it takes to do certain things. What I also questioned was how Zab would react, because he had never really been hit that hard by a big puncher.” As the fight drew closer, Judah’s confidence continued to grow. Outwardly, at least. “Kostya Tszyu cannot win this fight,” Judah announced two weeks out from the bout. “The only way he can win is if he lands a lucky punch.” Judah was at his quotable best at the pre-fight press conference, but he couldn’t get a rise from the stoic Tszyu. “Tszyu’s style is made for me. He’s strong, stands up straight and comes forward,” he said. “His style is like Swiss cheese – full of holes.” Tszyu didn’t blink.
continued to fill up with fans of both boxers, but support was skewed toward Judah. Punters who wanted to back the favorite were offered odds of -300. Easy money. “There was a lot of excitement, because a lot of people had seen Kostya Tszyu by then,“ recalled Czyz. “Even though he was a foreigner, they’d seen him a couple of times by now, and there were a lot of people betting on who was going to win. “A lot of people were talking about it, especially as one guy was Black and one guy was white. That made a big difference. Everybody had their own opinion about that stuff too.”
American flags to chants of “Sooooper ... Judaaaah.” Tyson did his best to hype Judah up during the long walk out to the ring. Ahead of the introductions, Showtime’s Steve Albert noted, “He’s been knocked down twice by guys who don’t hit as hard as Kostya Tszyu. Bobby, should that be a concern?” “It should be a concern for Judah, especially because he got careless,” Czyz replied. “They were flash knockdowns and he wasn’t really hurt, but this guy can really hurt you.” Tszyu looked relaxed. Judah appeared edgy. Referee Jay Nady, working his 47th world title bout, gave the final instructions before the bell rang to start the contest. Tszyu immediately began stalking Judah, but it was a lightning- quick left hand from the flashy Brooklynite that drew first blood. Drawing confidence from that success while proving to be an elusive target, Judah fired off more quick salvos that found their mark. The disparity in speed was obvious. “Even in the first round, yes, he did get in some good combinations, and I received a few punches,” recalled Tszyu. “But even after that, a few seconds later, I continued pressuring him. And that was something he didn’t like.” The game plan for both boxers was obvious. “Zab Judah wanted to box smartly and keep Kostya Tszyu at a certain distance,” Czyz said. “Tszyu knew he had to close the distance and his speed was not quite as good as Zab’s. Up until that night, nobody really could tell who had a better chin [or] even the most power.” We would soon find out. Judah started the second up on his toes, circling the ring left and right as he moved his head off the line like a pendulum. Tszyu patiently pressured him, looking for openings for his powerful right hand. Late in the round, the opportunity presented itself. A right hand whistled past Judah’s
Judah was quick but reckless and paid a massive price when he left his chin out to dry.
“Even in the first round, yes, he did get in some good combinations, and I received a few punches,” recalled Tszyu. “But even after that, a few seconds later, I continued pressuring him. And that was something he didn’t like.”
In another memorable quote, Judah said, “Comparing Kostya to me is like comparing a Toyota four-wheel drive with a Mercedes.” Still nothing. He added: “He’s made for me like a three-piece suit. I just gotta go to the tailor and get the right fit.” Tszyu refused to bite. The tables were turned at
chin. He pulled straight back. Tszyu glided across the ring, closing the distance quickly, and fired off another right hand. This one found its mark. “The right hand is the key against a left-hander,” said Tszyu, who gained extensive experience boxing southpaws during his lengthy amateur career. “It took time for me to adjust. Slowly, slowly getting closer and closer. And that was a big surprise for him in the second round.” Judah fell backward, his head bouncing off the canvas. The crowd erupted in a broken chorus of astonishment and excitement. Judah sprang to his feet almost immediately, his knees stiff, and tried to tell referee Nady he was fine. He looked like the drunkest man at the party asking for his keys. Then he pitched face-first to the canvas. Nady waved off the contest at the 2:59 mark of the second round. Tszyu, in the neutral corner, raised his arms in triumph. The crowd was stunned.
“I was in a comfort zone, and one of the main reasons why I won was because I prepared for 12 hard rounds, with not one second to relax for him,” said Tszyu. “With his speed, with his good [reflexes], he always needs some time to rest. He’s making good combination, and he’s got few seconds to rest, and I didn’t allow him to do that. He gave me good present. Superb.” “Zab was definitely trying to move and avoid a slugfest, but Tszyu was very patient and disciplined,” said Czyz. “Tszyu closed the distance that Zab tried to maintain and eventually hit him with a great right hand, and suddenly it was over!” The fight itself may have been over, but that’s when all hell broke loose. A distraught Judah approached Nady and pressed his glove up under his chin. He also threw a corner stool into center ring. His father and trainer, Yoel, had to restrain him. Judah was ultimately fined $75,000 of his reported $1 million purse for his actions in the aftermath and was
banned from boxing for six months by the Nevada State Athletic Commission. But even Judah’s meltdown couldn’t detract from what Tszyu had achieved that night. The legacy-defining win crowned Tszyu the first undisputed 140-pound champion in 33 years and, after then-Editor-in-Chief Nigel Collins reinstated The Ring’s championship policy in 2002, made him the first man to wear the Ring belt in his weight class since the great Aaron Pryor. Back in his hotel room after the fight, Tszyu gazed out the window overlooking the glittering lights of the Las Vegas Strip. It was a million miles away from the industrial town of Serov in the Ural Mountains of what was then the Soviet Union, where a young Tszyu first picked up the gloves and dared to dream. A smile crept across his lips. Everything was right with the world. Destiny had been achieved. Kostya had been crowned king. Winner takes all.
the weigh-in the following day. Judah stormed across the stage to get in Tszyu’s face. The attempt to intimidate him fell flat. Tszyu stood his ground without flinching and, with a slight smile, he asked Judah quietly and calmly about his newborn child. “Having children is a great experience, isn’t it?” Tszyu recalled saying to Judah in his autobiography, Kostya: My Story . “Better than even winning a world title.” The casualness of the comment rattled Judah. His body language was in stark contrast to the previous day, when he boldly declared: “As the posters say, ‘Winner takes all.’ I will take it all and there will be no second chance for Tszyu.” As it turned out, Tszyu didn’t need a second chance. There was a buzz in the air the following night as the MGM Grand
The ringwalks set the scene for an explosive event. Russian pop star Larisa Dolina belted out a stirring rendition of Tszyu’s signature song, “Something Worth Fighting For,” from in the ring, replete with didgeridoos in the background. Tszyu emerged from the locker room and moved slowly toward his destiny, his gloved fists resting on his trainer Johnny Lewis’ shoulders. “I’m as hard as rock inside,” Dolina sang in her powerful voice, “and I’m gonna knock you out tonight.” Tszyu paused on the ring apron to soak up the atmosphere. Then he vaulted over the top rope and punched the air. It was a well-rehearsed entrance for the 32-year-old. Judah’s arrival was more chaotic. Surrounded by what seemed to be half of Brooklyn, including his childhood idol, Mike Tyson, he exited the locker room waving a pair of small
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