Generally speaking, when boxers win one of the four major sanctioning bodies’ regional titles, it’s thought of as simply a stepping stone to the larger goal of the real world title. They’re akin to the conference championship trophies in football, basketball or hockey, accomplishments and mementoes that the athletes are proud of, but also things they don’t want to seem too outwardly proud of to not jinx any future goals.

Without any context, viewers might have found it strange to see Christopher Guerrero fighting back tears as he was handed the WBC Continental Americas welterweight title following his ten-round unanimous decision victory over Oliver Quintana on ESPN+ last week in Montreal. Guerrero took the house microphone and told promoter Camille Estephan “I told you I would win this one day, this is for you.”

For Guerrero, the title was more than just a boost in the WBC’s 147-pound rankings, or proof that he’s one of the division’s very best prospects. It was tangible proof that his childhood dreams weren’t too audacious at all.

When Guerrero was 12 years old, still a youth amateur training in Mike Moffa’s downtown Montreal Underdog Gym, he found his way into the ring at the Hilton Lac Leamy in Gatineau, Quebec. Ghislain Maduma, then one of the jewels of the Moffa stable, had just won his fight against Saul Carreon, and was celebrating with his WBC Continental Americas lightweight title he’d won earlier that year. A 12-year old Guerrero, whom Estephan retroactively describes as “a little pudgy kid,” got a hold of the belt, and told Estephan “this will be mine one day.”

“For me to hold that title, it was very sentimental to me. It marks a big milestone. It's a revelation in my life that my destiny is playing out the way I would want it to go. Not only that, but the WBC belt, it’s a dream of mine to let alone be world champion, but just hold one of these,” Guerrero told The Ring. “I used to be one of those guys who were like ‘why are there so many titles,’ but now I understand. It gives you a little boost in your confidence, it gives you a little prestige, and it puts you in the mindset that you’re on the right path.”

The path that the Montreal native’s fellow Quebecois are hoping he’s on is one with an endpoint at the top of the mountain. During the build-up to Guerrero’s win over Quintana, more than one media outlet in the province floated the query of whether Guerrero would be the province of Quebec’s next superstar. At last count, there are seven male fighters who live or train in Quebec who are ranked inside the Top 15 of a major sanctioning body’s rankings, and the 23-year old Guerrero is by far the youngest of the bunch.

The oldest in that group is the 46-year old Jean Pascal, whose personality and marketing during his prime when he was filling up arenas in Canada and drawing millions of viewers on HBO serve as an interesting reference point for how Guerrero is handling his own wave of hype currently. The peak version of Pascal managed to exude confidence and was outgoing enough, while never turning himself into a full-blown villain, even in the build-up to his generational national clash with the beloved Lucian Bute.

Guerrero has amassed a following on TikTok in particular, but on social media overall, that thus far outpaces his accomplishments, in the same vein as other recent prospects who have developed popularity prior to reaching the championship level. He’s done so with a recipe that has been palatable for all—in equal parts unfiltered, charming, braggadocious, yet gracious.

These days, when he strolls through the mall, he’s likely to be stopped by a fan or two before he makes it to Foot Locker. However, he’s resisting the urge to place himself on the same plane as the likes of Terence Crawford, let’s say, who was seated ringside watching his fight last week. There is an acknowledgement of where he wants to be, but also an appreciation of where he currently is.

“People ask for pictures, for sure. They for sure haven't watched any of my fights. But, you know, listen, that's the name of the game that we're in in this world. You know, we're in this social media stuff. We've got to monetize it to the best of our abilities, you know,” said Guerrero. “When the time comes, when it's time to call these champions, there's a time for everything. And that's just not the time now, you know. I'm still progressing. I'm still 23 years old. I'm through the ropes of this career, this sport, you know, this profession. You know, they're great. All-time greats. They perfected their craft, you know. I'm now here to perfect mine. So, I think that gives me a good perspective of where I'm at.”

The grounded nature of Guerrero can perhaps be attributed to the proximity of his mother Rosemary, who is the reason he continued boxing after considering walking away from the sport during his elite amateur days. Despite the harsh financial realities of being one of six siblings on a fixed stipend from the national squad and no time to take additional work, Rosemary encouraged her son to follow his dreams. These days, she’s ringside for every fight, and is often a focal point of the broadcasts of his fights as she boisterously supports her son, just as comfortable with the camera on her as the son she raised.

In 2024, Guerrero spent time in Philadelphia in the Jaron Ennis camp, spending time in the ring with the collection of talent assembled in Bozy Ennis’ gym, and in his words, dissecting what makes “Boots” as good as he is. Guerrero and his team have formed a friendship with the Ennis family, and he hopes that he can make an annual pilgrimage to Philly in order to assess his talent level and how he’s improved measured in his performances in sparring against the unified champion.

Although he boasts that he more than held his own against everyone else in the gym, he’s not too proud to admit that he took his share of shots against Ennis the last time out.

“He’s so good that I asked for an autograph,” admits Guerrero.

Stylistically, Guerrero has drawn comparisons to Teofimo Lopez, based on their athleticism and explosive power that often materializes out of creative set-ups in the ring. He was a close enough facsimile to Teofimo that he was tasked with being Steve Claggett’s chief sparring partner as he prepared to face Lopez last year. It was another glimpse for Guerrero into what a world title fight training camp might look like one day for him.

As much as Guerrero appreciates Lopez the in-ring practitioner, he much prefers Ennis’ approach of flashiness during fights but tame behavior outside of it.

“As far as a blueprint for how to behave as a champion, as a role model, Boots is it,” he said. “I pray that Teofimo comes up to 147 one day so I can avenge Steve’s loss. That’s not a callout or anything, just maybe one day. Ryan (Garcia) is already at 147. That’s the fight I want. You can consider that a call-out!”

After Guerrero had processed the emotions of receiving his regional title belt he professed he would hold twelve years ago, he answered a question about how he would celebrate the occasion. Guerrero told the audience at the Montreal Casino that his afterparty would be at a club in the city.

In the end however, Guerrero opted for something more muted. He resisted the flash and glamor, and instead, he and his friends and family did the most Quebecois thing possible and closed out a local Montreal smoked meat café.

With his green belt in tow, Guerrero soaked in the simpler things that most would take for granted.