McGirt loved the fighter that he called Max. Loved his
drive, his work ethic, the way he wanted to train alone. He
desired nothing more than to become a world champion.
All that flashed through the trainer’s mind that night. As
Dadashev left MGM National Harbor, McGirt wondered,
“Will this be the last time I ever see him?” It was.
Sometimes I hate boxing. Sometimes I hate myself for
how much I love boxing and how much I write about it,
because I am complicit, I glorify the violence and I don’t
risk a single thing. I justify, rationalize. If I’m being honest,
other times I don’t consider any of that. Sometimes, I
wonder what’s worse. To see the damage and do nothing?
Or to not think about it at all?
After Dadashev died, the Maryland State Athletic
Commission announced that it would undertake a full
investigation. McGirt says someone from that commission—
he can’t remember who—called and asked, “What did you
see that we didn’t that made you stop the fight?” He hung up.
McGirt would start there, with the commissions, making
sure they’re given proper training, that they know the sport
and could recognize when to stop an unnecessarily brutal
fight. “I’ve seen people there who don’t know a left hook
from a fishhook,” he says. He’d also shift the weigh-ins back
to the morning of fights, rather than
the day before, so boxers can’t pack
back on 15 to 20 pounds overnight.
I’d examine all of it—protocols for
medical evaluations, methods used
by emergency personnel on hand,
emergency procedures at designated
hospitals. I’d require fighters to take
more time off after knockouts. I’d urge
TV networks to pay a small percentage
of their revenue to underwrite
rigorous medical evaluations for all
boxers at least twice a year, and at
least once before a fight. I’d mandate
more comprehensive drug testing as
an extra layer of protection for both
potential users and their opponents.
And I’d urge fans to remember that
boxers risk their lives, that the best fights aren’t always
the bloodiest, that there’s glory in winning without having
your face disfigured. No one should suggest that a corner,
referee or boxer stopped a bout too soon.
None of this will change the violence at the sport’s core.
“It’s sad, man,” McGirt says of Dadashev. “The world lost
a great man, a great husband. I’ll think about him every
day for the rest of my life.”
And yet, McGirt will continue to train fighters. Look, this
is boxing.... ±
from which he died a week later. Perez was 24. McGirt
mourned—and fought 68 more bouts.
This is boxing, for better and for worse, an exercise that
tests both will and skill unlike any other sport. With that
comes an uneasy certainty that’s present not just on every
card or in every bout but every round: Boxers risk their
lives. For money, for glory, for our entertainment—it doesn’t
matter. They show up for a fight knowing the danger.
McGirt’s boxer, Russian super lightweight challenger
Maxim Dadashev, did just that on July 19. He entered a
ring in Oxon Hill, Md., with a 13–0 record and a promising
future. Less than a week later he was dead at 28. He wasn’t
the only boxer who lost his life that week. An Argentine
super featherweight named Hugo Santillán, only 23, lost
consciousness after a bout in Buenos Aires, developed a
blood clot on his brain and went into cardiorespiratory
f a i lu r e. Tw ic e.
Thus began another chorus of calls to abolish the sport
and another round of pleas to make it safer. If you love
boxing, chances are you were drawn to the very violence
that can end a life: At least seven fighters have died in the
last four years from the beatings they’ve taken. And while
you know that one death is too many, you try to reconcile
the sport’s beauty with the mortal
danger it presents. Truth is, one
doesn’t exist without the other.
Boxing doesn’t just encourage
bloodlust; it rewards it. Think about
some of the most popular fighters:
Muhammad Ali, Roberto Duran,
Mike Tyson, Arturo Gatti, Micky
Ward, Manny Pacquiao. There’s not a
defensive specialist among them. Fight
of the Year honors routinely go to the
best brawls; defensive specialists are
derided as dull; referees are disparaged
for stopping bouts too early; boxers
who quit are considered soft.
McGirt says Dadashev seemed fine
the week before the bout. But his
opponent, Subriel Matías, pounded
Dadashev’s body with heavy, thudding shots. McGirt
could see Matias gaining strength as the rounds passed.
He knew that Dadashev trailed on the scorecards. After
the 11th round McGirt had seen enough. Over his fighter’s
objections, he stopped it.
Dadashev required assistance to reach a stretcher. He
started throwing up. An ambulance whisked him to a
hospital. Blood pooled in his skull. He fell into a coma, from
a subdural hematoma, and underwent emergency surgery to
reduce the swelling. He died less than four days later.
AUGUS T 12, 2019 | SPORTS ILLUSTRATED 17
COU
RTE
SY^
OF^
TW
ITT
ER^
(SA
NT
ILL
AN
)
FIGHTING FATALITIES
Dadashev (far left) was a promising
super lightweight; Santillán (above)
was awaiting a decision after his bout
in Argentina when he fainted.
