A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II: Scrap Merchants, 1970-2020 (Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology) [1st ed. 2021] 303063552X, 9783030635527

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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN URBAN ANTHROPOLOGY

A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II Scrap Merchants, 1970–2020

Matthew Bell · Gary Armstrong

Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology

Series Editors Italo Pardo School of Anthropology and Conservation University of Kent Canterbury, Kent, UK Giuliana B. Prato School of Anthropology and Conservation University of Kent Canterbury, Kent, UK

Half of humanity lives in towns and cities and that proportion is expected to increase in the coming decades. Society, both Western and nonWestern, is fast becoming urban and mega-urban as existing cities and a growing number of smaller towns are set on a path of demographic and spatial expansion. Given the disciplinary commitment to an empiricallybased analysis, anthropology has a unique contribution to make to our understanding of our evolving urban world. It is in such a belief that we have established the Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology series. In the awareness of the unique contribution that ethnography offers for a better theoretical and practical grasp of our rapidly changing and increasingly complex cities, the series will seek high-quality contributions from anthropologists and other social scientists, such as geographers, political scientists, sociologists and others, engaged in empirical research in diverse ethnographic settings. Proposed topics should set the agenda concerning new debates and chart new theoretical directions, encouraging reflection on the significance of the anthropological paradigm in urban research and its centrality to mainstream academic debates and to society more broadly. The series aims to promote critical scholarship in international anthropology. Volumes published in the series should address theoretical and methodological issues, showing the relevance of ethnographic research in understanding the socio-cultural, demographic, economic and geo-political changes of contemporary society.

More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14573

Matthew Bell · Gary Armstrong

A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II Scrap Merchants, 1970–2020

Matthew Bell Sheffield, UK

Gary Armstrong Department of Sociology City, University of London London, UK

Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology ISBN 978-3-030-63552-7 ISBN 978-3-030-63553-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: SireAnko/DigitalVision Vectors/Getty Images This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Sheffield in July 2020 (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell])

Sheffield in July 2020 (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell])

Foreword

It was whilst reading this work that I realised how much boxing was a background hum to my Sheffield upbringing. I’m not by any means from what might be called a ‘boxing family’ but the sport was always present in my family home by virtue of my dad Brian, who boxed in the Army. He was a light-heavyweight and won regimental titles. An uncle called Tom Clarke, who often visited our house, had won amateur fights in Sheffield and when I was aged about ten he bought me some junior boxing gloves. That started me off in a way; boxing gloves give anyone who puts them on an automatic inclination to raise their fists to their jaw, hunch their shoulders, crouch a bit and begin throwing punches towards an imaginary opponent. Then each Sunday morning a family friend called Jack Hudson—known in the boxing world as Jackie, but he was Jack to us— who had been a very good local-born boxer, would come round to the house for a bun and a cup of tea and talk boxing with my dad. Strangely enough, our house backed onto the garden of a family related to world flyweight champion Walter McGowan; sometimes I’d talk with him over the fence. Talk gave way to action in my early teens. Jack and my dad would shape some benches in our yard into a square and, pretending it was a boxing ring, sort of sparred with me. I could never hit them and occasionally they’d clip me when I dropped my guard. My mum and sister would sit ‘ring-side’—cheering for me! Like just about everyone I knew I was interested in the big fights in the 1970s and watched boxing on TV.

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In the 1980s I liked world middleweight champion Alan Minter, who died recently, and world featherweight champion Barry McGuigan, and in fact all those who fought in the lighter weight categories because they always seemed to throw more punches than the heavyweights. My dad liked the underdogs, preferring Joe Frazier to Muhammad Ali. He never liked show-offs and enjoyed the victories of the industrious over the showboaters. It’s interesting how we project ourselves in a way onto those we favour in boxing contests. There were no favours given in neighbourhood adolescent street fights but that’s another story. In school we’d occasionally have a PE lesson when the teacher would declare, ‘Today we’re boxing’ and give out the gloves. We’d all start punching each other and it usually got out of hand, so they stopped it! I suppose it was inevitable that with all this background I’d try out a boxing club. I went to the Croft House club near Sheffield city centre when I was 15. I’m not sure why I chose that club; maybe it had a good reputation. I never dreamed of being a champ—I just wanted to get fit. I got welcomed by the trainer Bob Biney, who was a good man I got to know well. I remember him always wearing a grey tracksuit and being keen on exercises with a medicine ball. Circuit training progressed to gloves and pads. I went two or three times a week. There was a small café there where I’d reward myself with a milkshake after training. The people there were from all over Sheffield, down-to-earth and unpretentious. I was fascinated by the area where the Croft House club was. There were these three-storey buildings with metal adornments and old gaslights. It was like a scene out of the 1950s film A Streetcar Named Desire set in New Orleans; it made a big impression on me. Then someone made a few impressions on me with punches and I decided boxing was not my future. I also went to the St Vincent’s club—I think Croft House was closed for renovations. I’d done a few low-key three-minute minisparring ‘rounds’ but at St Vincent’s it was the first time for me in a ring against this bloke—I never knew his name—who knew his way round. After letting me have a couple of easy rounds the fellah gave me a good hiding. I realised I had no ambition to go higher. I hadn’t the passion to take it to the next level. I was 17, starting work and had a girlfriend. I had enough to cope with without getting thumped in the name of leisure. I’m glad I did the two years though. I learned a lot. The training taught discipline and the need to find some sense of staying power in the hardest moments. The boxing environment taught me that for elite performance

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you need total commitment in what you are tasked with, and an ultrafocus on the present. I took this attitude with me when I left Sheffield and began studying at London’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) in 1980. What I might best call ‘the boxing ethos’ has stayed with me all my acting career. This might require a leap of faith in some readers, but whilst acting is not a battle with an opponent it is an activity that is often physically very demanding and requiring indestructible self-belief. If you don’t have that you’re floundering. Self-belief is a precious commodity; top boxers have to have it and those who can act need it. Possession of it can derive from various aspects of an individual’s upbringing; boxing played no small part in my self-belief. When I returned periodically to Sheffield to see my family I loved to go with my dad when he met with ex-boxers and Sheffield’s East-End scrap merchants in a pub midway between Attercliffe and Darnall. Sheffieldborn one-time contender Billy Calvert would be there, as would Jack Hudson, and the scrap men they hung out with came from the same districts of the city. Well-dressed, confident, not short of opinions and ever ready to ridicule life, their respective pursuits had parallels. Neither the boxers nor the scrap men lived by the factory clock; they were selfmade in their respective ways, mutually living off their wits and aware that one bad move could ruin them. They were men who knew that life would punch them actually and metaphorically, and maybe for this reason they enjoyed the moment. I admire everyone who has ever stepped into a boxing ring, or even aspires to. For many boxers I got to know it wasn’t about money, it was about putting on a show and maybe resolving some matter they had to live with but could not always articulate. I admire also the unpaid hours that so many give to providing those in the ring with a chance to perform and in many cases offer a second chance at doing something useful with their lives. I’m glad the city I was born and raised in respects and—when it can—rewards the unique talent of its boxers and understands the pain and dedication required of the individual seeking a championship. This admiration is founded in the workplaces that defined Sheffield. It was a place that employed tens of thousands in the dangerous and often painful work of mining coal and forging steel. This made for incredibly tough and resilient people, hard but not violent. Many had an innocence about what life might be available elsewhere but meanwhile showed kindness towards the less well-off amongst them. There were fall-outs but there was always

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the sense of a ‘proper’ fight, which would see two men having a ‘one-onone’, after which they were expected to shake hands and forget the issue that caused the fight. I attended club fights in Sheffield and when I moved to London I’d go to the famous York Hall in Bethnal Green. I went a few times in 1988 when I was cast to be part of a TV series written by Barry O’Keefe called Betty. It was a brilliant script and I was to be the boxing character, playing alongside Christopher Lee and the model-turned-actress Twiggy. I trained for the role with the one-time world middleweight champion Terry Downes. Then there was a dispute in the industry and not one episode was ever made. I’d consider Raging Bull the best boxing film ever. I also rated the 2017 film Jawbone, starring Ray Winstone and Johnny Harris, and there’s another American production made in black and white, which sees a boxer pursue a dream but he dies in the end. I can never remember the title but it was a moving story. I’ve met a few boxers in my time and know a good few whose lives are profiled in these two books. I presented an award to Naseem Hamed, found myself a couple of times in the same room as Clinton Woods and Dennis Hobson and I carried Kell Brook’s IBF International welterweight belt as he entered the Sheffield Arena ring before his 2012 fight against Carson Jones. In London I frequented a pub that former European champion Spencer Oliver visited, and got to know him. I watched a few of his fights ring-side. More recently I have got to know world champions Darren Barker and Joe Calzaghe. I entered their world in a small way when I did a film in 2015 called Any Day with Eva Longoria. I played a boxer called Vian McLean, just out of prison trying to resurrect his career but realising he’s not what he was before his conviction. I trained hard for the part in the famous Wild Card boxing gym in Los Angeles. I met Freddie Roach, who trained Manny Pacquiao, Miguel Cotto and Julio César Chávez, and spent days getting into shape. The place was full of tough fighters who were nonetheless welcoming of this thespian, all having seen the Lord of the Rings film!

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Kell Brook and Sean Bean prior to Brook’s fight against Carson Jones in July 2012 (This image used with permission of [Gary Armstrong])

I’ve known the co-authors for decades now—we all share a mutual interest in Sheffield United FC. One of them—Matt—lived a couple of miles from our house; Gary once lived on the same road. I’ve been to many a game with the pair and I’ve been known to have a few pints with them as well. Matt once got me into trouble with the local press, printing a cartoon I drew for his Flashing Blade football fanzine. They claimed my daft scribbles were inciting trouble between rival fans in Sheffield! Gary has got me out of trouble a few times: enough said. I’ve read all Matt and Gary’s previous collaborations; they’re good at what they do. And in this collaboration they have produced a unique piece of work combining their respective personalities. Neither would make any claims to being a bit handy in a ‘straightener’ in a Darnall pub car park at kicking-out time, nor do they give out the ‘thousand-yard stare’, but what they lack in menace they make up for in insight. It’s obvious from reading what follows that

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they can walk into a gym, look who’s in there in the eye and hold their own in any ensuing conversation. They can listen and make sense of often chaotic lives and careers. They are well considered in Sheffield. A love of their home city is very evident. This is a great read. The stories that follow pack a punch. They’re about exceptional people in an exceptional British city. No book I know of explores place and boxing like this one. Sheffield has much to be proud of but has always been modest about its achievements. Let’s be proud of our fighting heritage. Enjoy your read.

London, UK

Sean Bean

Contents

1

1

Introduction

2

Guru and Genius

21

3

City of Champions

83

4

Building on Success

163

5

Fixers and Makers

229

6

Legacy and Leverage

295

7

Decline and Revival

333

8

The Final Round

359

Appendix

371

Index

375

xiii

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 2.2 Fig. 3.1

Fig. 4.1

Fig. 4.2

Fig. 5.1

Brendan Ingle’s first place of work in Sheffield (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell]) The Ingle gym, Newman Road, Sheffield (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell]) Brook—wearing a Sheffield United FC shirt—shows off his world championship belt at Bramall Lane in September 2014 (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell]) Taping the hands before fighting Jimmy Ellis for the Central Area title at Sheffield City Hall in 1983 (This image used with permission of [Brian Anderson]) Brian Anderson displays his Lonsdale Belt alongside Brendan Ingle in July 1987 (This image used with permission of [Brian Anderson]) Glyn Rhodes (left), Sean Bean and Paul Fairchild (better known as ‘Farquhar’) at a charity boxing event in the late 1990s (This image used with permission of [Glyn Rhodes])

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 1, No. 7, 1901] (out of copyright). These fights are frequented, it is well known, by all the rabble of London; who, instead of worshipping their God and rejoicing in the birth of a

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_1

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Saviour, so recently assembled on a day devoted to holiness for the indulgence of vice and the subversion of order.—Mr Justice Burrough, Surrey Winter Assizes, December 18241 There can be no reasonable objection to boxing as ordinarily understood. It is a manly, healthful and vigorous training, and encouraged in some of our most respectable institutions.—Mr Justice McEnery, Louisiana Supreme Court, 1895.2 It is a mistake to suppose that the boxing glove is less injurious to the person with whom it comes in contact than the bare fist is. The fist cuts, but the glove stuns like a sand club or a piece of lead pipe, and is more apt to produce congestion of the brain and other internal injuries.—The Cosmopolitan, 1887.

People will pay good monies to watch a man hit another man. This being the reality of boxing, the sport has always sought to maintain a veneer of civility. The boxers’ weigh-in and the customary pre-bout touching of gloves are designed to go some small way to making respectable what is to follow. Good manners from the spectators are appreciated, if not always apparent. Those in attendance dress well. Some events provide for fine wine and dining to accompany the punching. The event enjoys a winner but also—in various degrees of gratitude—appreciates a loser. The popularity of boxing comes and goes but never goes too far. It is a practice that has proven lucrative for a variety of people and businesses. Professional boxing today exists in a golden triangle of broadcast networks, boxing promoters and boxing talent. It needs television for its survival and is made for television, and indeed Hollywood, as the number of boxing-themed movies testifies. Broadcasting has implicitly supplied the fight game with income for the past 100-plus years3 ; it has also provided legitimacy. In return. the broadcaster has a moneymaking product that does not have a sporting season. It is no exaggeration, however, to state that just a handful of men control boxing at the elite level; the broadcasters buy rights and sell advertising and in return demand entertainment and viewing figures. They negotiate with promoters, who negotiate with fighters’ managers. In putting on a show, great boxing skill is not the broadcaster’s to promise, but great fighters are needed, ideally with both ‘attitude’ and charisma. The ‘big men’ who contest the heavyweight division have always attracted the biggest purses and the most attention.

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The Talking Ground Volume One of this work concentrated on the history and development of boxing from the unregulated—but well-connected—era of bare-knuckle contests to the grudging acceptability the fight game had gained by the second half of the twentieth century. By this time, there was a new player in town: television, a platform that facilitated the arrival of a new breed of men willing and able to voraciously market the event and arguably exploit both fighters and viewers. Boxing needs people who can grasp what is required for a show and put it on successfully. Such individuals are called promoters. Although people had de facto performed such a role for nearly 200 years previously, the term ‘promoter’ is believed to have first appeared in print in 1910 when George ‘Tex’ Rickard offered a $10,000 purse for the Jack Johnson-Jim Jeffries fight. Promoters are boxing’s fixers; they match opponents, agree the purse, liaise with the sanctioning authorities, negotiate a television deal and arrange the ticketing, venue, site fee, advertising, catering, weigh-in procedures, press and stadium security. American promoter Bob Arum, who came to the fore in the 1960s, is widely credited with being the first to comprehensively understand how to package and promote boxing for television. This period was the turning point in the promotion of the game to such an extent that by the early 1970s a new wave of consortiums and confident individuals—none more so than the theatrical, garrulous, spiky-haired ex-convict Don King4 —was able to shift the biggest heavyweight fights from the traditional American and British centres to fresh audiences in Kingston, Caracas, Jakarta, Kinshasa, San Juan, Manila, Kuala Lumpur and Munich. British boxing also dragged itself out of the parochial. From the mid1950s, BBC and ITV shared the broadcasting rights to domestic fights. The first advertisement on British television was broadcast between the rounds of a live boxing match.5 In the 1960s and 1970s, big fights— both domestic and from the USA—could attract large British television and radio audiences. Managers and promoters such as Terry Lawless, Harry Levine and Mickey Duff became as high profile as the boxers they controlled. The arrival of satellite television in the 1990s brought new faces in the shape of Frank Warren, Barry and Eddie Hearn, Frank Maloney, Dennis Hobson and others. These individuals sometimes settled their disputes publicly. The backrooms, boardrooms and courtrooms they

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met in at times evidenced as much conflict and trash-talk as the precontest press conferences they promoted. They knew that any publicity was good publicity.

The Talking Game To make an income, boxers need promoters and the television deals— and viewers—they bring. They also need spectators ring-side. For big shows, tickets are sometimes gone in minutes—they sell themselves in a sense—but for smaller events the boxer has to take some responsibility for ticket sales. Whether big or small, fighters have to talk up the contest. This sees displays of braggadocio and insults to the extent that the prefight hype has become a ticket-selling event in itself wherein thousands attend to witness the verbal (and sometimes physical) shenanigans.6 The men in suits standing in the background of such occasions have made the match using methods of ranking and rating. Governing bodies— domestic and global—decide rankings informed in part by promoters, in part by boxers’ past records and in part by their own observations and—perhaps—bias. These ‘movers and shakers’ sometimes take a large cut of the purse and last longer in the business than the fighter. A boxer’s ranking should determine who he will next fight and when. In theory, the ‘Number One’ contender is in position to challenge a champion, but sometimes promoters leapfrog a lower-ranked boxer over him; a contest that will prove a bigger draw can subvert the system. Sometimes contracts with rival television networks preclude two boxers entering the same ring, despite the obvious attraction of a contest between them. Nothing is ever straightforward when it comes to negotiating fights and deals.

It All Figures Today, more fights can be viewed on television and on-line by virtue of the proliferation of boxing governing bodies. In the 1960s, there were just two global boxing organisations; by 1988, this number had grown to four, not including various alternative bodies set up to try—usually unsuccessfully—to grab a piece of the action. This provoked more than one boxing writer to speak of their multifarious acronyms as ‘alphabet soup’. The current four main governing bodies and 17 weight categories mean it is theoretically possible for there to be 68 world boxing champions. In this plethora of titles, the quality control of opponents is at

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5

times questionable. Such entities, however, have the selling power of broadcasters on their side. A British television audience of 27.3 million watched the 1975 world heavyweight title fight between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier—their third and deciding contest—dubbed the ‘Thrilla in Manila’. This was also the first live broadcast on the American Home Box Office (HBO) channel.7 The 1980s heralded what became known generically as the ‘Super-Fight’ and the era of the ‘Four Kings’—Roberto ‘El Diablo’ Durán, Thomas ‘The Hitman’ Hearns, Sugar Ray Leonard and ‘Marvelous’ Marvin Hagler. Thanks to television, these men were global names. The mercurial talents of Leonard, the ruggedness of Durán, the punching power of Hearns and the relentlessness of Hagler filled the void left by the retirements of former heavyweight champions Ali, Frazier and George Foreman. Even contests involving lesser-known names attracted huge audiences: the 1985 WBA8 featherweight title fight between Irishman Barry McGuigan and Panamanian Eusebio Pedroza at Loftus Road Stadium, London, was watched by 26,000 in the stadium and a BBC television audience of 18 million. Herol Graham’s 1986 European title contest against Ayub Kalule at Sheffield City Hall was watched live by over 10 million television viewers. If arena audiences are the measure, today’s boxing promoters are doing something right. The six biggest post-war live boxing attendances in the UK have occurred since 2007: 90,000 for Anthony Joshua v Wladimir Klitschko at Wembley Stadium in 2017; 80,000 for Anthony Joshua v Alexander Povetkin at Wembley Stadium in 2019; 80,000 for Carl Froch v George Groves at Wembley Stadium in 2014; 78,000 for Anthony Joshua v Joseph Parker at the Principality Stadium in 2018; 57,000 for Ricky Hatton v Juan Lazcano at the City of Manchester Stadium in 2008; 50,000 for Joe Calzaghe v Mikkel Kessler at the Millennium Stadium9 in 2007. Such figures tell of the fight game’s fascination. Consequently, the richest pay-days in sport come from boxing. The recipients are, however, often troubled. In 2015, the world’s highest-earning sports star was boxer Floyd Mayweather Junior, who in that year alone accrued over $300 million, four times more than the highest-earning non-boxer, Real Madrid footballer Cristiano Ronaldo. Mayweather’s ring brilliance was matched by his belligerence and self-aggrandisement out of it, accompanied by a long history of violence beyond boxing. In 2001 and 2002, Mayweather pleaded guilty to two charges of domestic violence, serving 48 hours of community service and two days of house arrest. In November 2003, he was convicted of misdemeanour battery, resulting

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in 100 hours’ community service. According to Mayweather’s criminal record, these charges were ‘dismissed per negotiation’ in 2008. In 2011, he admitted one count of misdemeanour battery domestic violence and no contest to two counts of harassment for assaulting the mother of three of his children. Sentenced to 90 days in prison, he was released after 60 days. However, Mayweather has largely avoided any sense of public outrage that other high-profile sportsmen accused of domestic violence have faced. Despite its popularity, boxing is something of a niche sport that lacks a single authoritative body that in other sports might firmly put its foot down on the careers of miscreants.10 Such individuals are more than tolerated in boxing. The headlines they create outside of the ring are all part of boxing’s narratives, drama and indeed metaphors.

Redemption, Journeys and Inequalities As Volume One of this work emphasised, any urban inquiry must address the political, the social and the cultural aspects of place and people (Weber 1958), in other words the urbs, the polis and the civitas (Prato 2018, pp. 1–11). This means being cognisant of the built-up environment, the social associations within it and the political community that organises it (Prato and Pardo 2013). Reflecting on where boxing might reside in this context, we can consider that boxing gyms contain what French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu termed ‘a matrix of perceptions, appreciations and actions’ (Bourdieu 1977, pp. 82–83), which provide for practical relationships (Bourdieu 1990) and embody particular ‘scenes’ (Hebdige 1979; Thornton 1995). Such gatherings permit the exposition of bodily capital via muscular torsos that evidence the rigours of training (Downey 2010). What Bourdieu called habitus concomitantly provides for motivating structures, based as it is in cognitive perceptions that categorise and predispose situations (Bourdieu 1977, pp. 72–97). The celebration of a shared history and the emotions encompassed in that history inform interpretations and responses, giving all who share such sentiments what might be termed a ‘feel for the game’ (Katz 1988; Bourdieu 1998, p. 25). Boxing is renowned for placing particular importance in such indefinable qualities. In his work titled Dramas, Fields and Metaphors, British anthropologist Victor Turner argued that any society could best be understood as host to a series of social dramas played out in locations he termed fields or social domains surrounded by rituals and symbols (i.e. metaphors)

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(Turner 1975, p. 17) inculcated through habitus, a quality that makes ‘thinking outside the box’ difficult. Thinking is the issue here; if we apply to boxing the arguments British anthropologist Mary Douglas made in her seminal tome Purity and Danger about the constructs of the permissible, then we can consider how the normally proscribed and prohibited (unthinkable) becomes operatively possible (thinkable) via the cultural acceptance and even celebration of—in this case—extreme forms of violence (Douglas 1966). We might then include Douglas’s later work How Institutions Think (Douglas 1986) and consider the boxing gym as the institution that facilitates the practices of both ‘purity’ and ‘danger’ that are taught and celebrated therein by virtue of the wisdom of what American anthropologist Margaret Mead termed the metaphorical ‘Big Man’ status (Mead 1935), a concept expanded upon by American anthropologist Rena Lederman in her work Anthropology of Big Men (Lederman 2015). Usually not holding any accepted formal social standing but acknowledged as having leadership qualities, the ‘Big Man’ concept was mooted by Mead in her study of the South Pacific regions of Polynesia and Melanesia. Such men, she and subsequently others argued, are influential and act as a guiding force to others. They are appreciated in what American anthropologist Marshall Sahlins called ‘achievement-based societies’ (Sahlins 1963). Recognition for such a status can come from—variously— feats, enhancing events, gift-giving, garnering support and contributing to the local economy. Boxing fits this schema; at one level, it is about champions but on another it is about redemption and—to use a recently fashionable term in practices of self-reflection—it is about ‘journeys’. When it comes to boxing the most obvious ‘Big Men’ are promoters, managers and trainers. Such men can attain global fame; think of Don King and Muhammad Ali’s trainer Angelo Dundee. In Sheffield, the metaphor can be applied to individuals examined later who rose from nothing to get things done, organising and promoting boxing shows that brought in the crowds and made wealth for themselves and the boxer and furthermore provided a profile for the city. The ‘Big Man’ terminology can also be applied to the home-town boxing champion who of his own volition makes things happen. This achievement is admired and also contributes to the local economy; he can via acts of generosity become a gift-giver to those less well off. Nevertheless, the ‘Big Man’ must be aware of the court of reputation and has to both do things right and be seen to be doing things right. It is a precarious title.

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Time and Place To return to Victor Turner, we must understand that any social dramas have temporal and spatial dimensions that are usually known and understood by the protagonists without too many reflexive processes. The Turnerian notion of field is enshrined in metaphors of domain, locale and place. The domains that constitute ‘home’ and the ‘local’ are places of embellishment and succour, usually accompanied by various elements of control. Activities in both have their timings, expectations and signals. This trilogy is crucial in boxing. Time is the essential metaphor of life, as George Lakoff and Mark Johnson argued in their book Metaphors We Live By (Lakoff and Johnson 1980), and we can note how traditionally maleon-male working-class violence in Sheffield (and elsewhere) has temporal dimensions, so any study of violent male culture needs assessment, interpretation and a consideration as to why boxing is regarded as a form of salvation from ‘street-level’ practices. The art of boxing, as we might call it, differs from mainstream maleon-male public violence. The centuries-old spontaneous fracas between two antagonists (often around licensed premises) can be of short duration (‘punch-kick-flee’) but can create an antagonism that lasts months or years when gaps of no action give way to retaliation. In the same cultural context, we might consider the five decades of football matchday ‘punch-up’, which for those involved could be the first and last in a simple process of arrival and recognition (‘confrontation-punch-home’) never to be repeated, no insult taken. This changes when—possibly— the same young men translate their pugilism into the boxing gym. In boxing, the time metaphor is very relevant; it is ‘bell led’ and the ultimate count is to ten. Staying with this theme, we can consider the boxer in the gym as doing time; the aspirant bides his time before moving on to learn more complex ideas and techniques under the guidance of the venerated gym ‘Big Man’. Trainers are forever the judge and in that role decide the appropriate sentence. Time is thus taught; aspirants need to use it correctly, which means living with purity, fending off life’s potential pollutants, the dangers waiting to kill the cleanliness, order and redemption that the young men are learning and living in the structures of their new existence.

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Hail the Redeemers The notion and processes of redemption are crucial here. The word has its roots in the Latin redempti, meaning ‘to buy back’. In Ancient Rome, redemption might involve a bribe to an authority figure to overturn an unfavourable decision. In the early Roman Catholic Church, redemptio was the act of giving money to a priest or bishop to receive in return forgiveness for one’s sins. In the Christian sense, redemption is a process that seeks deliverance from sin via the suffering and death of Christ and his incarnation. The Christian Church has thus a continuous and incessant need for its rituals to pursue atonement, not least because it teaches that God allowed his only son to die for our salvation. Crucial to any process of redemption is a sense of atonement for guilt. The concept is valid without the accompanying contemplation as to whether or not God exists: it is a path taken—usually a hallowed one via continuous and continual social sets—with some sense of salvation as a destination and some sense of achievement that might be equated to the notion of godliness. This suits—and indeed describes—boxing training. And, we might ask, are not world champions deified by many? Away from the celestial, we might consider the existence—since the founding of the city of Sheffield—of a bounded domain of tough, working-class men who for decades have lived lives with basic levels of education, were economically poor and possessed of limited life chances. In this domain, ‘hard-man’ dramas have a long and well-attested history. The collective industries and near universal employment evidenced in Sheffield from the 1950s until the 1970s produced a sense of ‘occupational culture’ that fashioned a host of institutions and leisure time and underpinned both family values and notions of identity and inclusion. Whilst never well paid, tough work in tough industries was a badge of masculine identity—honour, even—to which young Sheffield men aspired. In leaving school and working and earning, they therefore assumed the capacity to indulge in leisure-time intoxication but enjoyed concomitantly a general sense of self-determination; the legacies of male working-class culture were passed on through generations. When the industries that sustained this legacy declined or disappeared, the culture they sustained fragmented, turning out what some sociologists have termed ‘consumerist narcissists’, with some individuals pursuing an attendant reputation for street violence, or at least enjoying the reputation of violent potential. Such potential (and indeed actual) violence

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might be lucrative in some entrepreneurial scenarios. The issue was bound up in performative scenarios—what we might call the ‘codes of the street’—which required both expressive and instrumental violence. The consequences were the decline of the ‘hard-man’ of the factory or the ‘hard-man’ in the pub to a more instrumental ‘hard-man’, in the sense that being considered ‘hard’ was his primary identity. This social format such scenarios provide is, at face value, illegal and criminal as it slips into melee and assault utilising fists, feet, heads and even weapons. We can add to this the opprobrium of those who pursue the upkeep of law and order and fear the activities of the ‘dangerous classes’ and their propensity for drink. When culture and substance are combined with both testosterone and sometimes limited decision-making abilities or choices, the inability to rationalise or take a philosophical view of the social dramas in which they become involved makes for incomprehension in the onlooker as to why some violent acts are perpetrated. Immediate or unreflective responses are too often the resolution of the issues at hand. It is, in the eyes of the protagonists, the right thing to do. Brawling might be a rite de passage for thousands but it is not always conducive to that we might best term the ‘social good’. Some young men seek a way out of this life via the boxing gym. Their pre-gym physicality and, for want of a better term, ‘street skills’ might be utilised in the gym to achieve a degree of wealth and recognition and gain access to a social world outside of that in which they were born and raised. In becoming contenders and aspiring and actual champions, they depart the well-understood fields to enter the more ambiguous and liminal fields that very few can attain. The domain of the boxing gym becomes both the locale of their transformative education and their liminal space in which they ideally emerge as a different man. This redemption process must not be threatened. The gym demands rules, regimes and practices that become implicit in the individual. A new purity is pursued and practised through dedication and renouncing that which will fail them. If danger intrudes—some neophyte might infiltrate—the trainer needs to step in and restore order via the language of paternalism and (slight) menace. The end product is an individual who, fully conversant with the codes of the street, does not wholly pass from what he once was to the social other, but having lived for years in the liminal and marginal domain of a professional fighter is able—should he so want—to return to that he came from as a new man, changed but still

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‘one of us’. As we shall see, boxers are well versed in buying into the notion of being ‘saved’.

The Boxer: The Gym and the Quasi-Religious Floyd Mayweather and others like him would not have got where they did without being able to repress the personality traits that led to trouble outside the ring. For this, the gym environment can take credit. Author Thomas Hauser suggested that entering a boxing gym implied a willingness to abide by rules previously ignored, stretched or avoided (Hauser 1987). Many others have argued that the boxing gym acts as a sanctuary, a place where individuals are accepted because of (not despite) their background. Boxers thus carry a capacity for violence that is appreciated, even revered. The gym has long given a semblance of order to the psyche of sometimes flawed men and is thus host to a sense of transformation, allowing the pursuit of a ‘better place’—in other words, ‘redemption’. That journey requires denial, devotion and introspection; so, if we accept that religion is more about practices than beliefs, we can see how the gym carries a sense of the sacred and the quasi-religious. In order to keep themselves at peak performance, boxers implement diets and training regimes that demand fasting in pursuit of salvation. This saintly abstention sometimes extends to a fighter’s conjugal relations. A degree of faith—not least in oneself—is necessary to handle the ordeal and the life-threatening possibilities of the forthcoming contest. As sociologist Loïc Wacquant argued, such training regimes drew from the Benedictine notion of magistra vitae that collectively sought to control behaviour, enabling an individual to ‘know himself’ (Wacquant 2013). However, this is not only a Catholic concept. The mantra ‘no gain without pain’ is as integral to the gym as it is to the Protestant work ethic and to the Catholic concept of atonement. Like the altar of a church, the boxing ring is a lonely place loaded with communication. At its most critical moment, it is populated by three men whose actions and gestures are understood by the believers. This brings complications. The ring self is not the social self; the ring self has to comprehend shapes and tell lies. As American writer Joyce Carol Oates explained, the ring is square but the winner has to control the action in the taken-for-granted circle that the protagonists move around. In this morality play, grace is needed, but so are cunning, irreverence

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and subterfuge (Oates 1987). Oates reasoned that boxing exemplifies the fact that although we believe ourselves to be essentially spiritual beings, the most profound experiences of our lives are physical events. She also submitted that fighters are liars whose defence strategies exhibit astuteness, ingenuity and deceit. A punch misses because of deceitful movements, whilst the deceiver disappears only to reappear milliseconds later in a better position to inflict pain on the duped opponent. As Oates concluded, if there is a ‘play-fair book’ for boxing, the text must be very brief (Oates 1991). Similar to any religious practice, boxing has its own language, knowledge sets and social spaces. It also has ministers and mediators. The role of the trainer—a position akin to a priest—is crucial to the body and soul of the fighter. Such men bark instructions that do not invite negotiation. They nurture via clichés of wisdom-wrapped paternalism that develop both boxing skills and masculine identities. The advice offered suggests the means required to get by both in the ring and, implicitly, in society. Such teachings perhaps differ little from those narrated to pugilists in ancient times and are called by Wacquant ‘a practical form of wisdom’ that ideally induces a calmness and self-acceptance. This is a fundamental skill in the unpredictable, sensorial and emotional universe of one-on-one combat. In proximity to the trainer and boxer when the fight begins are other men who say little but are vital to the task at hand. Such acolytes know that their respective roles are to provide in just 60 seconds a degree of respite and sustenance and to patch up the damaged skin of the fighter who returns to their space every three minutes.

