Diary of a Boxing Writer in Conflict: Jake Paul vs. Nate Diaz

Is crossover boxing a sport? What is an influencer’s role in a dying business? A longtime boxing fan ponders the unthinkable during Saturday’s pay-per-view event.

Consider this the live diary of a combat sports writer/fan in conflict. Jake Paul against Nate Diaz. Covering from my couch. Trying to make sense of what doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Growing more fascinated by these celebrity or varied combat sports speciality variance mash-ups that are taking place more and more in boxing rings all over the world.

What’s a boxing guy to do? There are two options. Shut up and go to the movies. Or, well, watch.

5:30 p.m. PST:

It promised to be, well, something. That’s the only way to describe what would take place on Saturday and in the lead-up to Saturday, which turned ugly and included an anti-gay slur from Diaz. This wasn’t a blockbuster. This wasn’t a night that demanded respect. This wasn’t even boxing, necessarily. But in terms of revenue collected, attention garnered and novelty gazed at—three Paul specialties—the “bout” couldn’t be labeled as nothing, or can-miss, or a plague on a sport with plenty of longstanding issues long before Paul ever laced up his first glove. It fell somewhere in the modern boxing calculus, part spectacle, part sideshow, part train wreck—and surreal, of course, throughout.

The basics projected as much. The event took place in Dallas, at the American Airlines Center, home of the NBA’s Mavericks. Diaz, for anyone without access to the internet, was making his debut as a “professional boxer,” after an antagonistic and often thrilling career in the UFC. Could he last 10 rounds against a much younger opponent, much less defeat him? Anybody who claimed to know was lying. Not even Diaz did.

Meanwhile, Paul looked to avenge his first “loss” as a “pro boxer,” while ESPN and DAZN tripped over themselves to promote the event as far more than it ever could be. DAZN even published a short piece that included the following sentence. “Paul will be looking to make a statement following his loss to Tommy Fury earlier this year with the aim of proving that he can still operate at the highest level in crossover boxing.”

Paul has emerged as a master of promotion in a sport in desperate need of a boost.  :: Kevin Jairaj/USA TODAY Sports

Look … wow. Just, wow. What does that even mean? Crossover boxing is now its own sport? I’d buy an argument that it rates, at least, as one part of a rapidly shifting landscape. But defined? Like that? Highest level of? Yikes. Not even Paul’s parents would say that.

The sell, at least, centered on Diaz’s boxing acumen—his was believed to be higher than any other MMA fighter Paul had toppled in a “professional boxing” match. But Paul was also a significant betting favorite, at -440, while Diaz seemed like a solid bet at +340. The best wager of all, though, in a fight that was nearly impossible to predict, was the over-under, which most books set at 7.5 rounds. (Whoops.)

So there they were, set to brawl, promising pain, this YouTube sensation turned boxing oddity vs. this MMA lightning rod with alleged lightning in both fists. Both like to mix it up, which signaled heavy action. Both have always proven entertaining, which meant that viewers weren’t likely to nod off. I hesitated typing this, but it’s true. I didn’t hate the assignment of this column. I didn’t like some of the framework, but I probably would have watched it anyway. I found the matchup … (sort of … this will live forever, won’t it … yikes … OK … here we go … true confession incoming …) I found the whole thing fascinating.

5:53:

How did we end up here? That is a long story, a War and Peace level of words and ideas and key moments and what the main characters did with them. Paul is as good a place to start as any. By now, most understand the basics of his story. He entered boxing, against all odds but not entirely without precedent in a sport with almost no barriers to entry. He carried his extensive YouTube following and the soul of a disruptor into a sport that, let’s be honest, desperately needed both. Still does, in fact.

The framework was always what I took issue with. It’s not that Paul is the worst boxer to ever be termed a professional. It’s not that his “bouts” were duds. But professional? For real? Come on! Before Saturday, Paul held a 6–1 record that could have qualified as the most misleading mark in the history of combat sports. Yes, he won six times. But he didn’t beat a single, real, actual professional boxer in any of his victories. Not one. And, again, not on Saturday.

