A head trainer is not just an advisor offering soft suggestions between rounds. He is the chief executive in that corner. If an employee runs an operation straight into the ditch while the manager watches and shrugs, the manager gets sacked. Davison presided over an absolute operational failure, and the idea that Itauma should keep him around after that showing is absurd.

Itauma was sweeping the scorecards. Hrgovic was dropped in the second round and eating combinations for fun. All Itauma had to do was box tall behind his southpaw jab, tie Hrgovic up inside, take the steam off his shots, and cruise to a wide decision to become champion. Instead, Davison let a 21-year-old prospect burn up every drop of stamina hunting a highlight-reel knockout against a man with an iron chin.

By rounds seven and eight, anyone with eyes could see Itauma was running on fumes. That was the moment for Davison to grab Itauma by the head, look him dead in the eye, and demand complete obedience to a conservative game plan. If the fighter ignores you, you threaten to pull him out. You do not send an exhausted novice back into the meat grinder against a relentless puncher, only to flutter a towel when the kid is pinned to the ropes and taking royal pounding.

Davison has built a reputation on high-tech pads, YouTube breakdowns, and theoretical game plans, but championship corners require authoritative leadership when real trouble arrives. Moses paid the price on a stretcher because his corner went missing in action. Firing Davison is not an overreaction. It is basic accountability.