City on the Move This practice of patching up and giving words of reassurance might perhaps be used as a metaphor for the city this research is based in. The final decades of the twentieth century were not always kind to Sheffield’s citizens; much of the industry that sustained the city was no longer needed. In some respects, Sheffield took a count of ten. Some of its people never fought again. Others rose and fought on. Yet others played another game; lost jobs in heavy industry were replaced in part by whitecollar employment. Somewhat ironically, as the work became less macho the city attracted a pugilistic reputation. In the 1950s and 1960s, Sheffield did not have a boxing profile. Meanwhile, its national profile saw it branded a dirty place of heavy

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industry and hard graft, characteristics not regarded as fertile ground for the creative and the visionary. The year 1971 saw Sheffield City Council’s first concerted effort to cast off this dowdy image, commissioning a film and marketing exercise titled Sheffield: City on the Move, in which the city’s smoke-free air, its innovations in the manufacture of special steels, its history, its picturesque surroundings and its civic pride were unashamedly championed. The film looked forward to a glorious decade ahead. However, it could hardly have gone more badly. Instead of an economic boom, the 1970s was a time of nationwide strikes by, amongst others, power workers, car workers, print workers, lorry drivers, railway workers, steelworkers, ambulance drivers, miners, dockers, refuse collectors and even gravediggers. There were three-day working weeks, electricity blackouts, petrol rationing and ever-growing piles of rubbish left to rot in the streets. Inflation was at record postwar levels.11 The 1978/1979 ‘Winter of Discontent’ brought about the fall of the Labour Government and the rise of ‘Thatcherism’, which heralded mass unemployment, swathing financial and job cuts and the subsequent de-industrialisation of the 1980s. Sheffield took a beating. In South Yorkshire, the steel and miners’ strikes of the first half of the 1980s further demoralised the region, which was—according to European Union figures—on a par with parts of southern Italy and Greece for poverty and destitution. Throughout Thatcher’s iron grip, Sheffield remained a Labour stronghold; it was one of the most class-segregated cities in Europe in terms of the disparity between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’. There were, however, some good things to be had in South Yorkshire. The region had what was at one time the cheapest public transport system in Europe until the processes of deregulation and privatisation took hold in the late 1980s. Household and business rates were also low, until the ‘rate capping’ saga (explained later) put paid to that particular policy. Employment prospects were boosted by the relocation of the Manpower Services Commission12 to a new-build headquarters in Sheffield city centre. Opened in 1981, the 11-storey building housed some 1800 local government officials handling national employment and training services.13 The banking and financial sector also offered thousands of new employment opportunities when in 1976 the Midland (later HSBC) Bank moved some of its national departments into a large office block in the city centre.14 These were rare positives.

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A City of Sport Sheffield’s citizens could always not look to their sports teams for solace from the travails of the prevailing economic uncertainty. Both the city’s professional football clubs were at the lowest ebb in their histories in the late 1970s, whilst Yorkshire County Cricket Club was forced out of Sheffield in 1973, having been formed in the city 110 years earlier. Sheffield managed to find one world-class sports star in track athlete Sebastian Coe, but he had arrived from elsewhere. If there was one field in which Sheffield was amongst the world leaders, it was in popular music. From heavy metal to electronic genres, the city produced (and rightfully boasted about) some of the most sought-after acts in the business in the shape of Def Leppard, ABC, Heaven 17 and the Human League. Other niche groups such as the Comsat Angels and Cabaret Voltaire had their own loyal (if smaller and more underground) followings around the country. Rather like in boxing, why so varied an array of talent developed in the same place in such circumstances defies simple explanation, but that’s another story. Sheffield’s rising boxing fortunes from the early 1980s were another bright spot, which from the 1990s became a flood as Brendan Ingle’s gym (see later)—founded in the 1960s—became increasingly successful. At the same time, the city’s left-wing governors, wearied by their continued futile resistance to the economic strictures imposed by central Government, succumbed to the inevitable and jumped aboard the bandwagon of private investment and capitalist doctrines. They had little choice, and the city reaped the benefits with the construction of acres of retail, leisure and office space and the attendant infrastructure. Of course, this meant that jobs—good ones—for life in manual employment were replaced by a service economy, of which the 280-store Meadowhall shopping mall was the glistening temple, standing as it did on a site that once employed thousands in steel production.15 Some decisions of the city’s leaders led to monumental ‘cock-ups’. The 1991 World Student Games debacle,16 the loss-making Supertram system,17 the short-lived National Centre for Popular Music,18 the illfated city-centre Sevenstones retail development19 and the failed Sheffield airport20 together cost the city untold sums with little or no return. Nevertheless, these expensive setbacks should not disguise the notion that Sheffield possesses (according to the tourism website www.welcometoshe ffield.co.uk), ‘a friendly, independent and alternative spirit that you won’t

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find in other cities’. This rather vague statement is, however, a sentiment recognised by Sheffielders. The city’s ‘spirit’ is manifested by the tens of thousands of students who attend its two universities, its unrivalled reputation as an ‘outdoor’ city (the Peak District National Park with its hundreds of miles of footpaths and bridleways and its multitude of prime rock-climbing locations is less than half-an-hour’s drive from the city centre),21 its continued standing as the ‘real ale’ capital of Britain22 and its newly earned status as the ‘hipster’ centre of the north, likened by some to north-western American cities Portland and Seattle.23 Sheffield may not be as glossy and strutting as nearby Manchester and Leeds but it enjoys its comparative modesty, its small-town feeling and the insularity afforded it by the surrounding topography and geography, as summarised by German-British art and architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner: ‘None of the big cities of England has such majestic surroundings as Sheffield’ (Pevsner 1959). In a similar vein, in the 1950s Sheffield was described as ‘a flourishing industrial city with over half a million inhabitants and a world-wide reputation [which] still retains many of the essential characteristics of the small market town of about five thousand people from which it has grown in the space of two and a half centuries’ (Hunt 1956). And as journalist Jonathon Foster wrote in The Independent in 1993: ‘Sheffield is a uniquely insular city, the least cosmopolitan of all the large cities in Britain’.24 Indeed, such is the sense of connection that locals refer to their city as ‘the largest village in the world’, a notion recognised as long ago as the late nineteenth century when physician Frederick Barry wrote: The population of Sheffield is, for so large a town, unique in its character, in fact it more closely resembles that of a village than of a town, for over wide areas each person appears to be acquainted with every other … a state of things leading to an amount of intercommunication such as is not, I believe, met with in other towns of similar size. (Barry 1889)

One of the enduring success stories of this ‘village’ since the late twentieth century is its boxing achievements. In attempting to discover the reasons for this, we interviewed people in the fight game whose stories were not always well known. This is therefore not intended to be a series of mini-biographies of high-achieving individuals, but a biography of a city and its boxing people. We located two dozen possible individuals who we considered able to add something to this project. Space saw us interview half that number; the profiles are thus strategic. An obvious

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place to start was ‘The House of Ingles’, and we were lucky enough to speak to Brendan on four occasions before his death. We spoke also to his sons Dominic and John and daughter Bridget. There was often an Ingle connection in other interviewees, such as the Ingle-trained British champion Brian Anderson, one of the first black fighters out of the city and a man who had a remarkable post-fight career. Others trained at the Ingle gym before taking up training themselves: the activist and catalyst Glyn Rhodes; the modest and knowledgeable Ryan Rhodes; the resilient and persistent Dave Coldwell. We also were privileged to visit the unique community hub founded by Reagan Denton, which is the current base of the fascinating trainer Howard Rainey. Then, there was the Attercliffeborn one-time crockery seller and scrap merchant Dennis Hobson, whose indomitable self-belief saw him rub shoulders with mega-bucks American promoters and refuse to accept any crap from them. Time and words were exchanged with Grant Smith, the kitchen-fitter-turned-trainer-ofchampions, and the late Jackie Hudson, still punching bags in his 80s. Collectively, all carry a sense of redemption and frequently a desire to overcome a sense of inequality. They make for a motley crew, but they constitute the heart and soul of boxing in twenty-first-century Sheffield.

Notes 1. Quoted in The Times, December 29, 1824, 12536. 2. Quoted in New Orleans Daily Picayune, May 7, 1895, 59, 103. 3. The first boxing match to appear on film was a 100-minute documentary of the Bob Fitzsimmons v James J. Corbett world heavyweight title bout in Carson City, Nevada, in 1897. Also the first ever to be shot in widescreen, the film was considered so significant that British Library media historian Luke McKernan declared ‘it was boxing that created the cinema’. 4. In 1967, King was convicted of non-negligent manslaughter for stamping one of his employees to death. He served almost four years in prison before in 1983 being pardoned by the Governor of Ohio. 5. This occurred on the first day of British commercial television (September 22, 1955) when an estimated 658,000 viewers (watching on 188,000 television sets), mainly in the London area, tuned in. During the first ‘natural break’, an advert for Gibbs SR toothpaste became the first ever shown on British television. It was significant that ITV chose live boxing as its second-ever broadcast programme. As an indication of boxing’s popularity, a professional boxing broadcast in February 1956 was the sixth-highest watched programme that month on ITV .

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6. When in 2017 unbeaten multi-world champion Floyd Mayweather Junior took on UFC champion Conor McGregor, the pair embarked on a fourcity press conference tour in North America and Europe that combined attracted far more attendees than the fight itself. 7. Founded in 1972, HBO is an American pay television network owned by WarnerMedia Entertainment. 8. The World Boxing Association was founded in the USA in 1921 as the National Boxing Association. In 1962, the organisation changed its name to the WBA and began to admit other national boxing federations as members. The WBA headquarters moved to Panama in 1975, then to Venezuela in the 1990s, before returning to Panama in 2007. 9. The Principality Stadium and the Millennium Stadium are the same venue in Cardiff. 10. For example, in 2018, Wikipedia listed 15 NFL (professional American Football) players suspended for various lengths of time since 2004 for incidents relating to domestic violence. 11. Inflation peaked at almost 25% in 1975. 12. The Manpower Services Commission (MSC) was a non-departmental public body of the Department of Employment created in 1973 by Edward Heath’s Conservative Government. 13. Known as the Moorfoot Building, the premises were purchased by Sheffield City Council in the late 2000s. The Government departments that used it moved out in 2010, replaced by several council departments. 14. Midland Bank employed some 4000 people in Sheffield at its early-1980s peak, mainly in the Griffin House office block on Tenter Street. 15. Opened in 1990, Meadowhall has an annual footfall of some 24 million. 16. See Bell and Armstrong (2014) and Chapter 7. 17. The Supertram network began operating in 1994. Loss-making from the outset, three years later it was sold to a private company for £1 million. 18. Opened in 1999, the National Centre for Popular Music closed just over a year later because it failed to attract enough visitors. The building, constructed from stainless steel, became a live music venue and is now Sheffield Hallam University’s students’ union. 19. Sevenstones was to be the largest construction project in the city centre’s history. The 2007–2008 global financial crisis brought the venture to a halt. It was shelved in 2014. 20. Sheffield City Airport opened in 1997. A short runway and high landing charges deterred budget airlines; the operation closed in 2008. The site is now host to various manufacturing businesses. 21. A 2014 report by Sheffield Hallam University found that Sheffield was above the national average in participation in running, walking, recreational cycling, freestyle skiing, mountain biking, horse riding, game fishing and coarse fishing. The report also described Sheffield as ‘the

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climbing capital of the UK’ with more climbing-related businesses than any other UK city, and more than 10,000 Peak District climbs being recorded in guidebooks (Gregory et al. 2014). For 60 years until the 2011 establishment of the South Downs National Park, which incorporates parts of the city of Brighton and Hove, Sheffield was the only UK city with some of its boundaries within a National Park. 22. The Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) conducts an annual one-day ‘census’ of the number of beers available in Britain’s towns and cities. Sheffield has won the award for most different beers on sale on more occasions than any other place. 23. Daily Telegraph, January 7, 2019. 24. Quoted in https://www.wsc.co.uk/the-archive/30-Clubs/3642-nakedsheff-rivalry.

References Barry, F. W. (1889). Report on an Epidemic of Small-Pox at Sheffield, During 1887–88. H. M. Stationery Office. Bell, M., & Armstrong, G. (2014). Steel and Grace: The Lives and Times of Sheffield’s Olympic Medallists. Bennion Kearny. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1990). The Logic of Practice. Stanford University Press. Available at https://monoskop.org/images/8/88/Bourdieu_Pierre_The_Logic_ of_Practice_1990.pdf. Bourdieu, P. (1998). Practical Reason: On the Theory of Action. Polity Press. Available at https://monoskop.org/images/a/aa/Bourdieu_Pierre_Practical_ Reason_On_the_Theory_1998.pdf. Douglas, M. (1966). Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. Routledge. Available at https://monoskop.org/images/7/7d/ Douglas_Mary_Purity_and_Danger_An_Analysis_of_Concepts_of_Pollution_ and_Taboo_2001.pdf. Douglas, M. (1986). How Institutions Think. Syracuse University Press. Downey, G. (2010). Practice Without Theory: A Neuro-Anthropological Perspective on Embodied Learning. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 16(1), 22–24. Gregory, M., Davies, L., Kokolakakis, T., & Barrett, D. (2014). Everything Grows Outside—Including Jobs and the Economy: Valuing the Contribution of the Outdoor Economy in Sheffield: Summary Report. Sheffield Hallam University. Hauser, T. (1987). Black Lights: Inside the World of Professional Boxing. Pan. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The Meaning of Style. Routledge.

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Hunt, A. (1956). The Morphology and Growth of Sheffield. In: D. L. Linton (Ed.), Sheffield and Its Regions: A Scientific and Historical Survey. British Association for the Advancement of Science. Katz, J. (1988). Seductions of Crime: Moral and Sensual Attractions in Doing Evil. Basic Books. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors We Live By. University of Chicago Press. Available at https://ceulearning.ceu.edu/pluginfile.php/100 337/mod_forum/attachment/9319/Metaphors%20We%20Live%20By.pdf. Lederman, R. (2015). Anthropology of Big Men. In N. J. Smelser & P. B. Baltes (Eds.), International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioural Sciences (pp. 567–573). Elsevier. Mead, M. (1935). Sex and Temperament in Three Primitive Societies. William Morrow. Oates, J. C. (1987). On Boxing. Bloomsbury. Oates, J. C (1991). A Matter of Ego (Preface). In B. Hughes & P. King (Eds.), Come Out Writing: A Boxing Anthology. Queen Anne Press. Pevsner, N. (1959). The Buildings of England: Yorkshire—The West Riding. Penguin Books. Prato, G. B. (2018). European Urban Traditions: An Anthropologist’s View on Polis, Urbs and Civitas. In: I. Pardo, G. B. Prato, & W. Kaltenbacher (Eds.), Placing Urban Anthropology, Diogenes/Diogène Special Issue. Sage. Available at https://doi.org/10.1177/0392192117740023. Prato G. B., & Pardo, I. (Eds.) (2013). Anthropology in the City: Methodology and Theory. Ashgate. Sahlins, M. (1963). Poor Man, Rich Man, Big-man, Chief: Political Types in Melanesia and Polynesia. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 5(3), 285–303. Available at https://archive.org/stream/asdklf………M/MarshallSahlins-Poor-Man-Rich-Man-BigMan-Chief-Political-Types-in-Melanesiaand-Polynesia_djvu.txt. Thornton, S. (1995). Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Polity Press. Turner, V. (1975). Dramas, Fields and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society. Cornell University Press. Wacquant, L. (2013). Protection, Discipline and Honor: A Boxing Club in an American Ghetto. In: M. Vaczi (Ed.), Playing Fields: Power, Practice and Passion in Sports. Centre for Basque Studies. Weber, M. (1958). The City. Free Press.

CHAPTER 2

Guru and Genius

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 3, No. 35, 1901] (out of copyright)

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_2

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[Sheffield] is a dirty, monotonous town, but surrounded with one of the finest countries in England: romantic dales, sweetly rising hills, plantations, enclosures, and neat gentlemen’s seats on every side.—The Reverend William Macritchie, Diary of a Tour Through Great Britain, 1795 A detailed account of the great fight, published in Bell’s Life, tells us that the combatants struck each other with mawleys and bunches of fives upon the head, the nut, the cone, the conk, the cannister, the noddle, the snorer, the snuffer, the snuff-tray, the nozzle, the mazzard; the eyes, the ogles, the optics, the peepers; the mouth, the kisser, the whistler, the oration trap; drawing the blood, the claret, the ruby, the crimson, the home-brewed, the gravy; and in several cases knocking the unfortunate knocker off his pins, his pegs, his stumps, and his foundation, to say nothing of boring, fibbing and sending him to grass.—Daily Evening Bulletin, 1860

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, the British championships across all weights were dominated by London boxers. The names of Henry Cooper, Terry Downes and John H. Stracey became nationally known by virtue of their televised victories, as did those of the London-raised immigrants Maurice Hope, Bunny Sterling, Clinton McKenzie and Charlie Magri.1 Responsible for much of this success was a cohort of London-based managers/promoters such as Mickey Duff, Mike Barrett, Harry Levine and Jarvis Astaire. These men enjoyed what they termed ‘an income sharing agreement’, which was in effect a cartel. Boxing events often took place in small, smoke-filled rooms in expensive private London clubs for the benefit of the monied, the influential and the shady. The top fighters of the period might fight every few weeks, even after gruelling 15 rounders, and travelled far and wide to do so. Heavyweight contender Joe Bugner racked up more than 50 contests by the age of 23. He and his contemporaries had to be active just to earn a living. It was an era when defeat did not necessarily mean the end of the road to glory—fighting so frequently, boxers expected to lose occasionally. Sheffield meanwhile was a boxing backwater. When success in the ring arrived in the city, it came in large doses thanks to a unique training method. For over two decades, the city became globally renowned for both a boxing style and a boxing stable. How this came to be was due to a timely blend of circumstance and personality and a peculiar mix of inspirational philosophy, wisdom and ‘blarney’. Success in this institution changed the lives of both the trainer-manager and his boxers. Boxing in Sheffield also became synonymous with being a force for good, a route out of a wayward life, and for some an avenue to wealth undreamed of.

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The downside was the unknown psyche of the champion. Boxing was a hurting business and not all pain was visible.

Rocking and Rolling In 1957, Dubliner Peter Ingle returned home with three new suits and £200 in his pocket, the proceeds of earnings from a job in a Sheffield steelworks. Greeting him was younger brother Brendan, the 12th of 15 children born to Sarah and Charles, a power station worker and onetime dock labourer. The Ingles were of Anglo-Irish descent; one Londonborn grandfather, having served in the Royal Navy, settled in Dublin after meeting a local girl. Brendan’s childhood was characterised by the lively narrative of the dining table that heard strong opinions around the politics of Irish ‘Home Rule’.2 Determined that if Peter could achieve such trappings so could he, 18-year-old Brendan moved to Sheffield in the late 1950s. He was to find his welcome conditional. Seeking accommodation, Ingle was met with signs in windows stating: ‘No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs’. Initially lodging with his brother’s brother-in-law on the Manor council estate, Ingle found employment as a smithy’s striker at the Alfred Beckett’s steelworks at Kelham Island. The work saw Ingle wield a five-feet-long hammer, repeatedly striking red-hot steel bars to make shear blades for the print industry. The task required strength, fitness, power and accuracy; Ingle was effectively being paid to do boxing training. He later worked in a wood-yard, on building sites and for Sheffield City Council’s Parks and Gardens Department, as well as trying his hand at cutting hair, mending shoes and coal mining. Ingle was always able to earn and had a work ethic few could match (Fig. 2.1). Settling in the Wincobank district, Ingle lived in the same house for over 50 years. Interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2016, Ingle—in his own imitable way—explained his admiration of the tough neighbourhood he landed in, saying: ‘These people fought the Romans’. He was largely correct.3 Always exploring and looking for an opportunity, soon after arriving in Sheffield Ingle asked the commissaire on the door of the Cutlers’ Hall if he could look round its interior. Surprisingly, the uniformed worthy obliged. On the wall hung a portrait of the Duke of Wellington.4 ‘He’s from Dublin’, said Ingle, adding: ‘One day I’m going to put a boxing

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Fig. 2.1 Brendan Ingle’s first place of work in Sheffield (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell])

show on here’. In 1977, Ingle promoted an amateur boxing event at the venue, proof that his dreaming big could be realised.

Reading Matters Having received an education in Ireland courtesy of the notoriously brutal Christian Brothers,5 Ingle’s lack of academic skills was later attributed to undiagnosed dyslexia. ‘I got the stick for me bad spelling’, he was to say. Such punishment taught the young Ingle that the pursuit of educational progress was better served by words and reasoning than by the strap and the cane. Learning to read in adult life, Ingle’s new abilities opened up a different perspective. He was to read the Bible, and the work of Robert Tressell6 ; Ingle cited both as amongst the biggest influences on his life. Other formative texts were Austrian philosopher Karl Popper’s 1934 The Logic of Scientific Discovery, which addressed the nature of

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knowledge, and his 1945 publication The Open Society and Its Enemies, in which Popper examined how history unfolds according to universal laws. Another author Ingle read was French philosopher and anthropologist René Girard, whose 1972 text La Violence et le Sacré explored how religion sought to control violence. ‘I read a lot of stuff, or I’d go for walks’, he said. ‘I used to walk past the big house at Wentworth – the people who lived there talked different to anyone I had known’.7 Ingle was also engrossed by Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor and Stoic philosopher.8 Such reading influenced Ingle into believing in commanding respect from others by performing duty and service with equanimity. It also imbued him with one of his long-held philosophies: ‘It is not a crime to be ignorant. But to know someone is ignorant and not help them, is’. Ingle found people fascinating. As a van boy delivering bread in his mid-teens, he asked the bakery driver about his role in the 1916 Easter Rising.9 This former IRA man had allegedly shot dead a British soldier. The disparity between what was said and done by the Christian Brothers in the name of God and what was considered a duty to kill in extreme circumstances persuaded Ingle that peace had to be found both within an individual and in wider society. Such convictions remained with him. ‘You need some sort of religion to live by’, he said. ‘I still pray every day on waking. I went to St Marie’s10 but I never met anyone there like the woman who was to be my wife’.

All that Jazz This woman was Sheffield-born Alma Chaloner, who Ingle met at a jazz night in the Earl Grey pub on Ecclesall Road.11 They married at St Thomas’ Church, Wincobank, in 1961 and were to produce five children: Brendan, Bridget, Dominic, John and Tara. An industrial chemist, Alma was the only woman in the Hadfield’s steelworks laboratory. She was to discover she was on copy-typist pay. Injustice and inequality were thus emotions shared by the Ingles. Recognising a brilliant mind that needed channelling, Alma taught her husband to read. The phenomenal success of the Ingle gym thus has a hitherto understated force—Alma—who is central to the story. ‘Without Alma there’d be nothing’, Ingle was often heard to say. Alma realised that boxing was a part of Ingle’s life she would have to get used to. Her early involvement was the one often taken by wives and girlfriends at sporting events—making and serving refreshments. As

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a church warden and secretary of the local Parochial Church Council,12 Alma was adept at administration and handling people and finances. Such tasks did not satisfy her; she discussed with Brendan the possibility of becoming more immersed in boxing. Aggrieved by what he called ‘bent’ adjudicating, Brendan suggested that Alma qualify as a judge. This task was not as easy as it might seem. The Amateur Boxing Association (ABA) did not want a woman to sit the exam but Brendan lobbied on her behalf, as well as teaching her the rules of amateur boxing. The ABA was worried that if a woman became a judge, what would stop her also qualifying as a referee? There was nothing in the rules to prevent this, but the ABA did not believe that a woman could control two male boxers in the ring. As a referee she would also be able to enter the boxers’ dressing rooms. That, declared the ABA, would inevitably lead to all manner of gender-related problems. When the ABA relented, Alma topped both the theory and practical exams. Thus in 1975, aged 36, she became the north of England’s first qualified female amateur boxing judge and one of just three in Britain. Brendan later needed help in the management of his boxer Herol Graham so Alma took out a professional promoter’s licence, one of only two women in the country in such a role. In fact, Alma had been copromoting amateur shows—for which no licence was needed—for years. A mutually beneficial collaboration was made with Sheffield’s Granville College catering school whereby boxing shows were combined with a dinner for the attendees. The catering department’s head, Kevin Woodford,13 used the opportunity to give his students experience of catering for a big event. Labour was thus provided for free as part of the students’ coursework; all Woodford wanted was to cover his food costs. The idea was transferred to shows at the City Hall; because no kitchen was available food was brought from the college, giving the students experience of logistics and event management as well as cooking. Promoting boxing shows was simple arithmetic. The cost of hiring the venue plus the cost of the purse and the cost of expenses had to be recouped by ticket sales and sponsorship. The Ingles rarely made a profit, often just breaking even. Savings were made wherever possible. For example, the boxing ring was transported from the Ingle gym free of charge by a friend and set up by volunteers. Alma’s first task at an event was making sure the British Boxing Board of Control (BBBC) officials present were looked after. She would then collect ticket money from agencies, boxers, promoters and general admission on the venue doors.

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Ingle was later to say: ‘Alma controlled the money. I loaned it or gave it away’. Never a walkover, Alma became in the late 1980s the first female member of a BBBC committee, and was later voted onto the board of the BBBC’s Central Area Council. The latter result brought gasps from some members present at the organisation’s AGM, but as chairman Nat Basso14 explained: ‘It’s a boxing first. Nothing like this has happened before, a woman on a ruling body, but it’s a measure of how her colleagues rate her’.

Raised to Box Brendan Ingle’s obsession with boxing came from his upbringing; all 11 brothers boxed at some stage. Brother Jimmy was Ireland’s first international boxing champion when in 1939, aged 17, he won a European amateur title. As a professional, he lost to Randolph Turpin in 1947.15 Brother John was a professional Irish lightweight champion.16 Inspiration came from Ingle’s father and a neighbour named Dan Stewart, a Scottishborn former bare-knuckle fighter. The pair built a ‘lean-to’ adjacent to the family house, in which the Ingle boys sparred. Brendan took up boxing aged eight and won amateur titles. It was thus natural for him to don the gloves in Sheffield. And it was a way of meeting people. Briefly returning to Dublin in a bid to make the Irish boxing team for the 1960 Olympic Games, Ingle lost to Terry Collins, uncle of the future world super-middleweight champion Steve Collins. Back in England Ingle represented the North East Counties of England against a visiting Irish team and in his words was ‘slaughtered’ by an opponent named Danno Power. Rather than being put off, Ingle turned professional aged 25, training at Croft House under Henry Hall (see Volume One). Formulaic punch-bag work and sparring did not suit Ingle, who sensed that boxing training needed more imagination. His alternative to this required phenomenal energy and would see him rise at 4.30am to go road-running before working all day. Twice a week he would undertake the 160-mile round trip to Liverpool to train in a gym with a boxing coach more suited to his needs. This coach, Tommy Miller, was reputed to have had over 2000 fights both in sanctioned professional contests and fairground boxing booths. Perhaps learning from this, Ingle was willing to fight anytime, anywhere. He recalled when spoken with in 2015 that after eight hours’ labouring in Sheffield, Miller informed him he was boxing in Great Yarmouth

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some 170 miles away—that night. Afterwards Miller dropped Ingle off in the early hours five miles from home with the words: ‘It’ll be a good warm down for you’. Never earning more than £50, Ingle’s most famous opponent—in his only televised fight in 1969—was 1968 Olympic gold medallist Chris Finnegan. Ingle was stopped on a cut eye and broken nose, the result of a headbutt. Throughout a career of 19 wins and 14 defeats, Ingle required the insertion of 125 facial stitches. At his peak, he reached eighth in the British middleweight rankings, before retiring in 1973. Considering a comeback in 1975 because of a lack of paid work, Ingle’s boxing licence was restored, but he found a labouring job before he was forced to re-enter the ring. For a lowly boxer, labouring paid more than pro-fighting in this era. Ingle was an outsider in a then inward-looking city. He needed avenues to enter his new home. Boxing provided for this in different ways. In 1974, he co-founded the Sheffield and District Ex-Boxers’ Association. This modest affair permitted former fighters and enthusiasts to meet first at the Black Swan pub on Snig Hill and later at the Irish-owned Dog and Partridge on Trippet Lane and the Foresters on Division Street, to chat over matters and put the world to rights. Ingle was in his element. He was to say: ‘I’d go into pubs and drink orange juice, then give a song or two … If You Ever Go Across the Sea to Ireland, Galway Bay, Morning Mrs Claddagh, The Life of Riley. It was fun and it brought people together. Why would I be wanting to fall out with people? I’d come to this country and city, they’d given me a job and I was training in a place [Hillsborough Boys’ Club] built for the British Military’. Ever the pragmatist, Ingle could feel an audience and knew what sold: ‘I’d sing God Save the Queen at the Top Rank.17 At other times I’d give a song in Gaelic’. A lover of performing, Ingle was to set his mind to coaxing performances out of others.

Bombing and Weaving As his desire to box waned, Ingle’s interest in coaching youngsters grew. Always maintaining a diary of his training sessions, such reflective practice proved instrumental in the way he approached his new calling. One entry from the 1960s read: ‘Speed in boxing means you can see an opening hit! Speed invokes three essentials: quickness of eye to evade, quickness of mind to decide, and speed in delivery’.

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Ingle transferred this philosophy into coaching, and found in the city of Nottingham the man to not only put it into practice, but also to revolutionise it. This was an amateur light-middleweight18 by the name of Herol ‘Bomber’ Graham, but Graham’s recruitment to the Ingle gym invoked jealousy—or was it prejudice?—from some quarters. Ingle was accused by unidentified fellow members of the Sheffield and District Ex-Boxers’ Association of ‘a total disregard for the amateur rules’. The crime was based on boxing’s rather arcane regulations; as a trainer of amateur boxers Ingle was not permitted to be ‘connected’ to a professional fight. The issue had wider ramifications. Ingle’s alleged misdemeanour was ‘interfering with the administration of amateur boxing’. The regional ABA refused to explain what this actually meant. Ingle, who did not have a professional trainer’s licence, admitted being ring-side in support of his friend Chris Walker, but claimed he was not in the fighter’s corner and had no influence on Walker’s preparation. At the end of the fight, he approached the defeated Walker to console him. This was evidence enough for some. His training licence withdrawn indefinitely, Ingle was also fined £600 for ‘coaching in the corner’. Alma was also banned from judging. The pair got round the suspension by opening the Unity ABC, which just happened to be at the same venue as the professional Ingle gym! It was an open secret that Ingle continued to train Graham whilst ostensibly banned. Some, including Hillsborough Boys’ Club coach and manager Captain Stanley Royle, spoke up for Ingle. Local boxing promoters Mick Cowan and Tony McKenna spoke of ‘a tiny-minded smear campaign’ against Ingle and wrote to the ABA in his support. The ABA rescinded the suspension after a year. Ingle then applied for, and was granted, a professional trainer’s licence. This document overcame the obstacle of training both amateurs and professionals, but it now meant Ingle could not act as a cornerman during amateur tournaments. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, this anomaly allowed him to train his teenaged prodigy Naseem Hamed but prevented him working in Hamed’s corner in amateur competitions.

