The ink dried, the press release dropped, and that was it. Anthony Joshua, two-time unified heavyweight champion, Olympic gold medalist, the man who once filled Wembley three times over, quietly put his name on a contract to fight Jake Paul on December 19th.
And in that moment, the version of AJ the world once believed in died. Not in the ring, not from a left hook, but from a pen stroke.
It’s the ultimate no-win trap, the kind only boxing can set with such cruelty. Joshua is 36 now, coming off the Ngannou bounce-back and still carrying the scars of two Usyk masterclasses. He’s supposed to walk through Paul like he’s a heavy bag with a Twitter account. The bookies have him -300, -400 in places; the public expects a demolition in four rounds or less. Anything short of that and the whispers turn to screams: “He’s shot. He needed twelve rounds with a YouTuber. He’s finished.” Knock Paul out in thirty seconds and the reaction is the same shrug: “Yeah, well… he was meant to.
”That’s the poison. There is no version of this fight where Joshua comes out smelling clean. A brutal, one-punch annihilation? “He bullied a kid ten years younger who’d never boxed properly until 2020.” A competitive fight that goes past six? “Lost rounds to a Disney actor.” A stoppage loss? Sweet Jesus, the internet will burn for a month and the heavyweight division will never let him forget it. Even a wide decision win gets spun as “he couldn’t get the streamer out of there.” The man can’t breathe without someone telling him it’s proof he’s washed.
Anthony Joshua’s Legacy Ended the Night He Signed for Jake Paul
Remember when Joshua-Dubois was meant to be the legacy repair job? That was the plan: beat a hungry Brit, remind everyone of the old destructive force, line up Fury or Wilder in 2026. Instead he’s in Florida collecting a monster cheque to fight a lad who used to review McDonald’s toys for a living. That’s not a comeback fight; that’s a retirement tour stop disguised as a main event.
And the saddest part? Joshua knows it. You can see it in the way he forces the smile at press conferences, the way he parrots the “it’s just business” line. Deep down he knows the second he steps through those ropes against Paul, the narrative is set in concrete. Win ugly and he’s the bully who struggled. Win pretty and it’s “expected.” Lose or draw and the obituaries write themselves. The belt reigns, the 90,000 sell-outs, the Klitschko comeback in front of 90,000; all of it gets reduced to footnotes the moment Paul’s music hits.
Boxing has always eaten its heroes, but this is different. This is voluntary. Joshua didn’t have to take this dance. He chose the payday over the path. And the second he did, the Anthony Joshua who mattered (the one who could silence stadiums with a single right hand) ceased to exist. Whatever happens on December 19th, the legacy version of AJ is already gone. The contract made sure of that.
