“I feel like I was successful because of my talent,” said Berlanga on Brian Custer's channel. “What separated me from these guys was my dedication and my discipline. I always gave myself 50%. This camp was different. The light was on.”
What Berlanga said is that what contributed to him being able to pass by only 50% was the way he was managed. The original narrative was built on a brilliant marketing gimmick: 16 straight first-round knockouts. Top Rank has no doubt given him a selection of specially selected opponents to keep the race alive.
Once he went eight and ten rounders against rising opponents such as Demond Nicholson, Marcelo Coceres, Steve Rolls, and Roamer Alexis Angulo, the knockout power disappeared. He was falling, biting opponents out of frustration, and looking completely normal compared to the basic walkers.
Matchroom bought the hype to grow his Puerto Rican fanbase in New York, giving him soft touches like Jason Quigley and Padraig McCrory to set him up for a big payday against Canelo Alvarez.
When Berlanga finally rose to the top, the truth caught up with him. Canelo Alvarez beat him in 12 rounds, he dropped him on the road. Hamzah Sheeraz exposed the gap in the level by stopping him within five rounds.
Chalking up his struggle entirely to “lack of discipline” or “giving 50%” is a classic promotion to defend the fighter's brand. A lack of dedication may have played a role, but the main reason he looked so invincible at first was a careful comparison to hide major technical limitations, limitations that were punished the second time he entered an elite tournament.
“I want to change the way people look,” said Berlanga. “I want to be talked about like Bam Rodriguez, Shakur Stevenson … that I have talent, IQ. I owe it to myself.”
Comparing yourself to operators like Crawford, Shakur, or Bam is completely disconnected from who you are in the ring.
Those guys are exceptional specialists, defensive specialists and fantastic scientists with top-notch footwork, ring vision, and range control. Berlanga is a fierce fighter who relies on raw athleticism, wild power, and terrorizing his opponents. You don't wake up at age 29 after a decade of fighting like a dirty slugger and suddenly develop an elite IQ, a few defenses, or a sense of opposition just because you worked hard in one training camp.
A fighter can sharpen his posture, tighten his guard, and stop making rookie mistakes. But trying to reinvent the style overnight often ends in disaster. When the natural brawler tries to play chess against the real boxers, they end up hesitating, losing their strength, and getting separated.
It's one thing when a fighter is just spouting hype to promote a fight, but it's another thing entirely when he's actually asserting himself. In boxing, such delusions are dangerous.
Berlanga has spent years being told that he is an unstoppable beast when he blows past opponents in one round. That level of early praise tarnishes a fighter's reputation.
Now, faced with the reality of his technological limitations, his mind reaches a simple explanation: “I wasn't trying hard enough.” Accepting that you lack effort is a lot easier on yourself than accepting that you just don't have the natural ring of IQ, brains, or skill ceiling of a Crawford or Shakur. If it was a misbehavior, then the talent is still waiting to be discovered.
Sadness is what happens when the bell rings. When a young man suddenly believes he can play chess in the ring, he steps into the line of fire with a false sense of security. Boxing is a brutal sport for anyone trying to learn the basics the hard way at a high level.
