I've been out of the boxing loop for personal reasons but now I've returned. It would be wrong to say I'm starting from zero for I've always kept one eye open regardless.
One of the areas where I've been remiss, however, is in the skyrocketing career of Naoya Inoue. The "monster" shot right to the top of the boxing world with an impressive KO record and no losses. I've been watching old footage of his fights and can see why his opponents seem mesmerized by both his speed and his power.
This talent of Inoue's was no more apparent than in his recent fight with Alan Picasso. There's no dispute of the outcome, of course. I generously have Picasso one round and Inoue all the rest. Looking at this from a far perspective, an outside observer might think that Picasso didn't belong in the ring with Inoue.
That would be a false conclusion. I was impressed with Picasso's speed even as he was so often beaten to the punch by Inoue. Picasso fought a great fight, avoided getting KOd often managing to land good punches for which Inoue was unfortunately available.
Which leads to the point of this writing, which is my theory that there's something abnormal in Inoue's brain that must be studied by sports scientists. I might have understood this long ago had I not gone AWOL from this blog and from keeping up with the latest boxing news as it occurred.
Let me explain Inoue's abnormality, a phenomenon which I noticed from personal experience when I was young enough to engage in amateur boxing myself. Don't think for a moment I even belong in the same sentence as even a journeyman professional fighter. What I'm writing about is just something I've observed during a literally miraculous amateur fight I had with another amateur. The phenomenon happened to me for an unfortunately short period during which I stunned my opponent. Unfortunately, this 'gift of the gods' so to speak, lasted for less than a minute and my normal plodding state returned.
Let me state it plain. I think Inoue's brain has some sort of time-space dysfunction which, when it kicks in, behaves just as a video or film lens captures slow motion events. This is no to say the "monster" has slow-mo turned on at all times. From what I observed, it seems to kick in at the most high-intensity action point of his fights. In other words, he's normally fast throughout, but then, if the opponent challenges him as Picasso was capable of intermittently doing, Inouse's brain turns on its slow-motion aberration which allows him to see his opponent's fists flying as slowly as a dandelion seed blowing in the wind.
How else could he turn from a right-handed up-jab to an overhand right (same hand) and then an uppercut? In pointing this out, I am purposely omitting anything he may have been doing at the same time with his left hand (usually a hook to the liver). I don't see how any of that could be done without Inoue's brain turning his perceptions into that of a slow-motion video camera.
So that's my personal theory. At some point other persons may see and understand and come to the same conclusion. Just remember, though. You heard it first right here from me.




















