The light heavyweight division is historically overshadowed by the heavyweights. When heavyweight boxing is great, it’s nonpareil. There’s just something about the combination of size and power that fascinates the masses, and the champion is "the baddest man on the planet."

But former champion Dwight Muhammad Qawi’s recent unfortunate death is a reminder that many of boxing’s baddest men have been light heavyweights, and his era may have been the baddest of them all.

Even though the light heavyweight division is considered one of the “original eight divisions,” it was the one of the last to be developed. Whereas the size difference between fighters at welterweight and middleweight and the sport’s biggest men was obvious, light heavyweights could often pass for heavyweights, thus the need lagged behind.

Writer and artist Ted Carroll wrote an article for The Ring in 1955, “160’s Rarely Covet Lt. Heavyweight Title,” and detailed why the middleweight division may be the more prestigious of the two.

By the time the light heavyweight division was accepted by mainstream pundits in 1904, it was so new the weight limit was still contract negotiable: anywhere from about 168 pounds to 175 was fair game. Recognition still came too late for Joe Choynski, who could have easily been one of its greatest early competitors. Choynski was in his mid-30s, practically ancient by the day’s fighting standards, and clearly at the end of his excellent career.

Choynski made a name for himself giving up pounds to fight heavyweights and could have used a more comfortable home. He even handed future heavyweight champion Jack Johnson a knockout loss before both were hauled off to a local jail, where they posed for an iconic photo, and where it was said Choynski passed off some of his fighting knowledge to the young man.

Bob Fitzsimmons captured the light heavyweight title in 1903, which helped legitimize the division for a time. The lineal title was dormant for years, and the division’s popularity skyrocketed with Georges Carpentier and Battling Siki as boxing became one of the rages of the 1920s. Moderately popular champions followed for decades, until an explosion of talent.

“The Ageless Warrior” Archie Moore, one of the greatest punchers the sport has ever known, ruled the light heavyweights from 1952 -62. It may have even been longer if not for how many top fighters there were in the years leading up to his reign in the 1940s.

That era of light heavyweight was stuffed with great names. The great Ezzard Charles, one of the division’s greatest technicians, operated near the top for years, as did Harold Johnson, Lloyd Marshall and Bob Satterfield. Joey Maxim competed with many of them and became champion.

Another lull was broken by the dominance of Bob Foster in the late 1960s. Foster’s iron grip on the division was maintained through vicious punching power and spite. When Foster sensed anyone doubted him, or if he felt backed against a wall, he reacted by completely destroying the fighter in front of him. When he gave up the light heavyweight throne in 1974, the division was wide open.

What filled the vacuum of power was a wondrous group of light heavyweights who provided the kind of entertainment fans remember decades later.

In fact, there was an entire division waiting for the belts to be freed up. John Conteh, one of the U.K.’s most beloved modern day fighters, and Argentine toughguy Víctor Galíndez quickly won a belt apiece. They beat tough contenders Yaqui López, Tom Bogs, Richie Kates, Pierre Fourie and Len Hutchins, which paved the way for new blood.

It was a cornucopia of names. Like heavyweight’s belle époque of late 1960s and the '70s, when many of the top names fought one another multiple times, light heavyweight juggernauts Matthew Saad Muhammad, Eddie Mustafa Muhammad, Marvin Johnson and, of course, Qawi made the '70s and '80s unforgettable.

Mate Parlov took the belt from Conteh, and Galíndez lost his to Mike Rossman, then Johnson. Parlov was the first world champion from Croatia, or then Yugoslavia, and he didn’t last long in the division. Johnson remains one of the more underrated light heavyweights of all time, and Rossman was a good fighter with entertaining baggage. His father and manager Jimmy De Piano was a funny character who helped his son turn pro young with a fake birth certificate and trained another light heavyweight named “Slim” Jim Robinson.

Saad Muhammad held a win over Parlov and Johnson, but was beaten by Eddie Mustafa Muhammad. Saad Muhammad was likely the purest warrior of the bunch, though definitely not without skill. “Miracle Matthew” had a terrific jab, for instance, when he could overcome his sublime instincts long enough to use it. López was a veteran when Saad Muhammad took him to hell twice and won. Their rematch was deservedly The Ring’s “Fight of the Year,” and Round 8 was its “Round of the Year.”

Mustafa Muhammad lost to Galíndez and was one of the few to defeat Marvin Johnson. He also helped bring televised boxing to Rahway State Prison when he locked horns with prisoner James Scott, a light heavyweight doing time for armed robbery in connection with a murder. It wouldn’t have been boxing if there weren’t a dose of strange and unbelievable, and Mustafa Muhammad was defeated by Scott, leaving the sanctioning organizations in a real pickle: should they recognize Scott as a ranked light heavyweight, or take some absurd stand? They chose the latter.

It was Scott who helped inspire Qawi to box when the two served time at Rahway, but something rubbed the future champion the wrong way. Scott was too negative, Qawi said. When the two fought, Qawi fed off his own resentment to hand Scott a loss and earn his shot at Saad Muhammad. Qawi didn’t like Saad Muhammad, either, and he delighted in handing the champion a stoppage loss before stopping him even earlier in the rematch and all but ending his days at the top.

And Michael Spinks ended everyone’s fun when he beat nearly everyone, including Mustafa Muhammad and Qawi, and unified the light heavyweight title. Since then, it’s as if the division burned out or simply never recovered.

It’s not Spinks’ fault. The light heavyweight division is as much a victim of coincidence and bad timing as anything else. Heavyweights reign supreme and historically light heavyweight lacks the star power of welterweight and middleweight. It’s bad luck.

Too much has changed to make up ground, however. Boxing will never see a light heavyweight division like in the 1970s and '80s. There will be talent and great fights as there always are. Just not like back then.