The fact that I looked this up on BoxRec is offensive, deeply, at an inner-core level. Paul beat a fellow social media sensation (Ali Eson Gib); a retired NBA guard who he seemed to double in size (Nate Robinson); an older, out of shape and merely solid in-his-prime MMA fighter (Ben Askren); an older, more game former UFC champion (Tyron Woodley, twice); and an MMA legend (Anderson Silva) who had already aged out of combat sports and who, it should be noted, did way better than the judges scored his performance.

The first time Paul faced an actual pro boxer in Fury, he lost. Albeit, to be fair, by split decision.

Again … why does Paul have a BoxRec? Why is he considered a “professional” boxer?

More on that answer in a second.

6:02:

Quick break for a recap of Bout 1 on the Paul-Diaz card. This welterweight bout, between two boxers I had never heard of, Alan Sanchez and Angel Beltran Villa, didn’t exactly ooze excitement. Sanchez, clad in black trunks, did not appear to enter the ring in peak physical condition. His midsection looked soft, which isn’t rare at the higher weights in boxing but is, for sure, in a division where the weight limit is 147 pounds. I saw him as more sports writer than sweet scientist. But I also knew what everybody knew. That this fight was never the point.

The announcers lay that out as Round 1 begins, noting the “sold-out crowd” and “worldwide audience.” Both of those sentiments are true.

Appearances don’t matter, either way. Sanchez bruises Beltran in Round 3, makes Beltran’s face swell in Round 4 and opens a cut over Beltran’s left eye along the way. He doesn’t get a knockout, but he goes for one, and, as far as first televised bouts on pay-per-view cards go, it could have been worse. Much worse. Sanchez wins by unanimous decision. But, in a very boxing moment, one judge had the bout 77-75.

That gave the night a more typical feel, at least.

6:10:

Why is Paul shaping his own narrative? The short answer: because he can.

The longer version involves a host of factors. One is that Paul, whether you loathe him or love him or don’t know he exists, makes for compelling television. Of course, so do real housewives and humans who weigh 600 pounds. Paul can sell a narrative with the best of them, and that matters in boxing, more than it should, even.

For instance, consider last month’s true blockbuster, which morphed into Terence Crawford’s demolition of Errol Spence Jr. That was the single-best performance I’d ever witnessed in person. But just as Crawford’s greatest strength is Paul’s greatest weakness—actual boxing skills, plus experience, in both cases—the converse is also true. Paul’s greatest strength—believable promotion, whether verifiably true or not—is also Crawford’s greatest weakness.

For all the vitriol aimed at any number of targets by Crawford in the aftermath—from promotional companies to rivals to writers—the biggest reason that Crawford isn’t as famous or compensated or appreciated as much as he should be is, well, Crawford. He’s dynamic, kind and fascinating—once you get to know him. I enjoyed the limited time we spent together in Omaha, Neb., for a long story and documentary we produced back in 2019. But not many people seem to share that same experience with him. And it’s that contrast of strengths, exactly that duality in inverse proportions, that opened the door for Paul and the type of bouts that he, more than anyone else, has spawned.

Paul did that before Saturday quite well, selling this “bout” better than anyone sold Crawford-Spence. Paul confessed that he considered retirement after the Fury loss, in part because he understood that a second-straight defeat could end this whole experiment, sanding away what remained of the believability. But Diaz is a big name, which brought him back. And the two of them clearly hate each other (or want to project true disdain), leading Paul to tell reporters that Diaz filled him with “vengeance, ambition, hunger and drive more than ever before.” Paul amped up the cliches—two chips on each shoulder! He made bold proclamations—do or die!

We’ll see.

Either way, the sell was enough to make many on-the-fence types, self-included, at least consider watching. And here we are.

