A glimmer of hope, a door creaked slightly ajar, a creeping sense of “what if” drifting through the crowd and the commentary box – but in the end, Australia win.
This was England’s long-awaited Ashes reunion, their first competitive meeting since the ill-fated 16-0 drubbing.
In some ways, this was a free hit, considering the fact that a semi-final spot at the Women’s World Cup had already been secured for both teams.
Throughout the tournament, England have shown – despite being far from perfect on occasions – that this is not the same dejected England that left the Melbourne Cricket Ground back in February, having barely left a scratch on their opponents – let alone a punch.
Against their great rivals in Indore, they had spells where they competed – again, something that was nothing more than a pipe dream at the beginning of the year.
Amy Jones and Tammy Beaumont dominated the first eight overs, cashing in as the Australian seamers bowled too wide and lacked control.
Alice Capsey played an enterprising cameo to get England to 244, which always felt below par, but when Lauren Bell removed Phoebe Litchfield’s off stump with a beauty and Georgia Voll and Ellyse Perry were dismissed shortly after, England were in unfamiliar territory.
They were favourites.
But against a team of such greatness, a line-up littered with stardom from one to 11 and the three left on the bench, you cannot and will not win a game in moments.
England learned a harsh lesson in Indore. They have improved massively in the field, they look fitter, they look a more cohesive unit willing to fight and scrap for everything.
Still, you can do all of that, and still be outplayed. You can take four top-order wickets for 68 runs and the next two will add a chanceless 180 between them, turning a wobble into a crushing victory with nearly 10 overs to spare.
England’s unbeaten run came to an end, ever so predictably, with a bump down to earth dealt by Australia.
LAS VEGAS — Saúl “Canelo” Álvarez walked alongside his wife and one of his daughters to the makeshift stage in a giant tent a few feet from Allegiant Stadium, the venue where he had just lost for the third time in his professional career.
Visibly affected by more than just the marks left on his face, Álvarez acknowledged that Terence Crawford was superior to him. He made no excuses, but he seemed to be signaling that his body was telling him that his time as a boxer was running out.
During the final rounds, Álvarez’s frustration was evident. He lowered his hands, shook his head and on several occasions appeared resigned. Despite having had a great training camp, his 35 years of age, 20 of them as a professional, were evident.
Terence Crawford punches Canelo Álvarez during an undisputed super middleweight championship boxing match in Las Vegas Saturday.
(David Becker / Associated Press)
“Sometimes you try and your body just can’t take it anymore,” Álvarez said. “That’s my frustration. Maybe I can’t understand Crawford, but my body just can’t take it anymore. I tried, but it just wouldn’t let me continue. And you have to accept that.”
Álvarez lost the super middleweight title bout by unanimous decision, with the judges scoring it 116-112, 115-113 and 115-113 before a record announced crowd of 70,482.
Álvarez acknowledged that he landed blows on his opponent, but none with the cleanliness and power that would have changed the course of the fight.
“I hit Crawford, but I didn’t land any clean blows with all my strength,” lamented Álvarez.
Despite his difficulty, the Guadalajara native reiterated that he never gave up in the ring.
Is this the beginning of the end for Álvarez? Perhaps. But early retirement seems unlikely … especially when he continues to be a box office magnet. The latest proof is in the $47,231,887 in gross revenue generated by ticket sales at Allegiant Stadium, according Live Gate.
The Canelo-Crawford fight became the biggest box office draw in the history of the Las Vegas venue, and with 70,482 fans in attendance, it was the most attended boxing event in U.S. history, surpassing Ali-Spinks II.
Crawford stripped Álvarez of his World Boxing Council (WBC), World Boxing Assn. (WBA), International Boxing Federation (IBF) and World Boxing Organization (WBO) belts.
After the fight, Álvarez raised his right arm in triumph. But he didn’t declare himself the winner as he did following his loss to Dmitry Bivol in 2022.
Álvarez accepted his defeat against a vastly superior opponent who made his win look easy.
Canelo Álvarez punches Terence Crawford during an undisputed super middleweight championship boxing match in Las Vegas Saturday.
(David Becker / Associated Press)
On the other hand, upon hearing the verdict, Crawford knelt in the ring before raising his arms to celebrate the victory.
“I knew I had won when the final bell rang. This is not my plan, it is God’s plan. I am just carrying out his mission,” Crawford said.
Emotional, he remembered his team and the people who have accompanied him.
“When they doubt me, they doubt my team. They thought they couldn’t take me where I wanted to go because they’re not from a big city and they don’t have recognition,” Crawford said. “But here we are, making history. I’m at the forefront, and behind me comes a new generation.”
Although he celebrated intensely, Crawford did not belittle Álvarez, acknowledging the quality of the former champion.
