There is that precise moment, almost imperceptible, when you realize that everything you’ve been carrying for months—the pressure, the doubts, the hopes, the sacrifices—is no longer a projection. It’s now.
December 19 — As my friend would say: A beautiful day to fight!
6:45 a.m.
Leïla is already up. She texts JF: “I’m awake.”
He replies that he’s getting ready and on his way.
In reality, he orders the gluten-free waffles she’s been talking about for weeks. An almost childlike obsession in a world of extreme discipline.
The order arrives too late. She’s already eaten.
But he brings them anyway.
“Half now. The other half for dinner.”
She smiles. She’s happy.
These micro-moments will never appear on a fight card.
Yet they’re part of victory… or defeat.
7:30 a.m.
I go for a run with Mathieu Casavant. The others have dropped out.
That’s okay.
Running, breathing, watching the scenery go by. And above all, talking with someone who understands what it really costs—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally.
These are conversations you can only have with people from the world.
8:15 a.m.
I have an interview on Salut Bonjour.
I talk about the fight, yes. But mostly about the journey. I thank EOTTM for offering so many opportunities. I talk about my pride. I truly mean it.
Meanwhile, Leïla is with Dr. Gougoux.
Gougoux is calm. Precise. Exceptional.
She fine-tunes the last details of a body that must be ready to absorb the unacceptable.
9:00 a.m.
The beach.
Leïla and Roz meet there. Breathing. Visualization. Affirmations.
They face the ocean—it’s beautiful to watch.
I observe them from afar. Their connection is silent, fluid. A bond forged in respect and trust.
I stay back.
I want to be invisible.
I don’t want to break this moment.
I don’t want to exist in their bubble.
9:40 a.m.
Activation near the pool.
Fifteen minutes to wake up the body, sharpen the mind, synchronize the nervous system.
I feel her—more focused than ever.
Not nervous. Not tense.
Ready.
Because the opponent is not an unknown.
Alycia “The Bomb” Baumgardner.
Undisputed champion. Flagship product of MVP. Designated successor to Amanda Serrano.
Rare power. Brutal explosiveness. Hand speed. Tactical intelligence. She’s well coached—I’ve known her trainer for a long time. They make a great team.
A boxer who doesn’t just hit hard—she hits right.
That’s who Leïla has been fighting in her head for months.
We knew exactly what this meant.
10:00 a.m.
Snack.
Back to my room to record the PunchCast with Antonin. Mathieu Casavant is with us—manager of Cherneka “Sugar Neekz” Johnson. We talk about his role, the card, Netflix.
Everything is connected.
Noon.
Leïla eats again.
The “recarb.” The fuel of war.
1:00 p.m.
Packing the bag. Cheat sheet in hand so nothing is forgotten. Nothing left to chance.
2:00 p.m.
Another snack.
2:30 p.m.
Nap. Visualization. Silence.
5:30 p.m.
Dinner. It’s just her and me.
I needed this one-on-one time.
We review the plan.
Establish the jab. Move to the right and finish with the left to neutralize Alycia’s devastating right. Control the distance or apply pressure, but avoid mid-range. Feints. Head movement. Progressive tempo, caution in the early rounds, finish strong.
She knows.
She’s repeated it too many times to forget.
Photo: MVP – Dre Gougoux, Jade Masson-Wong, Leïla Beaudoin and Samuel Décarie-Drolet
6:40 p.m.
The whole team comes together.
We leave together.
Just a few hours left…
7:10 p.m.
Kaseya Center.
The arena is massive—where the Miami Heat play.
Barely out of the vehicle, flashes explode. Cameras crackle from all sides.
We dive into the huge concrete corridors, moving like an army on a mission.
The locker room is packed—Camilla Panatta’s team and Amanda Galle’s team are there too. It’s loud at first. Too many people. Too much scattered energy. Leïla feels it and tells me. I remind her she’s boxed in worse places, warmed up in rooms with 50 people. She nods and recenters.
Slowly, the locker room empties.