And, either way, whether the sell was genuine didn’t matter. Just like it doesn’t matter in professional wrestling. Sports, after all, are storytelling. Wrestlers are athletes, if not the kind who play for teams in non-fiction endeavors. In either case, the athlete most in control generally can manipulate the narrative. Paul is the most in control. He manipulates the narratives. He also earned both the control and the ability to shift the story. Some ringside seats for the Diaz bout were selling for around $5,000. Officials estimated the night could generate more than $30 million dollars. Some predicted 500,000 PPV buys. Now, this is boxing, so believe any of that at your own risk. Regardless, the real numbers, whether precisely those or lower, are significant.

How else did influencer boxing come to not only exist but grow?

6:32:

Bout 2 features my new favorite boxing nickname. It belongs to Shadasia Green, a super middleweight who defeats Olivia Curry, also by decision. I laugh out loud, meaning actually cackle, when someone on the broadcast blurts out the moniker. The Sweet Terminator. What a perfect nickname. Just delightful. Planning to “borrow” that one down the road.

6:34:

Am I feeling … anticipation? Good lord. It’s true. Might as well be honest. Now that I’ve started writing about this thing, I’m fairly curious to see what happens.

I don’t know whether to give up on the get-off-my-lawn bit or throw up in my mouth.

We’ll see.

Johnny Manziel was among several sports celebrities, including Lance Armstrong, in attendance.  :: Kevin Jairaj/USA TODAY Sports

6:50:

Holy moly! I hadn’t paid a ton of attention to the lead-up of the fight. But a friend just sent me a clip of the brawl from the final press conference, when Diaz used an anti-gay slur (and not for the first time, which, in that instance, yielded a 90-day UFC suspension and a $20,000 fine). Paul, at the same presser, allegedly threatens to assault him. As if that wasn’t enough, members of both teams engaged in a large but lackluster brawl onstage. We’re talking security guards, management, friends.

Diaz, for his part, received something of a standing ovation. He then told the crowd that, no matter what they should never forget, “This mother------ can’t really fight.”

Paul fired two middle fingers back in response.

This experiment was getting more like boxing every minute.

7:06:

And … a knockout. It comes from Ashton Sylve, against William Silva. Sylve was dominant throughout, although the notion floated on the broadcast—that his performance was worthy of prospect of the year contender vibes—is, shall we say, curious.

We’ll see.

7:09:

Time to check on Diaz’s career highlights. Man, at his best, he was electric. He fought everybody, as evidenced by that 22–13 MMA record. He beat a lot of elite martial artists, too, including Conor McGregor before his career downturn, Donald Cerrone, Jim Miller and Tony Ferguson. Diaz handed McGregor his first-ever loss. He started the downturn.

At his best, Diaz exhibited …

7:14:

Wait! Wait! Apparently, the broadcast is showing a highlight from about 20 minutes earlier. The precise time doesn’t matter. Paul arrives at and cruises through the arena atop a tank. As in, an actual, full-sized, could-probably-be-put-to-better-use tank.

In contrast, Diaz simply stalks down the hallway.

In fights, I’d typically take the stalker over the spectacle beckoner. But tonight feels more like an imminent Paul triumph. More on that in a second.

7:19:

(Back to Diaz) …  Exhibited gumption, guts, a willingness to walk down dangerous opponents, a solid chin (most of the time) and some striking skill. That said, while both weighed in at roughly the same weight, in boxing, styles make fights is the truest cliché. And the styles, in this “professional” boxing match, appear to favor Paul, who …