Fighting for Peace Ingle’s impact in Sheffield originates from two men seeking to do good. In 1964 he was approached by the Reverend Fred Harrington, whose St Thomas’ Church stood near Ingle’s house. The clergyman asked Ingle if

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he could assist with community work with local youths. Ingle jumped at the chance. His philanthropic work with young people began by organising weekly dances at St Thomas’ church hall. Inadvertently, he was setting in motion a chain of events that led to the formation of what would become known as the ‘Ingle Gym’. As he explained: ‘We used to have a dance on the Sunday, but after[wards] people would turn out on the street and start fighting down Newman Road’. Ingle’s solution to such behaviour was simple: if youths wanted to fight, he insisted they learn to do so properly. ‘We’d lock the doors, I’d fetch the gloves out, which really, thinking about it now was crazy’, he said. ‘I used to be the referee, the girls could fight better than the lads but nobody ever got hurt’. Before long St Thomas’ boxing gymnasium was born under the official title of ‘St Thomas’ Boys’ and Girls’ Club’. Communication and character were features of Ingle’s early years. The family home had no telephone until the late 1970s. If someone sought to speak with Ingle, the phone box across the road was the number to dial. His self-denial knew no bounds; the already tee-total Ingle was to give up tea, coffee, meat and milk. Over more than five decades, St Thomas’ threw open its doors to people of any age, ethnicity, religion and gender. These included—in Ingle’s words—some ‘head-bangers, head-cases and no-hopers’. No questions were asked about past misdemeanours; all were welcome as Ingle utilised boxing as a means to engage, educate and channel both decent and disaffected youths away from the dangers of violence, reasoning: ‘If you hit someone on the chin in an argument and he hits his head on the floor and gets brain damage you’ll get five or six years in prison’, he said. ‘So, the message is avoid the fight in the first place or if you can’t, make sure you can slip the punch’ (Fig. 2.2). Ingle’s gym promoted community spirit and multi-culturalism. Religion and politics were openly discussed. Ingle told The Independent in 2009: ‘We’ve talked about terrorism, and I tell them about the IRA and how we lived through that. Sometimes [the Muslims] mention suicide bombers, though none of them say they condone them, and their belief about going to paradise. I say to them: “Do you know where paradise is? It’s here in Sheffield”’. Some 13 years earlier Ingle explained to the Irish Times: ‘Colour is personal and private, religion is personal and private, politics is personal and private. But we must face up to these things by recognising them’. Recognition included self-deprecation and learning that words should not cause offence. Calling over a young boxer of Asian ethnicity, Ingle asked him: ‘What am I?’ The boxer replied: ‘You are a

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Fig. 2.2 The Ingle gym, Newman Road, Sheffield (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell])

stupid Paddy’. Ingle then asked: ‘And what are you?’ The reply was: ‘I’m just a stupid Paki’. In Ingle’s words, St Thomas’ taught ‘boxing and life lessons’. The gym’s ethos was education and self-improvement, two elements considered essential in the making of both the individual and the champion. The gym’s website described the facility as: ‘A haven for disruptive youths, who find solace from steel red girders with punch bags hanging, with the melodic rhythm of fists connecting with leather’. Regular attendees were taught the Ingle mantra of no smoking, no drinking, no drugs, no gambling and only one girlfriend at a time. As Ingle reminded his pupils, the lesson was simple: ‘If you rip people off or do drugs, people will stab you or shoot you’. Those who succeeded in learning such discipline were applauded and lauded by the rest of the group. Those who did not were out of the door. Ingle would tell all who entered: ‘You don’t come here to mess about, you come here to learn. Mess about and you’re out. I

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don’t care what you get up to in school, you don’t fool about here. What do you do if someone is struggling? You help him out and next time he helps you’. On their arrival at the gym for the first time, Ingle would ask children three questions: (1) Do you go to school? (2) Can you read and write? (3) Do you cause problems for your mother and father? He would then instruct them to face the wall and speak about themselves for two minutes. Ingle learned a lot from this brief but unorthodox induction, as did those facing the wall. Brendan and Alma’s outlooks on their juvenile charges differed: Alma used an in-built ‘gut instinct’ to inform her assessment of an individual’s character. Brendan believed that people could change if they were educated and shown the ‘right way’. Alma argued that Brendan could not change human nature; Ingle perhaps was forever trying to fix the unfixable. Bridget Ingle believed her parents were both right. Quoting numerous cases where her father helped people live a better life, she also cited one former Ingle boxer who, she said when interviewed in 2016, ‘learned nothing in 18 years’. Alma had predicted that this individual would be trouble. Bridget’s research into behavioural patterns led her to believe that her father was working with many young men who through genetics, abuse or neglect had an under-developed pre-frontal brain cortex, ‘the bit that deals with emotion’. Some, she postulated, were malignant narcissists.19 Try as he might, Brendan could not change such people.

A Way of Life Ingle’s work was noticed by the City Fathers, as he explained in 2016: The Labour party were ‘into’ recreation in Sheffield as the ‘City of Sport’ so I was good for them. Peter Price was a good fellah, as was Richard Caborn and David Blunkett.20 They were in a sense defying many in their party in supporting what I was doing. At the same time some in the Labour party wanted to do away with all competitive sport in schools.

The profile of both the gym and Ingle grew when he was employed by Sheffield City Council as a mentor on the Government’s ‘Starting Point’ project that in the 1980s helped disadvantaged teenagers find jobs. Ingle would welcome to the gym up to two dozen teenagers who had bleak employment prospects arising out of various familial and behavioural

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problems. It was Ingle’s task to somehow divert them from a life of crime and benefits dependency. For eight years, he applied his charges to a variety of tasks, mainly based around physical activities such as gardening and building projects, talking through their issues during down-time. Ingle was a de facto parent, guardian, paralegal, counsellor and social worker. His methods were unorthodox, not least taking the youngsters into a pub (the landlord was a friend) and teaching them not only how to play snooker but how to behave in the company of adults and alcohol. Recognising that the world was not fair, Ingle explained to the Sheffield Star’s Martin Smith in 1997: ‘Some of [these kids] have a lot of problems at home and they come here and we can only do our best. But for every one of them that turns out horrible, ten will turn out great. I don’t know why it works, but it does. They learn respect for themselves and for others and that’s what it’s all about’. As Ingle told many a listener: ‘Civility and manners cost nothing’. The initial objective of Ingle’s gym was to produce good citizens, not good boxers. This task was fulfilled in abundance, but it also produced multiple British, European and Commonwealth champions, plus four world champions.

Premised to Succeed The spartan nature of the gym was integral to Ingle’s existence. He could usually be found there seven days a week, sometimes from 6.45am to 8.00pm. Ingle was always keen to share tales, give advice and offer homespun philosophy centred on four themes: God, good health, education and a good attitude. Interviewed by the BBC in 2005, Ingle summed up these ideas: ‘I say God, but a lot of people don’t believe in God and I understand that. If you’re in good health you don’t have to worry about yourself and your family and friends don’t have to worry either. If you’ve got a good attitude and a good education nobody can control your life’. Using a mixture of encouragement, cajoling and incentive, Ingle helped develop a sense of personal and collective responsibility in his charges. In 1996, he told the Irish Times: ‘I keep telling them that life is very crowded down on the bottom and that there is lots of room in the middle and at the top. We show them what they can have if they want to discipline themselves’. The least they could have was good facilities and smart clothes. The gym had just one shower and a single changing room so Ingle organised something better for his regulars. An arrangement was made to have

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free use of the gym, sauna, steam room and swimming pool of a four-star hotel in nearby Rotherham. In return, his protégés had to respect such generosity. They had also to give back some of their free time. When putting on shows to promote his fighters in pubs and clubs, Ingle asked his boxers to turn up immaculately dressed so as to exude both professionalism and pride in their appearance. The request demanded compliance and a little side deal. Said Ingle: ‘They love it, they show off to their friends, but that is only natural. We have deals with tailors and outfitters in Sheffield and our boys get special prices’. Ingle’s boxers might also turn up at a venue in style; courtesy cars were provided by the boxingloving owner of a Renault dealership. Such arrangements were indicative of Ingle’s concerns about the need to not look poor, and also reflected well on his powers of persuasion. Enhancing both his reputation and his premises, Ingle in his own words ‘scrounged’ materials to improve the place. Local politicians and businessmen chipped in. The council leader George Wilson gifted a strip of land, which Ingle dug for weeks in order to put in foundations, until the job was finished in a day by virtue of a JCB excavator paid for by Rotherham scrap metal trader Ken Booth. After starting out with one punch-bag, the gym acquired seven more from various donors. From the late 1970s, a degree of success in the ring followed. Retford-born light-welterweight Chris Walker turned professional in 1976, winning the Central Area title the following year. In February 1978, Walker unsuccessfully challenged Colin Powers for the British light-welterweight title at the Top Rank Suite in what was the first British title fight in Sheffield since Gus Platts beat Tommy Gummer in 1921. Walker retired in 1979 with a record of 15 wins, 11 defeats and one draw, later becoming landlord of the Middlewood Tavern. He died in January 2018, aged 66. Fighting in this era did not bring riches to many boxers. The Ingletrained Rotherham-born light-middleweight Mick Mills was to fight 48 times between 1977 and 1985. Winning his first 17 contests, Mills then lost three in a row. In 1982, he lost to Noel ‘Prince’ Rodney in a Central Area title contest. Mills was to thank Ingle at the end of his career for ‘keeping me out of prison’. Sheffield-born light-welterweight Walter Clayton—a junior ABA champion in 1977—remained unbeaten in his first 12 professional fights. Three consecutive defeats in 1982 and 1983 left his final career record at 20 wins, five defeats and three draws. Clayton was very good—maybe ‘the one that got away’ (i.e. the would-be champion who never was), according to Ingle, as Clayton’s employment with

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Mexborough-based Constant Security Services brought a regular income away from boxing.

Securing a Future Constant Security Services was founded by a man who became an important but little-known cog in the Ingle operation. This was Mick Lee, born in the Handsworth district of Sheffield in 1948 to pub-licensee parents. As a teenager Lee boxed at Arbourthorne ABC under Lol Nutbrown, a Sheffield professional who fought before and after the war. Weighing 17 stones at the age of 17, Lee was forced to fight older men as there were too few boxers of his weight and age. Beaten by a fighter ten years older, Lee was advised by the victor to find a better trainer as he was not ready to box at senior level. Instead, aged 19, he retired. Subsequently working as a delivery driver for the London Brick Company, in the mid-1960s Lee came across Ingle on a building site. They became firm friends. After a spell in South Yorkshire police, Lee and his wife took over the Greengate Inn in the High Green district of Sheffield. Retaining an interest in boxing, Lee organised showings of footage of old boxing matches in the pub’s concert room to keep local youngsters occupied. The provider of the films was Gary Duff, son of boxing promoter Mickey. Ingle often attended the viewings accompanied by some of his boxers. The events proved such a success that Lee started an amateur boxing club in the pub. Leaving the Greengate for the city centre Mulberry Tavern in 1976, Lee offered bar and door work to several of Ingle’s boxers, including Walter Clayton, Pete Bennett, Vinny and Vernon Vahey and Herol Graham. Recalling his first impression of Graham, who Ingle had described to Lee as potentially as good as Sugar Ray Leonard,21 Lee said: ‘What a thoroughly nice young man he was. Unaffected and charming, he struck me as probably the most unlikely boxer I had met’. Lee further explained that Graham’s way of dealing with trouble in the pub was to ‘laugh at the perpetrators and keep them laughing as they left’. The Mulberry was to host the weigh-ins for boxing matches organised by local promoters Mick Cowan and Tony McKenna at the Top Rank Suite across the road. Lee credited the pair for taking ‘a hell of a chance’ to put Sheffield back on the boxing map in the 1970s. The early 1980s recession22 forced Lee out of the licensed trade. His experiences during nights out at the city centre Penny Farthing nightclub

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had taught him the nuances of how to keep rowdy customers in order by using courtesy and a smile. The doorman there was local ex-boxer Ron Crookes (see Volume One), about whom Lee said: I was in awe [of] how he managed stag nights,23 which had the potential to cause a lot of trouble. He’d see a group of blokes coming to the door, he’d find out who the ‘stag’ was ‘cos he was the one most likely to be drunk and he’d let ‘em in with the words ‘and mine’s an orange juice when you get to the bar’. He had diffused trouble by perception, articulacy and humour. I learned off that when I started my business.

Impressed by Crookes’ professionalism, Lee set up his own security firm. The boxing link continued with the appointment of local amateur boxer Mick Caine as Lee’s first employee. Caine later became a director of the company. Constant’s big break came following an incident at Newmarket racecourse in August 1988 when an alcohol-fuelled brawl amongst racegoers resulted in a man’s death. Aghast at the lax security, racing officials held talks with police and racecourse operators as to how best to combat the frequency of race meeting disorder. The outcome was a new security regime at all British racecourses; Constant Security Services was one of the beneficiaries, winning the contract to police Newmarket and other courses. Over the next few years, Lee employed several of Ingle’s boxers, finding them without exception to be ‘smart, fit and polite’. These characteristics Lee believed were down to Ingle’s teachings. A couple of them now hold senior positions at the company. Constant also won the contract to provide security at the 1991 World Student Games construction sites in Sheffield’s former industrial East End. Lee meanwhile played more than a small part in the Ingles’ boxing promotions, financially underwriting some of their events. Today, Constant Security Services employs 800 and offers what Lee calls ‘basic stewarding’ as well as a ‘response unit’ deployed if, in Lee’s words, ‘things start turning nasty’. The company also specialises in security around the storing and transportation of valuable metals. This subject prompted Lee into an anecdote with a theme of boxing and metal theft: My grandfather was well known in the city. He was called ‘Lord’ Billy Lee. He ran a pub on the Moor called the Travellers’ [Rest] and was also the man for getting acts into the theatres. We’d call him a booking agent today. He liked boxing and could get big-name boxers to do exhibitions as well. Well, one evening he’d put on a show that included Jack Johnson

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and Georges Carpentier, which was some achievement at the time. He was in the pub with the pair having a ‘late one’. The only other life in the room was two Great Dane dogs. Into this company appeared two burglars. As they attempt to enter the premises by the roof Billy shines a light on them and says: ‘Take your pick lads; is it a Great Dane apiece or a world champion fighter each?’ They didn’t stick around! Sixty years later I’m on the night shift and get a call there’s two fellas near a railway line nicking copper cable. I take an Alsation and two of Ingle’s boys. They are digging away and in the torch-light I give them an option: would they rather face a German Shepherd or two light-middleweight challengers? I could hear me grandfather’s voice! The pair scarpered.

It is difficult to establish the veracity of the Johnson/Carpentier tale. Johnson is known to have visited Sheffield in 1913, but no evidence has been discovered of Carpentier’s presence in the city. A story has been passed down the Lee family that Billy Lee knew Carpentier well and was part of his entourage that travelled to New Jersey in 1921 for the Frenchman’s world heavyweight championship fight against Jack Dempsey. Whilst in the USA Lee got to know the Leeds-born Owney Madden, a renowned New York criminal underworld figure during Prohibition.24 In 1931, Madden became involved in boxing, managing future world heavyweight champions Primo Carnera and Max Baer. Eight years earlier, he had taken over a premises on Manhattan’s 142nd Street from Johnson, who had used it for a cabaret club named Café de Luxe. Madden developed it into the Cotton Club, at which some of the most famous entertainers of the day performed, such as Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, Sammy Davis Junior and Lena Horne. The story behind Johnson’s trip to Sheffield is intriguing. In June 1913, he was convicted in the USA of ‘transporting women across state lines for immoral purposes’. Fleeing to Europe, he arrived in Britain in August and participated in exhibition boxing bouts around the country; perhaps it was Billy Lee who invited him to Sheffield. It might also have been because an American Vice-Consul at the time named Dr Rice K. Evans lived in Totley, then a village just outside the city. Part of Evans’ job was to assist American citizens in Britain to obtain passports, visas and employment. The reason for Johnson visiting Evans in an official capacity is unknown, but the website http://www.totleyhistorygroup. org.uk/ recounts that the respectable white diplomat invited the black fugitive boxer to his home. Johnson accepted. The writer surmises that

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the invitation did not come about because Evans held advanced views on race relations or civil rights, but simply because he was a big sports fan.

Ray of Light Another man who did much to keep Sheffield boxing going during the 1970s was the unheralded Ray Gillott. Born in the late 1940s, Gillott trained at Hillsborough Boys’ Club up the age of 16, before moving to Croft House to train under Bob Biney (see Volume One). He then had a spell at St Thomas’ before it became widely known as the ‘Ingle Gym’. In fact, Brendan Ingle was at the time one of the club’s professionals, alongside Nick Kennedy and Brian Law,25 all of whom were trained by Frank Middleton.26 Gillott however remained an amateur and when interviewed in 2019 confessed to being ‘a good club lad … 70-plus fights in four years’. In demand on fight nights, he found that appreciative promoters would ‘wangle a few quid’ for him by way of thanks. He was also for many years Ingle’s sparring partner. After marrying and buying a house in Wincobank, Gillott began coaching at St Thomas’. In 1974, aged 27, he took the position of boxing coach at Hillsborough Boys’ Club. The job interview was in front of the club’s management committee, which consisted of the senior management of the Footprint Tools Company, who were the club’s principal funders. Said Gillott: ‘They wanted an experienced boxing coach and someone who could inspire kids, [with] a bit of personality’. A training course run by Sheffield City Council gained him the credential of ‘youth worker’, allowing him to be paid for running a daily shift at the club. On top of this were weekends away at ABA tournaments. The monthly financial reward after tax was just over £100. Gillott held this position for 24 years, combining it from 1991 with landscape gardening, sometimes doing eight jobs a day before evening work at the club. He eventually left to assist trainer Sean Thickett at Dennis Hobson’s gym. Gillott’s motivation for doing such work was more than financial; his aspiration was to see the youngsters in his charge not suffer the same childhood he had after he and his brother spent five years in care when their father was given a custodial sentence. A pitman and one-time professional boxer, their father also fought in fairground boxing booths. The young Ray realised the pain the fight game could inflict when he saw his father swallow a handful of aspirins to help him sleep through the effect of punches received in half-a-dozen fairground bouts in one day.

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The teen years saw domestic matters improve for Ray, and also brought a realisation that his situation was not unique. His work at Hillsborough Boys’ Club was thus more than solely about instruction in boxing, as he explained: ‘I wanted to teach kids that a better childhood was always available’. Entering the club were boxing aspirants from a wide variety of backgrounds and diverse districts, as Gillott remembered: ‘They came in aged six to 16 … gypsy boys from the Lodge Moor camp, lads from Parson Cross, always a few from Oughtibridge and Stocksbridge, Paul “Silky” Jones and his mates the Kayani brothers27 and Danny Sweeney from Endcliffe Park’. The task sometimes required Gillott to teach humility. The method was old school: ‘You wouldn’t be able to do it today. I’d get in the ring and smarten ‘em up. It was an age thing with me – I didn’t want to leave being in my twenties and when I got to 30 I got a bit angry with it’. Judging by the accolades Gillott receives today from the boxers once under his care, few seemed to be traumatised by his techniques. However, the teaching was in many other ways orthodox: ‘I taught “box and move”. It was Brendan who introduced switch-hitting.28 We had lines on the floor for years like the Ingle gym but he was the first to add circles and colours and apply a consistent method’. Other initiatives were basic but reflected the ‘make-do’ financial reality of the fight game in Sheffield: ‘Eddie Green from Wybourn Boxing Club brought us an old mattress. We leaned it against the wall, threw a canvas over it and drew a silhouette of an upright bloke – he was the target for the lads to punch’. Attracting sponsorship was a perennial problem. Drawing on contacts in the metalsmithing trade, which Gillott worked in until 1991, pewter tankards were donated by local companies. The bestattended shows—often at the Attercliffe Radical Club—made a maximum of £300 profit. The hours these events required were not reflected in the financial return: ‘I’d take a day-and-a-half holiday to get the boxing ring up and back to the club again. My brother-in-law would help and we’d get a flat-back lorry to transport it, then we’d drive it back at midnight and set it up again in the club’. Gillott’s wife took the admission monies. Proud moments were some recompense: ‘After a show in 1980 one of the local councillors was so impressed by the way the boys boxed and conducted themselves that he sent a cheque for £100 on behalf of the council’. Gillott did pad work with some professionals but was never a cornerman for anyone of pro status. He could, though, boast that he set world and regional champions on the road to success; Clinton Woods,

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‘Silky’ Jones, Ross Burkinshaw29 and Glyn Rhodes all benefited from Gillott’s early teachings.

Learning Their Lines In these frugal times for Sheffield boxing, the Ingle gym sought funds for its day-to-day running. Ingle winkled out donations, sponsorship and grants from various sources. He passed collecting buckets round the audience whenever he took his boxers to licensed premises for exhibition bouts and was not embarrassed to march around the city centre precincts before an impending fight wearing a sandwich board publicising the event, adding to the pitch by shouting the time and venue through a loud-hailer. Schools, youth clubs and scout huts also benefited from visits, but here Ingle’s aims were more than financial; the logic was that if he could be seen to be taking an interest in local community groups they in turn might take an interest in helping him. Ingle’s boxers gave up their time for such tasks for free; British champions such as Herol Graham and Brian Anderson could command a fee for public appearances but were happy to do it for nothing for the good of the gym and their fellow— lesser known—boxers. Ingle’s ‘road-shows’ worked on two levels because, as he explained in 2016: ‘We’d get our message across and if there was a show coming along we could drum up support face to face’. In truth, the collection tins barely brought in enough to cover transport costs, but nothing could deter a man on a mission. The approach of both Ingle and the gym was unorthodox on many levels. What passed for boxing training in Sheffield at the time Ingle arrived appalled him. It was in his words ‘head sparring’ and ‘fight for your life and somehow avoid getting hurt’, with no consideration given to movement. Ingle was thus to develop a four-themed training regime: ‘The Lines – the Pads – the Blows – Sparring’, which developed into what he termed ‘5% open sparring, 95% technical sparring’. Notices on a wall provided instructions as to the sequence and type of punches to be thrown during a sparring session. Divided into ‘First’, ‘Second’, ‘Third’ and ‘Fourth’ rounds, boxers must, for example, practise ‘10 x jab; 10 x double jab; 10 x triple jab; switch southpaw and repeat’, later followed by ‘10 x left, right; 10 x left, right, left; 10 x left, right, left, right; switch southpaw and repeat’. A second session was designed to perfect more complex and energy-sapping movements: ‘10 x jab; 10 x double jab;

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straight right; double left hook; 10 x jab; left uppercut; straight right; double jab; switch southpaw and repeat’. Spoken with in 2017, Ingle explained the logic behind the written instructions: It is about timing and co-ordination. It’s a combination of mobility, agility, flexibility, accuracy and rhythm. Dancing helps. But I also wanted lads to learn movement to rhythms in their head. What was better than having them recite Colours of the Rainbow?30

At other times, Ingle’s boxers might find themselves humming to Bach or Vivaldi. The genre of music did not matter: it was all about learning rhythm. Ingle saw the value of quick feet, balance and body movement in the essential task of avoiding punches. Realising that the mastery of such skills was integral to boxing, Ingle utilised footwork skills, combining them with lyric memory and instilling a level of self-confidence in his boxers via what many considered a rather eccentric protocol. It was Alma’s idea to chalk coloured lines on the gym floor. The colours were later painted on. In fact, ‘the lines’ proved so successful a training aid that the Ingles patented their design. Yellow lines defined three channels that ran the length of the gym (some 25 metres). The width of these three channels corresponded to that of a boxing ring. Each channel contained in the middle a metre-long painted strip of pink, orange, yellow and blue. At either end—in the middle of the three channels—were two red circles. Within each was a smaller circle. The largest circle was the size of a boxing ring minus the corners. The inner ring was of one-metre diameter, to simulate the maximum space a boxer would utilise when in a fight. The various colours explained the song that each boxer was expected to sing. Or was there more to it? According to Ingle’s son Dominic, the colours were those a dyslexic (such as his father) could comprehend if directed by a trainer. Ingle’s pupils were at times told to sing whilst working on the lines. A favourite tune was the British National Anthem because, in Ingle’s words, ‘it shows a bit of respect for the whole country’. The idea of muscular tough guys dancing and singing whilst wearing boxing gloves might appear incongruous, but it was done—in the logic of Ingle—to increase their self-confidence. As one of Ingle’s boxers Ryan Rhodes explained, there was method behind the apparent madness: ‘You’d be in front of

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your mates [singing the songs and] you weren’t bothered how embarrassing it was. Then, in [media] interviews and stuff, you’d be confident because you’d been doing it for years’. This ostensibly infantile tactic reduced often obstinate young men to quintessentially children. They did this because they were asked to. They did it because it was a rite of passage. In doing what was asked they became part of something special. Daily training at the gym began for all with 30 minutes on the lines. This required the prospect to understand ten drills invented by Ingle that had the primary purpose of teaching balance and unconscious footwork, i.e. removing the need to look at the feet. The lines exercises were done for the most part facing full-length mirrors, albeit some experienced protagonists eschewed the reflection and performed the motions in what appeared to an observer to be a trance. The pedagogy of the gym was based on more than amateur psychology and kidology. The sole boxing ring all fighters trained in had a thick cushioned floor; the logic was that such a surface built up the leg muscles and slowed down the boxers’ sparring movements so that when in a real ring with its harder surface they were much quicker. Leg strength was crucial to the training process; the Wincobank neighbourhood contains gradients that few boxing gyms in the world can match. The aspirant was sent on runs that worked the hamstrings and the quad muscles. The basketball court next to the gym was used for interval sprints; a 20-second burst of intense physicality imitated a fight wherein boxers eye up opponents before unleashing bursts of punches. A poster on the wall told of the eight types of ‘shot’, the stress being on straight punching. The advice also informed the reader that ‘hooks and upper-cuts are counter-punches’. The other lines Ingle encouraged were literary. In his world education was the route to wisdom and articulacy. These assets would, he believed, secure everyone in the gym a decent future, in or out of boxing. The one added ingredient to success was self-discipline, synonymous in Ingle’s words with the indefinable notion of ‘attitude’. Ever hopeful that what he attempted to teach would produce well-rounded individuals, Ingle realised that some of his charges would let him down. Vengeance and retribution however were not part of Ingle’s philosophy. Ostracism was; some were turfed out of the gym for their attitude. Some who on reflection were contrite were still not welcome years later.

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Blarney and Wisdom One aspect of training offered an amazing spectacle: six or eight boxers of different weights would vault over the ropes and briefly stand motionless before somersaulting into the centre of the ring. There they stood to attention and recited their name, weight, achievements and ambitions. Sparring would then commence—for all of them at once. Hitting opponents about the head was banned, ‘even accidentally on purpose’, as Ingle commanded. Every few minutes Ingle would give the order to change partners, which might pit a bantamweight against a cruiserweight. The incongruous sight of world featherweight champion Naseem Hamed sparring with former world heavyweight champion Herbie Hide31 was a common occurrence in the mid-1990s. Reputations meant little in gym banter. When a young boxer asked Hide how much he paid for his house, he received the reply: ‘A million pounds’. Sarcastic jeers followed from the rest of the listening group. Ingle believed that such banter was positive, saying: ‘It gets lads to shake off their natural shyness. It teaches them to talk in public, to communicate, to feel independent. Above all, it puts everybody onto the same level. It helps to build character’. Intermittently, Ingle would yell to the young men in the ring: ‘What is it nice to be?’ The collective reply was: ‘It is nice to be important!’ Ingle would then follow with the question: ‘What is it important to be?’ In response, the boxers shouted: ‘It is important to be nice!’ Next came another question: ‘Am I [Ingle] responsible here?’ ‘No!’ was the reply. ‘Who is responsible here?’ asked Ingle. ‘I am!’ shouted every boxer in unison. The ‘no hitting the head’ rule was safety-led. Said Ingle: ‘Some people say that my system means that my boxers will not be familiar with taking shots to the head, but there is an argument that any shot to the head may be causing damage’. He added: ‘My system of body sparring means that in a short space of time every one of my boxers will face five or six or even seven different opponents at different weights. That way a boxer has to be able to think quickly, adapt quickly’. When interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2018, Ryan Rhodes offered this opinion on the tactic that did not always go the way Ingle intended: We’d be told to body spar but punches landed on the face ‘accidentally on purpose’ if you get me. Brendan would let it go for a while, then he’d shout ‘time’ and then after the third time of shouting realised a proper feyt32 was happening and he’d jump in … all in there could go to war.

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There were endless occasions when Brendan had to jump in to stop a spar that got too serious. Me and Naz [Hamed] even … at times other boxers had to pull us apart. It was healthy but serious competition and next day all was forgotten. There was no animosity carried over.

Another unusual feature of life with Ingle was that he took his boxers around pubs, workingmen’s clubs and prisons. In such places, challenges were made to club members and inmates, respectively, to hit his charges. Ingle’s younger boxers such as Ryan Rhodes, Naseem Hamed and Wayne Windle would spar between themselves before allowing volunteers to join them on stage or in the makeshift ring. The trio often faced opponents older than themselves, but Ingle’s two big stars of the time, Herol Graham and Johnny Nelson, had to contend with fully-grown— and usually heavier—men. The scenario was always the same: a local with a reputation for fighting would respond to his mates’ encouragement to ‘have a go’ in what was effectively a more controlled version of the fairground boxing booth. The volunteer, often in jeans and trainers, entered the ‘ring’ and threw punches at the boxer, who was not permitted to strike back. On top of this, the boxer had to keep his hands behind his back and sway and move to avoid being hit. Rhodes explained the methodology: ‘Brendan used to say the hardest person to fight is the fella who doesn’t know how to fight. It’s why we [Ingle’s boxers] all had a long career; we learnt not to get hit’.

Sharing Space: Getting Along Ingle taught philosophy and humility. He saw the task of changing the wayward as his. He sought to sublimate anger via the teaching of calculated motivation. He looked for the sacred in all forms of life, believing that Heaven was within everyone, that inside each heart was God and that the tolerance propounded by Mahatma Gandhi33 should inform all existence. Instilling a non-antagonistic attitude in his boxers was paramount. Such an attitude could be informed through a study of British Imperial history. Said Ingle: ‘The 800 years robbin’ that the British had done in some places interested me. The partition of India was fascinating too. You see, when you educate people you’ve made yourself a serious problem! Then you let people you mastered into your country … people like me!’ Ingle’s interest in such subjects led to a desire to accept and befriend people of different cultures and ethnicities. In a 2005 BBC interview,

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Ingle summed up his outlook on racial intolerance and how his boxers could overcome it: We’ve got a lot of Asian lads and black lads, a lot of mixed race, a lot of white kids, so we’ve got a great selection and if you go into an area where there’s only whites and you’re Asian and boxing the local kid, before you get to the ring they will call you lots of names, they will do everything. So the Asian kid turns around, shakes their hand and says: ‘Thanks for buying a ticket and coming to watch me’. The kid goes and wins and then shakes the guy’s hand on the way out and says: ‘Thanks very much for supporting me’.

Ingle’s message around issues of ethnic tension was not sophisticated. It was simply one of encouraging mutual respect via boxing. He vowed to do all he could to prevent others being treated as he was when he first came to England. He knew through experience that boxing could go a long way to achieving such an objective. Even in the bleakest of situations Ingle saw the social benefits of boxing. In the early 2000s, in response to riots on the streets of Bradford34 Ingle set up a boxing project there with the aim of uniting the troubled community. Speaking to the Guardian, he explained: When we said we wanted to start doing boxing there, everybody laughed at us. They said: ‘You’ve no chance up there’. The derogatory word was ‘the Pakis won’t play’. But I said: ‘Watch, we’ll get everybody coming’. And we have.

Ingle arranged amateur contests between Sheffield and Bradford boxers. Such events were preceded by exhibition bouts between two of his world champions, Sheffield-born Johnny Nelson and Bradford-born Junior Witter. Ingle found an ally in Bradford-born professional boxer Nadeem Siddique, who opined: ‘Boxing brings harmony. [Ingle’s project] really has done wonders in Bradford and it proves there doesn’t have to be a big divide between the Asian community and the rest’. Expounding his beliefs and hopes, Ingle said: If we are doing something to help people live side by side, then it is worthwhile because that is the way society has got to be. The last thing Bradford needs is for the British National Party to get any sort of a hold. I know about being a minority. I’m an Irish Catholic. At school in Dublin

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you were brainwashed with Catholicism and Irish politics. You know: ‘Burn everything English, except the coal’. You could say I got here and was not too struck on the English. But I worked in the steelworks, boxed round the pits and found people were all right. And it’s the same with the Asians. I tell people: ‘We’ve got more in common and more to agree with than to disagree’.