An hour before the fight, it’s just us.
7:40 p.m.
Leïla rereads her affirmations.
She anchors them.
She no longer reads them.
She becomes them.
8:00 p.m.
Referee Alicia Collins arrives with representatives from the WBO, WBA, and IBF.
Instructions. Rules. Rituals.
Photo: MVP – Leïla Beaudoin
8:15 p.m.
I wrap her hands.
Every turn of tape is a gesture repeated a thousand times, but never trivial. I’m a perfectionist.
8:45 p.m.
Warm-up.
Jump rope. Mobility. Shadowboxing.
9:05 p.m.
Leïla puts on her boxing outfit, then the gloves.
Photo: MVP – Leïla Beaudoin and Samuel Décarie-Drolet
9:10 p.m.
The final stretch—we start pad work.
Her punches are sharp. Powerful. Precise.
She’s ready.
In her zone.
The walk to the ring
Despite a referee stoppage in the fight before ours, there’s a slight delay.
Photo: MVP – Leïla Beaudoin
9:35 p.m.
We’re escorted into the corridors.
The atmosphere is electric. The crowd roars behind the walls.
Leïla repeats her affirmations.
She absorbs the energy.
Then she walks.
Toward the ring.
Toward the moment she chose.
I’m calm.
We did the work.
This is the fight she wanted.
36 minutes of boxing
The first round is good.
Leïla sets the pace. Jab. Activity.
Alycia lands a combination. Close round.
In the second, the right hand lands. Solid.
Leïla is shaken.
She hides it perfectly.
But I see it.
It makes her slightly hesitant in the next round.
The fourth is encouraging.
The fifth and sixth are competitive, but we’re behind.
Photo: MVP – Leïla Beaudoin and Alycia Baumgardner
At the end of the seventh, she opens up on the counter—too wide, off balance—and gets caught by a strong right.
She goes down.
Gets right back up, takes the count, the bell rings.
I watch her closely. I calculate.
I ask Jessy for cold water to snap her back.
I give Leïla instructions. I tell her Alycia will come out strong to try to finish, that she must move and be smart in the first minute.
I think about stopping it, but I don’t say it.
Protecting an athlete from her own courage is part of my job.
She recovers.
But we’re not winning rounds.
We need to accelerate.
The ninth is better.
The tenth, eleventh, and twelfth show her heart.
Her will.
Her refusal to quit.
The immediate aftermath
I hate losing.
I know every sacrifice she made.
I wanted to see her hands raised.
I wanted her to win.
Not out of ego—but because I wished it for her.
I’m disappointed.
But the truth is, after the early rounds, few believed the fight would go the distance.
She did it. She adjusted.
And she finished strong.
A little girl from Témiscouata made it to Miami, on Netflix, in front of millions.
There will always be people who criticize, but you know what they say: you always go too far for people who go nowhere.
In the locker room, her face is marked.
Ice on her face, she looks at me and says:
— Sam, it felt like she had bricks in her hands. I’ve never been hit that hard.
Sitting on my chair, I watched Dr. Gougoux talk with Leïla. Nearby, Jade and JF spoke quietly. Anthony and Antonin were there too, talking with JS and Leïla’s father, who had traveled to see his daughter perform. Jessy was packing up his gear.
I think I’ve told you: I hate losing. In everyday life I’m a good sport, but my job is to win.
Watching the people around me, what I felt most was pride.
The team was perfect all week—laughing when needed to ease the tension, serious and focused when it mattered, with one goal: helping Leïla reach her dreams.
I smiled to myself and thought that next time would be the one.
We learned a lot. We always do.
Some fights are lessons.
Photo: MVP – Alycia Baumgardner and Leïla Beaudoin
December 20 — Back to Montreal
The return is brutal.
One day, the lights.
The next, silence.
I look out the airplane window.
This journal closes here.
But the story continues.
Boxing promises nothing.
It demands everything.
And sometimes, even in defeat,
you gain something greater.
Leïla, I am proud of you.
