BOFA Boxing

Abdullah Mason Is What Boxing Has Been Waiting For!

As someone who grew up in and around Cleveland’s boxing circles, I’ve seen talent come and go. I’ve seen gifted fighters flame out, overhyped names cash checks without putting in the real work, and prospects who never quite lived up to the potential. So when I first heard about the Mason brothers back in 2015—through my best friend Tone, who kept seeing them running Harvard Avenue early in the mornings—I was curious, but cautious.

Tone wasn’t just impressed with their dedication; he was inspired. He ran into them one morning at Island Cuisine on Harvard and Warrensville—a Southside staple we both love—and he couldn’t stop talking about how locked-in they were. Polite, serious, humble. The opposite of the cocky, brash wave that was dominating the boxing spotlight at the time.

Eventually, he sent me their Instagram page, and right away, I saw what he meant. They were different. Among the brothers, one stood out in every clip: Abdullah Mason. He didn’t say much, but the way he moved—his timing, precision, footwork—there was something special there. You didn’t have to be a boxing expert to recognize it, but if you were, it jumped off the screen.

Since then, I’ve followed Abdullah’s journey closely. I watched him headline amateur cards the family hosted at the Cleveland Heights Civic Center. I saw the discipline. I saw the long game his father, Valiant Mason, was playing—not chasing quick fame, but building something sustainable and real.

And now, all of that work is paying off. His most recent fight—originally scheduled for the undercard of Keyshawn Davis—ended up with Abdullah becoming the main event. And he didn’t just rise to the occasion. He owned it.

Facing former world title challenger Jeremia Nakathila, Abdullah didn’t need a feel-out round. From the opening bell, it was clear who the superior fighter was. Mason dictated the pace, controlled distance, and set traps like a seasoned veteran. His jab wasn’t just a range-finder—it was a statement. Each round, he chipped away at Nakathila’s confidence. Then in the fifth, he closed the show with the kind of poise and precision that fighters ten years older still dream about.

That wasn’t a test—it was a confirmation.

When I watch Abdullah Mason fight, I see flashes of Bud Crawford—the calculated patience, the ability to adapt in real-time, the meanness when it’s time to finish. But I also see something else: a little Tito Trinidad in the way he lets the power go. There's a rhythm, a snap, and when he senses vulnerability, he goes for it with that same ruthless smoothness Tito had in his prime.

But what separates Abdullah most isn’t just talent. It’s the foundation. The way he’s been developed. The presence of his father in his corner—not just as a coach, but as a mentor, a protector, and a visionary. The unity with his brothers, who aren’t just teammates but extensions of the mission. This isn’t some promotional machine or manufactured story. This is grassroots. Built from the concrete of Cleveland.

And that’s what makes Abdullah such a necessary force in today’s boxing landscape. The sport is desperate for real ones. For substance. For young stars who can speak without a script and dominate without a gimmick.

Now with the WBO ordering a showdown between Abdullah and Sam Noakes, the spotlight is growing. And while some may say it’s too soon, I’d argue it’s right on time. Abdullah’s been preparing for this moment since those early morning runs. The only difference now is the world’s finally watching.

Abdullah Mason doesn’t have to pretend to be anything he’s not. His hands do the talking, his performances do the marketing, and his future is only getting brighter. He’s not a trend. He’s not a flash. He’s the next chapter.

And he just might be the breath of fresh air boxing didn’t know it needed—but won’t be able to live without.

Richardson Hitchins vs. George Kambosos Jr.

