Jake Paul, Anthony Joshua, and the Night Boxing Became Vaudeville

Nigerian Perspective

Under the Big Top—"Well Done."

There are nights when sport pretends it is culture, and others when culture finally admits it has been sport all along. The Netflix special billed as Jake Paul vs. Olusemi—also known as Anthony Joshua—out of the U.K. belonged squarely to the latter category: a three-ring spectacle that knew exactly what it was doing, even when it pretended not to.

The evening unfurled less like a prizefight and more like a procession. Jake Paul arrived to Kendrick Lamar’s “They Not Like Us,” flanked by an all-black entourage, a visual thesis statement delivered before a single punch was thrown. It was choreography with intention—branding as belligerence, spectacle as strategy. Paul understands the arena he’s built. He is the architect of the circus and, crucially, its most willing clown: rolling, tumbling, and taking a few hits for the cause, maybe even throwing a few for the theater of it. He is righteous in his commitment to performance, which is to say, unembarrassed.

When Paul finally took to the ring, he did so in red-and-yellow custom Hulkamania regalia—an outfit freighted with history. Hulk Hogan’s fall from grace after racist rants went viral lingers in the cultural memory, and the costume read less as nostalgia than provocation. The provocation was compounded by Paul’s walkout companion, Tekashi 6ix9ine, a rapper whose career arc—built on proximity to Black culture and followed by very public betrayal—has made him a shorthand for opportunism without remorse. The optics were not subtle. To many viewers, the gimmick suggested an ugly arithmetic: Blackness as accelerant, spectacle as solvent, profit as the only residue that matters.

It was offensive. It was loud. It was also, infuriatingly, effective.

And here’s where the night demanded honesty from its audience. For Black fans watching, the message was plain: if Paul’s Black entourage will allow him to don racially disgraceful branding, dress them in matching apparel, and walk out with a figure like Tekashi, then Paul will profit from what is emphatically permitted. Consent, once given, becomes currency.

Across the ring stood Anthony Joshua—Olusemi by heritage, Olympian by résumé, gentleman by habit. Decorated, disciplined, and devastating when required, Joshua arrived with the gravity of someone who still believes the job is the job. At first, the pageantry seemed to irritate him. The looseness, the faux chaos, the way professionalism appeared to be treated as optional—it all registered. But somewhere between the ropes and his corner, Joshua recalibrated. He recognized the evening for what it was: performance braided with mastery, theater stitched to violence.

What followed was a strange pas de deux. Paul tumbled and clutched, pulled Joshua down with him more than once, and sold the fall with a performer’s commitment—successfully, too, as if gravity itself were a partisan. Joshua endured the clowning until he didn’t. When he’d had enough, he did what he has always done: he closed the distance, placed his shots, and ended the bout with authority. The circus quieted, if only briefly, in deference to competence.

In the end, the ledger balanced in a way only modern sport can manage. Joshua emerged as he always does—brilliant, composed, and compelling, an Olympian whose attractiveness is matched by his precision. Paul, still only twenty-eight, emerged as something else entirely: a pioneer of an entertainment lane that did not exist before him, at least not in this form. He has fused boxing, influencer culture, and American showmanship into a product that sells because it understands attention better than it understands tradition.

It is tempting to dismiss the whole affair as unserious. That would be a mistake. The seriousness lies not in the punches but in the premise. Paul’s genius—however distasteful the trappings—does not evaporate under critique. His work ethic is real. His success is measurable. His future, barring a collapse of nerve or novelty, is bright.

At At Home with Naija, we watch these nights with both eyes open. We can name what is offensive without pretending it negates what is effective. We can celebrate Joshua’s excellence without denying Paul’s invention. And we can acknowledge that in today’s boxing—no, today’s culture—the bell does not end the performance. It only signals the next act.

We’ll be watching.

Posted in Anthony Joshua, Boxing, Jake Paul, Netflix, Sports, What To Watch