In 2004, one of Ingle’s British-Asian boxers Amer Khan summarised what it was like training at the Ingle gym: ‘I can really relate to Brendan, he’s been in an ethnic situation of his own. There are no favourites in this gym. He just tells us all: “If you’re good enough you will succeed”’. Khan, a light-heavyweight, went on to have a short but unbeaten career ended by a shoulder injury. He joined the fire service and also coached youngsters at the Ingle gym.

Race, Respect and Recognition Those who entered Ingle’s gym were made aware they did so at their own risk. A sign they passed on the way in read: ‘Boxing damages your health—BUT it teaches self-discipline and keeps you fit’. Self-discipline was and remains a big theme at the Ingle gym, as emphasised by a large wall-mounted board titled ‘Brendan’s Circle of Discipline’. Beneath the heading are six dinner-plate sized discs, each bearing a slogan: ‘Self Discipline’; ‘Respect for Others’, ‘Practice and Learn’; ‘Self Respect and Modesty’; ‘Self Confidence’; ‘Improve and Achieve’. In the centre of the discs is a hexagonal feature that expounds: ‘The Hardest Discipline is Self Discipline’. Ingle’s boxers were also inculcated with a sense of social responsibility; he demanded they embrace the concept of community by picking up litter, weeding gardens and generally going out and talking to local people, who thus learned they had no reason to be apprehensive about the presence of tough young men in the building at the bottom of Newman Road. Such teaching was fundamental to Ingle’s beliefs. His approach helped save many of his boxers from a life of trouble. In 2014 former cruiserweight world champion Johnny Nelson explained to Sky Sports the nature of his relationship with Ingle: ‘He was my mentor; he was a guy that I more or less spent 20 hours of the day with. He helped guide me, he helped mould me. He calls it “positive brainwashing” and I was glad

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of it. Any aspects of boxing, in the ring or outside the ring, I knew how to handle it’. Nelson added that Ingle was his ‘best friend ever’: ‘He has been my guiding light, a teacher, a friend, a saviour. If you would ask for anything from anybody, you would ask Brendan. I think I would be in prison if it wasn’t for him. He straightened out my life’. Support for boxing as a salvation came from other quarters. Former British middleweight champion Brian Anderson, who later became a prison governor, expressed similar sentiments: When I finished boxing I wanted to work with offenders and disadvantaged groups. I truly believe that had I not come across Brendan when I was a young lad looking for some direction in my life, there was no way I would end up doing the things that I’m doing now.

Added Anderson: ‘You hear about diversity and multi-culturalism now, but we were living that 30 years ago. Black, white, Asian, all sorts of people in St Thomas’ gym, and we all mixed together’. Royal recognition followed. In 1998, Ingle was awarded an MBE for services to British boxing and for his community projects. Easing his workload in 2004 by giving up his professional manager’s licence, Ingle concentrated his efforts elsewhere, saying: ‘I’ve got too busy with the kids coming in the gym, with the social work aspect of it all. [My sons] Dominic and John will take over the management of the pros’. What was essentially the family business had come a long way. The first professional boxing promotion put on by the Ingles was in September 1980 at a Chesterfield nightclub called the Aquarius.35 By 2013, an Ingle boxer could fill the 13,500 capacity Sheffield Arena.36

On the Ropes Only illness could curb Ingle. Admitted to hospital in February 2014, he lay seriously ill for three days with a rare form of paralytic epilepsy. He was visited by dozens of boxers and also by Peter Markie, the retired former sports editor of the Sheffield Star. In his journalistic days, Markie had enjoyed a rapport with Ingle rare in the field of relations between sports professionals and those reporting on their work. In personal correspondence with the authors, Markie explained:

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The unit housing Brendan had a full house of boxing types taking up all the seating. Brendan would have been impressed by the manners of one youngster around the bed who immediately gave his seat up for me. The hospital, in fact, had shelved some of the house rules to allow for this VIP character in their charge. Through it all Brendan remained silent as his wife Alma and family tried to occupy themselves around the bed. This was definitely an Ingle first. We were warned to prepare for the worst but the expertise of the [Royal] Hallamshire [Hospital] staff brought about a change over the weekend. I [went] back [to] a unit still crowded by boxers of all shapes and ages, only this time there was only one guy talking. Brendan was back. Brendan had recovered, Brendan was talking. That old Irish spark was back in his eye: ‘What terrific staff here, what a job they’ve done and what a response from the world of boxing. Can’t believe it. Don’t know where that came from but I’m just glad they’ve got me through it. I’ll be back in the gym before you know it’. Then a touch of the old Ingle: ‘If we’d known I was going to pull such crowds in all weekend we could have sold tickets for it!’

Once back home Ingle insisted he would continue his work, telling the Sheffield Star: ‘I’m too busy to pop my clogs.37 There is too much for me to do. Talking to people and being involved keeps me sharp’. He estimated that some 1,000 amateur boxers, 200 professionals and 10,000 people overall had passed through his gym in its 50-plus years’ existence. The Sheffield Star’s Martin Smith wrote: ‘No man, woman or agency has done more to help problem kids in this city than Brendan Ingle’. When Ingle died aged 77 in May 2018 after suffering a brain haemorrhage, the world of boxing paid its respects in print, radio and television interviews and by the modern manner of public expression, social media. The eulogies bore a certain similarity: Johnny Nelson: ‘They talk about multi-culturalism. Our gym was multicultural 40 years ago and maybe only Brendan could have done that. He managed to contain, control, and get people living in harmony from all sorts of backgrounds and that’s how he’s always been’. Kell Brook: ‘He’s been a trainer, a dad, he’s been a friend, he’s been many things. Without him I wouldn’t have become a world champion’. Junior Witter: ‘He was a father figure, he encapsulated wisdom, knowledge and being real. His legacy is his life, his kids, the things he’s done for people, boxing’s the cream on the top, it’s the rest of it that’s his real work’.

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Ryan Rhodes : ‘He played a massive part in my life. He taught me the rights, the wrongs, the pleases and thank yous’. Dave Coldwell : ‘[Brendan] changed so many lives that were going nowhere’. Naseem Hamed: ‘I will never forget how Brendan laid the foundations for my boxing career, making me the fighter I became. I can honestly say that if it were not for Brendan Ingle I would not have achieved all I did in the sport of boxing. I hope in the years to come Brendan will be honoured in the International Boxing Hall of Fame’.

Some 1,000 people packed Sheffield Cathedral for his funeral ceremony. It was undoubtedly the ‘hardest’ audience to grace the cathedral’s pews in its history. In the spoken tributes, BBC Radio Sheffield’s Robert Jackson explained how Ingle would reach out to all-comers and once they answered his question ‘did you ever kill someone?’ in the negative the next sentence was: ‘That’s all right then, we can probably sort it out’. A message of condolence from Michael Higgins, the President of Ireland, and a tribute on behalf of Sheffield’s Irish community were read. The Very Reverend Peter Bradley, Dean of Sheffield, asked those present to reflect on the multi-cultural nature of Sheffield, which Ingle did so much to encourage. A ten-bell salute preceded rapturous applause as the pallbearers, including Dominic Ingle, Johnny Nelson and Kell Brook, carried the coffin to the refrain of the Irish lament Danny Boy. A reception was held at the Cutlers’ Hall, the venue that had so impressed the then newly arrived Ingle in the early 1960s. The Ring magazine’s 2018 end-of-year awards included such categories as best boxer, best fight, best trainer and best comeback. One award, titled ‘Most Inspirational’, was given posthumously to Ingle, who once said that if he dropped dead in the middle of a ring after a fight he would have died happy. It did not work out like that, but he probably died happy anyway. He was undisputedly a Sheffield sporting great, arguably more so than any of the four world champion boxers he helped create. ∗ ∗ ∗

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Poetry in Motion: Herol ‘Bomber’ Graham One Ingle boxer who did not become a world champion—he had the skill but perhaps not the mental toughness to do so—was Herol Graham. The story of the Ingle gym began in the 1960s, but it was not until he acquired this young man of immense natural talent some 15 years later that the rest of the country took notice. Graham’s various championships added prestige to the social-working profile of the gym, which changed from solely somewhere that waifs and strays sought refuge and advice to somewhere champions trained. The Graham/Ingle pairing also returned the city of Sheffield to a standing in boxing it had not enjoyed since the early 1930s. Young people were now attracted to the Ingle gym to learn how to emulate Graham. Ingle told sportswriter Peter Markie in 1989: We have built up a certain club camaraderie and the great breakthrough was to have Herol Graham at the centre of it all. [The other boxers] see him not as a boxing champion but as one of them. He will join in with the gang, spar with the youngest and the oldest, share in the jokes and activities. We do not expect every youngster to punch his way to the top like Herol, but at least they can square up to the world around them and try to be equal to the task. Herol has been a terrific inspiration to hundreds of kids. Perhaps this has been a bigger contribution to life in these parts than his boxing glory.

However, the glory Graham brought to the gym did not include the world championship he and Ingle craved, and perhaps deserved. Ask anyone with a reasonable knowledge of boxing to name the best British boxer never to win a world title and Graham will always be at or near the top of the list. He had it all—sublime defensive skills, great footwork, fast hands, bravery and, for a man considered by many not to punch hard, a surprising number of stoppage wins. Yet he continually failed on the biggest stage. Graham had however the consolation of making the reputation of both Ingle and his gym; he was the man who did most to broadcast the ‘Ingle method’. Uniquely in British boxing, Graham’s ability defined both a boxing style and a city. It might be argued that the style that became attributed to Ingle and was later imbued in Naseem Hamed, Ryan Rhodes, Kell Brook, Junior Witter and others was actually Herol Graham’s style.

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From Barrel to Bomber The man who became synonymous with Sheffield boxing was not a native of the city. Graham was born in September 1959 to Jamaican parents in the Radford district of Nottingham. His father Hubert had boxed in the Caribbean but gave up as he considered it an un-Christian practice; thus, there was little family encouragement. Graham believed his mastery of defensive boxing began as a toddler and lay in the teasing he suffered at the hands of his brothers because of his bulky childish build. ‘I was a right little barrel’, he told author Peter Markie in his 1989 book Bomber and Brendan: Herol Graham, Brendan Ingle and a World Title Vision. ‘I can remember resenting getting hit. There had to be a way out of trouble and so started my education in the arts of self-defence’. Taught the rudiments of boxing by a neighbour named Ted Miles, Graham began sparring at the age of nine with Miles’ son Terry. Miles’ boxing hero was the former world heavyweight champion Joe Louis, nicknamed ‘Brown Bomber’. This moniker was bestowed on Graham, preceded by the word ‘Little’. Before long ‘Little Brown Bomber’ was truncated to simply ‘Bomber’, a name that stuck with Graham ever after. Inspiration came from the best. Taking particular interest in the career of Muhammad Ali, Graham explained: When I saw Ali in the ring something clicked. There was a style and grace about Ali, a definite magic that instantly appealed to me. He mesmerised the opposition with his antics, then demoralised them with his capacity for punishment and dancing skills. I knew that was for me.

Initially, Graham was not well received. In what was a mainly white area of Nottingham, his entry into Radford Amateur Boxing Club was met with two boys mouthing racial abuse. In response, he punched one; the other ran off. Once inside, club coach Roy Smith recognised he had a prodigy. Regular training removed the puppy fat and transformed Graham into an athlete. By 1973, he was a schoolboy champion and was a beaten finalist the following year. In 1975, he was beaten in the final of the National Association of Boys’ Clubs tournament. A year later Graham, aged 17, won three national boys’ championships and beat future professional world champion John Mugabi in the world junior welterweight final.

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A loss to Steve Hopkin in the final of the 1977 senior ABA light-middleweight championship was followed by his lifting of the middleweight title the following year when he defeated the RAF’s Delroy Parkes. Between these events, Graham made his first contact with Ingle at an amateur boxing show in Nottingham. Speaking to Ingle about moving to Sheffield, Graham was not encouraged by the response of ‘I’ll get back to you’. A few weeks later Graham heard that Ingle would be attending another boxing event near Nottingham, so approached him again. In the meantime, Ingle had done his homework and was prepared for the request. What he did not expect was for Graham to ask if he could stay at the Ingle household. Graham lived there for three years, adding to its existing complement of two adults and five children.

Rings and Wrongs Graham’s movement in the ring was a revelation at the Ingle gym. During one of Graham’s first sparring sessions, Ingle shouted: ‘Son, if I threw a handful of stones at you, you’d get out of the way of the fucking lot!’ From an early age, Graham did not need telling that he had a much better chance of winning if he could not be hit. Largely self-taught, he jabbed with vertical knuckles; orthodox boxers were told to jab with horizontal knuckles. He could fake an uppercut then throw a jab, and switch from southpaw to orthodox stance in an instant. Such genius in motion provided Ingle with a puzzle: should he change Graham, or should he teach his other boxers to box like Graham? Ingle opted for the latter. One of the first things he did was to watch how Graham moved in the ring. He then drew chalk marks on the canvas to trace the moves and invited the other boxers to follow them in sparring. Graham represented England in amateur tournaments across Europe. However, his distinctive un-amateur hands-down style did not sit well with ABA officials. Ingle believed the reason Graham was overlooked for England’s 1978 Commonwealth Games team in favour of Delroy Parkes—who Graham beat in the ABA final—was down to prejudice against the unorthodox, southpaw provincial boxer who had shown up the RAF man. Graham had dominated Parkes virtually without taking a blow, but—incredibly—one judge awarded the fight to Parkes. The Times described how Graham ‘clipped the charging Parkes on the chin over and over again’. On another occasion an ABA selector told Ingle: ‘That’s not proper boxing’, to which Ingle replied: ‘Well, he’s just knocked the other

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kid out; what do you want him to do?’ The ABA justified their selection on the grounds of Parkes’ greater international experience.38 After this slight, Graham gave up the opportunity of representing Britain in the 1980 Olympic Games to turn professional with Sheffieldbased promoter Tony McKenna, who thus became Graham’s first agent and manager. Ingle got Graham a job as a carpet fitter, but he did not fit carpets for long, going into the jewellery trade with local businessman Graham Longden. In a modest enterprise in Sheffield’s Sheaf Market the income was meagre, the hours long and there were as many well-wishers as customers at the stall.

Community Support McKenna and his business partner Mick Cowan never lost faith in Sheffield boxing despite the city’s lean years from the 1950s to the late 1970s. Coal merchant, greyhound breeder and dog-track regular, McKenna had trained at the Ingle gym but never boxed as a professional. Cowan was a scrap dealer, owner of a hairdressing salon and one-time professional heavyweight.39 The pair had the finance—or knew where to find it—to promote boxing shows under the nomenclature M&M Promotions. Their fight programmes included thanks to local sponsors such as K. Mallinson’s Exclusive Tailoring, Barry Fields (Metals), Napoleon’s Casino and the Tiberius Restaurant. Such namechecks demonstrated the parochial nature of those buying advertising space. Graham’s first professional opponent was Vivian Waite at Sheffield’s Top Rank Suite in November 1978. Graham won on points. The following week he travelled to Southend to knock out Curtis Marsh. The glory of winning was not matched by glorious finances; only a few hundred attended. As boxer and trainer travelled the country for Graham’s early fights, they would sleep in a cheap hotel room or ‘doss’40 in Ingle’s car. There was little glamour—or money—in small-hall boxing. Nevertheless, Ingle enthused about his new charge: [He] is the most gifted boxer I have ever come across in all my years in the game. He [is] an original, doing a lot of things against the book, full of cheek with just enough arrogance. What caught my attention when I first saw him as an amateur was an amazing ability to destroy opponents without landing a blow. I never discovered or shaped his style; it has always

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been his own, very personal contribution. My job [is] to keep him on his toes, keep him training when [he is] not a natural trainer.

Doubting Thomas Over the next two years, no opponent could live with Graham. By the end of 1980, his record stood at 15 wins out of 15. McKenna and Cowan pushed to get him a British title fight—in Sheffield. The holder, Cardiff-based Pat Thomas, had won both the welterweight and lightmiddleweight Lonsdale Belts but had recently suffered a string of defeats. To lure him to the City Hall, the two promoters put up what was then the biggest ever purse for a British light-middleweight fight—£6,000 to the champion and £2,000 to the challenger—funding the event by persuading two main sponsors—Nu-Life Windows and the Sitwell Arms Hotel—to part with £2,000 each. It was a voluntary defence for Thomas, who could have opted for a lesser opponent, but the money turned his head. The contest formed part of the first professional boxing programme at the venue since 1966 (see Volume One). Thomas was taking a risk. His tactic relied on wearing Graham down and winning the later rounds. It did not work. For the entire contest Thomas merely held his hands in front of his face, barely throwing a punch. Referee Sid Nathan awarded every round but one to Graham. Thomas confessed afterwards: ‘I just could not get to him. He was very slippery’. This was an understatement. Critics argued that whilst outclassing Thomas, Graham had not stopped him. Did this, they suggested, display a lack of both a killer instinct and a killer punch? As Barry McGuigan’s trainer, Eddie Shaw famously said: ‘Graham has turned defensive boxing into a poetic art. Trouble is, nobody ever knocked anyone out with a poem’. Graham’s next fight, against Noel ‘Prince’ Rodney, provided the evidence that he could indeed punch. Graham knocked Rodney down three times in the first round, the last of which finished the fight. Writing in the Sunday Times, journalist Nick Pitt described the knock-out blow: Graham, a southpaw, was standing right foot forward. He threw a right jab, hitting Rodney in the face. Then he changed to the orthodox stance, with his left foot forward. He wound up his right arm, as if to deliver a bolo punch,41 and as he did so threw a straight left. Rodney never saw it, and was knocked clean out.

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As he celebrated his championship victory and the ‘Young Boxer of the Year’ award,42 Graham was also negotiating his way out of his management contract with M&M Promotions. He was in future to be managed by Ingle, but only after words were exchanged with his joint managers. The outcome saw the change agreed with the proviso that McKenna and Cowan continue to promote Graham’s fights. The duo attracted another 2,300 sell-out to Sheffield City Hall to see Graham challenge Kenny Bristol, the Guyanese Commonwealth lightmiddleweight champion. Until now Graham’s exploits in northern rings had scarcely caught the attention of the London press. This fight was different; a posse of Metropolitan-based journalists travelled north to see what all the fuss was about. Sheffield-born Daily Mirror sportswriter Peter Cooper sent a telegram to Graham warning him of their presence. It read: ‘London writers here tonight. Don’t make it last too long. They get confused’. Bristol’s manager was the veteran American Mike Capriano, who in the 1940s and 1950s had been the great Jake LaMotta’s43 manager. Capriano asserted that nobody could beat Bristol boxing on the retreat, which he had heard was Graham’s style. For the 15 rounds, Graham produced little to hurt Bristol but did enough to win points verdict and his second title. Ingle played down Graham’s achievement, telling the rows of media: ‘We are country bumpkins up here in Sheffield. [Graham] was dealing with a fellow who was older and wiser. He picked up a lot of experience tonight against a good, crafty fighter’.

African Adventure Graham’s first defence of his two titles came in February 1982 against Chris Christian at Sheffield City Hall. Drawing blood in the fifth, Graham closed Christian’s eye in the sixth and the referee stopped the fight in the ninth. The Times believed that Graham had now exhausted all British opposition. The claim was true; Ingle stated that Graham was wanted in the USA to fight former world welterweight champion Roberto Durán. However, Graham had to make do with a little-known Frenchman, Fred Coranson, in a non-title fight; Graham won easily and appeared bored by such a limited opponent. He needed a serious challenge, which came in September 1982 in Lagos, where Graham defended his Commonwealth title against the Nigerian light-middleweight champion Hunter Clay. It was a gamble in a country where boxing decisions were not always transparent. Graham came through—just—on points, despite

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being downed—according to the referee—in the fourth and pushed through the ropes in the seventh. The fight saw Clay—who had a witch doctor in his corner—butting, elbowing and shoving, all of which went unpunished. Ingle claimed Graham knocked Clay out four times but each time the referee counted slowly, reaching a count of three when Ingle reached nine. In contrast, when Graham slipped—in Ingle’s words—the referee reached three ‘before his backside touched the canvas’.

Ifs and Butts Back at Sheffield City Hall, Graham fought for the European lightmiddleweight title against Clement Tshinza, a veteran of 75 contests. Still not convinced by Graham despite his record, The Times’ boxing correspondent Srikumar Sen wrote: ‘All Graham’s bouts have a sameness about them as he dances around the ring sticking his southpaw lead into his opponent’s face and building up an unassailable lead’. When Sen mentioned this to Alma Ingle, she logically replied: ‘That’s the idea, not getting hit’. Some people had trouble ‘getting’ the Ingle boxing philosophy. Knocking Tshinza out in round two, Graham eschewed his usual jab-and-move method to concentrate on attacking his opponent’s body. Rounding on critics who maintained he was boring, Graham said: ‘I think I proved again by winning inside two rounds that I can hit. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my whole approach. I still don’t like getting hit – who does?’ Graham’s art and method were logical and brilliantly effective but did not appeal to some boxing enthusiasts outside Sheffield. This was the Graham dichotomy. Believing he would not be a big sell, London promoters did not rush to bring him to the capital, but when they saw the attendances at the Ingles’ City Hall shows they wanted a part of Graham. But Brendan and Alma would not have it, as London promoter Mickey Duff explained: ‘It’s hard to do a deal with Brendan. Every time you agree something he takes his fighters off and they are on another bill’. Ingle did not disagree, saying: ‘I took the fighters everywhere, and this upset Duff and a few others’. Now a triple champion, Graham was ranked amongst the world’s top light-middleweights, but the European Boxing Union (EBU) ordered him to defend his title against the unremarkable Germain Le Maitre in the French port town of St Nazaire. Graham stopped Le Maitre in the eighth. Graham’s record now stood at 26 wins out of 26.

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Winner in the Bath Tub This was Graham’s last fight as a light-middleweight. He was to move up to middleweight, then the strongest division in Britain, including European champion Tony Sibson, British champion Mark Kaylor and contenders Brian Anderson, Jimmy Price and Errol Christie. Graham’s arrival in their ranks caused a domestic commotion; none of the above wanted to fight him. Christie was the number one challenger for Kaylor’s British title but when the BBBC decreed that Christie would first have to fight Graham, Christie’s manager Burt McCarthy complained: ‘Graham hasn’t proved himself as a middleweight. He wouldn’t draw a crowd’. Kaylor and Sibson also rejected the advances of Graham’s management. Meanwhile, Sibson witheringly described Graham as ‘the only boxer who can bend over backwards under the bottom rope’. Ingle retorted: ‘[They are avoiding him] because Herol will make them look bad. Herol will stand Sibson, Kaylor and Christie on their heads’. Ingle also pointed out that Graham had beaten nine middleweights when a light-middleweight. McCarthy then pulled Christie out of the scheduled British title eliminator, the excuse being that fighting Graham was not in his boxer’s interests. Ingle had to look to the USA for an opponent. He was even prepared to promote the fight himself and revealed a long-held ambition of staging an outdoor event; other promoters shied away from such ventures because of the vagaries of the British weather. Reading of Henry Hall’s 1948 fight at Hillsborough that attracted 13,500 spectators, Ingle dreamed of Graham fighting at one of Sheffield’s two professional football grounds. Sheffield United FC agreed to stage the contest at their Bramall Lane Stadium in July 1984. Ingle asked the London-based promoter Mike Barrett to get involved but he did not want to know, albeit he did assist in finding a substitute after the original opponent Curtis Parker withdrew injured. Both the BBC and ITV declined to broadcast the event so Brendan and Alma underwrote the venture themselves. To raise funds Ingle re-mortgaged the family house—worth £40,000—without telling Alma. The £20,000 thus raised enabled the show to go ahead. The man Barrett found to replace Parker was Lindell Holmes,44 worldranked 16th and in fact a tougher opponent than Parker, whose name remained on the advertising posters and the event programme. The identity of the man in the opposite corner did not really matter; both Parker and Holmes were unknown in Sheffield. Ticket sales were slow. Ingle

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and Graham toured pubs and workingmen’s clubs promoting the contest. On the Saturday before the fight Ingle donned a sandwich board and proclaimed the event through a loud-hailer in the city centre. The Americans arrived in town with the message ‘we have come to destroy you’. This provided just the publicity the Ingles needed. On the morning of the fight, the weather was kind: dry with sunshine. Ingle sold karma to the newshounds, telling the assembled press: ‘I’ve got the Catholics, the Protestants, the Jews and the Muslims all praying for me’. Some 3,000 tickets were sold in advance, but double that number was needed for the event to break even. The walk-up numbers would increase due to the good weather. In the end some 6,500 spectators turned out, mostly occupying the stand adjacent to where the ring was constructed. Ring-side seats cost £15, juniors and senior citizens could enter for a mere £1.50. Holmes’ manager Billy Gutz believed the organisers had made a crucial miscalculation around the ring size, which was the minimum permitted45 so as to fit between the stand and the football pitch. Describing it as ‘a bath-tub’, Gutz claimed it would restrict Graham’s hit-and-run style. But size made no difference; Graham was as slippery as soap in a bath-tub and stopped Holmes in round five. Gutz complained that referee Micky Vann’s decision, based on a gashed left eyebrow, was hasty: Hell, they should never have stopped it for a little nick like that. It was going exactly to plan. We’d have caught him and knocked him out. Herol’s a crock of rubbish. By the eighth round we’d have taken that skinny sucker out.

In reality, the ‘skinny sucker’ had been in charge throughout, as Ingle summarised: ‘Tell me who won every round. Who landed the most punches? Who hasn’t got a scratch again? We outwitted him, we teed him up and hit him clean. Bomber was making him look silly’. Ingle was now looking towards Marvin Hagler, mischievously asserting that Hagler would struggle to catch up with Graham in a telephone box.46 Meanwhile, the Bramall Lane event made the Ingles a profit of £125.47

Weight and Price At last London—and the BBC —took notice. Five of Graham’s next seven fights were in the capital and mostly covered by the national broadcaster,

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despite his opponents hardly being big names. Only one, Sanderline Williams lasted the distance in a somewhat boring fight in Belfast. Another American, Irving Hines, was dispatched in the first, whilst the Belgian champion Jose Seys, who had recently knocked out Errol Christie inside a round, was stopped in the sixth. Seys was a light-heavyweight; Graham thus weighed in at his heaviest ever—12 stones two pounds—but entered the ring on the night-six pounds lighter, the reason for which only came to light later. Possibly perplexed that such an—apparently—heavy boxer could skip around the ring so nimbly, Seys hit the canvas from the first punch Graham landed. As Seys chased Graham, he walked into punches until the referee decided he had taken too much punishment. It transpired that during the weigh-in Graham had concealed sandbags in his shorts, a typical example of Ingle-inspired mind-games. Seys had declared that his demolition of Christie proved he was too strong for any middleweight; Ingle thus cooked up a plan to con Seys into thinking Graham had bulked up and consequently would be slower than normal. The sanctioning body, the Southern Area Council, was not amused. Spokesman Simon Block stated: ‘Brendan Ingle will have to give an explanation, and if necessary the [BBBC] will look into the matter. I cannot understand what he stood to gain by subterfuge’. The Times remarked that Ingle had ‘torn up the boxing text book’ and made unorthodoxy the norm both in and out of the ring. In fact, the sand-bag ploy had not broken any rules but Ingle still found himself in front of Southern Area Council officials on minor charges of coaching from the corner and causing a fire hazard, when a towel he threw in victory celebration landed on a television light. Some of Graham’s victories remained controversy free. In April 1985, he was matched with Jimmy Price for the vacant British middleweight championship. Price had lost only to Ayub Kalule, a former world champion, but against Graham he did not last a round. Sent down for a count of four after only a few seconds and another of eight soon after, Price did not survive the third knock-down. Graham was a British champion at a second weight. Graham’s domestic rivals now lined up to—apparently— take him on, but it was all for show. Christie posed with Graham, fists raised, in the ring, whilst Sibson stated: ‘I would like to fight Graham but I would not let him do [what he did to Price] to me in a thousand years’. Ingle responded: ‘Mark my words, Sibson will retire before taking us on’. Graham never fought either Sibson or Christie.

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Eastwood Bound By the end of 1985, Graham’s record stood at a perfect 34 wins. The day after beating Price he and Ingle met Barney Eastwood, a Belfast bookmaker-turned-manager of world featherweight champion Barry McGuigan, to discuss signing a contract with him. Eastwood paid Ingle £75,000 to buy out Graham’s contract but was to retain Ingle as his trainer. Graham’s public take on the deal was: ‘Brendan has done a marvellous job. He just needed a bit of help to go the rest of the way. It’s not a split, it’s more of an organised consortium’. The split between Ingle and Graham was to come later. Eastwood’s first contest in charge of Graham was a quick stoppage of the Argentinian Roberto Ruiz, Graham’s 11th consecutive win inside the distance. Meanwhile Graham had to act as a referee when two of those wanting to beat him began fighting outside the ring. Mark Kaylor and Errol Christie were to contest an eliminator for Graham’s British title in November 1985. Invited to the press conference at a London casino to promote the fight, Graham and Ingle watched as the two boxers became involved in a brawl, which ended only when Graham intervened to separate them. Some believed the scuffle to be manufactured for publicity. Both camps denied this; the two boxers genuinely disliked each other. Christie was one of Frank Warren’s48 growing stable, a fact that Kaylor’s manager Terry Lawless resented. When the proper fight got underway, Kaylor knocked Christie out in the eighth. Meanwhile, Graham had higher titles on his mind. He wanted to challenge Denmark-based Ayub Kalule for the European championship. Kalule, who fled Uganda during President Idi Amin’s ‘Reign of Terror’,49 had lost only to world champions: Sugar Ray Leonard, Davie Moore and Mike McCallum. Barney Eastwood won purse bids to stage the contest at Sheffield City Hall in February 1986. Like so many before him, Kalule’s manager Moegens Palle did not rate Graham, saying: ‘I think he is a fair fighter, not spectacular’. Interviewed on BBC Look North’s local news programme, Ingle suggested a Graham victory could help the city in the midst of its economic decline ‘after all the redundancies and steel closures here, and the miners’ strike. We’re all affected’.50 The City Hall was again sold out. Some ten million more watched the fight live on BBC television.51 A boxing ring in an arena designed for classical music concerts made for an incongruous sight. One side of the ring butted against the stage; ring-side seats were thus at the same level

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as the ring floor. To assist Graham’s preparation, Eastwood brought in a Panamanian trainer, Victor Cordova, whom Ingle announced was ‘brilliant’. Such an opinion would not stand the test of time. Graham started the fight in his usual jab-and-move style, winning the first six rounds. Kalule caught him in rounds seven and eight, resulting in cuts below and above the left eye and a bleeding mouth, but Graham recovered to overwhelm Kalule in the tenth, forcing the referee to stop the contest. Graham now had his fifth major title—three at light-middleweight and two at middleweight. Despite the apparent success of the event, both in terms of profile and outcome, Eastwood emerged with a £30,000 loss after paying Kalule £36,000 and Graham £24,000. The combined purse was a record for a fight in Sheffield, but maybe the admission costs— whilst considerable in the prevailing socio-economic situation—were too low for the monies offered to the boxers.

The Big Bang Theory Eastwood became an increasing influence in Graham’s profile, taking him to Las Vegas to fight on the undercard of Barry McGuigan’s WBA featherweight defence against Steve Cruz. McGuigan suffered a surprise points defeat; Graham knocked out his opponent Ernie Rabotte in round one. Whilst in America Graham sparred with the Panamanian former triple world champion Roberto Durán. This arrangement resulted in Graham being sacked because, in his words: ‘I wouldn’t let him hit me so he said I was no use to him’.52 Eastwood then lined up a European defence for Graham against Mark Kaylor in a contest advertised as ‘The Big Bang’. When Graham and Kaylor came face to face in the same casino in which Kaylor and Errol Christie had brawled, both behaved impeccably. The Times boxing correspondent Srikumar Sen opined that amongst British middleweights only Graham had a chance of beating Marvin Hagler or Thomas Hearns, but that did not necessarily mean he would beat Kaylor. Sen reasoned that if Graham employed his usual elusive tactics, he would bore everyone but come away with a points win. On the other hand, if he took the fight to Kaylor he might get knocked out, such was Kaylor’s ‘swamping, bullying style’. On the night Graham mostly boxed on the retreat, daring Kaylor to catch him. In the third, a cut appeared over Kaylor’s eye. From the sixth, Kaylor was tottering as Graham picked him off. In an act of futile bravado, Kaylor beckoned Graham forward. At the end of the eighth,

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Kaylor returned to his corner with blood pouring from the cut. Manager Terry Lawless pulled him out.

