In September 1980, Marvelous Marvin Hagler battered Alan Minter inside Wembley Arena and fled from the ensuing, racially charged riot as the undisputed middleweight champion of the world. Three years later, the IBF sprang forth from Springfield, New Jersey, and Hagler immediately claimed their pretty red trinket to accompany the green WBC and black WBA straps that were already a fixture around his waist. In case you are wondering, at this point the WBO was mercifully still little more than a twinkle in a Puerto Rican businessman’s eye.

Meanwhile, two weight classes below, Roberto Durán, Sugar Ray Leonard and Tommy Hearns were busy making 147 pounds the sport’s marquee division. In three tumultuous months either side of Hagler’s bloody coronation in London, Duran defeated Leonard for the WBC title, Hearns knocked out the great José Cuevas to claim the WBA version, and Leonard broke Durán’s spirit and reclaimed his crown in the infamous No Más bout. From 13lbs above, Marvelous, a bona fide middleweight from his first fight to his last, was already making envious eyes at the three lighter men.

But he had a 160lb reign to consolidate so swiftly set about knocking off the main pretenders to his throne in destructive fashion. Good honest fighters and deserving challengers, the likes of Fulgencio Obelmejias, Tony Sibson and Mustafa Hamsho, were all well beaten and added to a list of successful defences that eventually extended to 12 over the course of a glorious, seven-year rule.

But these names, along with those of Vito Antuofermo, William “Caveman” Lee, Wilford Scypion and Juan Roldán, could never hope to sate Hagler’s thirst for everlasting glory. He was chasing Harry Greb, Stanley Ketchel, Carlos Monzón and Sugar Ray Robinson on the list of all-time middleweight great. He needed legacy fights, but there was no one in his division fit to provide them. He needed Durán, Leonard and Hearns.

Typically, Durán was the first to accept the challenge and, in 1983, Hagler showed the lightweight legend too much respect while eking out a narrow decision. Two years later, Hearns tried his luck and was blasted out in three memorable, barbarous rounds. Finally, in 1987, Leonard agreed to fight a past-his-peak Hagler, took the title from the champion in a hotly debated split decision and retired before the sweat had dried to thwart calls for a rematch. Hagler subsequently hung up his own gloves and spent many years stewing over that climax before finding peace with pasta, pinot grigio and a new partner in Pioltello, Italy.

Like Hagler, Golovkin is a middleweight monster in need of legacy-defining fights. And just like Marvelous 30 years ago, Golovkin appears fixated on lower divisions in the hope some stellar opponents will emerge. So far, Golovkin has found himself frustrated as the supposedly retired Floyd Mayweather, the apparently finished Miguel Cotto, and the very much alive-and-thumping Álvarez have politely declined invitations to dance with the sweet-smiling 160lb terror.

Instead he has dealt with a string of decent but unspectacular mandatories in Hagler-esque fashion as they have shuffled tentatively into his range. But while knocking out Daniel Geale, David Lemieux and Dominic Wade may have cemented Golovkin’s status as one of the best fighters on the planet, that calibre of victim will count for much less when the all-time, pound-for-pound books are updated at the end of the decade. Yet still, Golovkin sits and waits and prays that a superstar will swim into his treacherous waters before it is too late.

Mayweather, once again giving teasing interviews on the topic of his inevitable comeback, remains the boxing cash cow Golovkin would most love to milk. But Money is a master of risk-versus-reward calculations and he is unlikely to roll those dangerously loaded dice. This reluctance to move up has attracted unjustified accusations of cowardice and unfavourable comparisons with the Four Kings, despite the obvious flaws in the parallels revisionist boxing historians attempt to draw.

For one, Leonard (5ft 10in) and Hearns (6ft 1in) were naturally bigger men who began as welterweights and organically rose to middleweight and beyond. Mayweather, on the other hand, is only 5ft 7in and already put on 24lbs to move from his original super featherweight home and fight at super welter before settling back into 147lbs. To rise again and much higher, particularly to face a beast like Golovkin, is no small ask.

And while it is true that that is not far off what the 5ft 7in Durán did, there are again important distinctions to be made. Firstly, the notoriously profligate Durán’s winnings disappeared so quickly that he lived in an almost constant need of another big payday. Coupled with the size of his cojones, he would have fought Larry Holmes if there were enough Balboas on the table. Mayweather, on the other hand, is never short of a few quid.

