Every morning at 5 a.m., Eduardo “Sugar” Nunez makes his way out to Highway 22 for his morning run to Maviri Beach, 30 kilometers outside of Los Mochis, Mexico. Nunez runs past food vendors preparing to set up, as well as farmers gathering corn, blueberries and the city’s primary crop, sugar cane – hence his nickname.

Nunez likes the tranquility of proximity to water, choosing to begin his days on the shoreline after his five-to-eight-kilometer run with some shadowboxing in the sand.

There’s no Bluetooth speaker plugged in blasting inspirational tunes, just the sound, just the soft lapping of the waters hitting the sand and gentle clicks of marine life that find their way onto plates at one of the city’s unusually large number of sushi restaurants.

On the week of his homecoming defense of his IBF super featherweight title against Christopher Diaz, however, Nunez wouldn’t have to go far to find the deep waters.

The remnants of Hurricane Lorena, which ravaged the west coast of the country, had made their way to town, turning sidewalks into coastlines of their own. Cars were up to their bumpers in flood waters, so before long, those cars remained in their respective driveways, over 300 of them at homes that were damaged.

As Nunez and Diaz hit the scales on Thursday morning, the sounds of rainfall on the roof echoed within the venue. As fighters and their teams waited for the pair of drivers brave enough to turn their sprinter vans into speedboats to take them back to their hotels, the lights briefly flickered then shut off.

Nunez’s final shakeouts would have to be indoors at the Kochul Gym, while Diaz seemed dressed for sequestering himself ahead of a fight anyway, complete with a red WAR hat in homage to famous pre-fight recluse Marvelous Marvin Hagler.

There are the tranquil waters that you seek and the deep waters that find you, the difference between a leisurely stroll and one that threatens to wash you away to a place unknown. This would be the theme of the night on Saturday night as Nunez found himself treading waters of a harshness and depth he’d never experienced before in the ring against Diaz.

After winning his title on the road in Japan over Masanori Rikishi in Japan, Nunez was given the honor of a hometown title defense by his promoter Matchroom. Historically, title defenses of this nature are meant to be a walk on the beach for the returning champion, an opportunity to celebrate and be celebrated by their local audience.

An easy fight that by nature helps extend the fighter’s title reign by, on average by modern boxing scheduling standards, another half a year. In all likelihood, the brain trust behind Nunez surmised based on Diaz’s loss to rising contender Henry Lebron two fights prior, that he could be a recognizable but unthreatening opponent.

There was good reason to believe that, independent of Diaz’s recent outings and shortcomings in two prior world title fights. In Nunez’s bout against Rikishi and title eliminator against Shavkatzhon Rakhimov, among others, he looked like one of the sport's most dangerous combinations of pressure and power. A stocky, musclebound 130-pounder, Nunez had shown Artur Beterbiev-esque brutish physicality and also frightening one-punch knockout power. On some sportsbooks, Nunez was a -5000 favorite before the contest.

But as much as Nunez was fuelled by the desire to treat his hometown audience, Diaz was driven by the assumption this would be his last title opportunity. One of the sport’s true hard-luck cases, “Pitufo” had been on the wrong end of two title-winning attempts against Emanuel Navarrete and Masayuki Ito, and of some debateable decisions along the way too.

In those title bouts, the Puerto Rican veteran continued to battle valiantly through hideous closed eyes and multiple knockdowns, never ceasing to try to make adjustments or wrestle momentum back to his side. After both bouts, Diaz spoke of the lessons he’d learned and how he would apply them next time, but now there was no certainly of a next time.

As the bell sounded, the roar inside the Centro de Usos Multiples rose along with the humidity levels as the floods evaporated into a steamy fog. Battles between Mexican and Puerto Rican fighters always bring an extra dose of emotion, especially so when one of the combatants isn’t just in their home country, but their hometown.

But Diaz, the invader, decided he would stake claim to the center of the ring, establishing the terms for a fight that would exceed all expectations.

Unlike in previous fights, Nunez encountered an opponent that wouldn’t allow himself to be washed up by the tide. Diaz was both unwilling to concede ground for long stretches of time, resisting the downhill bullrushes that Nunez specializes in, and when he did find himself in their midst, could find something in his arsenal to reply and reset the tempo.

In round three, Diaz landed a right hand that snapped Nunez’s head back over the top rope, causing a nervous gasp from the partisan crowd and establishing that his power was a consideration in this fight too.

In the seventh round, Nunez received what would ultimately be his life raft, a pair of knockdowns on right hands. The first of the two was more debatable than the other, and both were perhaps aided by the slipperiness of the ring, a result of eager ring canvas advertisers, humidity and hours of sweat and water from the undercard.

As Diaz returned to his corner, his trainer wrapped tape with the sticky side up around his boots to help with traction, but maybe a symbolic gesture to tell his fighter he now had no choice but to stand and trade, something he communicated profanely minutes later in reminding Diaz that this could be his “last chance.”

Diaz fought with a resilience that could only be extracted from desperation, hitting Nunez with a left hook at the end of round eight forcing Nunez to willingly clinch for the first time not only in the fight but in recent memory. Two rounds later, Nunez would produce the same effect with a right hand, but Diaz’s will and the other side of the tape kept him up.

One way to know if a fight was great or not is if the crowd is louder at the end of the fight than it was after the ceremonial national anthems and introductions. At the height of pre-fight hysteria, every fan’s hopes and wishes for a fight are alive and their anticipation at a fever pitch, creating a wall of sound that is very particular to a big fight night.

But on the best of nights, the crowd breaks that sound barrier, as they did when Nunez and Diaz traded otherwise fight-ending blows in the 12th and final round. The arena was shaking, the feet stomping the metal bleachers sounding like the Hurricane rainfall atop the weigh-in building a day prior.

Ultimately, Nunez had banked enough rounds and was further buoyed by two knockdowns, earning a unanimous decision victory and basking in the admiration of his neighbours, including local hero and Hall of Fame candidate Jorge Arce who sat not in the corral, but amongst paying fans in the first few rows. The storm had passed, and while some things had washed to shore, the waters were calm once again.

The energized crowd of over 7,000 mobbed both Nunez and Diaz on their way out of the venue before racing back inside to watch ten -- yes, ten -- more off-TV undercard bouts. A proud and defiant Diaz traded his Hagler hat for a pristine cowboy hat, receiving compliments and even free sushi from a chef who watched the fight on TV in the restaurant.

As Nunez went back home, preparing to go for his usual jog the next morning, Diaz, still sporting his cowboy hat and now holding what must have been an unbelievably refreshing cold beer, began his two-day voyage home to Puerto Rico on the shuttle to Los Mochis airport with the same defiance shown in the ring.

“Until next time,” he assured everyone on board.