• Overhauled his team after the Fury loss, bringing world champion Shane Mosley into the fold.
• Hired Larry Wade, also a veteran of the boxing world, to steer his strength and conditioning.
• Has improved as a “boxer” in those seven bouts. Even his most declarative hater has to admit that. To me, and I’m not a seasoned matchmaker or anything, Paul is a pro-caliber fighter who’s too slow and too green for his age to approach anything near contender-like status. His accelerated career arc—accelerated, of course, by the very attention he desires and collects and capitalizes on—may not allow for the kind of gradual acceleration and uptick in opposition that happens with more typical prospects. I always tell people that when a professional boxer is 20–0, it’s about time to start paying attention to them. Everything before that—or most things, anyway—are more sell than substance.
• More than anything, though, age favors the YouTuber. Paul is 26. Diaz is 38. Anyway who is 38 or older might want to consider how different their bodies felt at 38 compared to 12 years earlier. Anyone who answers “same” is also lying.
• Combine that with no boxing experience—which is important, because, as we saw when McGregor fought Floyd Mayweather Jr., even an MMA beast can tire inside a boxing ring—and it’s hard to see Diaz winning. Plenty of Paul haters sure hope that he will.

7:21:

Shawn Porter, on the broadcast, speaking truth. “There’s no fighter out there who can promote like that.” He means the tank. But he could have meant Paul’s experiment overall.

7:29:

Just realizing that this card is … long. In general, that’s a bad idea. Who has that kind of attention span, for one? Worse yet, in modern boxing, the vast majority of pay-per-view dollars allotted to all fighters on any one card goes to the two stars (in most cases) in the main event. So while fighting on a Canelo Álvarez card is an honor, as many describe it, it’s not like PPV’s are stuffed with meaningful title bouts the way they used to be. Hence cards like this and how they came to be.

I’d imagine Paul would argue they chose to televise six fights, because one of his stated goals is to push other boxers deeper into the sport’s consciousness. I’d argue there’s a line of demarcation there, and it’s different for everybody, but it’s where they stop paying attention and grab their phones.

7:35:

A boxing “match” featuring two MMA specialists who aren’t really all that famous. Fatigue begins to set in. Wonder what’s on Twitter, er, X. Odd, related question: Why didn’t they just fight in a cage? That’s like watching Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers play golf or attempt to. Oh, wait …

7:58:

This “boxing” match ends. Apparently, Diaz confidant Chris Avila topped Jeremy Stephens in a lopsided unanimous decision victory. Afterward, they showed one highlight. One.

8:07:

The broadcast, referring to Paul, who is shown warming up inside his locker room. “We have to call him a boxer.” Um …

We’ll see.

8:08:

Sanity, incoming! This is my favorite part of the Jake Paul boxing experiment: the spotlight he continues to shine on elite female champion Amanda Serrano. Consider her a female Manny Pacquiao, with titles in seven separate weight classes. Or consider him a male Serrano. There’s no difference. Serrano is fun as hell to watch. She’s accurate, can move well and can wallop. Just ask Katie Taylor, the only woman to (narrowly) defeat Serrano, who thumped Taylor even in a split-decision loss.

As far as boxers on this card go, Serrano stands alone. “Guaranteed win,” she says, right before heading out. There’s that Paul influence, deployed in another way.

8:26:

This card is going fast. Gotta love the minimal delays between bouts, which must owe to the number of them, but still.

8:52:

Never in doubt. They don’t need sound for this fight. They just need to continuously show the face of Heather Hardy, Serrano’s overmatched opponent. Total clinic. Totally expected. Serrano does everything that could be done in a complete-fight-type performance except complete a stoppage. She nearly does that multiple times, too. Broadcast: credit to Heather, man. She ate some punches. What a profession!

“Women can fight,” Serrano says, beautifully but unnecessarily, in the ring afterward. She proved that a long time ago, as did many others. But Paul, indeed, continues to give her career an extra boost.

About time for Taylor-Serrano again, no?

9:06:

There’s UFC superstar Francis Ngannou on the screen. He’ll clash with one boxing heavyweight champion in Tyson Fury. The baddest boxing heavyweight around. Now, this is “influencer” combat that I think anyone who loves combat sports or even likes them would clamor to see. Paul deserves some credit for that, for broadening what’s possible, in the best (in this instance) sense and, well, in other ones.

