They inducted Turki Alalshikh into the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame the other week. A risible ceremony conducted at the BMO Stadium in Los Angeles during a Riyadh Season card headlined by Terence Crawford versus Israil Madrimov.
Wearing the traditional thobe and ghutra, the chairman of the Saudi Arabian General Entertainment Authority (GEA) was presented with a bronze trophy and lauded for “undeniable accomplishments and relentless pursuit of the growth and betterment of the sport”.
As he stood in the ring, flanked by Oscar De La Hoya, Roberto Duran and Eddie Hearn, the fight game lost another piece of what remains of its soul.
Alalshikh has never been involved in an event in Nevada. Ever. Yet, he was somehow granted an accolade traditionally reserved for boxers, trainers, referees, and promoters who have made a significant contribution to the state. After being inducted into the pantheon alongside fistic luminaries like Wayne McCullough, Roy Jones Jr. and Floyd Mayweather Jr, the Saudi said, “All of the fans of boxing are in my heart”.
Whatever about the fans, the sport’s decision makers are certainly in his thrall and handing him this bauble was the ultimate act of unctuousness. Like granting the freedom of a city to a celebrity before they’ve even set foot there.
Nobody knows how much Alalshikh has spent since he trained his sights on boxing as the next front in the ongoing Saudi sportswashing project. Piecing together Fury v Usyk, the first undisputed heavyweight clash in nearly a quarter of a century, cost him around $150m last May. Chump change for a kingdom determined to become the dominant boxing promotion brand.
Aside from a forthcoming Riyadh Season event at Wembley, headlined by Anthony Joshua v Daniel Dubois, he supposedly has $5bn on hand to sign the world’s best fighters to a proposed professional league. Gaudy money that explains why De La Hoya, Hearn, Bob Arum, and Frank Warren have all been smart enough to forget long-standing differences, and obediently kowtow before the would-be emperor. Human rights be damned.
On social media accounts, the new most powerful man in the sport is described as a poet and producer and has shared a lovely picture of himself hanging out with Saud al-Qahtani, one of the chief suspects in the medieval dismembering of Jamal Kashoggi. A small detail unlikely to trouble boxing folk with petro dollar signs in their eyes.
As chair of the GEA, adviser to the royal court, and owner of Almería of the Spanish Segunda Division, the 43-year-old brings a wealth of experience to bear on efforts to make Saudi Arabia synonymous with combat sports rather than the brutal repression of gays, women and free speech. A facile task when you have truckloads of cash.
Witness the cringeworthy footage of Alalshikh literally leading tiresome wannabe alpha male Dana White around by the hand as he talks up plans for future UFC promotions in the desert. Or count how many times doyennes of boxing refer to their new overlord as “His Excellency” even though there is no evidence he’s actual royalty. Like golfers, snooker stars, and ageing footballers before them, the merest whiff of oil money overpowers these lads and has them curtsying.
“I want to tell you I don’t have the magic,” said Alalshikh of his efforts to take over boxing. “I have something more powerful than magic. Behind me there is two big mountains. You cannot see the end of the mountain. The king and the crown prince support what we are doing. We cannot do this without their support.”
The most troubling aspect of the whole business is that boxing is in such a parlous state it could well be seriously improved by state-sponsored investment and singular control. Unlike golf or football, it is there for the taking.
Gathering 200 top fighters under one authority across 12 divisions would be a potentially glorious throwback to that simpler time before the alphabetisation of governing bodies diminished the value of belts, created too many paper tiger champions, and played a part in the ghettoisation of the sport.
There are good reasons why Jake Paul is the only contemporary fighter (generous use of the term) most Americans could pick out of a line-up.
But not everybody has been willing to prostrate themselves before the new money. Canelo Alvarez, reigning super middleweight champion, rebuffed Alalshikh’s recent attempt to arrange a fight for him against Terence Crawford under the Riyadh Season banner next February.
“I heard what Canelo said, that he respects me but doesn’t like the way we do business,” said Alalshikh. “As for him respecting me, it doesn’t matter to me if he does or not. As for the way I do business, I know why he doesn’t like it, because I only target big fights at fair prices, so of course anyone who likes easy fights won’t like that.”
Big fights at fair prices. An odd description of policy from a country that last year splurged $31.5bn on business, sporting and cultural investments designed to revamp its tarnished international reputation. Alvarez, now 34, could change his tune if they come back with an offer of $100m. Which they may well do.
As Real Madrid’s Vinicius discovered when Al Ahli dangled a billion-plus in front of him this week, the ridiculous sums the Saudis bandy about can turn heads and cause people to question their morals. Not a problem that has ever afflicted too many in boxing.
