It's always Canelo, and it's Mexican Independence Day, so I know

"It's always Canelo, and it's Mexican Independence Day, so I know that. But I am the champion, and just looking back on that, that is one reason why I hope they'll respect that I'm champion and be fair." – Liam Smith

Hear these words, O seekers of courage, and know that they spring from the heart of a warrior — a man who stands not merely in the ring, but in the great arena of honor. When Liam Smith, the British boxer, spoke these words, he did not speak as one blinded by pride, but as one yearning for justice amidst the roar of the crowd and the weight of expectation. He knew the eyes of the world would be fixed upon his opponent — the great Canelo Álvarez, beloved son of Mexico, fighting on the sacred day of his nation’s independence. Yet, Smith’s voice, steady and humble, carried a timeless truth: that even amid the pageantry of power and fame, the heart of a true champion seeks not advantage, but fairness.

In his words lies the echo of every soul who has ever stood before giants, knowing the scales of judgment were uneven. Smith understood the moment — the grandeur of the occasion, the tidal wave of emotion that swelled for Canelo, hero of a proud people. Yet he also remembered his own worth: “I am the champion.” In this declaration, there is no arrogance, only the assertion of dignity — the reminder that honor belongs not to the celebrated, but to the deserving. The champion does not beg for applause; he asks only that his effort be weighed with justice.

From the days of old, this struggle has repeated itself. Recall the tale of David and Goliath, the shepherd who faced the warrior armed in bronze. The world had already chosen its favorite; the crowd saw only the strength of Goliath, not the courage of David. But the young man’s heart burned with faith — he did not seek to be favored, only to be judged by truth, not by reputation. And when he stood victorious, it was not because the crowd willed it so, but because integrity and courage stood taller than strength and spectacle. Liam Smith’s words carry this same ancient spirit — that to fight fairly is nobler than to win unjustly.

He also speaks to a deeper wound within the human heart — the yearning for recognition. In every field, whether of sport, art, or life, there are moments when the humble must stand before the celebrated, when one’s worth must be proven not by fame but by effort and character. Smith’s plea for fairness reminds us that the true measure of greatness lies not in applause, but in respect — and respect, once earned, must never be denied by bias or favor.

Yet, in his humility, there is also wisdom. Smith does not curse the celebration of Mexican Independence Day, nor the pride that comes with Canelo’s people rallying behind him. He acknowledges it, honors it, and yet quietly affirms his own rightful place. This is the balance of a noble heart — to respect the glory of others while not diminishing one’s own light. He teaches us that confidence and respect can coexist, that one may stand proud without arrogance, and humble without surrender.

From his words emerges a lesson for all who walk the path of competition and life alike: seek fairness, not favoritism; stand firm, not bitterly, but boldly. The world may not always see your struggle, the crowd may cheer another’s name louder than yours, but the truth — that unshakable judge — will remain. Like the great warriors of old, your task is to fight with honor, to hold your ground, and to trust that justice, though delayed, will not be denied.

So, let this be written as counsel to the generations that follow: when you find yourself overshadowed by greatness, do not yield to despair. Remember your worth, and speak, as Liam Smith did, with quiet strength: “I am the champion.” For titles may fade and crowds may forget, but dignity endures — and the fair soul, who demands not favor but justice, will forever stand among the true champions of men.