9:19:

Paul struts into the ring first. Pretty standard stuff, but here’s what stands out: the packed arena and how juiced the fans are for the whatever-it-was combat ahead.

9:20:

“You’re looking at an MMA legend. Win or lose, he’s must-see TV.” There’s Diaz stalking in. He sure looks confident.

We’ll see.

9:27:

Round 1. Already, Paul has Diaz on the ropes. He’s tagging him, over and over, as Diaz looks like a Keystone Cop, trying to wiggle away and catch his breath. His face is as red as an apple. Looks ripe to pop, too, with blood.

Paul—and this is, seriously, boxing—backs up with about a minute remaining. It looks like he didn’t want to punch himself out. That’s smart, not to mention something that professional boxers often fail to do when they land early flurries the way Paul did.

This round goes to Paul, easily; he is dominant and showcases the heavy hands that marked his rise, pro boxer or not. Diaz is already sucking air in the corner. After three minutes! This one won’t go the distance. Not out on a limb there. But there’s just no way. I almost gave Paul a 10–8 score. But without a knockdown, 10–9 is the call.

Paul got the better of Diaz on Saturday, including an impressive fifth-round knockdown :: Kevin Jairaj/USA TODAY Sports

9:30 p.m.

Smart move by Diaz to open Round 2. He’s crowding Paul, throwing quick, looping hooks inside. The referee is warning him, but this is the strategy that keeps him in it—for now. Paul—again, boxing—continues backing up and bouncing on his toes. He’s looking to create space, then angles, then calibrate the proper distance to land harder and harder blows.

It’s starting to feel more like a fight. The skeptic in me wonders if Paul didn’t let up in order to lengthen Diaz’s demise. Maybe that’s not fair. Either way, closer round, won by Paul, who now leads, on a card that doesn’t matter, 20–18.

9:34:

Just under the two-minute mark in Round 3, Paul deploys a nifty sidestep and launches a looping left to the face followed by a strong right into Diaz’s midsection, blocked partially by Diaz’s arm. Looks like the combination hurt, but Diaz also seems to have his feet under him a little more. He does not go down after a vicious body shot that landed as cleanly as anything from Paul’s barrage two rounds earlier. Diaz stalking back anyway reminds me of his MMA highlights. So you’re saying there’s a chance?

Paul takes that one, too. It’s 30–27, at this point, although I wouldn’t banish anyone who gave Diaz the second round from combat sports.

Still, Diaz shuffles quite slowly back to his corner. He looked a few minutes ago like he was having fun. He looks now like he’s considering whether all this was a mistake.

9:38:

Paul is winning this fight by boxing. It’s not surprising, but, if we’re going to crush him as less than a real boxer, then his deployment of technique and footwork and obvious improvement in both those areas and overall should at least be noted.

Toward the end of Round 4, though, it appears that Paul is tiring. Diaz snaps his head back more than once, then continues plowing forward. The crowd roars. He lands another hook. They’re on their feet. Close round, but give this one to Diaz. It’s 39–37.

I wouldn’t agree with the broadcasts, “Oooh, what a fight!” assessment. But I haven’t grabbed my phone, either.

9:43:

Wild sequence. I keep wondering if Paul’s movement will catch up to him. He keeps moving. Diaz forces his way in once more and lands a solid, stiff jab. But while he lands, Paul counters, and his left hook sends Diaz tumbling to the canvas. More boxing. That’s exactly the right place, right time, right choice. Diaz goes down. His tumbling body slides under the ropes, and he nearly topples off the apron but hangs on. Still, he rises, engages and generally continues doing Nate Diaz things.

That said, on this card, Paul is ahead 49–45, halfway through the bout. His KO-in-five prediction did not come true, but it nearly did. It’s hard to see Diaz winning any other way than stoppage. It’s also hard to see him finishing this bout.