The win is a milestone for Crawford. He is now the first male boxer to be the undisputed champion in three different divisions in the era of four belts. With an undefeated record of 42-0 and 31 knockouts, he stands at the top of his generation.
“It wasn’t easy. It just looked that way, but it wasn’t. He’s definitely the best opponent I’ve ever faced,” Crawford said.
After confirming his third defeat, Álvarez’s gaze was not that of a man who knew he would receive more than $100 million for stepping onto the canvas at Allegiant Stadium. His gaze was that of someone whose body had reminded him that the end of a celebrated career was closer than he thought.
Terence Crawford reacts after the final bell of his fight with Canelo Álvarez, not pictured, in their undisputed super middleweight title fight Saturday in Las Vegas.
(Steve Marcus / Getty Images)
He appeared with the serenity of a man who, although hurt, knew how to recognize the greatness of his opponent.
“I tried everything I could and trained very hard, and he deserves all the credit. Tonight I gave it my all, but I can’t understand his style,” Álvarez said.
Crawford saw Álvarez’s frustration firsthand. Around the sixth round, Crawford knew he had to take another step to completely control the fight because he felt Álvarez adapting to the bout’s rhythm, so he pressed his style harder and overwhelmed Álvarez.
Everything he did was part of the plan he developed during his training camp. Although Crawford wanted to be more active, his coaches reminded him to be disciplined and patient.
Much was said about the difficulties he might face in moving up two weight classes, but the American insisted that he did not feel physically disadvantaged against Álvarez.
“People exaggerated that. He and I are practically the same size,” Crawford said. “I’m a little taller, my arms are longer. The difference is minimal. So when they said, ‘Canelo is huge,’ it seemed disrespectful to me. Tonight you could see that we were evenly matched.”
When asked if what complicated things most for him was Crawford’s speed, movement, or power, Álvarez responded: “Everything. He has it all.”
For the first time since 2018, Álvarez is no longer a world champion.
“I feel like a champion no matter what happens. Win or lose, I still feel like a champion,” Álvarez said. “You have to accept defeat and accept everything. I’m going to keep going.”
When asked whether Floyd Mayweather Jr., who handed him his first professional defeat in 2013, was better than Crawford, Álvarez responded no.
“I think Crawford is much better than Floyd Mayweather,” Álvarez said.
Álvarez recounted gathering his family in the locker room to explain the importance of accepting both victory and defeat.
Canelo Álvarez kisses his wife, Fernanda Gomez, after losing to Terence Crawford (not pictured) in their undisputed super middleweight title fight on Saturday in Las Vegas.
(Steve Marcus / Getty Images)
“My children and my wife were a little sad, but I told them that’s the way it is. It’s not a defeat, it’s a lesson,” Álvarez said. “You have to accept both sides of the coin. That’s what I want to teach them, that you learn as much when you win as when you lose.”
Visibly moved, he spoke of his newborn daughter, just 1 month old, who was waiting for him at their hotel.
Álvarez avoided giving clear details about his next steps and gave himself time to reflect. His future decisions will involve his family, who accompany him in victory and defeat.
The loss to Crawford won’t trigger Álvarez’s immediate retirement, as he has a four-fight contract worth around $400 million with Turki Alalshikh and Riyadh Season, but he could change his strategy in scheduling opponents.
“I want to see what happens in the future. There will definitely be good things,“ Álvarez said. ”I won just by being here.”
Although his legacy is already assured with a career spanning more than 20 years, multiple titles in different divisions and victories over big names, this loss marks a turning point. The question will be how he reacts, whether he will seek immediate revenge or takes another path.
The victory places Crawford on a historic pedestal alongside Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao, becoming the third linear champion in four divisions and the second boxer to achieve undisputed status in three categories, something only Henry Armstrong had achieved in 1938 in a different era of boxing.
“It means a lot because they always said I fought nobodies. Well, what can they say now? I did everything I said I was going to do,” Crawford said. “I moved up two divisions, faced the undisputed champion, and took all his titles. That’s greatness.”
When asked to compare himself to Mayweather, Crawford was respectful.
“Floyd was the best of his era. I am the best of mine. There is no need to compare us,” Crawford said.
The event was attended mostly by Mexican fans who hoped to see Álvarez further cement his legacy. But they left having witnessed a great performance by Álvarez’s opponent.
The fans booed Crawford, who made his walk to the ring dressed in an outfit inspired by the 1995 film “Desperado,” starring Antonio Banderas and Salma Hayek, accompanied by live music and guitar in hand.
At the end of the fight, the same fans applauded him, recognizing his great performance against the defeated champion.