Haggling and Cuts Admitting he had been outclassed, Kaylor said: ‘I have never had such a frustrating night of boxing. I never enjoyed it [for] one minute. The man’s impossible to hit, and how can you beat somebody you can’t hit?’ Graham had won easily, but flaws were evident. Barney Eastwood was not happy with his preparation, stating Graham was unprofessional both in training and in the fight. The accuracy of Graham’s punches was lacking; many either fell short or missed completely. As 1987 arrived Graham was the mandatory challenger for Marvin Hagler’s WBA title but there appeared little chance of the pair meeting as Hagler sought bigger monies than the £680,000 Eastwood offered. Hagler found it in the shape of the retired Sugar Ray Leonard, who agreed to return to contest the WBC middleweight championship also held by Hagler. The WBA consequently stripped Hagler of its version of the title.53 A frustrated Graham’s first opponent of the year was Charlie Boston, the world number five. The pair had sparred in Palm Springs in the summer of 1986 when Graham was preparing for his American debut. Boston remembered Graham as ‘a slippery customer, difficult to get to, but I didn’t get the impression he was a devastating puncher’. As if wanting to prove a point to his ever-present critics Graham’s aggression forced Boston to retire at the end of round seven. The WBA and IBF54 now both named Graham as their number one challenger. This was perhaps the worst time for an acrimonious split from Ingle. On the last day of April 1987, the Sheffield Star’s Peter Markie reported: [Ingle and Graham] confirmed to the Star personal disagreements had reached a point where each party will now go his own way. Graham told me: ‘I’m sorry it has come to this. There are two basic reasons for the split: financial and personal. Financially, I feel that I should have got something from Brendan when he collected £75,000 from Barney Eastwood when he took over my boxing contract. I don’t want to turn this into a shooting match because our friendship and working partnership was something special. Brendan is still my trainer and as our contract stands only I have the power to fire him. I can’t see myself ever doing that because of

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all that has gone on between us and for everything he did for me, in and out of the ring’.

Ingle responded: ‘Of course this is a sad day but I know I have not done anything wrong in my dealings. I felt the money from Eastwood was a personal reward for me and my family. There have been other financial differences but I am not getting into a slanging match. We had a terrific run against the odds to get from Newman Road to number one contender for a world title. I’ll always have a special regard for [Graham] whatever happens now because in boxing terms he is a one-off’. The pair had provisionally agreed that Graham would receive £25,000 in instalments from Ingle’s future earnings, but the verbal deal fell through. Whilst Graham continued training in Sheffield, it was no longer at the Ingle gym. In the meantime, a mandatory defence of his European title had to take place. The challenger was Sumbu Kalambay, a Zaireborn55 Italian national, who had lost just three of his 44 fights. Eastwood employed Barry McGuigan’s trainer Eddie Shaw alongside Panamanians Victor Cordova and Frederico Plummer,56 the former trainer of another world champion Wilfred Benítez, to prepare Graham. Ingle was thus relegated to a bystander. Graham was also to stay in the Northern Irish town of Bangor in order to—in Eastwood’s words—‘be away from the distractions of Sheffield’. This statement hinted at things troubling his boxer.

Friendship and Fidelities Plummer found that for years Graham been taking shortcuts. The boxer confessed as much, saying: ‘I was lazy and when Brendan was not looking I’d do some work and say I’d done it all. That is why I was never 100% fit. I am now. Brendan had 52 kids in the gym and he couldn’t keep an eye on me. I’ve been doing stomach exercises now that I haven’t done since my amateur days. Now I know what it is like to be fit’. Plummer added: ‘At last Graham is sweating and blowing. Now when he stops puffing I know he has reached his peak. I do not like all that limbo dancing stuff. It is dangerous to drop your hands. There are a few things to be corrected’. When asked at a pre-fight press conference how he would cope without Ingle in his corner, Graham growled: ‘Leave it alone’. His tone betrayed inner demons.

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The Sheffield Star’s chief sports reporter Tony Pritchett sensed something was wrong. He wrote with foreboding that he was worried for the ‘new’ Graham because of the confusing advice poured into him and most of all because Ingle would not be in his corner. On the night Graham was ‘curiously out of touch’, reported The Times, suffering the first defeat of his 39-fight career. Kalambay consistently found a way through his uncharacteristically fragile defence; entering the last three rounds Graham’s face was cut and bruised. It was not all one way however as Kalambay was only narrowly ahead. He almost finished the contest when a right sent Graham teetering. Graham regained his senses to trip Kalambay, earning a rebuke from the referee and a few seconds’ rest, enabling him to last to the final bell, but the fight was lost. Alma Ingle was in tears as Graham sportingly raised Kalambay’s hand. Brendan Ingle could not believe what he had seen. Publicly criticising Eastwood’s methods, Ingle fumed: ‘Herol fought the wrong fight. He should have beaten this old man. When he went back to his corner four people57 were shouting advice to him. They have tried to turn him into a fighter and he’s a boxer. I have never seen him hit so often’. At the postfight press conference reporters asked Graham whether the new training regime was to blame. Graham replied that there was ‘an impostor’ in the ring, saying: ‘I can’t explain it, but that wasn’t me out there’. He then added somewhat cryptically that ‘something was troubling me’ but would say no more. As he was having stitches inserted in his cuts, Graham sent word via the Sheffield Star’s Peter Markie that he wanted to see Ingle. Markie reported back that Ingle did not think it right to intrude at this moment but agreed to meet Graham back in Sheffield. The pair met briefly at the offices of Radio Sheffield, shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, but reconciliation was not imminent. After a holiday Graham opened up further on what had been troubling him before the fight, telling the Sheffield Star: I wasn’t right mentally. I didn’t really want to fight … and I wish I had never gone through with it. I remember looking at Kalambay, seeing he was going to punch but I couldn’t move. If I had been right I would have won. It wasn’t that I was told to fight a certain way, as many people argue. I’m not blaming my corner at all.

In his 2011 autobiography, Bomber: Behind the Laughter Graham explained that the problems mainly concerned his personal life. Receiving

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a telephone call the day before he was due to leave Northern Ireland for London, an unidentified female caller informed him that his girlfriend Karen was having an affair. Graham tried repeatedly to ring Karen. Eventually getting through, she told him the accusation was untrue and that somebody was trying to ‘get to him’. But Graham could not get it out of his head even as he entered the ring. He was also in conflict over his changed training methods. He admitted to thinking half way through the fight ‘if I was with Brendan I wouldn’t be doing this, I’d be doing it my own way’. Graham knew he needed to move more quickly but that was not what the new trainers wanted him to do. ‘I just had to fight like everybody else’, he wrote, contradicting somewhat what he told the Sheffield Star in 1987. ‘I’d have won that fight with Brendan in my corner’, he concluded. He split from Karen upon returning to Sheffield; two long-term relationships had thus ended in a matter of weeks. Graham’s relationship with Barney Eastwood was also damaged; they did not speak after the fight.

Together Again With the help of Peter Markie, Ingle and Graham were reconciled. In early August 1987, Markie set up a meeting between the pair at Graham’s market stall. Graham remembered events differently, explaining in his autobiography: ‘Out of the blue I got a call from Brendan. He started off by asking how I was and I did the same. It was a bit awkward at first and then he said: “Why don’t I come down and see you?”’ Graham however confirmed that their meeting was at his jewellery business. It lasted three hours, at the end of which Ingle invited Graham back to his gym. He did not need asking twice. When Graham walked into the gym, he asked Ingle: ‘What can I do?’ Ingle replied: ‘Well, that’s just up to you son’. Graham wrote: ‘I had realised that I just wanted to box, and I wanted to train with my mates, and I wanted Brendan in my corner. Simple’. He rang Eastwood to tell him of his decision. Graham was now happy, but Ingle and Eastwood were at loggerheads. The latter complained to the BBBC that Ingle was ‘interfering with Herol’s contract’. Now that Ingle and Graham had made up Ingle rang Eastwood to apologise for remarks he had made after the Kalambay fight. The trio, accompanied by Markie, met at the BBBC’s London offices in an attempt to come to a new agreement. They emerged

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to inform Markie—who was not party to the commercial discussions— they were back together. ‘[Graham and Ingle] have a special relationship and I never wanted to break it up’, said Eastwood. Ingle added: ‘The upsets of the past few months are history. We have settled our differences’. Graham’s comeback in December 1987 was against the American Ricky Stackhouse in the unlikely surroundings of a Doncaster leisure centre, where Graham showed flashes of his old style to win in eight rounds. Still with work to do to get back to world level, Graham knew that regaining the British middleweight title he had vacated was essential. To do so he would have to beat James Cook at Sheffield City Hall in June 1988.

Matching and Patching The late 1980s saw a changing of the guard in the British middleweight division. Tony Sibson retired in 1988. Graham’s stablemate Brian Anderson quit after losing his British and Commonwealth titles to Sibson the previous year. Mark Kaylor never recovered from his 1986 defeat to Graham and bowed out five years later. Errol Christie did not live up to his early promise, retiring in 1991 after losing to Michael Watson, one of the new breed of boxers at the weight, along with Nigel Benn and Chris Eubank. At this time, Watson had lost just once, whilst Benn and Eubank were unbeaten. A fight involving any one of the trio attracted massive terrestrial television audiences and large purses. A professional for ten years, Graham hoped to both bridge the gap between the old and the new and to grab his share of the pay-days on offer. In the first half of 1988, the Commonwealth champion Benn suggested he might fight Graham ‘if the money is right’. Eastwood offered Benn’s manager Frank Warren £100,000, inviting him to match it in a ‘winner takes all’ fight. Warren was withering in his response: ‘Everybody wants Nigel Benn because he’s the only boxer who draws a crowd. What would he want with a British title when he can have the European title, which can make him a world contender?’ If Graham could not fight the dangerous Benn then Cook, a solid performer, would be a good barometer of his recovery. Throwing Cook to the canvas in the first few seconds earned Graham a telling off from the referee, but moments later a left hook downed Cook. By the end of round five, Cook was in serious trouble and the referee stepped in.

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After the fight, Ingle rounded on the press corps. He sought to defend his champion, explaining: You people really kill me. One day you are asking Herol Graham to be a stylist, the next you want him to beat people up. And what happens? He does the business and you still don’t recognise his brilliance. He has outclassed opponents, he has flattened opponents. Still you want more. You make me sick.

Barney Eastwood and the defeated Cook preferred to use the press to concentrate on Graham’s chances against Benn. Said Eastwood: ‘Bomber is a genius at going round the ring and Benn couldn’t hit him with a handful of coins’. The vanquished Cook added: ‘[Graham] is so elusive and never does the thing you expect. Benn would not live with him at the moment’. The moment however was not imminent. Graham was to defend his title against Johnny Melfah in November 1988 against a background of another disagreement with Eastwood. Claiming Eastwood owed him £50,000 from television fees, Graham added that Eastwood had ‘promised the world but all he gave me was peanuts’. An angry Eastwood replied that Graham had made £220,000 in their eight fights together, adding that the boxer was under contract to him until October 1991. Both men argued their respective positions at a BBBC inquiry, after which the board refused Graham’s request to be released from his contract. Afterwards Graham’s solicitor said: ‘The relationship has irretrievably broken down. A boxer/manager contract is a relationship that requires mutual trust and understanding. Herol Graham feels this no longer exists’. By the time Graham took on Melfah at York Hall, Bethnal Green, boxer and manager had not spoken since the BBBC inquiry. Eastwood did not attend the contest.

Splitting and Decisions Victory for Graham over Melfah would earn him a Lonsdale Belt outright for winning three British championship fights at middleweight. He was at his best; Melfah’s face was bloodied and bruised inside the first round. This continued until the fifth, when the referee decided he had seen enough. Melfah’s post-fight statement said it all: ‘I should have stayed

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at home. I was not only out of my depth, I could not swim. I threw about 50 punches in all and maybe two skimmed Graham’s chin’. Graham now appealed against the BBBC’s decision not to allow him to leave Eastwood. He was unsuccessful, and refused to speak to reporters as he left the BBBC offices. Eastwood meanwhile was happy to speak, saying: ‘All doors are open. If Herol wants to talk to me, he can. If he wants the world title fight, he can have it’. Graham was now the WBA’s number one contender and faced the prospect of fighting Kalambay again. However, Kalambay preferred a unification bout with the unbeaten IBF champion Michael Nunn, which the WBA would not sanction. In early 1989 the WBA took the championship away from Kalambay and nominated Graham and former champion Mike McCallum to fight for the vacant title, but only if Graham made peace with Eastwood. He did—uneasily— writing to the WBA advising them that Eastwood was authorised to negotiate on his behalf. The fight was at London’s Royal Albert Hall in May 1989. McCallum, Jamaica-born but resident in New York, boasted the disquieting nickname ‘Bodysnatcher’ due to his predilection for body punching. The pair had similar career records: one defeat each—to Kalambay. A 5,000 sell-out saw the contest swing one way then the other before McCallum edged it on a split decision.58 The decisive moment came in the eighth, when Graham was deducted a point for throwing McCallum into a corner post. Some observers thought Graham had done enough to win, but two of the judges scored it 117–115 and 115–114 to McCallum, with the third giving it to Graham 117–114. Without the point deduction it would have been a draw, and a re-match.59 Graham admitted to being confused by the conflicting instructions coming from Ingle and Eastwood. Said Graham: ‘I tried to shut out Eastwood’s voice and just listen to Brendan’s, but it was impossible’. Eastwood told a press conference the next day—attended by McCallum but not Graham—that at no stage did he believe Graham would win.60

Actions and Words It was five months before Graham re-entered the ring in what was to be his 13th championship bout. His opponent was the unbeaten Commonwealth Games gold medallist Rod Douglas. This time Graham took control, stating: ‘I’ll decide who is to be in my corner. Only Brendan Ingle is going to do the talking’. Fortuitously perhaps, Eastwood was

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ill and absent from the fight. A new resolve was anticipated, as Ingle explained: ‘Herol will be going back to what he is best at—getting out of trouble. That is why he has been training with the kids. I put the kids in two or three at a time. When three lots of fists are trying to hit you, you have got to work’. Kids notwithstanding, Douglas and his manager Mickey Duff believed they were catching Graham at a vulnerable time. Far from being vulnerable, Graham almost killed Douglas. It was classic display by Graham, sometimes literally throwing Douglas off-balance before landing hooks and uppercuts. Douglas played into Graham’s hands by relentlessly plodding forward, head down, fists raised. Clinging on until the ninth, a two-punch combination sent Douglas slithering down a corner post. He rose at a count of eight but the referee stepped in. This intervention might have saved Douglas’ life. Lucid immediately after the bout, Douglas vomited on the journey home. Complaining of a headache he was taken to hospital, where he underwent surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain. Graham was visibly shocked when told the news. ‘I went over to him in his corner and asked if he was all right’, he said. ‘He didn’t look in a bad way. It’s tarnished what was a great night for me’. The operation was successful; within days Douglas was conscious and breathing unaided. He recovered but did not box again, and later set up a boxing gym in London.61 Predictably, medical professionals spoke out. Bryan Jennett, professor of neurosurgery at Glasgow University, explained via the pages of The Times that there were two types of boxing brain injuries; the acute type, such as that suffered by Douglas, and the cumulative type, which usually manifested itself in later life. Jennett suggested that headguards, which had been proposed by some anti-boxing critics, would prevent superficial injuries but not brain injuries, which were caused by the impact of the brain against the interior of the skull.62 Whilst acknowledging that boxing was a sport in which brain damage was not incidental, Jennett concluded by saying that doctors could not forbid any activity, only warn participants of its dangers.

Short-Sighted Decision In April 1990, Graham warmed up for what he hoped would be a world title challenge later in the year by knocking out the Puerto Rican Ismail Negron. Graham was amongst a group including Nigel Benn, Michael Watson and US Virgin Islander Julian Jackson, the one-time

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WBA light-middleweight champion, who eyed the vacant WBC title. Promoter Mickey Duff had other plans for Benn and Watson, leaving the door open for Barney Eastwood to set Graham up with Jackson, who had undergone retinal surgery and thus could not obtain a licence to fight in Britain. Others were prepared to take a risk. Snooker entrepreneur Barry Hearn63 won purse bids in what was to be his first major overseas promotion. The date was fixed for November 24 at the Torrequebrada Hotel Casino in the Spanish town of Benalmádena, midway between Marbella and Málaga. Jackson, whose spectacles betrayed his impaired vision, said nothing would change the way he fought, which was to try to land a knock-out blow from the first bell. He added that he had never seen Graham box, reasoning: ‘I don’t need to see him. I never see any of my opponents on video. Probably [that’s why] I keep on knocking them out’. He had won 40 of his 41 contests, an imposing 39 inside the distance. His only defeat was to Mike McCallum. The Times boxing correspondent Srikumar Sen believed that Graham must ‘keep his chin well tucked in and be content to use his reach advantage to pick Jackson off from a distance’. If only Graham had heeded such advice. Graham dominated but got careless after his jabs closed Jackson’s left eye. The ring-side doctor examined Jackson at the end of the third and allowed him to continue. Jackson knew he could not last. There was no need for Graham to come forward looking to finish him off. In doing so, he walked into the oldest trick in boxing—the sucker punch. Jackson, pinned against the ropes, threw a right hook, which landed flush on Graham’s chin. He was unconscious before he hit the canvas. It was another wasted opportunity; Graham had been found wanting three times on the big occasion. Meanwhile, Graham’s estranged manager Barney Eastwood was heard to say: ‘This would never had happened if I had been in the corner; I would have told him to jab and stay away’. When informed by boxing writer Steve Bunce of this statement, Brendan Ingle merely shook his head.

Throwing Chances Away After a year’s lay-off, Graham had to make a mandatory defence of his British title, against John Ashton, whose manager Mick Shinfield said: ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Ashton beat [Graham]. There’s no telling what damage that knock-out has done psychologically’. The early rounds saw

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Graham throw Ashton to the floor. A coming together then left both men with head cuts. Ashton’s was worse; the end came in the sixth, when the referee stepped in. Graham was now nominated by the EBU to challenge for Sumbu Kalambay’s European middleweight title. The winner would be in line for another world title shot; once again Graham came up short. He put Kalambay down twice in the second but was sent reeling himself in the third. By the 11th, Graham’s left eye was badly cut and when Kalambay hurt him again in the 12th it was enough to tip the judges’ decision in Kalambay’s favour. The decisive moment was a virtual repeat of the McCallum fight; Graham was twice deducted a point for grabbing Kalambay and twisting him round.64

The Best and the Rest Despite four defeats—all to world champions—Graham remained British champion. His next challenger was Frank Grant in September 1992. Graham’s plan was to beat Grant then move up to super-middleweight to challenge for Chris Eubank’s WBO title. Said Graham: ‘I want to fight Eubank because I don’t want to retire as the best in Britain never to have won a world title’. That was to be Graham’s epitaph; age caught up with him. In charge for the first half of the fight, Graham tired. The referee stopped it in the ninth with Graham in trouble. Afterwards Graham said: ‘A knock-out by a champion is one thing, but to be stopped by Grant is another’. Graham’s career was surely over now he had been beaten for the first—and only—time by a British boxer. Graham finally admitted in January 1993 that he was done, saying: ‘When your heart’s not in it, if you carry on then you are going to get hurt. I was training the other night … I got out of the ring, looked at Johnny Nelson and said to him: “I’ve finished”’. Of all his great performances, Graham harked back to one of his earliest successes as his career highlight: ‘Winning the British light-middleweight title from Pat Thomas in 1981 in which I didn’t lose a round’. Interviewed in October 1993 by author Geoffrey Beattie for his 1996 book On the Ropes: Boxing as a Way of Life, Graham reflected: The phone used to be buzzing all the time. Now it’s silent. When I was boxing I had hundreds of friends. Now, since I’ve retired, I can tell you

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that I have four friends – exactly four; three of them are or were professional boxers. You don’t know your true friends until the going gets rough. And the going got rough with me. I hit rock bottom psychologically. My girlfriend and I split up. I was devastated. I was really depressed. I wouldn’t put anybody through it.

Such words betrayed emotional problems that would return to haunt Graham in later life.

Weights and Pounds Almost a year later Graham, now aged 35, received medical clearance to fight again. His new trainer Glyn Rhodes insisted Graham still had the skills, explaining he had recently sparred with British super-middleweight champion Cornelius Carr and ‘made him look a fool’. The reason Graham wanted to resume his career was the one that befalls many a retired boxer—money problems. His seven-figure career earnings had been frittered away. Two months later, Graham received news that the BBBC would not grant him a licence as he had failed a psychometric test.65 BBBC secretary John Morris explained: ‘It has been recommended to Graham that he discusses the decision with [BBBC] Doctor [Adrian] Whiteson’. Further medical tests conducted at Graham’s own expense and the threat of legal action for restraint of trade brought a re-think. The BBBC renewed Graham’s licence in 1996. His first comeback fight was a points win over the American Terry Ford in the less-than-luxurious surroundings of Sheffield’s Concord Sports Centre. Brendan Ingle told the Sheffield Star: ‘If I was Herol, I’d say I’d won my last fight. This game is too hard to take any risks in. My advice is to pack it in’. Nevertheless, Graham spoke of British, European, Commonwealth and world titles. In March 1997, Graham beat Craig Joseph on points, stressing he was only fighting for the money. Four months later another title beckoned— the WBC International super-middleweight championship,66 for which he was to face the Canadian Olympic bronze medallist Chris Johnson. In a virtuoso performance, Graham rolled back the years to give Johnson a boxing lesson, dumping him on the canvas in the seventh and stopping him in the eighth. Graham was now taking home a global championship belt, albeit of a level below the one he craved. Now in the world’s top ten super-middleweights, Graham defended his new title in December 1997

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at Wembley Arena against Vinny Pazienza, the former IBF lightweight champion. After 12 rounds in which Graham kept out of harm’s way he was the unanimous points winner. The watching Ingle was not impressed, saying: ‘[Graham] shouldn’t be fighting. He could get seriously hurt. He showed very little [and] Pazienza is a shot fighter’. Boxing writer Steve Bunce begged to differ, stating that Graham, even at 38, ‘looked like a ferocious ballroom dancer’. Graham did not care what others said. Admitting he had missed the adulation that came with winning, he explained: ‘The buzz of standing there when the final bell goes is just brilliant. Nothing can replace the sort of feeling I had out there tonight’. But money was the driving force. Loans to supposed friends had not been repaid, the jewellery business into which he had invested £60,000 was not successful and pantomime appearances did not bring serious acting offers. Volunteering for hospital radio did not lead to local radio work as he had hoped. A plan to acquire educational qualifications so he could train to become a teacher had been put on hold when his boxing licence was renewed. New promoter Frank Maloney67 said: ‘It is our job to get this man money’. Graham added: ‘I just want to be a champion. Then I get my money and I get out’. Graham’s recent record was enough to get him a third world title fight, against IBF champion Charles Brewer in Atlantic City. Once again it was a case of so near yet so far. Graham knocked Brewer down twice in the third before being stopped in the tenth. Graham looked surprised, but did not protest.

An Eye to the Future Still Graham would not retire, and was nominated by the BBBC to challenge for the British super-middleweight title held by Dean Francis. However, in training Graham took a blow in the eye, damaging a retina. After 48 wins and six defeats, five of them to world champions, it was all over. Struggling to accept life after boxing, Graham suffered from depression. After divorce from his wife Nina in 2007 he attempted suicide. Later sectioned under the Mental Health Act and spending time in a psychiatric unit, Graham did not know what to do without the life of sparring, running and the gym camaraderie. In 2013, he told the website www. voice-online.co.uk: ‘Everything was focused on me. Then all of a sudden you come out of it, and it’s like “what do I do now? I’ve got to live a life

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now. How do I live it?”’ He worked briefly as a sales representative for a printing company and tried selling antiques. In 2007, he explained in the pages of The Times: I’m not upset about anything, but I did have an opportunity not to work in my life and I messed it up. I can remember Brendan Ingle saying: ‘Don’t lend your money, put it in the bank’. But you think your friends are your friends. People kept asking and I thought I was being the Good Samaritan. My parents kept telling me to get some more education and I said no. But I wish I had. I wish I’d listened to Brendan more because I’d be secure.

Karen Neville, the girlfriend Graham split from around the time he first fought Sumbu Kalambay in 1987, helped him get through the worst. After a 25-year separation, they got back together in 2012 and moved to north London.68 Graham found work as both a personal trainer and as a warehouseman for a supermarket chain, but physical as well as mental problems afflicted him. Admitted to hospital in March 2016 suffering abdominal pain, the cause was found to be an infected appendix. Surgery was required to clear a bowel blockage; for a time, Graham’s life was in danger. When his plight came to national attention, Sheffield boxers rallied round to arrange a tribute dinner in his honour. One of the organisers was trainer Glyn Rhodes, who first met Graham when they were both aged 16. As Rhodes explained to local television station Sheffield Live: ‘Before Herol Graham there were no famous boxers in Sheffield’. Those that followed Graham—Naseem Hamed, Ryan Rhodes, Johnny Nelson, Kell Brook amongst them—had, according to Rhodes: … a little trait of Herol Graham… the style that [he] brought to boxing. Before Herol, nobody was doing [what he did]. Everybody that I knew was boxing how boxers are supposed to box, hands up, chin in. Herol Graham comes along and changes all that.

A professional boxer for 17 years, Rhodes understood what had happened to Graham after retirement, asking rhetorically: ‘What do you do? Go and get a job? Doing what?’ Rhodes believed Graham’s admission that he suffered from depression was admirable, saying: ‘I take my hat off to him. Depression and boxing don’t go together. On one side you’re macho, tough, hard, but on the other side you’ve got demons’. The tribute dinner, at Rotherham’s Magna Centre69 in May 2016, was attended by several hundred and raised some £6,000 for Graham, who admitted

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becoming tearful when he saw the numbers present. Former world champion Clinton Woods spoke for many when he said: ‘[Herol] had a great career, he was one of the best fighters Britain has ever had. He was one of those who triggered “big-time” boxing in Sheffield’. Graham recovered from his physical ailment, but the demons would not subside. In December 2017, he was detained in a secure psychiatric unit. Several months after admission he was well enough to make public appearances.

At Least I’ve Left a Mark Somewhere Before his recurring illnesses, Graham recalled his early days in the Ingle gym, telling www.voice-online.co.uk: I had such a laugh. They couldn’t touch me. I was moving around like Muhammad Ali – hands down, hands up, whatever I wanted to do. I sparred with a guy called Mick Mills and I bamboozled him. Within two weeks of being in the gym, everybody changed styles. Brendan said: ‘We’re going to do Bomber’s style’. Brendan could see that it worked, no one really used to do it at [the] gym at all. At least I’ve left a mark somewhere.

Graham’s only regret was not keeping his hands up when so dominant against Julian Jackson: ‘When he threw the shot, it would’ve hit my hands, not my chin and I would’ve been world champion’. If only. Graham started his career before and finished after a string of top-class British middleweights and super-middleweights—Brian Anderson, Mark Kaylor, Errol Christie, Michael Watson and Nigel Benn. Chris Eubank outlasted him by a matter of months. Graham spanned the era between British world champions Alan Minter (1972–1981) and Joe Calzaghe (1993–2008). Esteemed boxing writer Steve Bunce in his 2017 book Bunce’s Big Fat Short History of British Boxing wrote about Graham: ‘Nobody wanted to fight Herol. [He] was avoided by world champions. It’s that simple’. In 2020 former world super-middleweight champion Chris Eubank explained why he never fought Graham: ‘He was too good for his own good really. He wasn’t a man you could hit. I wouldn’t say I avoided the fight; I stated categorically on national TV, “I’m not fighting you”’. Another devotee was Mike McCallum, who named Graham as the best he ever fought, calling him ‘a pure boxer, a southpaw and very elusive. It wasn’t easy to hit him. He was very smart, very skilled’.

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The final word on Graham comes from himself. On the eve of his 1996 comeback, he told The Independent: ‘All my life it’s been the same old story: no luck. Are you given luck or do you make it? I don’t know. That’s how life is’.

Notes 1. In 1979, Antigua-born Hope became Britain’s first black immigrant world champion when he won the WBC light-middleweight title. Jamaica-born Sterling was the first black immigrant British champion, at middleweight in 1970. McKenzie was also born in Jamaica, and Magri in Tunisia. The first British title fight between two black boxers was in November 1973, when Jamaica-born Des Morrison and Ghana-born Joe Tetteh contested the light-welterweight championship. 2. The Irish Home Rule movement sought to reduce the political control of the United Kingdom over Ireland and install a new Irish Government. The movement began in 1800 when the Acts of Union abolished the Parliament of Ireland and transferred governance of the island to the UK Parliament. The 1922 creation of the Irish Free State largely ended the Home Rule campaign, but the Northern Ireland ‘Troubles’ from the late 1960s reignited the debate. 3. Located on a hill overlooking the Don Valley, Wincobank is home to two ancient man-made features: an Iron Age hill fort and the start of a linear earthwork and ditch that once ran continuously northeast for over 20 miles. Archaeologists believe the Brigante tribe, which rebelled against the Romans in the second and third centuries, occupied the fort. The linear earthwork is known locally as ‘Roman Ridge’ as it was once believed to be a Roman road. Excavations proved this not to be the case. Of unknown origin, the current theory is that it was a defensive barrier erected by the Brigantes to repulse Roman invasion. Both the fort and the earthwork are Scheduled Ancient Monuments. 4. Twice British Prime Minister, Arthur Wellesley, the 1st Duke of Wellington, was born in Dublin in 1769. 5. The Congregation of Christian Brothers is a Catholic religious community founded in 1802 by Irish missionary and educationalist Edmund Rice. In the late twentieth century evidence emerged of historical emotional, physical and sexual abuse of children in the Christian Brothers’ care. 6. The most famous work of Dublin-born Tressell (1870–1911) was the novel The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists, published posthumously in 1914. An explicitly political work, the text describes social, political, economic and cultural life in Britain. The work advocates a Socialist

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10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

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society in which work is performed to satisfy the needs of all rather than to generate profit for a few. By this comment, Ingle meant Wentworth Woodhouse, a Grade I listed manor house in the village of Wentworth, a few miles north of Sheffield. Built in the early eighteenth century, it has the longest country house façade in Europe. Stoicism was a school of philosophy founded in Athens in the third century BC. Stoics believed that the best indication of an individual’s philosophy was not what he said but how he behaved. The Easter Rising was an armed uprising in Dublin and other parts of Ireland during Easter week 1916, organised by Irish Republicans seeking to end British rule in Ireland and establish an independent Irish Republic. Almost 500 people were killed; more than half were civilians, around 30% British military and police, and 16% Irish Republicans. Over 2,600 were wounded. Sheffield’s Catholic Cathedral. Other sources claim Ingle met Alma at the Yorkshire Grey pub, the City Hall ballroom, the Cutlers’ Hall ballroom and a jazz club on London Road. Ingle himself was contradictory about this point. A Parochial Church Council is the executive committee of a Church of England parish. Woodford later became a chef and presenter of television shows Ready Steady Cook and Can’t Cook, Won’t Cook. A trainer, agent, promoter, administrator, MC and manager, Basso was born in East London in 1917 to Russian immigrant parents. In 1928 the family moved to Manchester, which is where—after serving as a machine gunner during the Second World War—Basso entered the world of boxing. In 1994, aged 77, he became the oldest ever manager of a British title winner when cruiserweight Carl Thompson beat Steve Lewsan. Basso also served as chairman of the Central Area Council for 40 years from 1957. He died in 2001. Jimmy Ingle was stopped in three rounds by Turpin. Fighting professionally between 1942 and 1950, Jimmy’s record was 25 wins, 17 defeats and two draws. John Ingle boxed professionally 30 times between 1943 and 1949. His record was 19 wins, 10 defeats and one draw. The Top Rank Suite was an entertainment venue located between Arundel Gate and Flat Street that formed part of a 1968–1969 complex originally named ‘Epic Development’, described curtly by Pevsner Architectural Guides: Sheffield as ‘two large, rectangular windowless blocks clad entirely in panels of white tiles’ (Harman and Minnis 2004). The Top Rank Suite later became the Roxy nightclub and is now the O2 Academy music venue.

