G'day. I'm Danny Green, the IBO cruiserweight champion of the world. I could be fighting the best cruiserweights out there like Denis Lebedev, Marco Huck or Steve Cunningham, but I answer to a higher power.
Many years ago I played the game like all other boxers; I wanted to be the number one fighter in the world. I fought for title shots and tried to beat the best. By the end of 2007, I had had enough and retired. I quit the sport as the WBA light heavyweight champion of the world.
I enjoyed my life away from the ring, especially some of the more mundane, day-to-day tasks that I missed while I was a professional fighter. I spent lots of days reconnecting with old friends, completing my home refurbishing and trying my hand with the culinary arts. Life was good and I was content. I had no idea that I was about to undertake the central mission of my life.
One day in 2008, as I was doing the dishes of all things, I saw a giant beam of light enter my kitchen. I heard a voice calling to me; it was the Lord. Now I had always been a spiritual man, but I had never had an encounter with the Deity.
On that afternoon, God spoke to me and said. "Danny, you must return to boxing and you must eliminate all of the old boxers from the sport. They are a pox, a plague every bit as menacing as locusts or famine. You must retire them and rid the sport of their kind. Do not be afraid. If you follow me, I will bestow upon you all the powers needed for such an important quest."
I hurriedly put the dishes down and sat on my floor, shaking from my encounter. My heart was racing. I felt galvanized. I then realized that after 35 years, I now had a purpose in my life. That night I couldn't go to bed. There was so much excitement. It went beyond that, actually. For the first time in my life, I was wide awake.
The next morning I went back to my old gym. I trained with a vigor and energy that eluded me in my earlier years. I felt the rush of positive energy throughout my entire body. Instantly, I could run faster, hit harder, work longer. I was practically dropping sparring partners with just the focus of my gaze and the clarity of my vision.
At night, I would start to assemble my dream list of old fighters to eliminate. Roy Jones. Antonio Tarver. Glen Johnson. And the MacDaddy of them all, Bernard Hopkins.
See, these old fighters deprive up-and-coming boxers, fans and followers of the opportunities to watch the best in the sport. So much time is wasted on these irrelevant has-beens. They are damaging boxing by stifling the growth of future fighters and diverting TV time, media attention and money away from more deserving people. They are full of avarice, envy, arrogance and immodesty. These old windbags have had their time, but refuse to exit with grace, displaying selfishness and narcissism.
During training, I would yell out "The World no longer cares about you, Roy Jones." Then I would hit the heavy bag with the force of three Klitschkos. This is my cause.
You many say, "Hey, but Danny aren't you now 38? You are not really such a young pup yourself?" My answer to that is you are right. However, my journey is your journey. I am not fighting for money or power; I fight for the purity of the sport. I will slay these elderly dragons. When my job as Destroyer of Senior Boxers is finished on Earth, I will hang up the gloves and live the rest of my life in peace in Western Australia. You will not have to worry about me abusing my powers. Destroying these seniors is not a calling I sought; but it is the one that I follow.
To help execute my strategy for vanquishing the old guard, I consulted with my trainer, Angelo Hyder. We determined that we needed a plan to lure these senior citizens down to Australia to meet their ultimate demise. The obvious answer was exploiting their personal vanities, through offering money, trinkets and status. He suggested that I start with a few comeback fights to show that I could be a viable option for these glory-addicted geriatrics.
After disposing of a Nobody called Anthony van Niekerk, I was offered the opportunity to fight for the IBO belt at cruiserweight. Now, everyone knows that the IBO is a laughable organization but after consulting with Angelo, we decided to pursue this strategy. In short, the only thing that old, fat American boxers love more than money is bling. Perhaps the title belt, even a silly one, would be an important facet in helping to lure my prey.
We concocted a nefarious plan for retiring Roy Jones, Jr. – the most evil of all of the old boxers. We made nice with his promotional company, Square Ring, telling John Wirt, the CEO, that I was Roy Jones' biggest fan and it would be my biggest thrill as a boxer to fight on one of his undercards. I told him that perhaps if I won the title belt maybe Mr. Jones would honor me by fighting him.
