much of the entertainment was created through contrived showboating, which attracted social media followers who shared viral video clips of his antics.
That was until Liam Cameron stepped into the ring in Riyadh to offer Ben a few rounds and a touch of resistance. Nothing more was expected from the Sheffield man, boxing in the second phase of a career that had produced middling success at domestic level, sliced down the centre by a lengthy ban for a failed drug test, deemed harsh in comparison to the transgressions of more esteemed contemporaries.
Last October, when they met for the first time, Cameron was unable to claim the actual win, settling instead for a moral victory as Whittaker left the Saudi venue slumped in a wheelchair. The bout was declared a draw after five-and-a-bit rounds.
Whittaker started strongly as usual. Circling Cameron, landing jabs and hooks. It was what we had become accustomed to seeing from the lauded ex-Olympian.
Then, something strange happened. A slight shift in momentum as Cameron closed the gap, landing shots to head and body. Liam’s overall success has probably been exaggerated in the months that have passed. But he was getting the better of the exchanges, making Whittaker seem uncomfortable.
That was when the bout shifted into WWE territory. Cameron leaned on the fatigued fight favourite, who wrapped his arms around the veteran and purportedly yanked him over the side of the ring.
The result of a draw became irrelevant. Great cries across social media suggested that Whittaker had swallowed it. His ultra-confident persona was shattered and he was more Anthony Small or Uzzy Ahmed than Prince Naseem Hamed.
Whittaker then committed the modern-day crime of going quiet. Not posting on Instagram, he had been silenced and demeaned. Little did the boxing public realise that Whittaker had instead gone over to Ireland to recamp and regroup under the tutelage of Andy Lee.
Gently preparing for the inevitable Cameron rematch away from the glare of the media or persecution of thumb-twiddling warriors, Whittaker was working out a strategy to defeat his unforeseen nemesis.
The pair fought for the second time last night, on Easter Sunday. Whittaker was reserved in the build-up. Experienced Cameron had clearly irked him. The farcical business of the rounds (would it be 12, would it be 10?) lingered in the background. While that entire issue had seemingly been caused by promoter Ben Shalom’s oversight or ineptitude, depending on who was explaining the situation, it confirmed the narrative that Whittaker didn’t fancy the longer distance. He’s barely had 10 fights in fairness, and last night’s result doesn’t entirely answer any murmurings around his gas tank.
That’s because he dealt with Cameron in the rematch the way he should’ve done in the first fight.
“We’ll see”, Whittaker repeated, in rote fashion, to the questions thrown his way during the pre-fight press conference. Striding to the ring in a glittering robe, hummed by a chorus of gospel singers, the entrance was Prince Naseem in spirit. Brash, flash, the confident calm before a fistic storm.
The crowd booed. It’s become a customary response to British boxing’s golden prospect turned heel. James DeGale suffered a similar reaction in his early career, but later won people over with sterling displays of courage. Whittaker moved in the right direction with his own dismissal of Cameron.
The punch that hurt Liam in round two was a spiteful counter shot, filled with the rage of a man looking to prove a point. Cameron jolted; his knees buckled. He’d been beaten six times but never stopped. Whittaker pushed him into the corner and piled on the pressure.
Referee Howard Foster jumped in as Cameron’s knees warped for the second time. He briefly sagged but seemed cognisant. It wasn’t quite Froch-Goves all over again, but the words of commentator Nick Halling echoed as the fight was waved off: “And Howard Foster has stopped it. Wow, that is going to be controversial!” It was nowhere near that magnitude, but the man seeking to aspire to Froch levels of stardom had got his revenge win.
Months of pent-up emotion swiftly poured out. Firing back at the swarm of haters who had mocked his every move. The Birmingham crowd, who revelled in Cameron’s UB40 entrance, made their feelings known as Whittaker charged the ring and aimed his rage at Cameron’s trainer, Grant Smith, a surprising personification of the collective critics.
Dave Coldwell described it as a classless move on commentary. Did Whittaker spit at Smith? I don’t think so. His antics were ill-judged but understandable. Carrying them out in such a manner appeased the detractors, even adding to their number as the rage spread across forums and Twitter.
Whittaker’s next moves will be interesting. Where will Boxxer take him? Who will the opponent be, and what pathway will he pursue? The Cameron stoppage win was resounding but not without dissension. As with any 10-fight novice, certain boxes are yet to be ticked.
Interest in the West Midlands enigma is at an all-time high. Whittaker’s actions may not always be natural. His desire for hype, clicks, and views had consumed him, as he admitted after the fight. The humble, hardworking amateur had become a monster.
The new training setup, fused with an ethos of dedication, humility, and an ego returned to its cage, will help Whittaker march forward. Where that journey ends is still unclear. Exorcising the ghost of Liam Cameron is a step back on course, but there are questions left unanswered. Those will keep for another day. For now, let him enjoy his moment.
