Post-script On a Pre-Dawn Boxing Card — Give Me All the High-Strung Little Guy Title Fights

Three days after watching Kenshiro Teraji unify the flyweight title with a stunning, final round, come-from-behind TKO win over Seigo Yuri Akui, I’m still groggy. My voice has returned but my lower back is locked up and throbbing, and I struggle to stay awake in the daytime. I’m jet lagged and I never even left home.

That’s life within spitting distance of 50, when a single night of poor sleep can derail you for a week.

So maybe I’ll feel like myself overnight this Wednesday, seven days after my alarm buzzed at 2:45 in the morning so I could join Corey Erdman in the studio by 4AM. Fight card in Japan, commentators in Toronto. A 12-hour time difference meant something had to give. For me, it was decent sleep.

But I had caffeine and adrenaline — my first men’s world title fight as a broadcaster. One more appearance on ESPN+ but my first time on TSN+, so you could count that as another homecoming. And if you were awake at 5:15 and tuned into the fight anywhere in the English-speaking world, then you heard me and Corey on the mic. Corey’s Mr. International and most anglophone boxing fans recognize his voice and face, but it was the largest audience I’ve ever addressed.

I’m still feeling it, tired like I’m the one who went 12 rounds. Fatigue is the cost of doing international broadcast business, and I’ll pay it every time, for two reasons that have nothing to do with career milestones.

First, because Japan does pro boxing right.

And second, because high-strung little guys always deliver.

If you follow boxing in North America and Europe, then you know the new TKO boxing league, headed by UFC boss Dana White and backed by the Saudi government’s near-bottomless chequebook, is about to change the sport profoundly, in ways we’ll discuss here eventually. But for now, Japan’s pro boxing scene is already delivering what North American fans say they want.

The best facing the best?

Thursday’s card featured three world title fights, and had four of the top five flyweights on the planet going head to head, and not a single undefeated fighter among them.

Which is fine. If you’re not puffing up your record with wins over jobbers, you’ll pick up a few blemishes. North American fans, especially the casuals who dabble in boxing once or twice a year, tend to think world class performers have spotless résumés. But if you’re elite facing other elites, you’ll lose sometimes.

And so here came Rene Santiago, a 32-year-old light-flyweight from Humacao, Puerto Rico, bringing his 12-4 record to Tokyo and conducting an absolute boxing clinic at the expense of the hometown fighter, Shokichi Iwata.

By mainstream numbers, Santiago is a journeyman. This isn’t the NFL. Twelve wins and four lsses rarely get you into boxing’s equivalent of the Super Bowl.

And by boxing nerd stats, this pairing profiled as a blowout. Iwata entered Thursday as the #2 light-flyweight in the world, according the Boxrec. Santiago was #26. In higher weight classes, #2 dismantles #26. It’s the type of fight #2 takes to stay busy until he can secure a showdown with somebody, usually a fellow member of the top 5, who is worthy of his skills.

But at light-flyweight, no single fighter rules. Parity does. So 2 vs 26 unfolded as a 50-50 fight, with Santiago beating Iwata to the punch, bruising his opponent’s cheekbones, and growing in confidence round by round.

 

Iwata fought like he always does, moving forward and trusting deeply in his chin, his timing, and his punching power. He’ll absorb some punishment in exchange for learning your rhythm, how it matches with his own, and the best way to land the punches that will turn the fight in his favour.

That strategy works against opponents who are also programmed to move forward, forced to give ground in the face of Iwata’s pressure. But Santiago was the only fighter featured on Thursday who didn’t mind moving backwards. He patiently gave ground to make room for right hands and left hooks, or he used a pinpoint jab to poke Iwata to the body and head. By round 10, Santiago had raised welts on Iwata’s face and concern in his opponent’s corner.

Two rounds later he had secured the WBO title by unanimous decision, the victory a testament to his patience and perseverance and commitment to the craft. Thirty-two years old and still improving. Ten years a pro and finally a world champion. One fight in Japan, and he told the sold-out crowd at Kokugikan, which is best known as a sumo arena, that he’d love to come back.

* * *

Anthony Olascuaga had been here before.

In April of 2023 he stepped in as a late replacement and faced Teraji in a light-flyweight title fight, losing by ninth-round TKO. The scorecards called it a whitewash — one judge had Kenshiro winning every round — but the video says Olascuaga, in just his sixth pro fight, nearly upset the division’s kingpin.

That night Olascuaga looked tough, determined, versatile, poised, and, above all, ascendant. If he can rattle the world champ in his sixth bout, just imagine how he’ll perform when he hits double digits.

