Under the bright Las Vegas lights, Tim Tszyu didn’t flinch. But did his corner?

The weirdest thing about Tim Tszyu’s gruesome loss to Sebastian Fundora on Sunday wasn’t the gaping wound in his forehead after he accidentally headbutted Fundora’s elbow, nor how his corner and the ringside doctor didn’t stop the fight as blood streamed down his face, nor the fact he agreed to fight for two world titles against such an awkward opponent with just 12 days’ notice.

No, the really weird thing was his interview in the ring minutes after Fundora was awarded victory via a narrow split-points decision: the wound, that would later require 10 stitches, had stopped bleeding entirely.

In fact, the cut looked so perfectly sealed it was like someone had filled it with Selleys No More Gaps using a caulking gun.

Which makes you wonder why Tszyu’s cut man, Mark Gambin, couldn’t stop the “fountain of blood”, as it was later described, from teeming down his fighter’s face for 10 rounds. No reason has been offered.

Tszyu has earned admiration for continuing to fight after suffering the cut at the end of the second round, and rightfully so. You haven’t seen that much blood since the prom scene from Carrie.

He says he’s a throwback fighter who won’t dodge opponents, nor will he allow a niggling cut to stop him mid-fight. It takes rare mettle to step into the ring in the first place, let alone do it against a dangerous fighter with a superior reach coming at you as blood and sweat sting your eyes.

Tim Tszyu in the third round of his bout against Sebastian Fundora in Las Vegas.Credit: Getty

Under the bright Las Vegas lights for the first time, Tszyu didn’t flinch. But did his corner?

Tszyu refused to throw anyone under the bus in post-fight interviews. When asked if Gambin had used the right ointments to stop the wound from bleeding so profusely, he offered “no comment”.

The response was initially perceived as crankiness but was later clarified as him not wanting to play the blame game, a rarity in boxing.

“My corner was just telling me to stay focused,” Tszyu told News Corp. “I remember going back to the corner, and the blood was just like a fountain. My eyesight was gone, I literally couldn’t see. When you’re fighting with blurry vision, it’s not ideal.”

Those remarks alone suggest maybe the fight should have been stopped. If not by his corner, then the ringside doctor, who checked the gash twice but allowed the bout to continue. Of course, the doctor is the best-placed person to make this assessment, not those of us watching from the couch.

Cut men rarely get the credit they deserve when, in truth, they’re the most important person in a fighter’s corner when called upon.

They rarely have much medical training but know exactly what’s required to stop a wound from bleeding or take the swelling out of a bruise that threatens to close over an eye. It’s an art form, their mastery performed in 60 seconds between rounds.

“We give the fighter one more round,” is how legendary cut man Jacob “Stitch” Duran described his job.

For cuts, it’s a matter of doing whatever possible within the rules to stop the flow of blood.

Legendary cut man Jacob “Stitch” Duran.Credit: Getty

Duran, who also works with UFC fighters, uses long swabs soaked in adrenaline chloride 1-1000, which instantly constricts blood vessels. He also applies Qwick-AID, a seaweed-based gauze that “literally dehydrates the blood”.

One of the few cuts Duran couldn’t stop was a horrific – and iconic – wound above the right eye of UFC fighter Marvin Eastman against Vitor Belfort in 2003.

“Marvin, this is the biggest f---ing cut I’ve ever seen in my life,” he told him.

Joe Rogan, who was commentating from a nearby seat, chimed in.

“It looks like you’ve flayed a shrimp,” he said of the wound.

Eastman laughed it off and continued, but the referee eventually called off the fight.

Asked afterwards how to tend to a wound so big, Duran said: “You pray.”

Every boxer bleeds differently, and no two cuts are the same, but Tszyu’s wound looked like a paper cut in comparison to some that have been patched up over the years.

Angelo Hyder once performed a miracle in stopping the bleeding from a deep cut on the left eyebrow of former flyweight world champion Vic Darchinyan in a world title fight.

Questions are being asked why Tszyu’s corner allowed the fight to continue when they were unable to stop the blood gushing down his face, making it almost impossible for him to see.

Questions, too, are being asked about why the fight happened in the first place.

Considered a boxing unicorn because he’s a 197-centimetre-tall welterweight, Fundora was rushed in as Tszyu’s replacement after Keith Thurman withdrew at the last minute with a torn bicep.

Sure, the fight was a risk, but Tszyu’s domination of Fundora in the first two rounds proved he had the Californian’s measure. Plenty of the blood spilt on Sunday belonged to Fundora after Tszyu broke his nose in the opening round.

The loss – the first of Tszyu’s professional career in 25 fights – exposes the brutality of the business.

If he’d beaten Fundora, a mega-fight against Terence Crawford loomed. It would have surpassed Anthony Mundine and Danny Green’s 2006 fight as the biggest in Australian pay-per-view history.

Now his future is unclear.

So typical of boxing, there are already heated arguments between the Tszyu camp and Fundora’s about a rematch clause, whether it was verbal or written, and whether the fight will be held in Australia or the US.

After Tszyu called Fundora’s manager Sampson Lewkowicz a “weasel” and questioned Fundora’s professionalism for eating pizza and burgers in the days before the fight, he and his team are now playing poker with a bad hand.

Which is a shame because Tszyu is a warrior. We saw that against Fundora in his first fight in Las Vegas.

Before he scales the mountain again, he might need to consider if the people around him, despite their best intentions, are the right ones.

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