Secondly, the heavy-handed Panamanian grew exceptionally light on his feet around a Vegas breakfast buffet as his career progressed and continually moving up a division proved more appetising than the tortuous process of shedding excess weight in the gym. Mayweather is never out of shape.

Finally, and this in no way detracts from his legendary status, Durán was nowhere near as successful once he set sail from his lightweight domain. On the nights he jumped up to challenge for super welter, middle and super middleweight titles, he lost on each occasion to Wilfred Benítez, Hagler and Leonard respectively. His record before he first fought Sugar Ray was an incredible 72-1. In contrast, he went 31-15 from the second Leonard fight onwards. Even allowing for the distortion caused by fighting on too long as he prolonged his career, it is clear what Durán’s perfect fighting weight was. Mayweather is too savvy to go out like that.

So, with the criticism of Mayweather refusing to venture beyond super welterweight appearing harsh, and Cotto currently grazing in or around a comfortable pasture field somewhere, the focus has turned to Álvarez. Since Cotto snatched the WBC middleweight crown from a crippled Sergio Martínez in 2014, it has been defended at a sub 160lb catchweight, first by the Puerto Rican and now by Álvarez, ever since. It is a ludicrous situation, but this is boxing and catchweights have been around since the 19th century when the moneymen first realised they could widen or narrow the pool of prospective opponents with impunity.

Canelo Álvarez knocks out Amir Khan during their middleweight title fight in Las Vegas. Photograph: REX/Shutterstock

Álvarez is certainly the naturally smaller of the two men, but there is not much in it and, as a middleweight title holder, he should attempt to unify the division regardless. There were positive noises on Saturday when, after crumpling Khan and showing great dignity to withhold celebration until the game Briton had regained his senses, Álvarez invited Golovkin into the ring and, through an interpreter, told the Khazakh that he’d put the gloves back on and fight him right now, that they don’t fuck around in Mexico.

Unfortunately they most certainly do fuck around in the boardrooms of the promotional teams and television networks where super-fights are made, and if the Mexican’s handlers truly want to avoid Golovkin, then they will. Álvarez has never weighed in more than a pound over the super welter limit – that’s the weight of an average pair of underpants. If he is instructed to, he’ll cut those extra 16 ounces by standing on the scales as God intended for a couple of outings until Golovkin is closer to 40 than 30 and a slightly softer touch.

It’s a shame for Gennady and fight fans alike but, again, this is boxing and such Machiavellian manoeuvres pre-date the drafting of the Queensberry Rules. So to approach the debate from another angle, is it perhaps time that Golovkin contemplated a contingency plan and, a decade after debuting as a middleweight, considered doing what he has spent years urging others to do: leave his comfort zone and move up in weight?

Just one division north, there are big fights to be made with the latest young Mexican sensation, Gilberto Ramírez, Britain’s own IBF champion, James DeGale, or the Mayweather-managed Badou Jack who might be the best of the three. As Golovkin already enters the ring north of 170lbs on fight night, that step up would be no problem whatsoever. But if he were to push on through another couple of pounds to light heavyweight, dream match-ups with Andre Ward or Sergey Kovalev could not only secure his legacy as one of the best to ever lace a glove, but also guarantee riches beyond his wildest dreams.

Hagler stuck rather than twisted. He never went up in weight. In part that was because there was nothing particularly alluring to chase there, but also because he knew that, sooner or later, Durán, Leonard and Hearns would simply grow too big and have to come to him. In the end, only Hagler can say whether he made the right decision, but his widely accepted status as one of the five greatest middleweights of all time suggests he is probably happy enough with how things panned out.

But imagine an alternative scenario where none of the other three Kings grant Hagler a ticket to gatecrash their party, and the biggest name on his résumé is John Mugabi or Sibson. That would be a very different tale to tell the grandkids. And it poses the question: if Golovkin remains at middleweight for the rest of his career and Mayweather, Álvarez et al never share his ring, will he sleep as easy as Hagler now does in his Lombardy villa? You’d need to ask Golovkin that one, but I’m not so sure.

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