And so his WBO world flyweight title defense against Hiroto Kyoguchi in the co-main event, shaped up as an archetypal boxing matchup between a young star on the rise and an older one on the decline. Neither one is at his peak, but one is headed there while the other is trying to hold on. It’s a right of passage for emerging elite fighters, and a puzzle we expected Olascuaga to solve.

After 12 rounds, the scorecards said it was a definitive win for Olascuaga, a Los Angeles native who is finally making enough money as a pro boxer to quit his side job as an Uber driver. But the video says Olascuaga, even in winning, received an education.

 

Olascuaga, in fairness, likely assessed his strengths and Kyoguchi’s tendencies and spotted an opportunity. If he watched Kyoguchi’s previous bout, a 10-round majority decision win over Vince Paras, he saw a fighter determined to come forward and contest this fight at the closest quarters possible.

The strategy worked against Paras — barely — but figured to lead to a short night against Olascuaga, who won the belt with a single, thunderous, hybrid left hook-uppercut to Riku Kano’s jaw last July. If Kyoguchi wanted to go forehead-to-forehead with Olascuaga, he’d lean right into that show-stopping right hand, and land on “La Princesa’s” highlight reel.

Kyoguchi, we now know, had figured it out, too. So instead of pressing forward, he fought at a variety of ranges, and several tempos. He didn’t run from Olascuaga; he just didn’t make himself an easy target.

As the fight progressed we saw Olascuaga drop his hands, or stick his chin out, or retreat to the corner and beckoning Kyoguchi to come and trade punches. Any self-deputized expert in boxer body language recongnizes those moves as the gestures of a frustrated power puncher. Olasucaga got a boxing match when he expected a brawl. He thought he’d hit a home run, but Kyoguchi never left that curve ball hanging over the plate.

So he adjusted, but not as smoothly as we expected or he would have preferred, connected with plenty of punches even if he didn’t connect on the knockout blow, and left the bout with both a victory and plenty to learn. A sobering win over a resourceful veteran. Still a rite of passage. Just not the one we thought we’d see.

***

But the main event?

It served up everything we expected.

Two world champions bursting at their 112-pound seams, each one eager to move up to super flyweight after unifying the title. Kenshiro at his aggressive, resourceful, vulnerable best. Akui, the WBA champ, stalking with a calm confidence, convinced his heavy right hand would deliver him the WBC title.

On offense, Kenshiro was the fighter we thought we’d see. He landed his left jab to Akui’s body and head, despite a reach disadvantage. His right hand connected often enough, hard enough to slow Akui’s advances, even if it didn’t stop them.

On defense, Kenshiro took a lot of right hands.

A lot of them.

Happens in every fight, which is what makes them so compelling. His porous defense means the other guy always has a chance, which adds tension, even when Kenshiro’s dominating.

So we wondered how his habit of leaving his head exposed would mesh with Akui’s tendency to throw hard right hands.

It worked out poorly for Kenshiro, who lost some rounds as Akui connected with every kind of right hand — straight, cross, roundhouse and overhand.

But it went beautifully for fans, who saw the kind of high-octane action that justified waking up before dawn on a work day. Normal people need coffee to feel alert that early in the morning. Boxing fans had Kenshiro Teraji and Seigo Yuri Akui.

In round 8, Teraji decided that the already blistering pace wasn’t fast enough, so he spent the next three minutes attacking. It’s the kind of tactical gambit you might see 20 miles into marathon. A member of the lead pack ratchets up the tempo; everyone else can either respond, hope he gasses out or race for second place.

Akui responded, knowing the move would cost one of them later.

Here came round 12, and more furious exchanges from two fighters who refused to back up or slow down. You didn’t know if either man would crack until one of them did.

Halfway through the round Kenshiro landed that heat-seeking right hand that shattered Akui’s face and unified the flyweight title. The referee stopped the fight before Akui even hit the canvas. He was still standing as blood gushed from a split in his upper lip and splattered on the referee’s shirt.

Akui was leading by one point on two scorecards when the fight ended. Another 90 seconds and he might have exited with two championship belts. Instead he left the ring in tears.

As he trudged back to the dressing room, Kenshiro addressed the crowd, thanked his team, and briefly discussed his future at 115 pounds.

We can explore it in a little more detail.

Bam Rodriguez is the biggest target, obviously. But Juan Francisco Estrada and Chocolatito Gonzalez are still around, too.

And you know who else Kenshiro might find at super flyweight?

Akui, who told reporters before Thursday’s bout that he had added too much muscle to remain at 112 pounds.

If you don’t like those matchups, you don’t like boxing. And when any of them happens, I hope I’m on the mic again. I’ll wake up early or stay up late, and add a second espresso shot to my coffee, then sleepwalk though the next three days.

Happily.

Because our friends in Japan know how to put together a fight card, and the high-strung little guys never disappoint.

 

 

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