There is a peculiar, almost masturbatory fascination the public holds for the physical fragility of those we’ve spent millions of dollars convincing ourselves are gods. We pay hundreds of pounds to watch men like Anthony Joshua—a man whose entire professional existence is predicated on his ability to absorb trauma to the skull—exchange blows in a square ring. We call it 'the sweet science,' a pathetic euphemism for two primates trying to induce localized brain hemorrhages for the amusement of gambling syndicates and people who wear polyester tracksuits. But when the trauma comes not from a leather-clad fist but from the cold, indifferent physics of a car crash in southwest Nigeria, the script suddenly demands a villain. Enter the driver, recently arraigned and shoved into the spotlight of a legal system that must now pretend to care about the sanctity of life because a celebrity was involved.

Let’s be clear: the universe is entirely indifferent to your reach or your vertical leap. You can be a two-time unified heavyweight champion of the world, a physical specimen carved out of the very hopes and dreams of British commercial interests, and yet, you are still just a sack of meat vulnerable to the velocity of an internal combustion engine. In the wake of this deadly crash, which claimed the lives of two of Joshua’s companions, the media has followed its standard, ghoulish protocol. The headlines scream Joshua’s name, while the two deceased 'friends' are relegated to the status of collateral damage—background actors in the cinematic tragedy of a VIP. It is the ultimate capitalist metric of human worth: your death is only as tragic as the person you were sitting next to at the moment of impact.

The driver, now facing the righteous indignation of a Nigerian court, is the necessary sacrificial lamb in this scenario. We cannot blame the roads, though they are notoriously treacherous, because that would require a critique of infrastructure and systemic corruption—far too much intellectual heavy lifting for a public that prefers a singular face to hate. We cannot blame the inherent risk of human movement, because that would force us to acknowledge our own mortality every time we turn an ignition key. No, we must have an arraignment. We must have a 'guilty' party to ensure that the brand—the Joshua Brand—remains intact, a victim of circumstance rather than a participant in the chaotic randomness of a world that doesn't care about your WBO titles.

Observe the performative nature of the justice system in these instances. The arraignment is not about the two men who are no longer breathing; if they had died in a crash involving a local plumber, you wouldn't be reading this, and the driver would likely be a footnote in a local police blotter. The legal machinery grinds into gear only because the 'Heavyweight Champion' was bruised. It is a nauseating display of class-based litigation. The driver is charged with 'recklessness' or 'negligence,' legal terms we use to pretend that human error is a deviance rather than a statistical certainty. We demand that drivers be perfect so that celebrities can be safe, a social contract written in the blood of the anonymous.

Historically, we have always done this. From the chariot races of Rome to the motorcades of modern-day icons, the 'help' is always the first to be thrown under the literal and metaphorical wheels when things go sideways. If Joshua had been driving, the narrative would be one of a 'tragic accident' and a 'hero’s journey to recovery.' Because he was in the passenger seat, it is a 'crime' that requires a defendant. It is the same tired story of the elite distancing themselves from the consequences of their own existence. The driver is not just an employee; in the eyes of the law and the court of public opinion, he is a failure of service—a broken appliance that resulted in damage to the premium merchandise.

And what of the fans? The ghouls on social media offering 'thoughts and prayers' while simultaneously refreshing their feeds for photos of the wreckage. They don’t care about the driver, and they certainly don’t care about the two nameless friends whose lives were extinguished. They care about whether Joshua’s next fight will be delayed. They care about the 'comeback story.' We have become a species that views tragedy through the lens of sports entertainment. The death of two human beings is merely a plot point in the third act of a boxer’s career. It’s disgusting, it’s predictable, and it’s exactly what we deserve. We have traded our empathy for engagement metrics, and this arraignment is just another piece of 'content' to be consumed between advertisements for luxury watches and sports betting apps. The driver will likely be crushed by a system that needs to look like it's doing something, Joshua will heal and return to the ring to be punched in the face for more money than the driver will see in ten lifetimes, and the two dead men will remain footnotes. The machine keeps turning, fueled by the blood of the unimportant and the boredom of the masses.