If Jeff Horn actually listened to the steady stream of criticism that flows his way on social media, he might be convinced the clock on his 15 minutes of fame is holding precariously at 14:59.
Luckily for Horn (18-0-1, 12 KOs), the WBO welterweight champion, he has never been one to worry much about the opinions of others. The 30-year-old Australian has also never focused much on the odds, which had him as a massive underdog against Manny Pacquiao last July and have him at just about the same entering Saturday's title defense against unbeaten Terence Crawford (9:30 p.m., ESPN+) at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.
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Horn's recent transformation from unknown boxer who never fought outside of his home country to a headlining role in the fight capital of the world -- as the defending champion against one of the top pound-for-pound fighters in the sport, no less -- was something very few, including members of Horn's own household, ever thought was possible.
Yet for some reason, none of it ever felt beyond reach for Horn, which is likely why his shocking journey has reached this point. In fact, the dichotomy of his mindset and demeanor is so stark that he's somehow humble, genuine and irrationally confident at the same time.
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"It's just an inner belief in myself; I just believe I can win," Horn told CBS Sports' "In This Corner" podcast on Monday. "I back my ability and that's what [trainer] Glenn [Rushton] has always taught me ever since Day 1 -- to back myself and dream big in the world, aim high and you will only miss by a little bit. That's why I am aiming for the stars to become the best welterweight out there. That's the goal."
To merely look at the 5-foot-9 Horn doesn't reveal much about the warrior on the inside. From his almost cheesy nickname of "The Hornet" to his boy-band haircut, Horn could very well be mistaken for the kid next door or the first-year teacher at your child's elementary school. The irony in this case is that the latter was exactly who Horn was, teaching physical education in his native Brisbane before his meteoric rise to title contention began.
If Horn's fighting style -- adapted from Rushton's background in martial arts -- appears unorthodox, it's nothing compared to his entry into the sport. Years of being bullied during his formative years only continued in high school, including one occasion where a gang of 30 boys forced him to get on his knees and apologize as they slapped him for trying to help a friend avoid a fight.
Tears, sleepless nights and even brief thoughts of suicide finally led Horn, at age 18 in 2006, to seek out proper self-defense training. But the gym he contacted wasn't a typical building on the street corner of an inner-city neighborhood, and the instructor was a martial arts master whose name was far from synonymous with boxing.
Rushton, 60, a self-made millionaire as an investment manager and property developer, trained aspiring fighters inside the gym in his palatial mansion. He quickly realized there were special qualities within Horn, from his iron chin to his competitiveness, that belied his appearance.
"He looked like a geeky school kid," Rushton told The Sporting News on Tuesday. " I could see he was a bit nerdy looking and I could see why he'd been bullied. Bullies are able to see that word 'victim' tattooed on someone's forehead. They get to know who to target, so you have to change your mindset until people eventually go, 'no not that guy, I might leave him alone. There's something about him. He seems too calm and confident.' That's part of the psychology that I teach."
Horn admits there was always a belief deep inside that he was destined to become a professional athlete, although his initial hopes of doing so in soccer never panned out. But it was Rushton, who has been described as a mixture between Steven Seagal and Tony Robbins, who helped brainwash Horn to truly believe anything was possible.
"I've tempered Jeff like a sword, his mind and his body," Rushton said. "It's not been easy, but I've changed his belief in who he is. When he came in here, he was a bullied school kid, but now he believes he can beat anyone in the world."
Rushton also helped Horn develop his herky-jerky style, which includes non-traditional footwork patterns, punches from awkward angles and constant pressure that can border on being dirty. Horn often leads with his head and forearms, which opened accidental cuts against Pacquiao in their title fight.
"Glenn always believes in a style where you can't really know what anyone is going to do even if you study them hours and hours on end," Horn said. "I don't even know what I'm going to do sometimes. I just adapt to the situation and whatever holes or weaknesses I see, I will go after."
Although Horn has grown almost overnight to become a national celebrity in Australia, the critics abroad who he says regularly bombard his Facebook page are typically armed with venom collected from Horn's decision win over Pacquiao last year.
Horn may have succeeded in confusing an aging Pacquiao with his movement by luring him into a messy brawl, but many observers -- including ESPN announcer Teddy Atlas, who boldly told Horn to his face on the live broadcast -- thought Pacquiao had done enough to win.
Stealing a controversial points decision in your hometown against a 38-year-old fighter who spent much of his training camp moonlighting as a senator in the Philippines is one thing. But signing on to fight a certified killer in Crawford, who became the first fighter to unify all four junior welterweight titles last August, is another thing altogether.
Despite the fact that Pacquiao declined his contractually owned rematch with Horn, forcing the Aussie to defend in a knockout of Gary Corcoran in December, Horn's critics have had a field day predicting his demise due to Crawford's sublime mixture of speed, power and a quiet toughness in which it has almost appeared as if he enjoys inflicting punishment on his opponents.
It's because of Crawford's nasty side that many have questioned why Horn and his team have been so willing to poke the bear by hurling insults at Crawford, calling him everything from a "princess" to a "soft c---," after he withdrew from their original April date due to a hand injury.
Horn still believes Top Rank faked the injury either to give Crawford more time to add bulk in his move up to welterweight or for promotional reasons to sell the fight on a more profitable date. Either way, Horn speaks in a manner that's so charmingly confident it's hard not to get sucked into the cult in which he's the leader of -- the one where the idea of purposely angering a fighter as dangerous as Crawford might be considered a smart idea.
"I'm not [afraid]," Horn said. "It's going to be a fight in there and he's going to bring his very best and his 'A' game. I hope he does bring it and that's how I want to beat him. I don't want people saying once I beat Terence Crawford that he's not a good fighter, he was off his game this night or he was sick. Whatever excuses they are going to come up with, I don't want another Manny Pacquiao story."
While Crawford has brushed off Horn's trash talk as nothing more than a desperate attempt to get him to eschew his speed and technical advantages in lieu of a brawl, Horn and his team believe they have studied enough tape to find and expose Crawford's weaknesses.
"He's just a man, he's not a god," Rushton told Forbes.com on Monday. "He bleeds, he hurts and he'll feel pain."
Should Horn pull yet another massive upset, the quiet and unassuming fighter said there will be no over-the-top rants saying "I told you so" to all of his doubters or any form of rubbing it in people's faces.
In a manner that's almost void of self-awareness, Horn has an impossibly casual way of deflecting negativity while remaining immersed within his invisible temple of unshakeable belief, where an idea as crazy as an everyman school teacher from down under defeating a fighter in Crawford who might be the very best in the world is an attainable goal.
If you think the odds are too large, Horn doesn't care. And if you doubt his ability or potential, join the club. He's far from worried about convincing you.
Horn's wife Joanna, who gave birth to their first child last December, a daughter named Isabelle, was previously part of that club. She told a story during an Australian documentary on Horn's life about the day her husband came home from the boxing gym to announce he was in the running as a possible Pacquiao opponent. Horn's wife dismissively laughed at him and said, "Yeah right Jeffrey, I don't think so. But it's good to dream."
Millions of dollars later, Horn believes he has even her convinced of what he can do.
"I definitely surprised her back in the day when I said I would be fighting these type of guys," Horn said. "I think she believes in it now and she can see everything I have done in the past and all the tough fights I have had. I just keep telling her and keep reassuring her that I can do this.
"When I step through those ropes, that's when I switch on and I turn into 'The Hornet,' and I'm not just Jeff Horn anymore and I can fight."