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18. The light-middleweight division is sometimes called super-welterweight or junior-middleweight. The division was sanctioned by the BBBC only in 1973 despite being introduced by the ABA in 1951, the WBA in 1962 and the European Boxing Union in 1964. 19. Malignant narcissism is a psychological syndrome comprising a mix of anti-social personality disorder, aggression and sadism. 20. All were Sheffield City councillors. Blunkett and Caborn later became ministers in Tony Blair’s Labour Government of 1997–2007. Price is Sheffield’s longest-serving councillor. 21. In the 1970s and 1980s, Leonard won world titles in five divisions from welterweight to light-heavyweight. 22. The UK’s economy had been hit by industrial disputes throughout the 1970s. When Margaret Thatcher won power in May 1979 inflation was about 10% and some 1.5 million people were unemployed. Determined to control inflation and break what she saw as the stranglehold of the trade unions on industry, Thatcher’s policies resulted in the closure of hundreds of factories, shipyards and coal mines in Britain’s industrial heartlands. Unemployment thus rose to three million in 1982. Inflation—which peaked at 22% in 1980—had fallen to 4% by 1983. 23. Known as a ‘buck’s night’ or ‘bachelor party’ in other parts of the world. 24. Prohibition in the USA was a nationwide ban on the production, importation, transportation and sale of alcoholic beverages that applied from 1920 to 1933. 25. Kennedy fought 13 times between 1969 and 1971, winning five. The boxing website www.boxrec.com does not record Brian Law as ever having fought professionally. 26. Middleton, originally from Mansfield, fought professionally three times in the late 1940s, losing all three. 27. Sheffield-born Lambsy Kayani fought professionally 15 times between 1986 and 1995, winning nine. 28. The nominally southpaw Marvin Hagler, famous for switching stance, might disagree with this statement. 29. Burkinshaw, who became a professional boxer whilst serving in the British Army, won the Commonwealth and European bantamweight titles. 30. The rather childish song that goes: ‘Red and yellow and pink and green … I can sing a rainbow’. 31. Nigeria-born Hide won the WBO heavyweight title in 1994 when he beat the British-born American Michael Bentt, then lost his first defence against the USA’s Riddick Bowe. Hide joined the Ingle gym for a short time after this defeat. 32. Sheffield dialect for ‘fight’. 33. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (1869–1948) was an Indian lawyer, nationalist and political ethicist who employed non-violent resistance to lead the campaign for India’s independence from Britain.

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34. The Bradford riots began on July 7, 2001 amid tensions between the white and Asian communities of the city, exacerbated by confrontations between the Anti-Nazi League and far-right groups. 35. The four-fight bill saw victories for Ingle boxers Walter Clayton, Brian Anderson, Steve Farnsworth and Chris Devine. 36. Opened in 1991, the Sheffield Arena was later sponsored by a local radio station and became known as the Hallam FM Arena. Renamed the Sheffield Motorpoint Arena under the sponsorship of a car dealership, it is now known as the FlyDSA Arena, in reference to sponsors Doncaster Sheffield Airport. 37. British English slang meaning ‘to die’. 38. Parkes won a silver medal at the Commonwealth Games. 39. Cowan made his professional debut in 1962 against Jack Bodell, who years later beat Joe Bugner to win the British, Commonwealth and European heavyweight titles. 40. British English slang meaning ‘to sleep rough’. 41. A bolo punch begins with the hand low and to the side of the body, moving upwards in a circular motion. Often used as a distraction by making an opponent focus on the swinging arm, it may enable the boxer to strike with an unexpected punch with his opposite hand. 42. Graham was the first Sheffield boxer to win this award. 43. Known as ‘The Raging Bull’, Giacobbe ‘Jake’ LaMotta was world middleweight champion from 1949 to 1951. 44. Holmes went on to win the IBF super-middleweight title in 1986. 45. A standard boxing ring is between 16 and 20 feet (4.9 and 6.1 metres) square between the ropes. 46. Graham named his pet dog ‘Hagler’. Naturally the breed was a boxer. 47. As the fight began the crowd struck up the chant ‘Here we go!’, which was used as a rallying call in the year-long miners’ strike that had commenced a few months earlier. This may have been provoked by the presence in the audience of Peter Wright, the chief constable of South Yorkshire, whose entry to the executive seats was greeted by whistles and boos. 48. Warren, who obtained a professional licence in 1980, was the first London-based promoter to challenge the ‘big four’ cartel of Mickey Duff, Terry Lawless, Jarvis Astaire and Mike Barrett. He was still in the game four decades later. 49. Amin was President of Uganda from 1971 to 1979, purging the country of supporters of former President Milton Obote as well as residents of European and Asian ethnicity. 50. Some 50,000 jobs were lost in the Sheffield steel and engineering industries in three years in the early 1980s. At its height, the miners’ strike of 1984–1985 involved some 142,000 mineworkers protesting against pit

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51.

52.

53. 54.

55. 56. 57. 58.

59.

60. 61. 62.

closures and job losses. Peter Wright, chief constable of South Yorkshire from 1983 to 1990, revealed that industrial strikes in the region between 1980 and 1985 resulted in 1,701 arrests and 1,070 injuries, 850 of them to police officers. The overall cost to the police budget was £40 million. By way of comparison, the November 2015 world heavyweight title fight between Tyson Fury and Wladimir Klitschko drew some 1.7 million viewers on the US network HBO and 500,000 pay-per-view customers on British station Sky Sports Box Office. In the early 1990s WBO supermiddleweight champion Chris Eubank often drew more than 10 million viewers for his fights broadcast live on terrestrial ITV , but his first fight on subscription channel Sky Sports in 1994 was watched by only 320,000. A similar situation had occurred in 1980 when the southpaw Graham was hired by British challenger Alan Minter to replicate champion Marvin Hagler’s style. Minter got rid of Graham when he could not touch him during sparring. Hagler lost on a split decision, after which he retired with a record of 62 wins, three defeats and two draws. The IBF was founded in 1983 by Bob Lee, president of the United States Boxing Association after he failed to become WBA president. Based in New Jersey, USA, the organisation was first called USBA-International. Zaire was renamed the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 1997. Plummer fought professionally 56 times between 1947 and 1959. These were Barney Eastwood, Eddie Shaw, Victor Cordova and Frederico Plummer. A split decision occurs when two judges award the bout to one boxer, the third to his opponent. A split decision is different from a majority decision, in which two judges score the fight in favour of one boxer, whilst the third makes it a draw. Because of strike action over pay by employees who were members of the National Union of Journalists, the BBC broadcast the fight without commentary. McCallum later won the world light-heavyweight championship to add to his light-middleweight and middleweight titles. Douglas did however take part in full-contact kick-boxing bouts. The first time a headguard was worn in a competitive contest in Britain was when Douglas, representing England, fought the West German Manfred Zielonka in an amateur tournament in 1983. Zielonka wore a headguard, Douglas did not. Headguards were introduced to the Olympic (amateur) boxing tournament at the 1984 Los Angeles Games, and subsequently used at every Games until 2012. In 2013 the Association Internationale de Boxe Amateur (AIBA) announced they were to be discarded for all competitions under its jurisdiction, including the Olympics and the Commonwealth Games because medical studies had

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64.

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66. 67.

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shown that the extra weight of headguards was more likely to cause concussions than if a boxer were bare-headed, as Professor Bryan Jennett had argued in 1989. The decision did however bring unforeseen consequences in the form of cuts that the cornermen of amateur boxers had never learned how to treat. Female and junior boxers were still required to wear headguards in amateur tournaments. Hearn was snooker’s major promoter and was expanding his influence into boxing. His first boxing promotion was the Frank Bruno v Joe Bugner heavyweight contest at White Hart Lane, London, in October 1987. Graham sometimes stretched the rules to the limit. Wrestling his opponent around the ring—and sometimes to the floor—was designed to literally throw him off balance. In Britain Graham was rarely punished for this tactic, using it to good effect against Johnny Melfah (five times in one round!), Rod Douglas, John Ashton and others. Non-British referees were stricter in admonishing Graham. A psychometric test is claimed to be an objective measurement of an individual’s skills, knowledge, abilities, attitudes and personality traits. Such tests have been used by academics in researching boxing head traumas since the 1950s. The BBBC introduced psychometric tests in the 1990s after lobbying by the Professional Boxers’ Association. For boxers rated outside the organisation’s top ten. Maloney managed Lennox Lewis to the undisputed world heavyweight championship. In August 2014 Maloney revealed he was undergoing gender reassignment treatment and wished to be known as Kellie. ‘The new Maloney was just like the old Maloney, only in a skirt,’ wrote Steve Bunce. Karen Neville died in September 2018 from bladder cancer. The Magna Science Adventure Centre is a visitor attraction opened in 2001 aimed chiefly at children. Located in the former Steel, Peech and Tozer steelworks (which later became known as the Templeborough Rolling Mills), the facility offers exhibits and interactive displays based around heavy industry. It also hosts conferences, exhibitions and musical and sporting events.

References Beattie, G. (1996). On the Ropes: Boxing as a Way of Life. Indigo: Cassell. Bunce, S. (2017). Bunce’s Big Fat History of British Boxing: Five Decades of Unforgettable Fights. Bantam. Girard, R. (1972). La Violence et le Sacré. Éditions Grasset. Graham, H., & Wilkin, S. (2011). Bomber: Behind the Laughter. T. H. Media.

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Harman, R., & Minnis, J. (2004). Pevsner Architectural Guides: Sheffield. Yale University Press. Jackson, K. T., Keller, L., & Flood, N. (Eds.) (2010). The Encyclopedia of New York City: Second Edition. Yale University Press. MacRitchie, D. (Ed.). (1897). Rev. William MacRitchie: Diary of a Tour Through Great Britain. Elliot Stock. Markie, P. (1989). Bomber and Brendan: Herol Graham, Brendan Ingle and a World Title Vision. Sheffield City Libraries. Popper, K. (1934). The Logic of Scientific Discovery. Julius Springer. Popper, K. (1945). The Open Society and Its Enemies. Routledge. Tressell, R. (1914). The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists. Grant Richards Ltd.

CHAPTER 3

City of Champions

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 3, No. 36, 1901] (out of copyright). The population of Sheffield is, for so large a town, unique in its character, in fact it more closely resembles that of a village than of a town, for over wide areas each person appears to be acquainted with every other … a © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_3

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state of things leading to an amount of intercommunication such as is not, I believe, met with in other towns of similar size.—Dr Frederick Barry, Report on an Epidemic of Small-Pox in Sheffield, 1887–88 (Barry 1889) Anything that looks like fighting is delicious to an Englishman. If two little boys quarrel in the street, the passengers stop, make a ring round them in a moment, and set them against one another, so that they may come to fisticuffs.—Henri Misson de Valbourg, 1719

Brendan Ingle and Herol Graham put Sheffield on the global boxing map. Their styles and achievements brought positive repercussions to the city, inspiring others to follow, both within and without the Ingle gym. Over the next two decades, Sheffield produced no less than six world champions. There was no fixed pattern that defined such success; the halfdozen evidenced differing personalities and took various routes to their titles. One was a man who was initially scared by the very idea of being a boxer. One characteristic he excelled in, however, was perseverance. His contemporary from the Ingle gym possessed talent and self-belief verging on the sui generis. The first would not hear or speak a bad word about the man who turned him into the champion fighter he became. The second was to disown and insult the man who made him—and then found himself in prison. The already heady reputation of the Ingle gym, enhanced by this pair, facilitated the emergence of an ambitious Bradford-born boxer and a freakishly strong product of a Sheffield council estate. The Ingle gym cultivated a winning combination of dedication, brilliance, confidence and higher purpose. The gym’s early success permeated beyond its walls to two men who were to achieve more than perhaps they believed they could. The first began with Ingle before emigrating. On his return, he won a world title that the governing body claimed to know nothing about. The other was a boxer who began his career with little ambition of reaching the top, but through hard work and persistence scaled that peak.

Admirable Nelson Born Ivanson Ranny Nelson in Sheffield in January 1967, the man better known as Johnny Nelson was the sixth of seven siblings. Nelson grew up believing the man with whom his Jamaican-born mother lived was his father; he did not meet his biological father until in his 30s. The family lived in the Upperthorpe district, which was some distance from the

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senior school Nelson attended. In the late 1970s, Sheffield City Council abolished single-sex education so Nelson became part of the second intake of boys to the previously all-girl Catholic Notre Dame Comprehensive School in the affluent Ranmoor district of west Sheffield. Nelson’s boxing career began after he accompanied an older brother to the Ingle gym. Despite a poor amateur record—just three wins in 13 contests—Brendan Ingle saw something in this gangly, shy youth he described as ‘afraid of the dark’ and offered him a professional contract. Making his debut aged 19 in March 1986 as a super-middleweight, Nelson lost to fellow novice Peter Brown on points. Two further points defeats—one at light-heavyweight, one at cruiserweight—followed. With such a record Nelson did not seem destined to make much out of boxing. Needing to improve, he sought the advice of Herol Graham and ended up moving in with him. Graham taught Nelson the art of defensive boxing. Winning his next four contests, Nelson’s record moved into the positive. Moving up the rankings, Nelson challenged Danny Lawford at Sheffield City Hall for the Central Area cruiserweight title in October 1988. Stopping Lawford for his sixth consecutive win and first professional title, Nelson was to remain unbeaten for the next three years, attaining a national profile in May 1989 when fighting as the main support at Finsbury Park, London,1 to the Commonwealth title fight between Nigel Benn and Michael Watson. In front of 6700 spectators and a live television audience, Nelson knocked out Andy Straughn to win the British cruiserweight title and give Ingle another British champion. A first defence saw Nelson knock out Derbyshire miner Ian Bulloch. A Fear of Getting Hit Nelson’s title win had taken him into the world’s top ten. Snooker entrepreneur Barry Hearn, who had recently entered the world of boxing promotion, persuaded the Puerto Rican WBC cruiserweight champion Carlos de León to defend his title in January 1990 in Sheffield against Nelson. The contest at the City Hall was to be the first-ever world championship boxing match held in Sheffield. ‘This is my chance to break into the super league’, said Nelson, but 2300 spectators were to witness what would go down as one of the most boring bouts in British boxing history. Statisticians counted just 34 scoring punches in the entire 12 rounds. Only eight of these were thrown by de León as he repeatedly failed to

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catch the retreating Nelson. The crowd’s booing and the urging of the referee to the pair to ‘get on with it’ made no difference to the inaction. The fact that Nelson landed 26 of the 34 total punches indicated that the decision should have gone his way, but the judges—perhaps bored by what they were watching—could not agree. One awarded the fight decisively to Nelson, one narrowly to de León, whilst the third scored it a draw, which therefore became the official verdict. A local newspaper cartoon depicted a man waking from a coma and turning on the television. Met with the sight of the Nelson/de León fight, he returned to his previous unconscious state. ITV commentator Reg Gutteridge famously said: ‘Horatio Nelson would have put up a better fight and he only had one eye and one arm’. Meanwhile, a frustrated ITV executive lamented: ‘[It was] the worst fight we have ever put on’. Boxing promoter Frank Warren scathingly added: ‘If Johnny Nelson was fighting in my garden I’d draw the curtains’. In 2006, Nelson confessed to The Times the fright he felt that night. A live national television audience and the presence of celebrities such as boxer Frank Bruno, actors from the television soap Coronation Street and glamour model Linda Lusardi at ring-side overcame the shy young man. Admitting to having ‘crapped myself’, Nelson explained: ‘Out of fear I couldn’t throw a punch’. After the fight, he received white feathers in the post. Even those close to him were unsympathetic. Nelson admitted: ‘My friends disappeared. The phone stopped ringing. It got to the stage where I thought about killing myself. If I was a weak man, I would have’. But boxing was the only thing the enigmatic but strong Nelson knew. He had to carry on; he was still British champion. In March 1990, he won a Lonsdale Belt outright by knocking out Lou Gent, his second successful defence. Two more wins took Nelson to a challenge for the vacant European cruiserweight championship. Travelling to Karlsruhe, Germany, to fight home favourite Markus Bott, Nelson knocked him out with seconds remaining. Nelson then relinquished his British title to seek global challenges, but 1991 proved frustrating. After a successful defence of his European title in March against Yves Monsieur, Nelson did not fight again until May 1992 when matched against IBF cruiserweight champion James Warring. Nelson again wasted his world title chance, showing little aggression in a points defeat, despite Brendan Ingle ordering him from the corner midway through the contest to ‘get out there and fight!’ Nelson explained

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in his 2010 autobiography Hard Road to Glory what went wrong: ‘Warring’s people must have sensed I was mentally fragile and they played a trump card as we were waiting for the fight to start. As I stood there looking at Warring, psyching myself up, I heard someone in his corner call out: “Remember the de León fight.” That was all it took. I went back into my shell’ (Nelson with Coomber 2007).2 Nobody who saw this or the de León ‘fight’ could have predicted that from 1995 Nelson would go ten years undefeated, win the WBO cruiserweight title and successfully defend it 13 times. After losing to Warring, Nelson also lost his next two contests and appeared to be on his way out of boxing. Few British promoters would touch him. Barry Hearn, with whom Nelson had signed a three-fight deal, wanted the final one out of the way as quickly as possible. When Hearn offered to pay another promoter to put Nelson on his bill, the promoter refused. Ingle was reduced to advertising for sparring partners, enticing them with a £200 bonus if they could last five days with Nelson. Unable to find opponents in Britain, Nelson was to embark on a world tour. Sensing his turmoil, Ingle sent him to what might be termed a ‘boot camp’ in Italy and gave him a one-way ticket to Frankfurt (Oder) on the Germany/Poland border, where he sparred with Eastern European heavyweights to earn an income. Years later, Nelson said of this time: ‘That was horrible. A dirty little bedsit with a black and white TV and no English channel. You’re away from home, you’re by yourself. But where else was I to earn £100 a day?’ Between 1992 and 1995, Nelson boxed in Corsica, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Belgium, Thailand and Brazil, a period that brought a mediocre record of four wins and six losses. He also became a world champion—of sorts. Champion of Some of the World There were world champions aplenty in this era by virtue of new organisations. Aiming to rival the four main global governing bodies (the WBA, WBC, WBO and IBF), the World Boxing Federation (WBF) was founded in 1988 in Tennessee by motor racing promoter Larry Carrier.3 The WBF held ‘world championship’ bouts unrecognised by the BBBC, meaning that boxers holding a BBBC licence who fought in a WBF contest participated in an unsanctioned competition. Nelson’s stock had fallen so low in Britain that such niceties did not concern him. Thus, in April

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1993, he found himself fighting the Australian champion Dave Russell in Melbourne for the WBF cruiserweight title. Nelson stopped Russell in the 11th to become—superficially—Sheffield’s first world champion. In reality, the city had to wait for this accolade—from one of the four main governing bodies—until September 1995 and Naseem Hamed’s win over Steve Robinson. This somewhat spurious title brought a modicum of local acclaim and further international travel. Nelson’s first defence was against 38-yearold Tom Collins, a former British champion who had twice fought for world championships. Nelson won in the first. He then lost the title on a holding disqualification against Franco Wanyama before travelling to New Zealand in November 1993 to take on the wonderfully named Johnny Thunder for the WBF heavyweight championship. Conceding almost two stones, Nelson won a unanimous points decision to become a two-time world champion, albeit of a governing body many in the game considered insignificant. Keen to regain credibility in Britain, Nelson took a fight in London at three days’ notice against the unbeaten Henry Akinwande.4 Nelson spent much of the contest holding the heavier and taller Akinwande and lost on points. Nelson then set off globe-trotting again, successfully defending his WBF heavyweight title in Thailand against Nikolay Kulpin but losing it to Adilson Rodrigues in Sao Paulo in August 1995. Three months later, Nelson returned to Brazil for a re-match but again lost on points. It was to be the last defeat of his career. The year 1996 was to herald a new start for Nelson, who knocked out journeyman Tony Booth in his first fight of the year. Next was the more challenging contest for the vacant British cruiserweight championship against the ageing Dennis Andries. A former two-time world light-heavyweight champion, Andries claimed to be aged 43 but some believed him to be nearer 50. In his first fight in Sheffield since his ill-fated 1990 contest against de León, Nelson won on a stoppage. Afterwards, he said: ‘I’ll win a world title by the end of 1997 – a real world title this time’. His forecast was just two years out. In February 1997, Nelson faced Patrice Aouissi for the vacant European cruiserweight title, stopping him in the seventh. Returning to Sheffield for his first defence, Nelson knocked out Dirk Wallyn in just 43 seconds.5 The Sheffield Star reported that Nelson was given ‘an electric reception’ by the Sheffield Arena crowd. He was back in the locals’ good books.

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A Real World Champion The pursuit of a ‘real’ world title began. WBO cruiserweight champion Carl Thompson agreed to defend his title against Nelson at the Derby Arena in March 1999. Nelson realised it was probably his last chance at this level. Now, he said, he had ‘grown up’ and predicted that Thompson would be both ‘humiliated’ and ‘annihilated’. Flooring Thompson in the fourth, Nelson stopped him in the fifth. He was now recognised as a ‘real’ world champion and had regained his reputation amongst Sheffield fight fans. Nelson’s first six defences did not set pulses racing. The Jamaican Bruce Scott did not win a round despite taking Nelson the distance. Next was the Canadian champion Willard Lewis, who Nelson beat easily. A disappointed Nelson lamented almost by way of an apology: ‘He was the best they could get’.6 After this fight in Dagenham, Nelson next found himself in Las Vegas on the undercard of the Oscar De La Hoya v Félix Trinidad WBC and IBF welterweight championship bout.7 Nelson’s opponent was the Tongan Sione Asipeli, who had a decent record but proved no great test. In November 1999, Christophe Girard lasted four rounds, and then Pietro Aurino quit after seven rounds. Nelson even picked up the World Boxing Union (WBU)8 heavyweight title when in November 2001 his scheduled opponent Napoleon Tagoe failed a medical. As an alternative, Nelson took a fight at a day’s notice against Alexander Vasiliev and battered the much heavier Russian over 12 one-sided rounds. In November 2002, before a WBO cruiserweight title defence against Guillermo Jones, Nelson reflected on the fight that shaped his career for the next decade—the draw against Carlos de León in 1990. He said: ‘Life changed for me after that. I realised how fickle and horrible people could be. People would deliberately stand in my way or think they could take me on’. Ironically, Nelson’s bout against Jones was almost as bad as the de León fiasco and ended in the same result. As The Times witheringly reported: ‘There will be no calls for a re-match’. Despite being a longstanding world champion, Nelson was stuck with the reputation of not providing exciting spectacles. The nickname given to him by Ingle of ‘The Entertainer’ was perhaps couched in irony.

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Under Guard The following year unwanted excitement entered Nelson’s life when he was the subject of a kidnap threat. When informed of the plot by South Yorkshire police, Nelson did not take it seriously, but was persuaded to accept 24-hour protection for his wife and two daughters. Undercover officers kept watch on their north Derbyshire home. Security cameras were installed both at the house and at the Ingle gym. Tracking devices were placed on Nelson’s car. All phone calls to his home were recorded. This went on for several months, during which Nelson confided only in Ingle. When told that the police believed it was ‘personal’, Nelson suggested someone they might question. The police were already aware of the named suspect. There were rumours that a north-west criminal gang was behind the threat; other sources claimed it derived from a Sheffield boxer well known to Nelson. When the story eventually reached the public domain, Nelson laughed it off, saying: ‘Why would they kidnap a man who could obviously take care of himself in most situations?’ Several arrests were made but police did not have enough evidence to bring charges. Relieved the affair was out in the open, Nelson could explain why he had not fought for a year. Returning to the ring, he edged out Alexander Petkovic in a majority decision. Almost 37, Nelson had now defended his title 11 times. He was to do so twice more. In September 2004, he stopped Rüdiger May and in November 2005 won a split decision over Vincenzo Cantatore. Only injury could stop Nelson. Training to fight the Welshman Enzo Maccarinelli, Nelson dislocated a knee. Faced with the prospect of having his title removed by the WBO, Nelson retired. His 20-year career ended with a record of 45 wins, 12 defeats and two draws. He was unbeaten for the last ten years and had fought more often than any British world champion of his era. He was—and still is—the longest reigning world cruiserweight champion in history. Fear and Loathing Wanting to make use of his life experiences, Nelson volunteered to take schoolchildren on tours of factories and prisons to show them what life held if they did not use their full potential. He also became an ambassador for the mental health charity Sheffield Mind, saying: ‘I’ve personally

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seen how mental health issues have affected people in the boxing profession and my work with prison inmates has shown how failure to resolve issues such as stress, depression and anxiety in young life can lead to issues later’. Citing the depression that can strike a boxer after retirement, Nelson added: What does boxing train you to do? A nightclub bouncer? A trainer if you’re articulate? A bodyguard? That’s it. When you are 38 and finish, that’s what hits you and it’s difficult to cope. The depression rate is massive, the aftercare is nil. You need someone to speak to, not sympathisers, someone who gets it.

Reflecting on his career when interviewed by The Times, Nelson explained how he got into boxing by accident. He had initially entered the Ingle gym merely wanting to make friends, confessing: ‘I absolutely hated boxing. I couldn’t handle the fear … of being hurt, of getting knocked out, of being put in a wheelchair. I’d go in the toilet and look at my watch … to see how long three minutes was. That’s how scared I was’. But the desire to earn a living partially overcame the dread. Deciding that five fights would decide his future, Nelson told himself: ‘If I haven’t won one I’ll get a job’. When he won his fourth he was to admit: ‘I was sort of pissed off’. In a 2014 interview with the boxing website www.boxingnewsonlin e.net, Nelson credited one man for his success—Brendan Ingle. He explained how a home-truth from Ingle combined with a deep knowledge of how boxing worked and the scribblings of a fellow boxer who was to become a world champion put the fight game into an ugly—but realistic—perspective: Brendan said: ‘You’re a momma’s boy, you need to grow up’. He sent me away to spar, to Germany, France, Italy. I didn’t want to but I so wanted to make him proud, and I felt I owed him. It was horrible. [In Germany] they put me in a dire apartment, and I found a letter behind the settee from Henry Akinwande who had been there before me. It was to his girlfriend saying how he hated the place, wanted to go home and was missing her. He was European champion at the time so to read that made me realise: ‘I’m not the only one [doing this] and I have to stick this out’. Brendan said: ‘Whatever you do, don’t beat the sparring partners up because they’ll sack you, you won’t get paid and if one of them wins a world title they won’t fight you’. It worked, not beating fighters up when

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I knew I could. Brendan wanted me to see success but not have it and be hungry for it. He’d admit he was brainwashing you but it was positive brainwashing. I was complete garbage so I’m proof his methods worked.

Even when Nelson won a world championship, he still believed that as soon as someone good came along, he would—in his own words—‘get stuffed’. It was only in later years after a string of successful defences that he could tell himself: ‘You’re not that bad’. In response, Ingle said that of all the boxers he had trained, Nelson’s accomplishments gave him the most satisfaction. Interviewed by sports website www.espn.co.uk in January 2015, Ingle opined: If you had seen [Nelson] when he came into the gym, you wouldn’t have thought he would have done what he did. A lot of people said to me at the time, why are you wasting your time on him? He’ll never do anything, they said. His amateur record was nothing special, but I told him we would get there one day.

‘Getting there’ included Ingle taking the novice Nelson into schools, where he would stand in front of a class and talk about his life. This was done with a specific purpose: to teach Nelson how to deal with everyday life and to build up his confidence. Such confidence served him well post-retirement in his role as a respected Sky Sports boxing pundit. In 2017, Dominic Ingle explained in more technical terms how Nelson employed an unusual method to achieve what he did, reasoning: ‘Johnny had a “zone-like” cage around him in the ring. His pawing style kept opponents “outside”. He’s in many ways the greatest success story of the gym’. Nelson himself admitted he had ‘no natural talent or ability’ but was ‘a product of the St Thomas’ gym’. It took a long time to establish himself at the top level of boxing, but when he did, Nelson proved one of the most enduring world champions in British boxing history. His total of 13 successful defences was bettered by just Chris Eubank, Lennox Lewis, Joe Calzaghe and Nelson’s onetime friend and stablemate Naseem Hamed. Aside from defending their world titles multiple times, Nelson and Hamed could not have been more different.

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From Pretender to Prince: Naseem Hamed In 2017, Sheffield City Council published figures that estimated the city’s ethnic Yemeni residents as numbering between 3500 and 5500, or some 0.7–1.0% of Sheffield’s population.9 First settling in Britain in the nineteenth century, the Yemenis’ arrival is explained by the fact that the Arabian port city and hinterland of Aden were—in various guises— ruled by Britain from 1839 to 1967.10 Many Aden locals worked at the docks loading and unloading British merchant ships or worked aboard such ships. Moving to British ports to do similar jobs was a route taken by many citizens of Aden. After the Second World War, labour shortages affecting British manufacturing industries provided such people with the opportunity to seek other work. Some gravitated to the steelworks of Sheffield and Rotherham. According to a feature in the Sheffield Star in 2014, around 1000 Yemenis moved to Sheffield during the 1950s and 1960s. Other sources claimed for far greater numbers. After interviewing several of Sheffield’s Yemeni community in 2009, sociologist Kevin Searle quoted one respondent who claimed that by 1962 there were more than 6000 Yemenis working in the city’s steel industry (Searle 2009). Searle’s figures are surpassed by the numbers quoted in 1992 by Middle East expert Professor Fred Halliday, who argued that by 1962 Sheffield’s Yemenis numbered some 8000 (Halliday 1992). Yet this total is dwarfed by an estimate made by Abdulgalil Shaif, chair of the Sheffield Yemeni Community Association, who during a 2004 BBC Radio 4 documentary titled Forged in Sheffield argued for 20,000 Yemenis working in Sheffield steelworks during the 1960s. The estimates may vary, but the year cited by the aforementioned academics was significant; the 1962 Commonwealth Immigrants Act11 severely reduced the number of British Commonwealth citizens migrating to Britain. The number of Yemenis entering Britain did not begin to rise significantly again until the country’s civil war three decades later forced thousands to flee as refugees. Britain proved not to be a utopia for some Arabian immigrants. In September 1956, the Sheffield Telegraph reported: There is a somewhat tragic section [of immigrants] who are having much more difficulty [than those from Jamaica]. They are the Arabs, from Aden mostly, who come into the country freely as British protected persons. Practically all can speak no English – their lodging housekeeper often acts

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as their interpreter in job finding – and so they can take no part in any teamwork in factories. They are often far from strong, and unable to work outside in an English winter. Not unnaturally – even though they have vacancies – they are not the type that employers want. These men seem unlikely to fit into the city’s labour force, and the fact that they are coming in increasingly is posing a continuing problem.

