Recently Shakur Stevenson decided to close the gap. He had earned enough money by now to take matters into his own hands, so that’s precisely what he did. He had also endured his share of remarks from both opponents and people eager to find flaws in perfection and could bear it no longer. He was going to do it – bite the bullet.
The next time we saw Stevenson the gap had gone. Everything was now closer and tighter and any shred of uniqueness had been removed from his face in the pursuit of “normality”. Now, having paid his money, Stevenson had front teeth and a smile like everyone else we see on television.
In that respect it was a bit of shame. A shame Stevenson felt the need. A shame he didn’t see how that slight imperfection was both relatable and the only thing that balanced out his perfect form in the boxing ring. With Oleksandr Usyk, for example, it’s almost a superpower, that gap-toothed smile of his. One might even fear for him if he one night appeared without it.
Then again, the closing of the gap between his two front teeth has coincided with Stevenson doing something similar in his career. Suddenly now, in 2026, Stevenson is no longer a “negative” fighter in need of a statement win but instead one of the top five pound-for-pound fighters on the planet. He has also managed to close the gap which existed between himself and fans, many of whom were once put off by his safety-first approach and his reluctance to take risks in the ring. These fans could see the talent, absolutely, yet still they struggled to connect with someone who seemingly took pride in maintaining that gap. He needed to close it, they said. He needed to move forward and not be so fearful.
In Stevenson’s mind, for a while that gap, or distance, was no issue. He liked to have it in the ring, when keeping an opponent at bay, and he saw no reason to worry about it in the context of the public’s indifference towards him, either. All that mattered as far as he was concerned was that he was winning fights and continuing to build his legacy. The rest would take care of itself.
“Bro, did you really fix your teeth?” asked Teofimo Lopez midway through a press conference back in December.
“Yeah, I did,” replied Stevenson, showing them off. “They’re fire, ain’t they?”
“Do you like mine?”
“I’ll punch ‘em.”
On Saturday in New York, Stevenson did just that – he punched Lopez in the mouth repeatedly to win a unanimous decision after 12 rounds. With the victory Stevenson claimed Lopez’s WBO super-lightweight title and was venerated far and wide. He also experienced a slight image change in the eyes of the watching public. Forget the teeth, it wasn’t that. Instead, those who bothered to watch Saturday’s fight saw a new side to Stevenson that would have had them moving closer to the edge of their seat. It was a different kind of gap starting to close. It heralded a new phase in the 28-year-old’s professional career.
Even if not there yet, there was some movement at least; a movement towards Stevenson rather than away, as was the case previously. Seeing him beat Lopez in the manner he did, with so much poise and technical brilliance, could only impress those who knew the level of difficulty of what it was they were watching. They would have known the stakes, too, which counts for everything when you are dealing with a technician like Stevenson. After all, it is one thing flaunting technical virtuosity against opponents a rung or two beneath you, but it is another thing entirely to perform the same way – to the same standard – against an opponent considered your equal. This, to his credit, Stevenson managed to do on Saturday night. It wasn’t a thrill-a-minute fight, no, but neither did it have to be. His dominance alone was more than enough to capture hearts.
Better yet, while in the past Stevenson has been known to cruise, against Lopez there was never the sense that he was content to just outbox him and stay safe until the final bell. If anything, the opposite was true, as time and time again he bludgeoned Lopez and worked on his face, increasing the blood flow from various wounds. One glance at ringside and you saw more people wincing than yawning, which in itself is an improvement. You also saw more of Stevenson’s new smile as the fight progressed, which is again a sign of progress.
More relevant than it being new is the fact that Stevenson was flashing it so readily against a wounded animal in Lopez. It started at the end of rounds, when he would flash it before returning to his stool, before it later became a habit during rounds. It was then, with Lopez’s face a mask of red, Stevenson would devilishly reveal the gum shield protecting his new teeth and in doing so express how easy he was finding it adding imperfections to his opponent’s face. In short: he was enjoying it, Stevenson. He was enjoying the dominance he felt and he was enjoying the sight of Lopez suffering in his presence.
Should that be considered an act of cruelty? Well, yes, perhaps it should. However, in a sport like boxing, every pro boxer who sets foot in a ring must possess a degree of cruelty just to rationalise the idea of harming another human being for money. Moreover, in the case of Stevenson, a boxer said to be “negative” or “afraid” when under threat, the evidence of cruelty is something a fan will likely celebrate and encourage rather than condemn. It is, after all, a rite of passage for many a technician. You start off one way and remain set and stubborn in your ways before then realising the only way to be accepted is to change something about yourself. Then at last you will be loved. Then the world smiles with you.