Terence Crawford displays his title belts after defeating Canelo Álvarez (not pictured) in an undisputed super middleweight title fight by unanimous decision.
(Harry How / Getty Images for Netflix)
“It was part of my outfit. The outfit was inspired by the movie ‘Desperado.’ As you can see, I had the guitar and everything,” Crawford said. “My great childhood friend, Jacinto Robles, was the one who performed a song and acted tonight. … As I said, I also have Mexicans and Latinos on my side. It’s been a beautiful night.”
Unlike many other fighters, Crawford says little, is reserved but intense when he goes after his opponent, avoids theatrics and gets straight to the point. Defeating Álvarez in front of his fans, dominating most of the rounds and becoming just the third person to defeat Álvarez is more than enough to shout about with pride, but he didn’t.
Crawford waited until the end of Álvarez’s media appearance in the giant tent to return the Mexican’s belts handed to him in the ring. He could have done this privately in the locker room, but he did it in front of media and the Álvarez family as a sign of respect, extending his hand to his rival.
“When I signed the contract, I already knew I was going to beat him,” Crawford said. “It’s no surprise to me. It’s a surprise to all of you because you don’t believe me. But I always knew I could do it.”
Three years ago, FX’s “The Bear” splattered across our screens and made it impossible to look away. The yelling; the cursing; the gravy-slopping, bowl-clattering, grease-slick, jerry-rigged anxious sweaty mess of the Chicago sandwich shop the Beef and the wildly dysfunctional group of people who worked there, including elite chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), who inherited the Beef from his dead-by-suicide beloved brother Mikey (Jon Bernthal), wowed critics and raised the culture’s collective cortisol count to eye-twitching levels.
Critics used terms like “stress bomb” and “adrenaline shot”; current and former restaurant workers described symptoms not unlike those of PTSD, and viewers ate it all up with a spoon.
Season 2, in which Carmy follows through on his plan to turn the Beef into a fine-dining establishment, only increased the anxiety level. With real money on the table (courtesy of Carmy’s uncle Jimmy, played by Oliver Platt), along with the hopes, dreams and professional futures of the staff, including Sydney (Ayo Edebiri), Marcus (Lionel Boyce), Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), Sugar (Abby Elliott) and, of course, Cousin Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), stakes were cranked to do-or-die.
When the episode “Fishes,” a stomach-clenching holiday buffet of trauma, revealed the twisted roots of a family forged by alcoholism — Carmy’s mother Donna (Jamie Lee Curtis) — and abandonment — Carmy’s father — viewers could not get enough.
This being television, we knew that all the wild dysfunction would inevitably coalesce into triumph — you cannot achieve greatness without driving yourself and everyone else crazy first, right? When, at the end of Season 2, the Bear somehow managed to have a successful opening night, despite Carmy locking himself in a refrigerator and having a full-on existential crisis, our deep attachment to “yes chef” pandemonium appeared vindicated. Fistfuls of Emmys and dopamine cocktails all around.
Except being able to open is a rather low bar for success, even in the restaurant business. Carmy is, for all his talent, an utter mess, and creator Christopher Storer is not, as it turns out, interested in celebrating the time-honored, and frankly toxic, notion that madness is a necessary part of genius — to the apparent dismay of many viewers.
When, in Season 3, Storer and his writers opted to slow things down a bit, to pull each character aside and unsnarl the welter of emotions that fueled the Bear’s kitchen, some viewers were disappointed. Which, having become dependent on the show’s stress-bomb energy, they expressed with outrage. “The Bear” had lost its edge, was getting dull, boring, repetitive and reliant on stunt-casting; it should have ended with Season 2 or, better yet, become a movie.
Thus far, the reaction to Season 4 has run the gamut — where some condemn what they consider continuing stagnation, others cheer a return to form. Which is kind of hilarious as this opens with the staff of the Bear reeling from an equally mixed review of the restaurant from the Chicago Tribune. (Shout out to the notion that a newspaper review still has make-or-break influence, though the Bear’s lack of a social media awareness has long been worrisome).
Season 4 of “The Bear” starts with the restaurant’s crew reaction to the Chicago Tribune review and how it will affect the restaurant. “They didn’t like the chaos,” Sydney says.
(FX)
Turns out that Carmy’s obsessive determination to change the menu daily, and keep his staff on perpetual tenterhooks, was perceived as disruptive, but not in a good way.
“They didn’t like the vibe,” he tells Syd in a morning-after debrief. “They didn’t like the chaos,” she replies. “You think I like chaos?” he asks. “I think you think you need it to be talented,” she says, adding, “You would be just as good, you would be great … without this need for, like, mess.”
