NOT only was John Ryder’s busted nose causing blood to dribble down his throat and into his stomach, it graffitied his chest like paint from a spray can. He was struggling to breathe freely, which is far from ideal at high altitude. Even less so when faced with Canelo Alvarez, the unofficial king of boxing, in a small ring cordoned off by thick ropes in a 12-round firefight.
The judges sat at the claret-splattered ring apron didn’t seem to notice Ryder, with one having the gall to score every round to the Mexican. Three lopsided scorecards decided the right winner but mere numbers on a page should not be allowed to tell the whole story.
Many years from now,