9:47:

Paul takes his time, even though Diaz looks done. Paul remains careful, strategic, moving and striking, only now adding oomph to his shots. Diaz’s face doesn’t look normal anymore. It’s swollen, reddening even more, aging in real time. Paul wins another round, easy, to go up 59–54. This one is over. The only questions left are when? And how? I wouldn’t say it will make Paul more of a professional boxer than he was on Friday, in the realest of senses. But I remain entertained, even from a half-skeptic point of view. I’d watch him fight Fury again, maybe even on the older-brother-Fury vs. Ngannou undercard. What a spectacle that night would be.

9:53:

Paul. Again. 69–63.

Still, for the he’s-absolutely-a-real-boxer crowd, let’s do some math. Paul weighed in for this bout at 185 pounds. That’s in between the light heavyweight limit (175 pounds) and the cruiserweight one (200 pounds). Cruiserweight is interesting, because it’s not exactly a stacked division. Yuniel Dorticos is generally regarded as the class of that weight class. There’s not a superstar among the group. But even then, they’d naturally be bigger than Paul, who tends to clash with older or smaller opponents. Meanwhile, imagine the salivating that would take place at light heavyweight, should Paul attempt to fight there. Imagine him against Dmitry Bivol, Artur Beterbiev, Callum Smith, Anthony Yarde, Gilberto Ramírez and on down. No disrespect intended, but I’d fear for him against any of them.

Paul is interesting. He’s improving. For now especially, that should be enough. But that’s typical boxing. No matter what something is, it will always be sold as more. Even when the enhanced sell diminishes what it is.

Diaz trailed throughout most of the fight, starting from the first round :: Kevin Jairaj/USA TODAY Sports

10:04 p.m.

Diaz keeps upright, keeps trying, keeps stalking and throwing and hoping for a boxing miracle. It never comes. Paul wins, easily, in a lopsided unanimous decision. Diaz does finish the full 10 rounds. Some rejoice. Some shake their heads. But every person doing either just … watched.

That’s the point, no? Or a main one, at least?

As Paul celebrates, climbing the ropes and gesturing to the crowd, the fighters/revenue generators embrace. No shame for either of them Saturday. No great revelation, either.

For the in-ring interview, he says he wants Diaz in an MMA cage match. He says he wants a Fury rematch. He says, “Tough, in this sport, doesn’t work.” The takeaway is confusing. Does he want to be a real boxer, even?

10:10:

Is Paul’s presence good or bad for boxing? I’d pose a different question. Why does it matter? Or, more simply: Who cares? The fact is that influencer events infiltrated boxing because the sport itself is too damaged, too fragmented, too self-important and too stuck in the past. I know, I know. You could say the same things about magazines or media in general. I’m not saying part of that isn’t inevitable, in both spaces. But Paul—and all the imitations he spawned—exists because he stepped into a vacuum and overfilled it; with cash, mostly, and attention, which yields more cash.

That doesn’t make him a legitimate professional boxer—yet. It doesn’t make him a total sideshow, either. It’s early, his boxing experiment. It’s sometimes enjoyable. It’s sometimes cringey. It’s selling well, regardless. It’s helping bring new (and younger) eyeballs to a sport that desperately needs them. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. Many of the same outlets crushing his trial by fist also live blog his events. There’s traffic there, which starts with interest, which starts with something that’s worth being interested in.

Is this Ali-Frazier? Or course not. But for a sport in perpetual transition, I’d argue it’s more net positive than negative. It’s not transformative. It’s not revolutionary. I suppose there’s an alternate universe where Paul improves so dramatically that everything I just wrote is wrong. But, for now, all of us who watch fights should take a cue from Paul. Consistently, he has said that he’s not sure where this is headed, that he has ideas, that he's learning and wants to grow. So far, he has given combat sports aficionados no reason to not believe him.

That doesn’t need to be heightened into more. Watching Paul can feel gross and engrossing all at once. That doesn’t make his attempt at professional boxing bad. For now, it just is, and that’s enough. Or should be.

We’ll see.