From the opening bell, Richardson Hitchins was locked in. He came out composed, sharp, and in complete control — establishing his jab early and never giving George Kambosos a chance to dictate pace. While Kambosos tried to press forward, Hitchins let him walk into a clinic — controlling range, sticking clean shots, and making it clear from Round 1 that this wasn’t going to be a brawl. It was going to be a boxing lesson.
By Round 2, Hitchins turned it up a notch. His confidence grew — sticking and moving, picking his spots, and mixing in body work. Kambosos had flashes, landing a few shots to the body, but the difference in class was already obvious. Hitchins was seeing everything and making it look easy.
In Round 3, it really started to show on Kambosos' face — he was getting marked up, and the frustration was building. Hitchins kept touching him with sharp counters, never letting Kambosos settle into any kind of rhythm. The control was surgical.
Round 4 saw Hitchins in full command. He was walking Kambosos into clean shots, completely unfazed by the Aussie’s power. There was a moment with about a minute left when Kambosos landed a nice counter to the body — but Hitchins ate it, responded quickly, and got right back to work. You could just feel he was levels above.
Kambosos made things interesting in Round 5 — his best round at that point. He brought pressure, made it more competitive, and even landed some decent leather. But then Hitchins dug a brutal body shot that clearly hurt Kambosos. You could see it in his face — bit down on his lip, took deep breaths. Hitchins didn’t go wild, but he noticed it and controlled the rest of the round.
Round 6 was gritty. Kambosos showed his heart and walked through more clean shots. He even bloodied Hitchins a bit, proving he still had bite. But Hitchins never panicked — stayed composed, picked his spots, and showed maturity beyond his years. Even when Kambosos pushed, Hitchins had the cleaner, sharper answers.
By Round 7, the pattern was set. Kambosos was still fighting with pride, but the gap in skill and poise was clear. Hitchins looked like a fighter coming into his own — growing from fight to fight. The timing, the control, the movement — all on point. The body shots especially started to take a toll.
In the later rounds, Hitchins put a stamp on it — closing strong, landing a nasty left to the body that visibly hurt Kambosos again. It didn’t lead to a knockout, but it was the kind of shot that makes a statement. This was domination, not a debate.
Kambosos showed heart, no doubt — he’s a warrior. But Hitchins was simply on another level tonight. Younger, sharper, hungrier — and clearly rising into world-class territory.
He’s now firmly in the mix at 140 lbs. With names like Teofimo, Matias, Haney, Prograis, and Ryan Garcia floating around, Hitchins just showed he belongs in that conversation. He’s not just “one to watch” anymore — he’s here.
Now Hitchins is calling out Devin Haney — and listen, that would be a great fu***ng fight. High-level skill, IQ, timing — everything a boxing purist wants. Personally, I don’t think Hitchins beats Haney right now. Haney’s just too polished and too proven. But it’s still a real, competitive matchup.
That said… the fight I really want to see is Hitchins vs. Teofimo Lopez.
Stylistically? Fire. New York vs. New York? Even better. Two dudes with real talent, real confidence, and something to prove — that fight would be huge for both their brands and a major moment for the city. That’s the one.

My recap of the Hitchins vs Kamboso fight

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https://bofaboxing.blogspot.com/2025/06/abdullah-mason-is-what-boxing-has-been.html

Abdullah Mason Is What Boxing Has Been Waiting For As someone who grew up in and around Cleveland’s boxing circles, I’ve seen talent come and go. I’ve seen gifted fighters flame out, overhy...

Al Haymon vs. Turki Alalshikh: Can the Original Disruptor Reclaim the Throne?

Boxing is in the midst of a power shift. Saudi Arabia’s Turki Alalshikh has emerged as a force unlike anything the sport has seen — fusing wealth, state-backed influence, and a passion for the fight game to deliver mega-cards that unify fractured promoters and captivate fans worldwide. Fighters are cashing in on life-changing purses. Matchups that once took years to negotiate are now happening in weeks.
But here’s the critical distinction: Turki isn’t seen as a long-term promoter by the fighters — he’s seen as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Fighters love the money. They respect the scale. But most don’t view Turki as the architect of careers. He’s the plug. He’s the jackpot. The type of check that used to be reserved for legends like Mayweather or Pacquiao is now available to solid contenders and semi-stars. That shift is exciting — but also temporary.
This is where Al Haymon re-enters the conversation.
Haymon was the original disruptor. He empowered fighters at a level no one had before — giving them financial control, creative freedom, and leverage over promoters, networks, and matchmakers. And it worked. For years, he had the best fighters in the world, particularly Black fighters who trusted him to protect their interests in a cutthroat industry.
Spence. Wilder. Broner. Tank. The Charlos. Even Canelo Alvarez — the biggest star in boxing — tapped into Haymon’s model when it suited him best, using PBC to secure the fights he wanted. That’s power.
But over time, cracks formed in the model.
In his effort to give fighters freedom, Haymon sometimes failed to give them structure. Careers slowed. Inactivity plagued talent. Big fights were left to simmer too long, and younger fighters went years without momentum. Empowerment without vision can become stagnation. And in the unforgiving world of boxing, time is undefeated.
Now contrast that with Turki: he’s giving the structure Haymon lacked — mapped-out events, big paydays, clarity. But he doesn’t have Haymon’s long-term cultural connection to fighters or their communities. He’s a facilitator, not a foundation.
Ironically, Haymon’s early missteps might be his greatest asset now. He’s already seen what doesn’t work. He understands the balance between protecting fighters and promoting fights. And if he’s willing to evolve — to shed the bloated structure of PBC and refocus on a leaner, smarter, more strategic operation — he can reclaim his place as boxing’s most important figure.
He doesn’t need to compete with Turki’s budget. He needs to offer something realer: purpose, consistency, and belief. The type of belief that built PBC in the first place.
Because while Bob Arum may be the GOAT of promotional longevity, and Turki the moment-maker of this current era, Al Haymon still has a chance to be king — the one who merges fighter empowerment with functional infrastructure. If he burns down the old model and rebuilds it right, fighters will follow. They always have.
And when the spectacle fades, and the headlines shift, the sport will still need a foundation. If Haymon gets it right, he can be the one who provides it.