A full house for fight night down on Sydney's waterfront and again they have come to pay respects to one man. Few athletes have such lordly influence on their domain as Cuba's Felix Savon has had in the ring over the past 10 days.

Little pockets of nationalistic fervour are entrenched in various sections of the bleachers - a group of Mexicans with sombreros and flags watch their man Benitez Bejanaro go down in the 60 kg semi-finals. Two Ukranians fight a gallant battle to be heard when Andriy Kindelan appears in the 60 kg fight.

But for the majority in the crowd, these are all just warm-up bouts, and given that they all swing early and decisively one way, they are treated with only mild interest. Until it is Savon's turn. The announcement of the Cuban's name in the first of the 91 kg semi-finals turns the atmosphere molten. The cult of Savon seems to have been laid in stone for these Games and he is a hot ticket, a must-see in same way as Cathy Freeman or Ian Thorpe was earlier in the Games.

The Cuban is a handsome, regal-looking athlete and, in a blue robe and red towel enters the ring with the certainty of one who is already aware of the outcome of this contest. Sebastian Kober, his German opponent, comes in revealing a pensive, faltering expression, as if he knows his interest in these Olympics has all of four two-minute rounds left. He gives to Savon in both height and reach and the difference in stature is pronounced.

Savon is tentative in the first, circling Kober and delivering few punches. The German sneaks in an early point. Savon is unmoved. Down a point at the end of round one, one of his corner fans him with a towel while his trainer communicates urgently with him.

In the opening seconds of round two, he connects with a flashing combination and then lands two more sledgehammer rights that smash through Kober's flimsy guard. Six points to two and the suspense ebbs.

There is one moment of mild drama with seconds left in the round when Savon overbalances and careers into the corner of the rope. He rallies to lead 9-3 at the bell.

By round four, Kober is bloody and tired-looking, but keeps coming and twice hooks Savon, who is coasting. It isn't much of a contest, noteworthy mostly for the Cuban's effortless, almost detached ease. By the end of the fight, he is wreathed in sweat but his face never loses its solemn, contemplative look. He may not even smile when he wins gold. They cheer him after the ring lights dim and he is ushered off.

When the next two fighters, from Georgia and the Russian Federation, are announced, they are treated as if their careers are of little import. Boisterous and perhaps a little impatient after the lack of intrigue surrounding their hero's movements, the crowd turns on this pair. For displaying conservatism, the two are roundly booed and the stadium echoes to the commands of "fight, fight, fight". Perhaps inflamed by the crowd, the Georgian rushes furiously at his opponent and the two overbalance, nearly toppling out of the ropes and onto old Norman Mailer's lap. The crowd hoot.

Little could these men have known, when they dreamed of Olympic semi-final fight nights, that their best shots would be met with the derision of the soft-bellied cheerleaders in the stands. Such is the penalty for boxing in the shadow of an idol.

Sultanahmed Ibzagimov, who won this shamefully-treated bout, will now meet the immortal in the 91 kg gold medal fight.