Somehow, Jones bought all this tripe. You see, Seniors Boxers are vain fellows. They should just retire and leave boxing to the youth. But instead, they pollute the airwaves and the media with their Pride, their Envy, their Greed and their Lust. They think they will be on top forever, that they have special rules, that they deserve all of the good things in life. No, they deserve to be permanently exiled. With their arrogance and selfishness, they continue to take and take and take.
So I won the title belt. Honestly, I couldn't even tell you who Julio Cesar Dominquez was. I was in the ring, following God's commands. My combinations were faster than a tornado. My power shots struck like thunder. Divine intervention was doing remarkable things. I got the TKO in the fifth round.
After the win, we put the next phase of our plan into action. We told Jones that the only thing he had left to do in boxing was to defeat Bernard Hopkins once and for all. We convinced him that Hopkins' constant yammering about the lack of a rematch was diminishing the legacy of the great Roy Jones, Jr. Furthermore, we persuaded Jones to come to Sydney to fight me. We told him that he would be treated like a king Down Under and that this fight would be the perfect showcase to let the boxing public, scratch that, the world over, know that he was still a massive presence in the sport. If he defeated me, he would be viewed as a suitable opponent for Hopkins, with the opportunity to make untold future riches.
Hyder and I went back to Australia, and with messianic zeal, we raised enough money to get Jones to come down to fight. My Australian brethren opened up their pocketbooks for the worthiness of our cause. Instead of the sparse accoutrements afforded by Perth, we staged the fight in Sydney, where we would line up the finest wine, women and song to distract Mr. Jones.
By the time Jones entered the ring, he was not fighting Danny Green, cruiserweight champion; he was facing the Lord's agent – DestroyerMan. Within 30 seconds I landed a thunderous right to his temple. Within 90 seconds he was lying flat on the ground, motionless.
After I vanquished Jones, I started calling out Antonio Tarver and Bernard Hopkins. But they weren't ready to meet their destiny head on. Failing to get bites from them, Hyder suggested that I stay busy by fighting some additional no-hopers, using these opportunities to further harness my awesome powers. He preached patience, telling me that DestroyerMan's time will come. So Manny Siaca, Paul Briggs and BJ Flores met my fury. After each fight, I continued to call out the graybeards.
Like the idiot that he is, Jones continued with his career. No senior recovers from DestroyerMan. Although he refused to throw punches against Hopkins in their rematch, Jones probably felt he won just by surviving the 12 rounds. Jones, his ego still laced with avarice, pride and greed, then got crushed by Lebedev. My mission was spreading. Other fighters were joining me in this righteous quest.
A few months ago, my calls were answered; Fat Antonio Tarver agreed to come to Sydney and fight at cruiserweight.
For this fight in July, we will provide Tarver with the most opulent buffets known to man. He will be afforded with Sydney's finest pleasures and vices. We will disarm him with kindness and hospitality. Then he will get into the ring. Without warning, he will face Judgment Day.
For me, DestroyerMan of Seniors, or just DestroyerMan for short, I will be taking my quest to a whole new level. I am going to walk into the ring with my new cape and my magic staff. Hyder and I are busy devising our regalia for the affair. There will be pyrotechnics, Biblical symbology throughout the arena and ominous voices chanting medieval liturgy. Tarver will quake in his boots knowing that the wrath of DestroyerMan will come down and smite him.
After Tarver, I will put Hopkins and Johnson out of their misery. I will rid this sport of their obsolescence. I don't care that Hopkins still has a title. He is an anathema in this sport, with his refusal to exit with grace and ruining the lives of young boxers. Johnson's time will come as well. If Carl Froch does not retire him, then he too shall meet the DestroyerMan.
All of you geriatrics are on notice. DestroyerMan's work is not finished. Retire now and you will be spared. Fight on at your own peril. Ultimately you will answer not to Danny Green, but to DestoyerMan.