WBO LIGHTWEIGHT TITLE
Scheduled 12 rounds
Champion
Terry Flanagan (32-0, 13 KO)
versus
Challenger
Petr Petrov (38-4-2, 19 KO)
Manchester Arena, England
Live on Twitter @BannerPromotions
The recent successes of the Russian-born Petrov, now living in Spain, have indeed caught many an eye. The fella is currently the number two ranked WBO pugilist and is the mandatory challenger to face WBA lightweight titleholder Mr. Jorge Linares -- gosh, I do wish him well with that. From the LA suburb of Santa Fe Springs, where he and his trainer Danny Zamora held camp, Petrov hath this to say: “I have been more than motivated for the task in front of me. It’s because of the great team I have behind me... I truly believe this is the right time for me. I know I am physically and mentally ready for become a world champion.”
Only Somewhat off-topic and not at all outta left field is that last Wednesday, Tyson Fury stopped by a Flanagan public workout. The big man looked bigger than bigger and fairly could be said to have put the kibosh on his May 13th ring return by way of a picture being worth a thousand words. particularly when said picture required a wide-angle lens to be took. Now there is a gentleperson whom prefers biscuits over tea.
As to the pugilism, or at least closer to it, the entrances of each contestant to ring was as classless as any MMA ring/cage-walk ya can imagine. I expect more of the British; don't they still wear suits somewhat regularly? Shant we be sipping a spot of tea, gentlepersons? At least there was the bloated cameo panning over of Mr. Ricky Hatton. That added a touch a' class. Terry Flanagan is simply a much bigger man here at fight-time at first looksie.
A lightweight style fast-paced feeling out in the first, which slowed some by its end. Flanagan keeps the seasoned Petrov at bay with a well-timed flicking right jab. Hindering the Russian's foot-work some good bit. Second stanza sees Flanagan's hand-speed quickening and Petrov's feet slowing. The hometown jolly ole bloke begins doubling up mid round on the now stumbling Petrov. Whenst the Spaniard by way of Russia doth make minimal headway, it is reset by Flanagan and fairly easily so. End of round has some more rights landed by Petrov, one rockingly so nigh bell. Third begins with Petrov again being hampered by his own sluggish feet. Flanagan is not on his back-foot per se, but is countering well off Petrov's slow advances. Petrov gets in when Flanagan quits his jab. No damage once in -- round: Flanagan. Petrov awakens his left in the form of a decent hook. Flanagan is getting hit. Petrov, tho smaller, seems stronger.
Fourth stanza sees Petrov stalking and with a greater head movement. Flanagan strikes me as a tick uncomposedly lanky. At rounds end, Petrov stumbles on his own footwork, rather than Flanagan's gloves. Round five: seems whilst the small man is dictating pace off his front foot, the tall one is dictating distance off his back foot. Petrov's feet, front and back, cross far too often. Good body work by Petrov and starts work up-top at stanza's end. That ain't Russian being spoken twixt rounds in the corner, but Spanish. What a world, gentlpersons! It's the sixth and we start with another Petrov stumble. I begin to think two thoughts. I wouldn't hire Petrov to wait tables with them feet, and can Flanagan hurt this guy 'nuff to enforce honesty? The Spanish speaking Russian keeps getting in, but now to the extent of smothering his own blows. Flanagan is tricky in letting him in now... or maybe just too loosey-goosey and then lucky. Another round for Flanagan, but truly, all are close.
The seventh starts a new paragraph, but not much new action and it seems we may be tumbling on into a maybe hard to call, or at least hear, decision. If we weren't in Manchester, at least. Petrov slows advances a tick here in the eighth, but still good action from each. More good body work against Flanagan till he resumes control of distance. Flanagan gets a last warning from the ref re: reaching around Petrov's head. I'm surprised how oft the Brit gets bit. I sense some fatigue from Flanagan now. Ninth bell: Flanagan is cutesy, I'll give him that. Petrov is workman-like, I'll give him that. Flanagan's timing seems off here. Fatigue on both pugs now, and well-deserved. Funny how Flanagan's height seems more a disadvantage. I rarely score a 10-10 round... can't recall the last time I did. Did just now, gentlepersons.
