“I’M FLYING,” said Tyson Fury, taking his seat. “I’m f**king flying.”
Twenty-five minutes later, an enraged Deontay Wilder was charging at him. The smile of a fighting man emerged from Fury’s beard. He took his jacket off, then his shirt. He roared, enlivened by the combat in the air.
Fury’s team, including members of his family, rushed on to the stage. Wilder’s team were already there. Punches were thrown before promoter Frank Warren, with a bit of help from security at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel in Los Angeles, managed to curtail the chaos.