Four months later, the same newspaper reported that one in eight of Sheffield’s ‘coloured population’ was out of work in a time of almost full employment. Some 187 of these were ‘Aden Arabs’, who, in the words of the report, were ‘generally speaking, of a lower standard than other workers’. What this damning statement meant in practice was not explained. If aware of such ethnic stereotyping, Salem Ali Ahmed Kashmeem Hamed (known as Sal) did not let it deter him from seeking work in Sheffield. Born in Yemen in 1933, Hamed left home to work in ports along the Arabian and East African coasts. After making the long voyage around the Cape of Good Hope and along the West African coastline, Hamed arrived in the French Mediterranean port of Marseilles.12 Hearing of the work available in the industrial towns and cities of Britain, he found himself in 1958 first in Birmingham and later Middlesbrough, before moving to Sheffield. Hamed bought a shop in the Attercliffe district, sold it, returned to Yemen and then moved back to Sheffield, where he got a job at the English Steel Corporation and a home in the Wincobank district, overlooking the industrial East End where he worked. His wife Ciara joined him, and in 1965 the couple used monies saved from Hamed’s £90 per week13 earnings to set up a corner shop on Newman Road, selling groceries and household goods. The first Asian family in the neighbourhood, they produced nine Sheffield-born children—five boys and four girls. The sixth of their offspring was Naseem Salom Ali Hamed, born in February 1974. Despite his name meaning ‘gentle breeze’ in Arabic, Naseem turned out to be a whirlwind. He was also the greatest boxing talent ever to come out of Sheffield. The apocryphal story had it that Brendan Ingle spotted the sevenyear-old Hamed from the top deck of a bus fighting off three bigger boys.14 Hamed once asked Ingle why he made up this tale. Because it created interest, replied Ingle. Whilst it is true that Hamed took up boxing aged seven, it was his father who brought him to the attention of Ingle. Concerned that his diminutive son would not be able to look after

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himself at school, Sal Hamed brought him, along with brothers Riath and Nabeel, to the Ingle gym to learn how to defend themselves in the face of the racism that was prevalent at the time. Years later, Nabeel said: ‘After [taking up] boxing we didn’t get our windows smashed or get “NF” [National Front] sprayed on the shop’. Whilst the Hameds’ presence at the gym brought local credibility, the abilities of young Naseem brought fascination in boxing circles. Naseem Hamed practised daily and learned by watching. As a boy, he could be seen at the ring-side of Herol Graham’s fights. Fighting his first competitive bout aged 11, Hamed was within ten contests a national schoolboy champion. Ingle rated him a better prospect than Graham, explaining: ‘[Hamed’s] been training for the last four years but I’ve only put him [into competitions] in the last year and he’s gone from nowhere right to the top. The kid’s brilliant’. In 1987, Hamed’s potential earned the 13-year-old a seven-year sponsorship deal with financial services company Analysis Group PLC, which was to pay £300 per year towards equipment, training and travel costs. As a schoolboy amateur boxer, Hamed could not receive direct payment, but contributions towards expenses were permitted. The monies, whilst generous and well intentioned, were hardly life-changing. Profoundly Flash By the age of 15, Hamed had developed a rare self-belief; at an amateur tournament in Belfast, he told the Guardian’s boxing correspondent: ‘Keep an eye on me. I’m going to be the greatest fighter in the world, one of the greatest fighters ever. You remember that, OK?’ Hamed went on to win a string of national amateur titles.15 According to author Ronnie Wharton in his 2000 book Boxing in South Yorkshire, Hamed lost five of 67 amateur contests, all controversially. He upset amateur officialdom with his perceived lack of respect for opponents and ‘overthe-top’ ring entries and victory celebrations. Some officials objected to Hamed’s hands-down boxing style; they were locked into the amateur ethos of hands-to-chin defensive pose. Some could not handle the confidence—arrogance even—of a boxer who could win despite dropping his guard for the duration of the bout. Others grumbled about what Ingle was teaching. Brilliance in boxing, be it coaching or performing, did not have universal appreciation. When Hamed won the national under16 light-flyweight championship in 1990, boxing journalist Steve Bunce

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noted that he did so ‘against a vile backdrop of abuse’. Added Bunce: ‘The crowd hate him’ (Bunce 2017). Amateur officials would not have to contend with Hamed’s antics much longer. Soon after his 18th birthday—the minimum permissible age—Hamed turned professional. In doing so, he rejected the chance to compete in the 1992 Barcelona Olympic Games, for which he should have been a certain selection for Great Britain. Ingle believed Hamed could have won a gold medal, but also believed that bias would have prevented him being picked. In characteristically extravagant style, Hamed signed his professional contract at the House of Commons under the gaze of a bevy of MPs. The All-Party Parliamentary Group on Boxing16 invited Hamed and Ingle to one of the House’s grand committee rooms, where Hamed signed three contracts: one with the BBBC, one with promoter Barry Hearn and one with a sponsor, the clothes manufacturer Joe Bloggs. Two Labour MPs were behind the move. Group chairman Frank Haynes, MP for Ashfield, said: ‘This is the first time that anything like this has happened in the House of Commons. We are looking forward to you [Hamed] being the British champion and going further than that’. Mansfield MP Alan Meale added cryptically: ‘Naz is profound’. This was perhaps the occasion where Ingle first used the ‘I saw him from a bus’ story, telling the gathered MPs: ‘I saw this four-stone Arab kid being beaten up by three white boys and he looked good fighting them off. So I went and saw his dad, who let him come to my gym down the road’. Adding that being a good boxer earned him respect, Hamed explained: ‘They used to shout “Paki”, “chocolate drop”, things like that. But now they see my picture in the papers they want to know me’. Hamed was proof that boxing was a tool that could overcome prejudice. Earning £1000 for his first paid fight in April 1992, Hamed beat veteran Ricky Beard in the second round at Mansfield Leisure Centre. Six fights into his career, the 18-year-old Hamed was unbeaten and tipped for great things by Ingle, who said: ‘I’ve had him since he was seven and he’s going to be a world champion before he’s 21. Right now people are only seeing the tricks, the showman. Wait until they see the fighter’. Five more comfortable wins took Hamed to a European bantamweight title fight in May 1994. The bout, at Sheffield’s Ponds Forge,17 was to be Hamed’s first as a professional in his home city. His opponent, Vincenzo Belcastro, 13 years his senior, had defended the title three times. Despite never having been previously knocked down, Belcastro ended up on the canvas three times. He was a veteran of 37 fights and two world title

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challenges, yet this young pretender in his 12th professional contest, who had never gone past six rounds, took him to pieces. Aged 20, Hamed had become European champion before he had the opportunity to fight for a British title; at the time, the BBBC’s rules decreed that a boxer must be 21 or over to contest its championships.18 Ingle raved about Hamed, calling him ‘an attacking counter-puncher’—which in boxing terms is an oxymoron—before adding: ‘He can box orthodox, southpaw and switch, and can knock them out with a counter-punch. This fellow is Ali, Marciano and Tyson wrapped into one’. Citing another all-time great, Ingle argued: ‘Sugar Ray Leonard showboats and he’s a genius. The little fella does it and he’s a flash bastard’. Hamed came along at an opportune time for Ingle, as the latter told author Geoffrey Beattie in his 1996 book On the Ropes: Boxing as a Way of Life: I had a lean three years after Herol Graham had finished and Slugger O’Toole had finished and Johnny Nelson had gone on walkabouts. I was struggling from week to week, so all of a sudden Naz comes through. Naz was the end of my barren three years. I know everybody’s going to try and nick him off me.

Reflecting on the way financial disputes had soured his relationship with Graham, Ingle continued: ‘There are a lot of people around who would like to spoil the relationship I’ve got with Naz. [They] are going to be disappointed. This time … me and him are going all the way’. Two years later, Ingle and Hamed were to separate over the same thing that had caused the split from Graham—money. A Car and a Dagger Hamed boasted about his ability whenever he could. In an interview with ITV ’s Gary Newbon, he declared: ‘As far as I’m concerned I’m the best out there. I’ve got natural movement, ability on my feet. You name it, I’ve got it’. Following his first-round knockout of John Miceli in his 11th contest, Hamed declared himself already good enough to fight for a world title. On another occasion, he said: ‘If I could have turned pro at 14 I would have and I would have beaten all the men’. Hamed impressed some at Governmental level—when he beat Armando Castro in January 1995, the President of Yemen rewarded him with a

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Mercedes convertible sports car. Three months later, after knocking out Sergio Liendo,19 Yemeni Government officials gave Hamed a solid silver ceremonial dagger. Hamed was now the most famous person of Yemeni descent on the planet. Whenever he fought, it was estimated that 100 million Arabs tuned in, on top of the regular 12 million British television viewers. But not everyone appreciated what Hamed said and did. Known for his dramatic ring entries—which he had employed since his junior days— Hamed had acquired a reputation for being arrogant, both inside and outside the ring. He was once carried to the ring by eight men as he sat on a throne. On another occasion, he made his entry riding on a mock ‘flying carpet’, a mythological item synonymous with the Middle East. He would somersault into the ring over the top rope and then perform backflips. After one such ring entry, ITV commentator Reg Gutteridge famously remarked: ‘The ego has landed’.20 Before Hamed fought Antonio Picardi, ITV presenter Gary Newbon remarked: ‘If he was chocolate he’d eat himself’. In the ring, Hamed talked disparagingly to opponents and scornfully beckoned them forward, daring them to try and hit him. To some observers, his attitude was contemptuous. As Hamed taunted his fourth professional opponent Miguel Matthews, referee Roy Francis admonished him with the words: ‘Do that again, son, and I will personally throw you over that fucking rope’. At the weigh-in for his May 1997 fight against Billy Hardy, Hamed wore large plastic ears to mock his opponent’s own protruding appendages. His explanation for doing so was: ‘That’s showbiz’. Hamed was regarded by some boxing commentators as a self-obsessed egotist whose antics would be found out against worldclass opposition, which, his detractors claimed, he had not yet faced. His leopard-skin patterned trunks, Arab head-dresses and gold lamé capes epitomised in their opinion style over substance. Such opinions did not concern Hamed. Never short of self-promotion, he claimed that the extrovert world super-middleweight champion Chris Eubank ‘stole everything’ after watching him sparring at the Ingle gym. Hamed had little regard for reputations: in 1997, he and Eubank crossed paths at Heathrow Airport, where the former taunted the latter over the fact that he no longer held a world title. In response, Eubank grabbed Hamed’s world championship belts and threw them to the floor. Interpretations differed as to how Eubank’s lip was then split. Hamed’s publicist Frankie Burstin told the Daily Mirror: ‘Naz wasn’t looking for trouble.

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Eubank threatened to slap him and Naz laughed in his face, which angered Chris further. He tried to slap Naz but he was too quick. Naz ducked and retaliated, which is his instinct. He [made] contact’. Eubank meanwhile denied that the much smaller man hit him, saying: ‘He’s swung at me. He missed. It was all very ungentlemanly’. Hamed was certainly something different, and not to everyone’s taste. In part, this exceptionalism was stylistic. In the ring, Hamed kept his hands low, offering no conventional defence, relying on reflexes and quickness to avoid punches. Overtly, he was a southpaw, but took the trademark of Ingle fighters in switching stance to a new level, sometimes appearing to be neither southpaw nor orthodox. ‘I don’t know what he is now … I’ve got no idea. He’s the most unusual fighter I’ve seen’, remarked ITV commentating veteran Reg Gutteridge during Hamed’s win over Vincenzo Belcastro. On another occasion, Gutteridge, ever the arch conveyor of imagery, declared that Hamed was ‘the latest escapologist from the Ingle gym’. When Hamed stopped Freddie Cruz21 in October 1994 Gutteridge said: ‘We always think we’ve seen it all in this business but this is a new one. You couldn’t imagine any comparison with anybody in style’. During a break between rounds Cruz’s manager Rafael Guerrero asked his boxer why he was not throwing any punches. A bewildered Cruz replied: ‘I don’t know where he is. First I see him on the right, then he is behind me on the left’. At the pre-fight press conference, Cruz had said: ‘I came to fight a man. You are a boy’. After the fight, Guerrero admitted this was a mistake; Hamed was not the child Cruz believed him to be. Guerrero believed Hamed would ‘kill’ WBO featherweight champion Steve Robinson, but Hamed quietly corrected the compliment, saying: ‘I don’t want to kill Robinson. I just want to beat him’. Ingle enthused about Hamed’s chances of doing that, explaining: ‘[Hamed’s] been learning moves for 13 years. Now I can’t teach him any more. Naz is making moves that Ali couldn’t do. Some of the things he does you’ve never seen before’. Hamed invented punches, notably a twisting uppercut commentators named the ‘corkscrew’ that began with his fist dangling by his thigh. When he fought Robinson for the world title, he at one point raised both fists to the level of his forehead and brought them down together onto Robinson’s head. Hamed could feign a right jab that diverted from an opponent’s face an instant before contact, only to be followed immediately by a left cross. He could change a punch from a jab to a cross after he had thrown it. He could punch an opponent

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whilst looking at the floor. He often led with a jab whilst simultaneously leaping towards his opponent, ridiculing the traditional notion that a jab had to start from a solid, two-footed base.22 Sometimes he even led with an uppercut. His balance was such that he could contort his body into unusual shapes to avoid punches. Deceptively powerful, Hamed’s punches could burst through a closely held guard to strike an opponent’s face. In a December 2014 interview with journalist Darren Flexen for www.boxing newsonline.net, Hamed reflected on what made him such a formidable boxer, reasoning: ‘Even though I was really frail and skinny, I had speed, and speed was power’. The World Awaits Hamed had to wait until his 20th fight to challenge for Steve Robinson’s WBO featherweight title in the champion’s home city of Cardiff in September 1995. Robinson had come up the hard way. Working as a warehouseman and boxing part-time, he beat John Davison for the vacant championship in April 1993. Successfully defending the title seven times, Robinson was a durable, efficient boxer. He took the Hamed fight under protest at the latter’s elevation to mandatory challenger despite never having fought at featherweight. Robinson had little choice; a refusal to accept would have seen him stripped of the title. Robinson had never been stopped, but Hamed stopped him after eight one-sided rounds. The Welshman, crouching to nullify Hamed’s powerful jab, had no answer to relentless attacks. Downed in round five, Robinson rose to once more hide behind his gloves. Dropped again in the eighth, he clambered to his feet but the referee had seen enough. Hamed was now Sheffield’s first-ever world champion, his victory as sweet for Ingle as it was for Hamed; after two failed world title attempts by Herol Graham, Ingle finally had a world champion in his stable. Not everyone was happy with Hamed’s performance: his ring antics earned a rebuke from the BBBC, which criticised his ‘distasteful goading’ of Robinson. During the fight, Hamed was heard to shout: ‘Come on Steve!’ and when the 16,000 Welshmen present chanted for their man, Hamed mockingly joined in.23 The unrepentant Hamed responded to the accusations: ‘If that’s the style to beat the opponent, that’s what I have to do. That’s my style and I won’t change it. Forget the nonsense about taunting, ridiculing and humiliating, because I don’t humiliate an

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opponent. I gave [Robinson] full respect and credit’. Respect perhaps was a negotiable concept in Hamed’s head. The humiliation evidenced was sometimes a product of mismatches. The Nigerian Said Lawal provided little opposition in Hamed’s first defence, knocked out in 35 seconds. Daniel Alicea proved more troublesome, knocking Hamed down—for the first time in his career—in the first round. More embarrassed than hurt, Hamed knocked Alicea out in round two. The learning process was appreciated by his trainer. ‘I’m glad he got hit’, said Ingle. ‘People were asking if he could take a shot on the chin. Well, he answered that one all right’. In February 1997, Hamed unified the WBO and IBF featherweight titles by stopping the USA’s Tom ‘Boom Boom’ Johnson, who had not lost for six years and had successfully defended the IBF championship 11 times.24 Having beaten a world-ranked American in front of promoter-supreme Don King, the US boxing fraternity now had to take Hamed seriously. American television network ABC broadcast Hamed’s two-round demolition of Juan Cabrera in July 1997, after which the Argentinian enthused: ‘I have never seen a fighter react like that – he has so much power and speed’. Hamed’s big chance across the Atlantic was to come later in the year. The Circus Arrives Despite beating Johnson, some in the US boxing press remained unconvinced by Hamed. They were to witness his abilities first-hand in December 1997 when Hamed flew to New York for his debut on American soil against local favourite Kevin Kelley. On arrival, Hamed went on a charm offensive, exuding politeness and smiles. A visit to an Arab district of New York saw hundreds of residents take to the streets to welcome him. He even danced with Michael Jackson. But the arrival of Kelley in his home city from his training camp generated provocation from both sides. At a press conference, Kelley expounded: It’s amazing how many enemies this guy has made. I’ve never had so many phone calls from brother boxers before a fight. They are all telling me to send him back across the Atlantic with his tail between his legs. It’s his arrogance. My auntie doesn’t approve of the fight game because she is very religious but even she has asked me to knock him out quickly

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because his behaviour is ungodly. I belong in the ring. Naseem belongs in the circus.

Hamed’s response to Kelley, holder of the lower-ranked WBU featherweight championship, was a prize put-down: ‘Put your money and your titles on the table. If it wasn’t for me coming to your city you would never have got a fight in Madison Square Garden, you poor New York asshole’. Things were getting very personal. Kelley, of African-American ethnicity, counter-attacked using Hamed’s own ethnicity: ‘You’re Arab, right? Well, you’re going back in the sand. If you hang around New York you’ll be doing what all your guys work at here … serving behind the counter at a grocery store or driving a cab’. As for Hamed’s self-made comparison with Muhammad Ali, Kelley was having none of it: He’s a copycat. Muhammad Ali did it all before – only better. How dare Naseem compare himself with the greatest? The difference with Ali was that he didn’t just brag, he did it with humour. He made you laugh with him, not at him. Naseem doesn’t understand that to be a great champion you have to be loved. He doesn’t even have a love-hate relationship with our profession. He’s despised. He will never be great because he doesn’t understand what it took to be a true champion in the golden age of boxing. The old heroes were fighting for a cause, be it against poverty or prejudice. Naseem can only see the money.

Kelley’s words had some credence, but Hamed denied he had claimed he was a better boxer than Ali, saying: ‘I’d be so pleased if Ali comes [to the fight]. If there’s anybody I’d love to be there it would be him. The guy’s my idol. I look up to him as an inspiration’. There was also jealousy in Kelley’s words. Defeated just once in 50 fights, he was to receive $600,000—the biggest purse of his career—compared with Hamed’s $2 million. Kelley was so peeved at being paid so much less that he refused to assist the HBO network in its fight promotion. Contracted to HBO for several years, Kelley demanded to know why a New York boxer should get second billing to a foreigner in New York. He either did not appreciate or ignored the reason why the stakes were so high: Hamed was box office. It was previously unheard of in the USA for a barely known British boxer—especially a featherweight—to cause such a stir. The bottom line was money. Promoters and television executives realised they could get rich quickly on Hamed’s ability and controversy.

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HBO was investing a lot of money in promoting Hamed.25 In New York, two huge billboards depicting him with his boxing gloves on fire overlooked Times Square; another was prominently displayed on Seventh Avenue, where thousands were Christmas shopping. Hamed posters adorned telephone booths and buses. One HBO executive, Seth Abraham, likened the level of publicity to that of a US presidential campaign. Admitting Hamed was not a household name in the USA, Abraham added: We have picked him because he’s special … a rock star with boxing gloves. When he makes his ring entrance they may boo, they may even throw things. I don’t know what will happen, but I can’t wait to see it.

Few pundits believed Kelley would win. Kelley, however, was confident, taking the debate back to basics: money and instincts. ‘[Hamed] doesn’t realise that my motivation is deeper than his’, he remarked. ‘He is a very rich man. If he gets beat he goes back to England and doesn’t have to do anything. With me it’s my livelihood. I have to pay my water bill next month. He ain’t just fighting me; he’s fighting my will and my soul’. Kelley’s words were impressive, but could his ring skills match his articulacy? On the night, Hamed’s ring entry was of longer duration than the fight. The four rounds the contest lasted produced one of the most thrilling boxing matches of the 1990s, with both men downed three times before Hamed knocked Kelley out. The knock-downs gave Hamed a big fright and his backers palpitations. An unusually easy target until he landed the final blow, Hamed was chastened by the experience. In uncharacteristically reflective mood afterwards, he told the media: I deserve to be criticised for fighting the way I did. But you must admit it was exciting stuff and I actually enjoyed it. But I realise if I go on fighting like this I will get into trouble. I did feel vulnerable for a bit, obviously. I’ve got to admit, when it gets harder I’ve got to keep my head down a bit more. I didn’t feel as confident in the Garden as I thought I could have been. I would have been much happier in Sheffield or London.

Even the awesome could be overawed by the Big Apple.

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Mission Impossible Promoter Frank Warren called Hamed’s victory ‘mission accomplished’, whereas Brendan Ingle described it as ‘a suicide mission’. Boxing writers meanwhile provided alternative interpretations of Hamed’s performance. Some believed his three knock-downs by a boxer past his best proved he would not be able to stand up to younger, faster fighters. Others suggested that Hamed’s quick recovery each time he was downed proved he had a strong chin and the character not to be flustered by setbacks. HBO commentator Larry Merchant enthused: ‘People will be talking about this fight for a long time. Hamed’s zany antics and high-wire act without a net makes him exciting to watch’. Merchant opined that the Hamed/Kelley contest was the ‘Hagler/Hearns26 fight of the featherweight division’. It was named The Ring magazine’s fight of 1997.27 What was not a matter of debate was that the fight was Madison Square Garden’s most lucrative ever. The 11,954 attendance paid $825,000 and the fight accrued millions more from television advertising and payper-view broadcasting.28 As a comparison, a Madison Square Garden promotion earlier the same year involving world light-heavyweight champion Roy Jones—reckoned by many to be the best pound-for-pound29 boxer in the world—had attracted just 4000 spectators. Hamed had brought the featherweight division the attention normally reserved for heavyweights, and with it increased pay-days for those who followed. Boxers in the lighter weight categories had a lot to thank Hamed for. The Fall-Out For the first few years of his career, Hamed was fulsome in his praise for Brendan Ingle. From boyhood, Hamed had spent time in the Ingle household, often eating and sleeping there, and later said: ‘I learnt more from Brendan than I did in my whole school career, and without him I don’t know where I would have been’. In 1995, Ingle told The Times: ‘[Hamed]’s very sensible with his money’. This opinion was to change. As well as offering education, a bed and a meal, Ingle demonstrated unusual commitment to his boxers. For example, he crossed the Atlantic four times in a few days to look after Ryan Rhodes and Hamed in their respective December 1997 world title fights. However, Ingle admitted soon after that his relationship with Hamed had changed, due, in his

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opinion, to the money, praise and celebrity that had come Hamed’s way. Brothers Riath and Nabeel were becoming increasingly influential in Hamed’s affairs to the detriment of his relationships with both Ingle and promoter Frank Warren. In his 1999 book The Paddy and the Prince, Sunday Times journalist Nick Pitt revealed the details of a diary Ingle kept during the build-up to Hamed’s July 1997 world title defence against Juan Cabrera. One passage read: Naz trained 5.30pm, trained with heavy gear on, finished around seven o’clock, went to Swallow Hotel to give him a rub-down, got in a car, Naz drove like mad … police followed and stopped Naz. Naz was obnoxious. It is so sad. Money has become his God. He is kidding everyone. But worst of all he is kidding himself. All he wants to hear is … praise and having yes men around him.

On the day of the weigh-in, Hamed did not return to his hotel until six o’clock in the morning and was later found to be several pounds over the featherweight limit. He needed hot baths and steam room treatment to sweat the excess. Still too heavy by four ounces, he then had to shadow box to make the weight. This was not the first time Hamed had been above the limit at a weigh-in; he once turned up three pounds too heavy. Ingle admonished him with the words: ‘You were boasting about all the crap you’d eaten yesterday. Fish fingers and chips. I’ve said to you time and time again – you’re eating all wrong and you’re sleeping wrong. You’re up far too late playing snooker’. Hamed responded: ‘But Brendan, I’m beating everybody. I’m knocking them all out. You know how good I am’. Hamed believed his lifestyle would not affect his ring performance. Against Cabrera it did not, but such unprofessional preparation would not bring victory forever. Weeks after the Cabrera fight, Ingle told Hamed he no longer wanted to be his trainer. According to Nick Pitt, Ingle said: ‘I’ve got to the stage, with all the hassle I’ve had, I don’t want to be involved. The way you’ve been training, the way you’ve been behaving, you’ve been horrible’. It took the intervention of Hamed’s father to smooth things over, temporarily. Then, at the 1998 WBO annual convention in Los Angeles, the pair argued again. As Pitt explained: ‘Naseem began with an old tease, a wind up: “What did you win, Brendan? Nothing. You never even won an area title”. After several minutes to and fro, Naseem went into wound:

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“You know your trouble, Brendan? You never stood up to anybody in your life. You always let people bully you”’. Others got involved in the spat. Riath Hamed told Ingle that the contract between his brother and Ingle had changed—in favour of the Hameds. A split was inevitable, as Ingle explained to boxing writer Steve Bunce in 2006: [The Hameds] will pay [me] ten per cent of four hundred, even ten per cent of two thousand, but once it gets to forty thousand or four million they start listening to everybody telling them the same story: ‘Why are you paying that much? You do the fighting.’ Well, I will tell you why: I’ve just spent 15 years, seven days each week and about eight hours each day. That’s why.

Their simmering differences did not stop Hamed beating Wilfredo Vázquez in seven rounds in April 1998, dropping him five times. It was Hamed’s tenth defence of the WBO featherweight title; all were knockouts. In October 1998, after Hamed’s unconvincing points win over Wayne McCullough in Atlantic City, he and Ingle parted company. The official statement made the split sound amicable; it was anything but. Hamed said: ‘You cannot dismiss the time we have spent together. We have shared some special times that I will remember forever. We are both agreed that this is for the best. We have had some great times together and our friendship will remain intact’. Ingle had earlier told The Times: ‘The day that Naz and I are no longer together, Naz will be beaten’. That day was not far off. It was clear before this that something was bothering Hamed. The McCullough fight was a television success but a public relations disaster. In the build-up, Hamed unleashed insults at journalists for what they had written or said about him. Former world featherweight champion Barry McGuigan was a particular target. McGuigan had written a newspaper article concerning Hamed’s troubled relationship with Ingle. Hamed responded: ‘My only regret is that [McGuigan’s] not still a fighter because if he was I would have battered him’. Thomas Potter, writing for Boxing News 24, told of the evident icy relationship between Hamed and Ingle during the McCullough fight: ‘Hamed refused to make eye contact with Ingle between rounds. Ingle dished out advice, but Hamed sat stony faced and looked entirely indifferent to that advice. At the start of the

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rest period between rounds 11 and 12 Hamed refused to sit down and seemed to unceremoniously push Ingle away’. Ingle’s son Dominic trained Hamed for this fight and whilst Ingle was in his corner, Hamed rejected his words. Hamed stated later that he believed Ingle wanted him to lose. Asked by Sky Sports whether the pair’s partnership was rocky, Hamed responded: ‘Not at all, because I know what this man [Ingle] is. After 17 years I’ve realised that Brendan is totally and utterly money orientated. I made him a millionaire. It was like a marriage, it was a bond. I feel betrayed, he is a Judas’.30 Dismissive of Ingle’s influence on his career, Hamed continued: ‘The truth of the matter is I have never ever had a proper trainer. If I was to tell any trainer how my career has been as in forms of training, they’d say you’ve trained as an amateur, you haven’t ever trained as a professional’. Ingle shrugged off such contempt, but regretted the way things turned out. He reasoned: ‘Money does strange things to people. If I was 21 and had two to three million, I don’t know what would happen. I said to him: “I can’t understand your attitude. Life’s too short for that and I’ve got a gym full of kids with problems”’. Years later, Ingle placed much of the blame on Riath Hamed, telling www.ringtv.com: ‘He was a snake. He wanted control. It ruined everything’. Soon after the McCullough fight Hamed and his extended family gave a lengthy interview to The Times in which he tempered the harsh words he had used earlier. He said: ‘The one thing I won’t take away from Brendan, and nobody can take away from him, is the actual time that he’s spent with me and the rest of the kids in the gym’. However, Hamed insisted that everything he had achieved was not down to Ingle but to his own God-given ability allied with hard work: From an early age I realised how I wanted to box. From 11 to 24 I’ve basically done my own thing. The only reason that I’ve done it and he hasn’t turned out any other world champion is because, blatantly, I can fight. A trainer cannot go in that ring. When you’re in that ring, it’s the loneliest place in the world. I’ve been training since I was seven. I’ve devoted my life to boxing, nothing else.

Hamed’s talent was undoubted, but his commitment to training and learning swayed from the obsessive to the lackadaisical as his career progressed. In 2017, when speaking to Gary Armstrong, Dominic Ingle paid homage to Hamed’s work ethic as a youngster but asserted that

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he would not have achieved what he did without the Ingle influence. Dominic stated that Hamed’s unique style was born out of a combination of the boxer’s own graft and an ability and willingness to learn from others: ‘Everything that carried him through his career was learned between seven and 14. He was brainwashed in this gym. He would watch world title fights. He even sparred against pros in his teens. He did his 10,000 hours.31 In a fight he watched his opponent’s feet and knew the movement by the stance he took and then took action to avoid or counter’. Reflecting on the break-up, Brendan Ingle told the Observer in 2005: After [Hamed] won the [world] title he wanted me to become a Muslim. He said: ‘You don’t drink or smoke or gamble. You’d make a great Muslim’. I said: ‘Naz, listen, what about you? You don’t pray five times a day. You don’t wash five times a day. You don’t go to the mosque. All you do is get on your mobile. You cause trouble all over Sheffield, all over Britain, and all over Europe. Eff off’.

Over the next few years, Hamed was to publicly make claims as to how he strengthened his Islamic faith, but he was also to experience plenty of trouble. Life Post-Ingle For his next defence against British featherweight champion Paul Ingle (no relation to Brendan) in April 1999, Hamed appointed as his trainer the relatively unknown Oscar Suárez from the Dominican Republic. Suárez recruited Emanuel Steward, trainer of world heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis, to help out. Despite being one of the most influential and experienced promoters in world boxing, Frank Warren was also sacked by the Hameds. In his place came the self-management partnership of brothers Naseem, Riath and Nabeel Hamed. In fact, most of the Hamed family worked in what was now the ‘family business’ of ‘Prince Naseem boxing’. Hamed knocked out Paul Ingle in the 11th. The victory was not as easy as many anticipated. After recovering from two knock-downs, Ingle punched out Hamed’s gum-shield, then drew blood. Watching at home, Brendan Ingle said his namesake would not have lasted three rounds against ‘the Prince of old’, adding: ‘He never used to get hit like that’.

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Further successful defences followed against César Soto (holder of the WBC featherweight title), Vuyani Bungu and Augie Sanchez. Before the Soto fight in Detroit, Hamed argued about the weighing scales. One set, costing £25,000 and brought by the Hameds, showed Soto was 13 ounces over; another had him right on the nine stones limit. The Michigan Boxing Commissioner approved the second reading, at which Hamed let rip, shouting: This don’t happen in any fight I’ve been involved in. He gets on the scales and weighs nearly a pound over the weight and gets away with it because of the supervisor. Our scales are the best. Why do we need two sets? I wanted [Soto] to go through the pain of having to get that weight off.

The anger spilled into the fight, in which both boxers were deducted points for fouls—Hamed two, Soto one—before all three judges awarded Hamed a points win. During the fight, the referee ordered Soto’s cornermen to stop shouting personal abuse at Hamed. Soto’s trainer even entered the ring whilst the fight was underway, which in the rules of the game was a disqualification offence. Hamed’s major indiscretion was throwing Soto headlong over his back—also a disqualification offence. Accusations flew in both directions. Said Soto’s promoter Bob Arum: ‘When you throw a fighter like that you could break his back’. Soto added: ‘Hamed is a paper champion. He’s a dirty fighter, he’s a clown’. Hamed’s new promoter Barry Hearn accused Soto of not wanting to fight: ‘He came to spoil, he came to foul, he came to drag Naseem down to his level’. Hamed’s view was similar: ‘If you’re going to rough me up, I’m going to body-slam you. I’m going to do everything I have to do to tell you that you are not stronger than me’. Hearn believed that victory in a messy brawl proved just how good Hamed was: ‘Hamed can adjust to any type of fighting. You hit him hard, he’ll hit you harder. You want to dance, he’ll dance even faster. You want a rough-house fight, he’ll go down in the kennels with you where dogs belong’. Ingle meanwhile opined that Hamed had gone backwards, reasoning: There’s no comparison with the fighter of two years ago, the fighter that licked Belcastro, the fighter that beat Robinson, the southpaw switch-hitter who’d come at you square on and then from either side. He cannot stand constructive criticism. You could hear Emanuel Steward and Oscar Suárez

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telling him the things he wanted to hear: ‘You’re looking good, you’re going great’. It was one of his worst fights ever.

