Nelson Asofa-Solomona defeats Paul Gallen as NRL great retires, knockout in heavyweight clash

It seemed like it would never end.

Seconds felt like hours.

One overhand right followed by a seismic series of four uppercuts.

Relentless in their intention, ferocious in their execution.

Watch every ball of Australia vs England T20 & ODI series Live & ad-break free during play on Fox Cricket, available on Kayo Sports. Begins Friday November 13 | Don’t miss the Summer of the Century. Get 50% off Kayo Premium for 4 months. Min cost $23 for 1 month. New & returning customers only. Offer ends 30 Nov 2026. Sign up today.

At the end of it, Paul Gallen – NRL great turned accomplished prizefighter – is left in a barely conscious crumpled heap, wedged against the ropes, knees long buckled, and grey matter scrambled.

The man who has sent Gallen into permanent retirement is Nelson Asofa-Solomona, a human so big he can make the sun disappear as he walks by you.

The two have crossed paths before, of course, when they were still rugby league frontrowers, and it was a fairer fight for the 103kg Gallen against Asofa-Solomona’s 136kg monolithic frame.

In footy they say the bigger they are, the harder they fall. It’s true in boxing also, unless the larger man strikes first.

My goodness, did he strike first.

For the purpose of my photographic interests, I’m watching the fight from the apron of the ring, underneath the ropes and looking through the lens of a Canon R5 MkII.

It’s been four decades since I last photographed a boxing match, and while I’m used to witnessing athletes going toe-to-toe from close range, I’m usually wearing headphones and a microphone and describing the action for viewers watching from their lounge room or the public bar of the local.

Tonight, I’m not talking, but my mind is ablaze with what I’m witnessing through the viewfinder.

Paul Gallen promised he’d take the fight to Asofa-Solomona – Big Nasty – and the 45-year-old was true to his word.

In an instant, however, the fight is coming to him, and it’s the size of a locomotive that isn’t stopping for passengers.

A jab sets up a right cross, connecting flush in the face, and NAS has Gallen stumbling backwards towards the corner, arms askew in an uncontrolled response to the force that has accelerated the contest in a literal blink of an eye.

That was the entrée.

The main will be served in four instalments, every one of them landing as cleanly as you’ll see wherever heavyweights step inside the squared circle.

The fight wasn’t over when Asofa-Solomona struck with the straight right, but it was when the first of the uppercuts was delivered to Gallen’s jaw.

The connection would have dropped most men where they stood, but Gallen is now propped up, his back against the ropes, with nowhere to move, even if he could remember how to do it.

It was his eyes that will stay with me.

They’re open, but they’re not looking at the man in front of him.

Glazed, dazed – unfocussed and unseeing.

At one thousandth of a second, it’s unsettling to look at.

I can’t imagine what it feels like, and I don’t ever want to know.

But it’s not over.

A corked right hand, a vicious unleashing, a red glove smashing into the cheekbone and left eye.

Gallen’s knees collapse, and his right arm dangles through the ropes, leaving him in an undefended sitting pose as the man mountain, fifteen years his junior, reaches back again.

You can’t hear the contact with the arena on full tilt, but you can feel it.

READ MORE

‘I was scared’: Ex-teammate’s emotional Gal reveal as icon ‘put out of his misery’

‘Don’t tolerate that bulls***’: NAS lifts lid on ugly act that sparked wild crowd attack

The hitting, or rather the beating, won’t stop.

The referee is lunging to bring the blows to a stop.

A step too late, his left hand grabs Asofa-Solomona by the biceps, an action more futile than a lone sandbag by the sea.

The fourth uppercut hits Gallen on a jaw that should be studied for its composition.

The third man in the ring has the fallen warrior separated from Big Nasty, the piston-like punches coming to a merciful end.

My finger hasn’t left the shutter release for 52 continuous frames.

At 15 frames per second, the whole sequence has taken no more than three-and-a-half seconds of real time.

Five punches, four uppercuts, a one-man demolition.

Paul Gallen is laid on the canvas, medicos and his corner rushing to his aid, but I can’t take a close-up of him.

I don’t want to.

It’s a good thing I’m not a pro snapper.