KAMPALA. Badru ‘Mr Crush’ Lusambya totally failed on his promise to take his opponent Muhamed Sebyala to a boxing school. Instead, Lusambya learnt his lesson as the man he so much dismissed, pounded him right from the bell, until he wrapped his arrogance in the proverbial towel and threw it in, just in the seventh of ten rounds, in front of a massive crowd at La’ponye Hotel parking lot.
Fans of either boxers did not believe what they were seeing. But some saw shock, some surprise.
While those in the red corner savoured a surprisingly victorious Thursday morning, as their fighter Sebyala humiliated a four-time African champion, Lusambya’s apologists were utterly shocked seeing their Mr Crush being crashed by a man who can never dream of matching even half his fame.
Lusambya entered the ring corner at 5:09 and three minutes later referee Jacob Wokorach let the national super welterweight title fight begin.
Surprisingly, as Lusambya retreated to his corner, after the third round, his mouth was already bleeding, a sign of the suffering he had incurred from Sebyala’s all sorts of punches, and that disarming right jab. That blood patched the right leg of his white trunks.
Sebyala, bigger and more mobile, chopped Lusambya’s body with left and right hooks, and uppercuts, all-morning, and almost whenever he went for the head, he was perfect and venomous.
Lusambya’s answer: left hooks that either never connected or were too weak to deter a charged opponent. He could not even guard.
In the fifth, Sebyala landed a combination on the body that staggered Lusambya to the ropes in front of me. Running to the middle, he suffered more to the chest, the head, but the bell saved him. In the break, Sebyala smiled to the crowds and twirled that pair of green gloves that had so far done an atrocious job.
Moment of truth
By now, everyone was contented that only a miracle could restore Lusambya’s confidence that had knocked out 24 of his 26 professional victims. Sebyala wasn’t to let this happen. He looked a possessed man, with unbelievable fitness and power. Lusambya looked dizzy and nearly falling. This is not what Lusambya’s fans paid for. It’s not what kept us here in this uncovered space, absconding sleep from 8pm to 6am. In the seventh, Sebyala tortured Lusambya again, with intent to finish him off. First, he pummeled him close to his red corner, until he fell between the ropes. His blood dropped in my face and my notepad.
When Lusambya got up, he got the same punishment, this time worsening his wounds. Sebyala ran to his red corner. Seeing a bleeding and haggard Lusambya coming again surprised him. But this was it. His arrogant opponent had come to hug him and congratulate him on this huge victory.
No one cared about the scorecards, before he gave up. After all, everyone had seen that everything Lusambya tried, or tried to try just failed completely.
Even he confessed: “I just don’t know but this has never happened to me,” he said in his red corner as he contemplated such an ignominious defeat to the man he labeled “stunted” and “cannot go past the sixth round against me.”
Both welcome a rematch, but we all know who needs it most. Isn’t this the bizarre news of “a cyclist knocking down a train,” which Lusambya equated to such a defeat?