Crawford Crashes the Party: How Bud Took Down Canelo

Okay, I’ll be honest—I didn’t see this coming. Terence “Bud” Crawford, the guy everyone said was too small, too light, too late to the 168-pound game, just walked into Vegas and handed Canelo Álvarez a loss on Mexican Independence Day weekend. Yeah, that Canelo—the face of boxing, the king of the division, the man who’s been headlining in this city since forever. Final scorecards: 116-112, 115-113, 115-113. Crawford by unanimous decision, and suddenly, the boxing world feels upside down.

The fight started with a reminder: Canelo is still Canelo. Round one was all body shots, jabs, and that slow, stalking pressure we’ve seen him use to break guys for years. But Crawford didn’t blink. In the second, Bud popped his jab, snapped counters, and made Canelo look just a touch frustrated. By the third, Canelo roared back with heavier punches, and you could almost hear the crowd think, alright, order has been restored. Except it wasn’t.

From round four onward, Crawford started writing his own story. He slipped, he slid, he countered. Every time Canelo tried to load up, Bud tagged him with something slick. The sixth round was the turning point—Crawford stepped inside and started landing clean, and suddenly you could feel the tide shift. By the seventh and eighth, he was in control, making Canelo miss big and look just a step slow. Even when a clash of heads in the ninth opened a cut, Crawford didn’t panic. He just boxed through it, cool as ice.

Canelo had moments. The fifth and tenth were his best, where he fought with urgency and landed the heavier shots. But it wasn’t enough. By the championship rounds, Crawford was the one dictating. He didn’t just survive Canelo—he stood his ground, traded when he wanted, and finished strong in the twelfth. When the bell rang, you knew. History had been made.

This wasn’t some fluke. It wasn’t luck. Crawford went up in weight, fought the man at the top, and beat him straight up. And watching him celebrate while Canelo tried to process it? That’s the stuff us sports fans live for—the shock, the disbelief, the moment you realize you just watched something special!

The Rest of the Night

The undercard had its own flavor. Callum Walsh put on a clinic against Fernando Vargas Jr., basically pitching a shutout. Ten rounds of steady work, sharper combos, and Vargas never looked like he had an answer. Judges scored it wide, and nobody in the building argued.

Christian Mbilli and Lester Martínez scrapped to a split draw, and honestly, it felt right. Mbilli pressed forward, Martínez countered, both had their moments, and in the end, nobody really separated themselves. Call it frustrating, call it fair—either way, they’ll probably run it back.

And Mohammed Alakel? He handled business. Ten rounds against Travis Kent Crawford, and he never looked troubled. Just steady, controlled boxing to pad the résumé. Not flashy, but effective.

But let’s be real—the night belonged to Bud. Nobody thought he’d actually do it. Nobody thought Canelo would fall in Vegas. Yet here we are: Crawford, grinning ear to ear, belts on his shoulders, fans buzzing about the impossible. And for boxing, it’s the kind of shake-up you only ever see once in a while.