Coming early in Episode 1, Syd’s message is a bit on the nose, but addiction does not respond to subtlety, and “The Bear” is, as I have written before, all about the perils and long-range damage of addiction. That includes Donna’s to alcohol, Mikey’s to painkillers, Carmy’s to a self-flagellating notion of perfection and, perhaps, the modern TV audience’s to cortisol.
As Season 4 plays out, with its emphasis on introspection and real connection, viewers might consider why “addictive” has become the highest form of compliment in television.
It’s such a sneaky bastard, addiction, happy to hijack your brain chemistry in any way it can. Our collective attention span isn’t what it used to be and the adrenaline rush unleashed by crisis, real or observed, can create a desire to keep replicating it. Even on broadcast and cable television, most dysfunctional family series take a one-step-forward-two-steps-back approach to their characters’ emotional growth. The mess is what viewers come for, after all.
Particularly in comedy, we want to see our characters get into jams for the pleasure of watching them wildly flail about trying to get out of them. Early seasons of “The Bear” took that desire to a whole new level.
But having amped up the craziness and the stakes, Storer now appears to be more interested in exploring why so many people believe that an ever-roiling crucible is necessary to achieve greatness. And he is willing to dismantle some of the very things that made his show a big hit to do it.
Frankly, that’s as edgy as it gets, especially in streaming, which increasingly uses episodic cliffhangers to speed up a series’ completion rate — nothing fuels a binge watch like a jacked up heart rate.
Like Carmy, Storer doesn’t appear content with resting on his laurels; he’s willing to take counterintuitive risks. As an attempt to actually show both the necessity and difficulty of recovery, in a micro- and meta- sense, “The Bear” is an experiment that defies comparison.
At the beginning of this season, Uncle Jimmy puts a literal clock on how long the Bear has before, short of a miracle, he will have to pull the plug. Carmy, still addicted to drama, claims they will still get a Michelin star, despite evidence to the contrary, which will solve everything. (Spoiler: A gun introduced in the first act must go off in the third is one of many tropes “The Bear” upends.)
The rest of the staff, mercifully, takes a more pragmatic approach. Richie, having become the unexpected sensei of the Bear (and the show), does the most sensible thing — he asks for help from the crackerjack staff of chef Terry’s (Olivia Colman) now defunct Ever. Watching chef Jessica (Sarah Ramos) whip the nightly schedule into shape only underlines the absurdity, and damage, of the auteur theory of anything — greatness is never a solitary achievement.
As Carmy loosens his grip, other outsiders pitch in — Luca (Will Poulter) shows up from Copenhagen to help Marcus and also winds up aiding Tina; Ebraheim (Edwin Lee Gibson) drafts an actual mentor (played by Rob Reiner) to help him figure out how he can grow the Beef sandwich window and Sweeps (Corey Hendrix) finds his own in another sommelier (played by retired master Alpana Singh).
Donna (Jaime Lee Curtis) apologizes to Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) for her actions and the harm she caused.
(FX)
Carmy, thank God, not only returns to Al Anon, but he finally visits his mother, which allows a now-sober Donna (in another potentially Emmy-winning performance by Curtis) to admit the harm she has done and try to make amends.
It is, inarguably, a very different show than the one that debuted three years ago, with far fewer cacophonous kitchen scenes, and many more Chicago-appreciating exteriors. When the long-awaited wedding of Richie’s ex, Tiffany (Gillian Jacobs), reunites many of the characters from the famous “Fishes” episode, fears about a gathering of Berzattos and Faks prove unfounded. Despite a high-pitched and hilarious spat between Sugar and her ex-bestie Francie Fak (Brie Larson), the event is, instead, a celebration of love and reconciliation and includes what passes for a group therapy session under the table where Richie’s daughter Eva (Annabelle Toomey) has hidden herself. (This scene, which involved all the main characters, was more than a little undermined by said table’s TARDIS-like ability to be “bigger on the inside” and the fact that it held the wedding cake, which did not fall as they all exited, is proof that “The Bear” is not a comedy.)
Not even the digital countdown could generate the sizzling, clanking, sniping roar of chronic, organic anxiety that fueled the first two seasons. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it — I love my adrenaline rush as much as the next person.
But that’s the whole point. Real change doesn’t occur with the speed or the electricity of a lightning bolt; as many addicts discover, it’s about progress, not perfection. Recovery takes time and often feels weird — if you want to have a different sort of life, you need to do things differently.
That’s tough on a hit TV show, as the reactions to Season 3 proved (we’ll see how it fares when Emmy nominations are announced in a few weeks). Few series have made as large a shift in tone and tempo as “The Bear,” but its intentions are clear. To illuminate the necessity, and difficulty, of breaking an addiction to anything, including chaos, you can’t rely on talk; for your life to be different, you have to do things differently.
