I remember a long time ago when the comedian Gene Wilder was being interviewed about his dynamic with fellow legend, comic Richard Pryor. He said words to the effect that, "I hope this doesn't come out wrong, but it's like sex."
Boxing, like literal dancing, the interplay between musicians in a band, or acting between two thespians, is also ultimately about such chemistry. Some boxers would bridle at that assertion, since there's something that lacks machismo in saying it, and boxing scribes who maintain that boxing is the most solitary athletic pursuit might also not be quite comfortable with recognizing that Fistiana is ultimately about two men, not one man. But that's the way I see it, and the book "Sorcery at Caesars" does nothing to disabuse me of my theory.
You tend to get great boxing matches when two fighters have very different styles, with the clash and contrast as the heart of the aforementioned chemistry. If the boxers have contrasting personalities in addition to different styles, it can end up being something even more special, sometimes truly magical.
"Sorcery at Caesars" is a great book, short and fast-paced, about two very different men who fought with radically different styles, whose one meeting in the 1980s still has the power at this great remove to produce heated arguments among boxing fans.
Marvelous Marvin Hagler (no need to put the "Marvelous" in quotes, since he legally had his name changed) was a bald-headed scrappy New Englander who favored a two-fisted, front-footed relentlessly aggressive attacking style in the ring, and was a man of few words outside of the ring. His partner, his foil in this great alchemical combustion, was "Sugar" Ray Leonard ("Sugar" needs the quotes, since it was just a nickname); Ray was not a throwback to the glory days of boxing, but very much a man of the moment; true, it was a moment that was close to passing as the coke wore off, the bonds bounced, and pastels made even Don Johnson want to puke, but it was a moment still in its final efflorescence and Ray was its apotheotic avatar. He was a "Me" fighter for the "Me" decade, media savvy and vain outside the ring, slick and deceptive and light on his feet in the ring.
Author Steve Marantz charts the tightrope walk these two men made toward each other to produce their single great fight, in muscular prose that shows his background as a newspaperman who was seasoned by the best in his cub years. It's a seamless book, peppered rather than overflowing with photos. It's also great. Highest recommendation.