Dalton Smith’s Hatton Comparability Faces First Actual Check

Hatton built his reputation by dragging elite fighters into uncomfortable fights and refusing to blink. Matias still does that, even if the mythology around him has thinned. The pressure is real. The attrition is real. And Smith has not yet shown, in any setting, that he can absorb that kind of fight for twelve rounds without losing his shape.

Smith enters unbeaten, technically sound, and confident in his preparation. He also enters having never faced a fighter who forces exchanges the way Matias does, or who treats rounds as something to grind through rather than win cleanly. New York does not reward neat work when it slows. It rewards control, damage, and visible authority.

Matias, now 33, is no longer sold as invincible. That does not make him safe. It makes him urgent. Fighters who lose their aura often fight like they are trying to get it back, and that tends to shorten fights or harden them.

This is the difference between inspiration and inheritance. Smith has admired Hatton since childhood. On Saturday, admiration won’t matter. Only whether he can impose himself when the fight stops looking like a plan.

Up until now, Smith has enjoyed the luxury of boxing on his own terms. Matias is going to strip that away. Once the tactical plan goes out the window, it’s no longer about who has the better jab—it’s about who can hold their shape when the fight gets ugly, and the oxygen gets thin.