Once the last remnants of adrenaline had finally faded away and the shades of skin around his eyes began to darken a bit more, Sean O’Connell ordered a salted caramel shake. It was in the first few hours of 2019 somewhere in Manhattan, sometime after he wrapped up the biggest and best fight of his career with a third-round TKO, having a massive gold title belt placed on his right shoulder and handed an absurd-sized check that had a one, six zeroes and a couple of commas on it.
He was drained. He had nothing left because he left nothing in the tank.