The Ice Bear Cometh: It is not legal to box professionally in Iceland, but Kolbeinn Kristinsson hopes his success in the sport will help overturn the ban

By Oliver Fennell

KOLBEINN KRISTINSSON needs what any boxer his dimension needs: to be heavyweight champion of the world.

At 6ft 6ins and 250lbs, and with an undefeated document, each his seems to be and his stats are marketable. He has a world-class coach in SugarHill Steward and a revered promoter in Dmitriy Salita.

There’s only one downside: skilled boxing is banned in his nation.

Iceland outlawed the sport completely in 1956, citing its risks, and solely relented on the newbie code in 2002, beneath the supervision of the Icelandic Sports and Olympic Association. Since then, the ranks of unpaid opponents in a rustic with a inhabitants of simply 370,000 has swelled to an estimated 700. That might not sound like so much, but for perspective, that very same proportion of the UK inhabitants would give us 120,000 newbie boxers.

“Amateur boxing is popular here,” says Kristinsson. “We have regular tournaments and a couple of thousand people will attend the biggest shows.”

Still, the powers that be stay cussed in their stance on the professional sport.

“When it was voted on, no one was in the Senate,” he says. “It was a Monday morning, when there’s the fewest people there. That’s what they do when they want something to pass – they do it when no one’s there. It hasn’t been to put to a vote again.”

Fellow Nordic international locations Sweden and Norway relaxed their very own professional boxing bans in 2007 and 2014, respectively, but Kristinsson factors out a distinction which tempers hopes Iceland might observe swimsuit. “In Norway and Sweden, it was not illegal, it was unlicensed,” he says. “People could stage fights; they just wouldn’t be recognised. Here, you can get arrested. One time, some people here were arrested for staging exhibitions. The police came and sawed the ring in half.”

Sweden and Norway’s circumstances have been little question helped by a handful of professional boxers who excelled even with out having the ability to compete in their house international locations. Swedes Armand Krajnc and George Scott have been contenders in exile throughout the late Nineties-early 2000s, as was Ole Klemetsen of Norway, whereas his compatriot Cecilia Braekhus had already constructed a profession as certainly one of the feminine greats earlier than boxing at house 4 occasions in 2016-2017.

The ‘Ice Bear’, from Gardabaer simply outdoors Reykjavik, believes his personal successes will be key to overturning the Icelandic ban.

“People are lobbying for it, but it’s hard,” he says. “I have to put the pressure on by winning big fights. If I can win some titles, that will put pressure [on the authorities], as people will want to see me defend them here.”

He has boxed in six international locations, reaching into his personal pockets to guarantee he stays out of the ‘away’ nook.

“I pay for my opponents,” he says. “Thankfully I have a lot of big sponsors, because I can’t sell many tickets as a foreigner – although I did hear after I fought in Austria [on September 30 vs England’s Michael Bassett] that a lot of fans there said they’d pay to watch me again.”

Not solely does Kristinsson have to traverse Europe to get fights, he additionally conducts his coaching camps with Steward in Detroit. (“I go as often as I can, and if it’s a fight camp, it’s for a month.”) At least, as a self-employed private coach, he has the freedom to take break day when wanted, and whereas he admits “it is hard” to be so itinerant, he guidelines out a relocation.

“Sugar wanted me to move to the States, but I’ve got a family [partner Inga and two kids, aged 11 and two] and a house here,” he says. “It wouldn’t be worth it just to go through the same struggles. It would have to be for Saudi money.”

It all begs the query as to why he even began boxing in the first place.

“In 2009, I was working with a guy that had been the first pro boxer here [Skulli Armannsson, who had one bout in the US in 2008],” Kristinsson explains. “He said ‘you’re big, you have long arms, you can beat someone up’. I wanted to get fit, so I started boxing.“I started getting into shape, started sparring, and got addicted. I started to do well. I had 40 amateur fights, beat a lot of the top heavyweights in Scandinavia and was Icelandic champion for many years. I wanted to do more, so turning pro was the logical next step.”

He did so, with a Swedish licence, in November 2014, which implies it has taken him virtually a decade to compile his 14-0 (8) document – a glacial tempo for a heavyweight prospect. But this, hopefully, is about to change.

“This year, I want to fight five-six times, get into the top 50-100 [on BoxRec] and win a small belt with the big four [sanctioning bodies],” he says. “Next year, I want to start to challenge for bigger titles, get to a Saudi card and get paid properly. In the long term, of course, I want to be world champion.”

Already 35, Kristinsson would possibly not have the luxurious of time, and it’s truthful to say there’s not but a lot substance to his win column. He concedes this, shrugging his shoulders and providing a barely embarassed smile after I ask who his hardest opponent has been, but argues it could possibly be an excellent factor: “I haven’t had any hard fights, so I don’t have the same miles on the clock as the other guys in their 30s.”

A greater gauge of his standing, says ‘Kolli’, got here  not in competitors but in sparring a number of high heavyweights – specifically Tyson Fury, Joseph Parker, Filip Hrgovic, Agit Kabayel, Jarrell Miller, Jared Anderson and Robert Helenius.

“Fury is good. It’s strange to box him,” he says. “He’s so huge, but so nimble and so quick. It takes two or three rounds to get used to it. It was good; I realized so much.

“Parker is actually good. I’m not shocked he beat Wilder. He simply wanted a brand new coach. Andy [Lee] lit a hearth beneath him.

“Hrgovic is good at what he does, but he’s hittable. I hit him and virtually knocked him out.

“Kabayel has very excessive cardio, excessive quantity. He’s a robust man, very disciplined, properly conditioned.

“I sparred Helenius for 3 years. In the gymnasium, he can beat up any fighter in the world. It simply doesn’t translate to the ring.

“You can’t learn an excessive amount of into it, but sparring offers me the thought I can cling with these guys. I haven’t felt misplaced; they have been very even spars. Even in opposition to Fury [in late 2022], it was extra even than I believed it could be.

“The division’s wide open. In a couple of years, I can beat most of them. My technical skills are up there with the top guys, I have power in both hands; tenacity and willpower. But if you don’t have momentum, it doesn’t matter. That’s why I want to fight a lot more.”

Easier stated than achieved if you stay on a distant subarctic island the place doing so is outlawed. But Kristinsson says this is what shapes and proves his combating character.

“I’m not in boxing because I’m poor and I need it,” he says. “I’m in it as a result of I need it.

“Fifteen years, still going strong despite the obstacles, because of my desire – that proves more than fighting because you have to.”