At super-middleweight, the belt-holder had leverage no champion in the modern era enjoys. Four titles. Guaranteed events. No pressure to take risks. That leverage could have been used to introduce young contenders and give the division depth. Instead, it was spent on controlled defences that protected brand value while leaving the wider field untouched.
The names tell the story. Edgar Berlanga was given a title opportunity without proving himself against elite competition. Jaime Munguia arrived with momentum but left without clarity. William Scull entered as a low-risk mandatory. Jermell Charlo, a 154-pounder, was elevated for commercial reasons rather than divisional logic. John Ryder was durable, available, and non-threatening.
None of those fights were scandals on their own. That’s the problem. Taken individually, each defence could be justified. Taken together, they reveal a pattern: containment instead of cultivation.
How the Challenger Pipeline Closed
Young contenders at 168 never received the oxygen that only a marquee fight can provide. Without that exposure, they couldn’t build leverage. Without leverage, they couldn’t force opportunities. The division didn’t move forward — it just circled.
Middleweight has suffered the same fate, only more quietly.
For years, 160 has existed in a holding pattern. Champions waited. Contenders waited. Potential unifications never aligned. Fighters hovered between weight classes, looking for opportunity rather than dominance. Without a clear centre of gravity, the division lost urgency.
What should have been a fertile talent band between 160 and 168 instead became a dead zone. Fighters either moved up too early, moved down too late, or stayed put with nothing to aim at.
This isn’t about blaming one fighter for everything. It’s about recognising how power shapes ecosystems. When a dominant champion chooses safety repeatedly, the cost isn’t just competitive excitement — it’s developmental stagnation.
In healthy divisions, champions create friction. They force contenders to rise or fall. They establish benchmarks. At super-middleweight, that friction disappeared. The belts stayed active, but the division didn’t evolve.
That stagnation has consequences now. There are talented fighters at 168, but few with recognisable profiles. At 160, there are capable operators, but no clear hierarchy. Fans sense the drift even if they don’t articulate it. The divisions feel paused rather than competitive.
When Mandatories Become the Only Movement
This is why mandatory challengers are starting to matter more across boxing. When voluntary ambition disappears, obligation becomes the only remaining source of movement. Sanctioning bodies are forcing fights not because they want to, but because without pressure, nothing happens.
The irony is that the damage isn’t permanent. One or two genuinely risky matchups would change the temperature immediately. But that requires a shift away from risk management and toward division building — something modern boxing has largely abandoned.
Middleweight and super-middleweight aren’t dead divisions. They’re dormant. And dormancy isn’t caused by lack of talent. It’s caused by lack of opportunity.
Until that changes, both weight classes will remain exactly where they are now: active on paper, stalled in reality.
