Andy Ruiz Jnr the chunky champ is a poster-boy for ‘big lads’ says The Lazy Journalist

It’s not often you see a wobbly tum on an elite sportsperson, and even less often on a successful elite sportsperson.
Andy Ruiz Jr. Photo by Yong Teck Lim/Getty Images) SUS-190406-112027001Andy Ruiz Jr. Photo by Yong Teck Lim/Getty Images) SUS-190406-112027001
Andy Ruiz Jr. Photo by Yong Teck Lim/Getty Images) SUS-190406-112027001

But on Saturday a podgy pugilist, Mexican-American Andy Ruiz Jnr, bludgeoned the begorrah out of the then reigning world boxing champ, England’s Anthony Joshua, a man with the body of the Greek God of being buff.

Joshua’s magnificent physique was no match for his visibly flabbier opponent who on night won three world heavyweight titles and the hearts of tubby men all over the world.

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It was a great victory for the underdog scrapper who could now become a role model for people who have to breathe in to button up their trousers.


Obviously, he must be as fit as a butcher’s Chihuahua to even step into the ring with Joshua, but it was reassuring to see his stomach spilling over the top of his boxer’s trunks.

One wag on Twitter said: “I’m cancelling my gym membership & going out for tacos”

I haven’t gone that far but I’m quietly pleased for my bulky brethren.

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Although tacos are about the only thing I haven’t consumed in the past week...

While Ruiz Jnr was preparing for the fight of his life I was recuperating from the denervation on my crocked spinal area and putting my back into some world-beating comfort eating.

The nerve-burning spine-spiking procedure itself wasn’t too bad, or at least not too bad after an ‘advanced sedation’.

But the days after were as uncomfortable as you’d imagine they’d be for a whining middle-aged chap with a laughably low pain threshold.

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A routine of applying ice packs to my lumbar and ice creams to my maw was quickly established, amid a flurry (but at least no McFlurries) of hardcore painkillers, crisps, cheesy crackers, and chocolate.

Not great I’m afraid.

Fortunately, after three days of too much TV and over-priced premium-brand choc ices, I was up and about and able to at least able to have a walk (albeit at a doddery pace and terrified of being bumped by anyone walking faster than tectonic plate movement).

I’ve since made it back to the gym and the back hasn’t given me any gyp (touch wood, touch bag of frozen peas). I was especially pleased with a 45-minute spin on an exercise bike because cycling has been especially difficult when my lower back has been playing up. But there were no problems this time around.

There was no televised live sport to watch while I, figuratively, went through the gears, so I read a few chapters on my Kindle.

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I chose the less-than upbeat Chernobyl -– A History of a Tragedy by Ukrainian-American historian Serhill Plokhii. Soon after I binge-watched the HBO-Sky drama on the same topic, hot on the heels of the BBC’s dystopian drama Years and Years.

The above has spurred me on to up the exercise levels, if only so I can run fast enough to catch my dinner in a post-apocalyptic Brighton.

To find our more about Freedom Leisure’s Brighton and Hove gyms visit