Flanagan regains control of space twit here in the tenth. Petrov looks at his slow-footed worst then, as he steam-rolls simply in to no good end. The eleventh and opening championship stanza is more the same 'cept a bad cut opening over the Petrov's right eye. Obscuring his sight 'nuff for Flanagan to land some lefts. Repeat: bad cut. Incidental head-to-head sorta stuffs. Final round begins like all others, perhaps some more jittery Flanagan feet and definitely more Petrov proverbial crimson mask -- okay, it ain't that bad. I just love that call so. The Russian is willing, his reflexes not, as Flanagan flicks him to jab distraction at a safe distance. Final bell. Gentlepersonly conduct from each toward the other.
My scorecard:
Flanagan 10 09 10 10 09 10 10 09 10 10 10 10 = 117
Petrov 09 10 09 09 10 09 09 10 10 09 09 09 = 112
Official scorecard: 116-112, 120-108, 118-110
Winner via UD: Terry Flanagan.
A lightweight style fast-paced feeling out in the first, which slowed some by its end. Flanagan keeps the seasoned Petrov at bay with a well-timed flicking right jab. Hindering the Russian's foot-work some good bit. Second stanza sees Flanagan's hand-speed quickening and Petrov's feet slowing. The hometown jolly ole bloke begins doubling up mid round on the now stumbling Petrov. Whenst the Spaniard by way of Russia doth make minimal headway, it is reset by Flanagan and fairly easily so. End of round has some more rights landed by Petrov, one rockingly so nigh bell. Third begins with Petrov again being hampered by his own sluggish feet. Flanagan is not on his back-foot per se, but is countering well off Petrov's slow advances. Petrov gets in when Flanagan quits his jab. No damage once in -- round: Flanagan. Petrov awakens his left in the form of a decent hook. Flanagan is getting hit. Petrov, tho smaller, seems stronger.
Fourth stanza sees Petrov stalking and with a greater head movement. Flanagan strikes me as a tick uncomposedly lanky. At rounds end, Petrov stumbles on his own footwork, rather than Flanagan's gloves. Round five: seems whilst the small man is dictating pace off his front foot, the tall one is dictating distance off his back foot. Petrov's feet, front and back, cross far too often. Good body work by Petrov and starts work up-top at stanza's end. That ain't Russian being spoken twixt rounds in the corner, but Spanish. What a world, gentlpersons! It's the sixth and we start with another Petrov stumble. I begin to think two thoughts. I wouldn't hire Petrov to wait tables with them feet, and can Flanagan hurt this guy 'nuff to enforce honesty? The Spanish speaking Russian keeps getting in, but now to the extent of smothering his own blows. Flanagan is tricky in letting him in now... or maybe just too loosey-goosey and then lucky. Another round for Flanagan, but truly, all are close.
The seventh starts a new paragraph, but not much new action and it seems we may be tumbling on into a maybe hard to call, or at least hear, decision. If we weren't in Manchester, at least. Petrov slows advances a tick here in the eighth, but still good action from each. More good body work against Flanagan till he resumes control of distance. Flanagan gets a last warning from the ref re: reaching around Petrov's head. I'm surprised how oft the Brit gets bit. I sense some fatigue from Flanagan now. Ninth bell: Flanagan is cutesy, I'll give him that. Petrov is workman-like, I'll give him that. Flanagan's timing seems off here. Fatigue on both pugs now, and well-deserved. Funny how Flanagan's height seems more a disadvantage. I rarely score a 10-10 round... can't recall the last time I did. Did just now, gentlepersons.
Flanagan regains control of space twit here in the tenth. Petrov looks at his slow-footed worst then, as he steam-rolls simply in to no good end. The eleventh and opening championship stanza is more the same 'cept a bad cut opening over the Petrov's right eye. Obscuring his sight 'nuff for Flanagan to land some lefts. Repeat: bad cut. Incidental head-to-head sorta stuffs. Final round begins like all others, perhaps some more jittery Flanagan feet and definitely more Petrov proverbial crimson mask -- okay, it ain't that bad. I just love that call so. The Russian is willing, his reflexes not, as Flanagan flicks him to jab distraction at a safe distance. Final bell. Gentlepersonly conduct from each toward the other.
My scorecard:
Flanagan 10 09 10 10 09 10 10 09 10 10 10 10 = 117
Petrov 09 10 09 09 10 09 09 10 10 09 09 09 = 112
Official scorecard: 116-112, 120-108, 118-110
Winner via UD: Terry Flanagan.
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