I watched sumo wrestling for an hour last weekend before I realised it was the world heavyweight boxing title fight.
There has surely never been a stranger title bout than between Wladimir Klitschko and Tyson Fury - the mouth with a pair of legs who somehow has the title of best heavyweight on the planet right now. He did it without hitting anyone very hard, a curious achievement in boxing. He won because he didn't hit Klitschko better than Klitschko didn't hit him, if you know what I mean.
Klitschko, the feared "Dr Steelhammer", was more like Nursey out of Blackadder. He needed Viagra of the arms. The giant Ukrainian landed 52 of 231 punches thrown (23 per cent), according to the official stats, and 18 of 69 power shots (26 per cent). If Klitschko threw 69 power shots, I missed at least 60 of them. He appeared to be a boxer trapped in the body of a tree.
Fury was little better. He landed 86 of 371 punches (23 per cent) and 48 of 202 power shots (24 per cent) - although if anyone threw even one punch of seriously damaging weight, then Phar Lap was a chimpanzee, the police didn't look like dorks searching Heather du Plessis-Allan's house and Chris Cairns is right now writing out a Christmas card for Brendon McCullum.
This wasn't a fight, it was leaning and waving. Fury was at least elusive - mobile, feinting and jerking like he had a ferret down his pants which, towards the end of the fight, looked alarmingly like they were falling down, threatening to expose rather more than a ferret. It was a clever game plan, boosted by Fury's mugging at a dull Klitschko, gooning it up with taunts, dropping his hands and even putting them behind his back.