As Jai Opetaia prepares to defend his IBF cruiserweight title against Jack Massey, the fight appears to be a mismatch. Opetaia, a two-time world champion who recently defeated Mairis Briedis for the second time, stands as the favorite. But in this contest, the Underdog Effect plays out in surprising ways, as perception more than physicality defines the narrative.
Malcolm Gladwell, in David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, explores the Underdog Effect by illustrating the power of unusual challenges. Central to his argument is the idea that struggle and adversity are essential and paramount to human growth. For us as an audience, it’s the unfolding of Massey’s potential to overcome Opetaia’s superior technical skills that makes this bout so captivating; the possibility that we might witness not only pugilistic growth but something deeper. This innate eagerness that we have to look beyond mere statistics and probabilities captures the unique appeal of the Underdog Effect, and its functioning in our desire to witness someone defy the odds.
Interestingly, in the Opetaia vs. Massey matchup, physicality creates an ironic twist. Massey, at 6’4”, is larger and has fought heavyweights like Joseph Parker, yet he is cast in the role of “David.” Opetaia, smaller in stature, but more experienced, is positioned as “Goliath.” The mismatch isn’t in size, but in narrative positioning—Massey’s relatively unproven track record against elite cruiserweights makes him the underdog in the eyes of fans, despite his physical advantages.
Massey acknowledges the challenge before him, stating, “Respectfully, I do think that [Opetaia] is the number one in the division,” but physical appearance alone doesn’t earn the respect of the boxing world. The Underdog Effect, demonstrated across domains from sports to business and politics, isn’t tied to sheer size—it’s rooted in the perceived imbalance of skill, experience, and expectation. In stepping into the ring with Opetaia, Massey holds the potential to re-narrativise what many have concretised as inevitability, instead he enters with highly intriguing subversive potential to undo the prescribed perception of the bout.
On paper, Opetaia’s dominance makes him the favorite, but it’s Massey’s role as the underdog that gives the fight its intrigue. This paradoxical positioning plays into the psychology of underdog stories—rooting for the unexpected victor allows fans to believe in the possibility of overcoming their own struggles. The fact that Massey is physically bigger than Opetaia but still seen as “David” speaks to the deeper layers of the underdog narrative. It’s not just about overcoming physical disparity, but overcoming narrative expectations.
As the fight unfolds, the real question is whether Massey can embody the spirit of the underdog—using his size and toughness to shock the boxing world, or whether Opetaia, despite being the smaller fighter, will continue to reign as the division’s “Goliath.” In boxing, the underdog isn’t just fighting the favorite—they’re fighting the story already written about them. Can Massey rewrite his? Whatever happens, the bout is another testament to the complex interplay of perception, size, and expectation in the world of boxing.