In these dark times, you have to take joy wherever you can find it: in footage of a deaf child being able to experience sound for the first time, in the epic lip-sync battle between Brooke Lynn Hytes and Yvie Oddly in this season’s RuPaul’s Drag Race, or any time a tiny dog (preferably a corgi, but a chihuahua at a push) tries to chase and catch a massive ball that would never fit in its itsy-bitsy jaws.
This weekend, I found a new image that I will return to over and over again in times of crisis, whenever that picture of Nigel Farage covered in salted caramel milkshake just doesn’t hit the spot. It is my Mona Lisa. I want it everywhere – on my wallpaper, on my screensaver, on the inside of my eyelids so it’s the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. It’s this, a photo of Anthony Joshua, that impossible Herculean demigod, being laid on his arse by Andy Ruiz Jr, a man whose physique can only be described as “Peter Kay in those John Smith’s ads from the noughties”.
So much about it is perfect – from the fallen pose of Joshua and the glove raised in awe of Ruiz’s glorious protruding belly, to the gawping faces in the crowd and the unmistakable look of shock in Ruiz’s eyes, as if his internal monologue is screaming, “I have defeated Zeus’s own son; what Olympian vengeance have I provoked?” At its heart, however, the joy comes from the simplicity of the story: against all the odds, a very muscular man has been defeated in a contest of physical strength by a rather tubby man. And that is glorious.
I must confess, I don’t even like or really understand boxing. I do love the incredible puffy golden shorts – think MC Hammer goes to clown college. I wish it was more socially acceptable to wear them in different situations, like at a barbecue or a business meeting – basically anywhere where you aren’t trying to give another person concussion. I also must stress that I have nothing against Joshua. He seems like a perfectly nice guy, and I have respect for anyone who can box and launch a fruit-based energy drink, all while maintaining the body of a person who only exists in dangerously sexy commercials for Greek yoghurt.
I suppose as a nation we should mourn the fact a British person has gone over to the US in search of glory and has instead completely humiliated themselves in front of an audience of millions, but we lived through Piers Morgan, so we can live through this. I also know next to nothing about the new champion – every fresh fact I learn about him sounds like it comes from an Adam Sandler parody of a Rocky movie. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the ring, and was only drafted in six weeks ago after the original fighter, Jarrell Miller, failed a drug test.
According to the tabloids he eats nothing but chocolate bars and steaks (or the “room service in Home Alone 2” diet), and the Sun reports that he is desperate to become the new face of Snickers (a genuine blow to Elton John and Rowan Atkinson). The media are portraying Ruiz as a regular guy who rolled in off the street and knocked Joshua out because he said something disparaging about the New York Knicks – and honestly, I love it.
In reality I’m sure Ruiz is an athletic, driven beast of a man who could kill me with his bare hands, but the narrative is a powerful thing.
Because the truth is, this story transcends boxing. Like Leicester City winning the Premier League, like the Fiji rugby sevens team getting the country’s first gold medal at the Olympics, like Serena Williams’ dominance in tennis, this transcends all sport and becomes something bigger. That single glorious image, Ruiz staring down at the beaten Joshua, is a reminder that bigger and slicker doesn’t always win.
In a world where the chasm between the haves and have-nots feels insurmountable, sometimes you need to see a topless steak-guzzler with a bit of a gut beat down an elite multimillionaire with a six-pack and a team of nutritionists. Ruiz may go on to more success, or this and a Snickers commercial might be the pinnacle of his career. Regardless, that image will live on, acting as a beautiful, podgy beacon in times of darkness, a reminder that nothing is impossible.
• Jack Bernhardt is a comedy writer and occasional performer