Regardless of what other people said, Hamed had won the WBO, IBF, WBA and WBC titles in just over four years by beating four highly respected world champions. Enter the Prince For his fight against IBF super-bantamweight champion Vuyani Bungu in March 2000, Hamed made his most ostentatious ring entrance yet, sitting cross-legged on a ‘flying carpet’ (actually supported by wire ropes hung from the rafters), escorted (at ground level) by American rap artist Puff Daddy. There was a comical scene before the first bell as Bungu’s ‘medicine man’ chanted a mantra, to which Hamed responded by reciting an Islamic prayer in Arabic. Bungu scarcely threw a punch in four rounds before being knocked out. Five months later, Hamed’s fight against Augie Sanchez in Connecticut lasted the same distance but presented Hamed with a degree of trouble. A cut mouth and marks under both eyes betrayed the fact that he was in difficulty before knocking Sanchez out with a four-punch combination. The hand speed was still there, but Hamed was getting hit far more than he used to. This was Hamed’s 15th successful defence, a British record. His overall record now stood at 35 wins out of 35. Just four had gone the scheduled distance, but in 2000 Hamed lost his WBO belt when he refused to fight number one contender István Kovács. An April 2001 Las Vegas date with Marco Antonio Barrera was much more inviting. Barrera won the WBO super-bantamweight title in June 2000 and had twice successfully defended it. He had lost just three of his 55 fights. Unusually for Hamed, he seemed relaxed in the build-up, hugging one-time opponent Wayne McCullough at a press conference and shadow boxing with reporters. This was not normal pre-fight behaviour for Hamed. He rarely admitted vulnerability, but now considered the possibility of defeat ‘if it is written’. By that he meant by Allah, who he now placed above even his family: ‘Religion matters to me first and foremost’, said Hamed, ‘before my wife,32 before my kids, before boxing. How can a fight come along and be as important as any of that?’ Asked whether he would win, Hamed simply replied: ‘Look, it’s going to be a right scrap’. Hamed was to earn $6 million, Barrera $1.5 million.

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The Last Hurrah Meanwhile, in a virtual reprise of what Frederico Plummer said about Herol Graham before his first defeat in 1987, Oscar Suárez criticised Hamed’s previous training methods, stating: ‘Naseem used to pretty much train himself. A lot of stuff I brought in he didn’t know what I was talking about’. Explaining the intricacies of some technical improvements he had made to Hamed’s style, Suárez believed his boxer was ‘25% better’ than he had been under Ingle. Such claims were impossible to quantify; Hamed’s ring performance would be the only way to judge their veracity. Hamed again had trouble making the weight, despite a chef being brought from the UK to his Palm Springs training camp to oversee his diet. This was no surprise considering what was later revealed in a documentary—ironically commissioned by Hamed himself—that covered the lead-up to the fight. According to author Nick Parkinson in his 2016 book A Champion’s Last Fight, Hamed ‘was more interested in his haircut, ring entrance, playing pool and being king among a following of ubiquitous yes-men’ than he was in preparing to face Barrera. Hamed was upset that he could not use the presidential suite in the MGM Grand Hotel as it was already booked by another VIP. There were arguments between the two camps over the length of the respective boxers’ ring walks and even over the colour and type of leather of the gloves to be worn. Boxing journalist Steve Bunce wrote that the film showed Emanuel Steward looking grim and Hamed looking terrible, mistakenly believing that natural talent alone would see him through. Years later admitting that he should never have taken the fight because of trouble making the weight, Hamed could not turn down the ‘carrot’ of the purse on offer. Hamed’s ring entrance—this time on a swinging trapeze—was a precursor to 12 rounds of strife. In round two, Barrera wrestled him to the canvas, then opened a cut below his right eye. In the eighth, Hamed grabbed the ropes to avoid going down. Then, in the final round, Barrera clasped Hamed round the neck and forced his head into a corner post. Barrera was so far ahead that being docked a point for this foul made no difference. ‘This was not just a beating, it was a humiliation’, wrote The Times. Bunce called it ‘an unmitigated disaster’. To his credit, Hamed made no excuses and accepted defeat with dignity:

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I feel good coming out [of the fight] safe and knowing that we’re both safe. He clearly won the fight although I did not box my best. I’m nowhere near as sad as I thought I’d be. If it was written by Allah then so be it. Maybe I’ll find out why later, maybe not. I’ve taken it like a champion. Even great fighters get beat, but I will return.

This proved easier said than done. A comeback 13 months later was aborted after one fight, a dull points victory over Manuel Calvo, during which Hamed was booed for his flaccid performance. It was rumoured that Hamed did not want to fight at close quarters because he had recently undergone expensive dentistry work. He had also been forced to lose 40 lbs to make the weight. The Hamed camp had fallen out with the otherwise highly respected Steve Bunce over something he had said and demanded that he be removed from Sky’s broadcasting team. Sky acquiesced, but Bunce sneaked into the post-fight press conference at which Hamed rambled on about a re-match with Barrera and a new deal with HBO. Neither happened. Although he never officially retired, Hamed had had his last fight aged just 28. Critics claimed that the Barrera defeat exposed Hamed’s limitations at the highest level, and that he had bowed out to avoid further embarrassment. Whilst the loss to Barrera was significant, distractions outside the ring played their part, such as the fall-outs with Ingle and Frank Warren and protracted contract renewal negotiations with HBO. Persistent hand injuries were also a contributing factor. Praise Be to God As his career approached its end, Hamed became deeply—and openly— religious. He observed Ramadan and publicly thanked Allah after each victory,33 and in later years would pray five times a day. There was a time in the mid-1990s when he was a regular in Sheffield nightclubs and bars; such practices ceased. He began to recite passages of the Quran after fights. For the Barrera fight, he overlaid the large Adidas logo on the waistband of his shorts with the word ‘Islam’, was welcomed to the ring by a Mullah34 and before the first bell took the MC’s microphone to give praise to Allah. Writing for https://www.boxingnews24.com/, journalist Matthew Potter surmised that part of the reason for Hamed’s withdrawal from the limelight after retirement was the September 11, 2001, attacks on New York’s World Trade Centre, following which

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it became increasingly difficult for high-profile Muslim sportsmen to publicly display their faith. Having always sought attention, Hamed now wanted privacy, retreating more and more into his religion and his family. He was not seen again in public until 2004 when, vastly overweight, he was photographed by Boxing News at the world snooker championships at Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. The Times contacted Hamed’s one-time close colleagues to ask their opinions of a rumoured return to the ring. Ryan Rhodes said the pair used to meet for coffee or a round of golf after Hamed’s split with Ingle, but now they scarcely saw each other. Ingle had not seen Hamed for two years, and then it was an unpleasant experience. Eating out with his wife and friends, Ingle saw Hamed pull up outside the restaurant in his car, wind down the window and shout abuse his way. All Ingle would say further was: ‘Those seven deadly sins. You’ve got to watch the whole lot of them’. Johnny Nelson encountered Hamed in 2001 at a comedy night at Sheffield City Hall. They did not acknowledge each other. Said Nelson of his former friend: ‘Naz hasn’t burnt bridges, he’s blown them up. Money changes people and Naz is now a person I don’t know’. Citing an example of Hamed’s perceived obsession with money, Nelson added: Whenever [Hamed] boxed he would ask us [Nelson and Rhodes] to come with him and we’d have a good crack. He would pay for our flights and accommodation, but it got to the point when he’d talk to us like employees. I started to distance myself from him, and he said: ‘Right, I want all the money back that I’ve given to you’. He started as a mate but ended up acting like a king and treating me like a slave. Naz is a bully and he tries to intimidate people. I’ve seen it work with others, but it didn’t work with me.

When another Ingle-trained boxer Junior Witter won a world championship in 2006, Dominic Ingle contrasted the gym’s other boxers’ attitude towards him with that they showed Hamed: ‘When Junior [brings] his belt in all the others want to get a look at it. All Naz used to say was “come and look at my new car”, and that got boring very quickly’. Witter said the day Hamed left the Ingle gym was a relief: ‘Everybody dreaded him coming in because the mood was set by what mood he was in. He used to belittle people. Me and him fell out a long time before he left. I respected his ability, but as a person I couldn’t stand him’. When interviewed in 2017, Dominic Ingle explained that Hamed left the Ingle

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gym for the last time ‘telling us all there’d never be another world champion after him coming out of the gym’. There were to be three more by 2014. Dave Coldwell, who trained Hamed for his final fight against Calvo, was not so critical, stating: ‘Naz is all right. It’s his brothers who’ve messed up his career’. Crash and Burn Faith did not prevent Hamed’s affairs spiralling out of control. He opened a gymnasium on Sheffield’s Abbeydale Road for his personal use, but his body betrayed the fact that he did not avail himself of its facilities.35 Then, in May 2005, Hamed was driving at high speed out of Sheffield towards the Peak District when his McLaren-Mercedes SLR was involved in a head-on collision with a Volkswagen Golf. The Formula One-style design features of Hamed’s car saved him from serious injury, but the other driver was not so lucky; the collision broke every major bone in his body.36 Despite an impending court case, Hamed spoke of a comeback, telling BBC Radio Sheffield in November 2005: I’ve been boxing since the age of seven and it got to a time where I just thought I could take a break. Now it’s time to do a bit more work and get back into it and hopefully be fighting next year. If everything goes right in training we’re making plans for early to the middle of next year to be fighting again. I’ve really missed boxing … but then again I think boxing has missed me.

Riath Hamed was not keen on predicting a future in boxing for his brother, preferring to leave it to Allah, arguing: ‘We leave our destinies in God’s hands. We live a good life now. I’m glad to be out of the boxing environment. No spiritual individual can exist in it. It’s an environment of cheating and lying. For [boxing] to die a natural death is a blessing’. Whether it was Allah or the British criminal justice system that decreed Hamed would never fight again is a matter of conjecture. In May 2006 he was found guilty of dangerous driving and sentenced to 15 months in HMP Doncaster, where another former Ingle boxer Brian Anderson was prison governor. The custodial sentence resulted in the withdrawal of Hamed’s MBE, awarded in the 1999 New Year’s Honours. After serving 16 weeks in custody, Hamed was released on licence.

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In May 2008 Hamed put his mansion in the affluent Ringinglow district of Sheffield on the market for £4 million,37 closed his Abbeydale Road gym and moved to Wentworth in Surrey, despite his stating in a November 2005 Radio Sheffield interview that he loved Sheffield and would never leave the city. Also in 2005 Riath Hamed told the Observer that the family had moved into the property and agriculture business.38 After this, nothing was heard of Hamed in boxing circles until he reemerged in 2010 as manager of Lincolnshire-based light-heavyweight Callum Johnson. Ali and Elvis Rolled into One Inspired by two boxers in particular—Herol Graham and Muhammad Ali—Hamed was to explain his talents as God-given in a 2014 interview with the boxing website www.boxingnewsonline.net: From the age of 11 onwards I started to be very creative with my own style, very confident. Even though I loved Herol’s elusiveness, and the way Ali danced around, avoided shots and would counter in a certain way, I honestly thought that I had something very, very special and very effective. Timing became the essence in the sport and I realised it from a very early age, timing and balance. I realised that my style was actually better than Herol Graham’s. I could avoid the shots, I could dance, but then I could rip in three, four, five-shot combinations. From the age of 11, 12, I realised, ‘I can do this’ and it felt and seemed really easy to do. I realised from an early age I’d been blessed with a gift from God.

Humility was not one such gift. Before the Kevin Kelley fight, Hamed proclaimed: ‘I’m Muhammad Ali and Elvis Presley all rolled into one’. The first part of the boast at least had a basis: Hamed’s style resembled that of a young Ali more than any other boxer of the modern era. In his early years, like Hamed, Ali fought with hands down, relying on speed, instinct and reflexes. Both beckoned opponents forward and talked to them during a fight. Both jabbed and danced and swayed away from punches. But there were differences. One such was illustrated by Ali’s fights in the mid-1960s against Sonny Liston and Henry Cooper, who both stalked the centre of the ring whilst Ali tiptoed around them. Hamed, in contrast, was always moving forward, pursuing his opponent. Hamed also had many things in common with Ali outside of the ring (a multitude of hangers-on was one) but, as Kelley remarked, Ali combined

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his bragging with wit, whereas Hamed’s boasts were humourless and often crass. If Ali was booed during the pre-fight introduction, he feigned shock and tears, whereas Hamed stood hard-faced. Ali was a showman; Hamed was a show-off. To his credit, in later years, Hamed was reflective and even a touch regretful about this side of his nature. On his 2015 induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, a conciliatory Hamed expressed regret at the way his relationship with Brendan Ingle ended, as he told the Daily Telegraph: I want to see Brendan and say sorry for the nasty things I said about him, because I am so grateful for the things he did for me. The time I had with Brendan was an amazing time. The only thing I really want is to sit with Brendan to apologise to him, if I upset him, and to make up with Brendan. I’ve been asking to go and see him for two or three years and his son keeps saying to me he’s not ready. I went to a boxing show not long ago and he was there. He looked at me like he could see straight through me. I will go [to Ingle’s gym], put my cards on the table and say: ‘Listen, I’m a father of three now, them boxing days have gone by the wayside, I’m just here to say to you, I’d love to make up with you. I want to give you a big hug and apologise for everything I said wrong to you or did. I want you to forgive me.’.

Hamed never got his wish. Meanwhile, he also asked for his car crash victim’s forgiveness, saying: ‘The only thing I regret in the whole of that was me injuring someone in the way that I did. I regret that so much. To put anybody through any kind of pain … that whole jail thing is far, far away now. It’s all about that one individual. I just hope one day he can forgive me’. Time appeared to have mellowed Hamed, something he put down to being a three-time father, which made him, he said, ‘more responsible’. Before his post-retirement catharsis, Hamed was so atypical of Sheffield boxers. Those who preceded him—George Corfield, Gus Platts, Johnny Cuthbert, Henry Hall, Billy Calvert, Brian Anderson, Herol Graham, Johnny Nelson and others—were humble, modest and respectful individuals. In some ways, Hamed, with his high-powered sports cars, entourage, ‘bling’ and trash-talk more typified the brash American boxing scene than blue-collar Sheffield.39 Sheffielders never loved Hamed the way they did other boxers from the city. They were in awe of his power and skill, and most wanted him to win, but his arrogance alienated some. Hamed never had thousands of committed supporters urging him on, as Steve Robinson

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enjoyed against him in Cardiff in 1995, nor was he backed by hordes of Sheffield United or Wednesday FC fans, as Billy Hardy was by Sunderland FC fans when he fought Hamed in Manchester in May 1997. In contrast, Hamed drew followers from all over the country and indeed the globe. Many who watched him were not necessarily supporters but attended his fights expecting entertainment, or maybe to see him get his comeuppance. After the Hardy fight, the Sheffield Star’s Simon Meeks described Hamed’s support: ‘Our party came from Sheffield but the fan club spans continents as well as inter-city boundaries. It’s lowkey, right down to the darkly coloured merchandising’. Hamed’s last fight before his American debut came in October 1997, when a nearcapacity 12,000 crowd at Sheffield Arena saw him beat Jose Badillo. As the fight started, the crowd chanted ‘Sheffield! Sheffield!’ in acknowledgement that it might be Hamed’s last local appearance for some time. Swinging his arm above his head, Hamed joined in, but it was noticeable that the chant was not for him, but for his city. In 2015, the Guardian’s sports editor Sean Ingle wrote: ‘The question is not whether Hamed should be in the [Boxing] Hall of Fame. That is a given. It is whether, despite many dramatic and successful nights, he also underachieved’. Many hold this opinion. In a 2010 interview with the Daily Telegraph, Hamed’s one-time promoter Frank Warren opined: ‘Hamed was the best I’ve worked with. He had everything, real KO power, all the skills, the box office appeal, he was exciting, a showman, but he still didn’t fulfil all his talent’. In 2014, Brendan Ingle told the Independent on Sunday: ‘[Hamed] could have been even greater and certainly more popular if only he’d listened to those who knew what they were doing. He could have been a world champion at every weight from flyweight to middleweight’. The extent of Hamed’s potential remains in question. Despite successfully defending his WBO title 15 times and also lifting the WBA, IBF and WBC versions, Hamed did not impress all observers. His detractors pointed out that he did not fight most of the other top lighter boxers of his era, notably Orlando Canizales, Érik Morales, Johnny Tapia and Manny Pacquiao. When Hamed finally faced such quality in his 36th fight in Marco Antonio Barrera, he lost for the first and only time. Nevertheless, Hamed beat nine boxers who at one time or other were world champions. His fights were rarely dull; he provided spectacular entertainment. According to author, poet and boxing writer G. E. Simons, writing

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for www.boxing.com, Hamed was ‘the King of Sportstainment’. Simons contended: Decades before Re-Tweets, Likes and Timeline updates, the boxer from the steel city of Sheffield had everyone talking on both sides of the Atlantic when the main way to make a name for yourself was talking a good fight and then fighting a good fight. Hamed did both and has been acknowledged by Ring magazine as the 11th greatest British boxer of all-time and also the 46th best puncher in history. In his prime, Naz was one of boxing’s true entertainers, a quicksilver, reflex fighter with dynamite power and one who should surely be judged kindly for the arrogant thrills, hopehe-gets-beat excitement and verbal braggadocio that he brought to the sport during the late 1990s.

Simons summed up Hamed perfectly, describing him as: ‘Spoiled and spectacular. Exciting and egregious. Magnificent and misguided. Ludicrous and legendary’. ∗ ∗ ∗ Because of its success, the Ingle gym became a magnet for boxers from outside Sheffield. The gym’s most celebrated import was Herol Graham, but its most successful ‘incomer’ was a Bradfordian who initially took up boxing just to keep himself out of trouble.

Junior Choice: Junior Witter Born in March 1974, Junior Witter trained at the Police Boys’ Club in Bradford’s Girlington district as a teenager. Winning 80 of 120 amateur fights, Witter became a junior ABA champion and captained the England Schools boxing team. His trainer and mentor was Alec Allan, a man revered in Bradford as Brendan Ingle was in Sheffield.40 Before taking up boxing aged 11, Witter was often in trouble. In 2006, he admitted in an interview with The Times: ‘I can see how [getting in trouble] could have escalated as I got older. Boxing helped control my anger. I can’t remember being in a fight after I was 13. I always walked away’. Boxing provided Witter with an opportunity—in his words—to ‘beat people up without getting into trouble’. It also taught him to respect both himself and others and gave him the discipline to learn a trade as a computer engineer.

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On turning professional aged 22 in 1996, Witter was advised by Allan to join Ingle’s gym. Witter described the two men as being from the same mould: ‘For [both] success isn’t just measured by how many titles you win. Success could be someone going to college rather than being a labourer. For another person, success might be holding down a job as a labourer’. Predictably nicknamed ‘Hitter’ by Ingle, Witter’s January 1997 debut prefaced a run of 17 undefeated fights and a surprise challenge for the IBF light-welterweight title in Glasgow in June 2000 against the unbeaten Zab Judah. Witter had not yet even fought for the British title. ‘It was a shot in the dark’, Witter later explained to the Guardian. ‘I was struggling like mad financially, so when the [title] shot came it meant a really big pay-day. All my savings were gone’. Witter took Judah the distance but was beaten on a unanimous decision. Winning his next six fights, Witter took on Alan Bosworth in March 2002 for the British light-welterweight title. A tipper-truck driver, Bosworth’s employer would not give him time off; he thus worked a full shift before entering the ring. The part-time Bosworth was no match for the full-time Witter, who knocked him out in the third. Now in possession of a championship belt, over the next few years Witter was to continually accuse former British champion Ricky Hatton of avoiding him. Witter was a frequent attendee at Hatton’s big fights, at which he sometimes had to be protected from Hatton’s fans by security personnel. Hatton’s counter accusation was that Witter was ‘stalking’ him and that ‘he is annoying me now’. When in 2002 Witter twice boxed on the undercard of Hatton fights in Manchester, Hatton’s supporters jeered him. Said Witter: ‘I thought when [promoter] Frank [Warren] was putting me on these shows and people would boo me it would lead to something. But it just didn’t work out like that’. He subsequently split from Warren and joined another promoter, Mick Hennessy.41 A Hatton/Witter showdown was on the cards for the summer of 2003 at Manchester City FC’s Maine Road stadium, but Hatton suffered bad cuts in an earlier contest and the bout never came off. Hatton’s dismay at this turn of events appeared genuine when he said: ‘Witter is like a boil on my arse and I want to get rid of him’. Witter’s run of success continued by winning the Commonwealth and European titles, leading Brendan Ingle to claim he was ‘better than Naz [Hamed]’. Ingle boasted that, like Hamed, Witter was an ‘attacking counter-puncher’ who could throw 120 punches in 16 seconds. In contrast, in June 2004, The Times somewhat dismissively called Witter

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‘Britain’s most famous nobody’, adding: ‘Few have seen him box and fewer have seen him box well’. Fortune’s Always Hiding Whichever claim was nearer the truth, Witter was now a triple champion. A laboured defence of his European title against Andreas Kotelnik was blamed on two months’ absence from sparring due to a broken hand. He knew he would have to perform better when he defended all three titles against Colin Lynes in October 2005. Despite a unanimous points win, The Times called Witter’s performance ‘far from fluent’ and ‘not particularly impressive’. Around this time, Witter told the Sheffield Star he was earning good money from boxing but ‘not the million that everybody wants’, adding: ‘At the moment I would say I was comfortable, but I couldn’t retire, put it that way. Money is one of the driving forces, of course, but not the main thing for me’. Witter’s domestic and European successes earned him another world title shot when in September 2006 the WBC matched him with DeMarcus Corley, who had won the WBO version of the title in June 2001 and successfully defended it twice, before losing to Witter’s only conqueror Zab Judah. Corley had also recently taken Floyd Mayweather Junior the distance and had been stopped by another world champion Miguel Cotto. The quality of such opponents was well above any of Witter’s victims. Corley’s trainer Roger Mayweather was candid in his observations of Witter: ‘I ain’t seen shit to lose a second of sleep over. He can’t punch, he’s got no balance, and his chin is up in the air’. The boxing website www.secondsout.com called the fight ‘a chess match with little going on for long periods’. Both boxers were content to jab in the early stages before Witter sent Corley reeling in the fifth. After this, the bout resumed its earlier course of masterly defence. All three judges awarded Witter the fight by comfortable margins. Ingle now had his third world champion and revelled in outmanoeuvring his mouthy American counterpart, saying: ‘I take a kid at six or seven, I work from nothing, that is what I do. So-called great trainers in America do the easy work. They get fighters that people like me have been making for years’. Asked if being a world champion would earn him a fight with Ricky Hatton, Witter replied: ‘I’d love to do it. Ricky knows where I am. All he has to do is ask’. Hatton did not ask. Witter’s first defence against Arturo Morua in January 2007 was a second-fiddle bout to Hatton’s challenge

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for the vacant IBF light-welterweight championship against Juan Uranga in Las Vegas later the same night. Hatton’s fight was on Sky TV’s pay-perview channel, whereas Witter’s was what The Times termed the network’s ‘stay-awake British leg’ of the broadcast. ‘It’s not ideal, but I’m getting paid’, reasoned Witter, who stopped Morua in the ninth. Hatton later beat Uranga on points. Asked again if the pair’s wins brought a meeting between them nearer, Witter replied: ‘It’s as far away as [Hatton] wants it to be’. Apparently resigned to it never coming off, Witter then added: ‘I’m not fussed about opponents. No one in the world worries me’. Vivian Harris in September 2007 was the next to see if he could worry Witter. A former WBA light-welterweight champion, Harris had lost twice in his 31-fight career. When the fight began, both boxers spent more time eyeing up the other than throwing punches. In the seventh, Harris was caught by a left hook, sending him down. He could not beat the count. Bizarrely, Harris put Witter’s win down to a mysterious injection he said was administered just before the fight, claiming: It was all shady. The day before the fight [Witter] was losing weight to make the weight. Then on the night of the fight he’s bigger and stronger than me. I don’t know if they injected him with stuff. He’s never beaten anyone of my calibre, so for him to hit me with shots like that and hurt me, something was wrong. They did what they had to to make him win by injecting him with whatever they had to.

Laughing off the accusations, Witter responded: ‘It is a pity he has to try and make excuses for himself, as if there is someone else to blame. He [also] made excuses the last time he was knocked out’. Witter’s second defence was in May 2008 at the Nottingham Arena against the unbeaten Timothy Bradley. The challenger downed Witter in the sixth, which ultimately decided the contest, such was the closeness of the judges’ scorecards. One gave Witter the verdict by three rounds, and the others awarded it to Bradley by two rounds and one round. Bradley believed Witter had made the mistake of looking past him towards Hatton, saying: ‘If you have your mind set on something else you’re not really ready for the big show that’s ahead’. Witter returned six months later by knocking out Vincent Hugo Castro. Talking big after his victory, Witter vowed to regain the lightwelterweight world title. He was given an opportunity against the unbeaten Devon Alexander. In what was his 40th fight Witter was

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stopped for the first time in his career, partly due, he claimed, to pain from both a broken hand and a damaged elbow, forcing him to retire at the end of round eight. At 35 years old, there seemed little prospect of Witter reaching world level again. Instead, he moved up a weight. Witter resumed his career in February 2011 as a welterweight but lost to Victor Lupo Puiu in Ontario. He was, in Ingle’s words, ‘rubbish’. Witter considered retirement but, offered a place in the annual Sky TV Prizefighter tournament,42 opted to continue. After beating Nathan Graham and Kevin McIntyre, he faced Yassine El Maachi in the threeround final. With so little time to display their boxing skills, both fighters swung constantly, mostly missing their target. One judge scored it even, but the other two gave it El Maachi by a point, and with it the £32,000 first prize. The Dying of the Light After a September 2011 points win over Arvydas Trizno, the BBBC made Witter the mandatory challenger for Colin Lynes’ British welterweight title. The fight took place in May 2012, seven years after the pair first met. Now aged 38, Witter recalled his best days with a unanimous points win to take his second British title. He defended it later in the year against the unbeaten Frankie Gavin, who dominated the second half of the contest to win by a wide points margin. A year later, Witter returned for his 50th professional contest in Stuttgart against Timo Schwarzkopf43 but suffered his second consecutive defeat on a majority decision. Refusing to retire, in March 2014, Witter beat journeyman Max Maxwell on points and then two months later stopped Arvydas Trizno in their second meeting. Witter spoke of winning more titles despite being in his 40s. ‘[Boxing is] what I have done for 28 years’, he said. ‘I don’t feel 40, I am fit, I am strong, in the gym with all the young guys. They keep me on my toes’. In April 2015, he was given a chance to win the European Union welterweight title against Ahmed El Mousaoui. However, the fight left Witter frustrated: two of the judges awarded the contest to El Mousaoui by big margins, whilst the third gave it to Witter by three rounds. It was Witter’s last fight. ∗ ∗ ∗

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In January 2016, the BBBC ranked 42-year-old Witter sixth amongst active British welterweights, though he hadn’t fought for a year. The number one on the list was a Sheffielder from the wrong side of the tracks tamed and given direction by the Ingle gym.

Special K: Kell Brook One Sheffield boxer was stabbed, convicted of assault, exonerated, won a world title, was stabbed again, lost his world title and had both eye sockets shattered. This was Ezekiel Brinsley Reid Brook—better known as Kell—born in May 1986. Attending Herries School44 in the Shirecliffe district of Sheffield, Brook took up boxing aged nine when taken to the Ingle gym by his stepfather, who recalled how the hyperactive youngster ‘would get all worked up watching Bruce Lee45 films and bounce off the walls’. Brook was later to claim that boxing ‘saved my life’, as he told the Sheffield Star in 2014: I was one of those naughty kids growing up in a naughty neighbourhood and, looking back on the kids I grew up with at school, a lot of them are still involved with that bad life. Some of them are in prison, and a couple are dead. But going to the gym, learning discipline and listening to people gave me the edge at age ten or 11, because I knew I didn’t want to get involved in the bad life like others around me.

His former teacher Paul Howard described the schoolboy Brook as ‘a typical lad from Shirecliffe – a jack-the-lad type, really – who had a big talent’. The talent was natural and revealed itself at a young age. First visiting the Ingle gym aged seven, Brook recalled seeing ‘all these big lads hitting bags, and I wanted to get my gloves on and have a go’. Brendan Ingle instead asked him to walk the lines on the gym floor to learn body discipline. The task did not appeal; Brook—in his words—‘gave up’. Two years later, he returned, saying: ‘I did everything they asked of me, stuck at it and I’ve never looked back since’. At the time—the mid-1990s— the gym was home to the world-renowned fighters Naseem Hamed and Johnny Nelson. The star-struck Brook had to go through the customary Ingle-gym initiation of standing in front of everybody and speaking for a minute about himself. Ingle reminded Brook of this moment throughout his career, designed as it was to take him out of his ‘comfort zone’ and prepare him for the challenges that lay ahead.

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Flippin’ Heck When Brook was a toddler, his biological father separated from his mother Julie. Her new partner Terry then became a big part of Brook’s life. Terry recalled that when Brook was seven he asked him if he could call him ‘dad’. His new ‘dad’ encouraged Brook’s natural athleticism and competitiveness but frowned on such assets being used for the wrong purpose, explaining: ‘[Brook] didn’t get in fights as a child. Because he was bigger and stronger than other kids, I made it clear to him that I hated bullies’. Brook’s unusual strength amazed Terry, who added: ‘He was physically three times stronger than any other child. He had muscles. He had a man’s body. He looked like a bodybuilder and it was all natural. He could punch like a 19-year-old man when he was seven or eight. He was rock solid’. Brook’s natural father Michael Reid explained that he gave his son the name Ezekiel as his biblical namesake was ‘a prophet … meant to lead the people’. Reid was also in awe of his son’s physical attributes, saying: ‘I used to get up in the morning and do some press-ups. Kell was about 12 or 14 months old, and he started doing press-ups, copying me. He was doing them perfectly, on his hands and toes, nothing else touching the floor’. Former Ingle boxer Amer Khan recalled the day Brook entered the gym: ‘Brendan got everyone doing a roll in the ring. A chubby Kell, with his bushy hair, walked on his hands then did a series of flips, finishing off with a back flip!’ Brook picked up the skills required to become an accomplished boxer by watching Naseem Hamed, in the same manner that a young Hamed had himself studied the other boxers in the Ingle gym. The ability to learn by imitation was thus passed down through the gym’s generations. Allying boxing prowess with his powerful physique, Brook from the age of 12 became a successful junior, winning 31 of 36 contests, including two ABA titles and two National Association of Boys’ Clubs titles. In 2003 he represented England, before turning professional the following year aged 18. Like Hamed, Brook would vault over the top rope into the ring, switch from southpaw to orthodox and rely on quick reflexes to avoid trouble. In this regard, Brook typified the Ingle-trained boxer he was rather than being a Hamed replica. Trainer John Ingle described the young Brook’s style as ‘elusive [and] mature beyond his years’. Ingle also predicted that Brook would win a British title by the age of 21; he was actually one month past his 22nd birthday when he did so.

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Looking Daggers In September 2004, Brook made a winning professional debut as a lightwelterweight, beating Peter Buckley, a veteran of some 230 professional contests, of which he had lost 189.46 Brook racked up 13 consecutive wins in his first two years; his victims boasted a combined record of 139 wins and 821 defeats. Despite the questionable quality of some of his opponents, Brook was learning the hard way. Occasionally when fighting at small venues, the promoter would pay him less than half of the £400 or so that had been agreed, blaming the shortfall on poor attendances. A dozen years later, Brook was to earn £3 million for a fight. In the midst of this winning sequence, Brook left the Ingles to join a nearby gym run by Dave Coldwell. Nevertheless, Brook had only good words for the Ingles, saying: ‘Brendan, John and Dominic have helped me get this far and have nurtured me from the age of nine through the amateurs and as a novice professional. They will have my gratitude always and we will remain friends’. Moving up to welterweight in 2007, Brook was at last given a stern test in his 14th fight by Poland’s Karl David. In the first round Brook had a new experience; caught by a right hook, he stumbled and his glove touched the canvas. He took a mandatory eight count. After this, Brook took over; the referee stopped the contest in the third. Brook’s career now suffered its first major setback. Leaving the Cactus Club47 in the Burngreave district of Sheffield in the early hours, Brook was attacked, sustaining knife wounds to his side and buttocks. Trainer Coldwell explained: ‘A car pulled up and couple of kids got out. Kell saw a shiny thing and tried to run away but, as he turned, they got him’. The wounds were not life threatening; a month later Brook resumed training sporting a scar on his torso. Coldwell meanwhile read Brook the riot act, saying: ‘Kell knows he doesn’t want to be anywhere again where he’ll end up in trouble. I have told him he can do all the partying he wants when he [has] finished boxing’.48 A few years later, Brook was to place himself in such a situation again. Back in action in October 2007, Brook recorded an easy points win over Aleksei Stoda. Brook now faced Barrie Jones for the vacant British welterweight championship. Dominating from the first bell, Brook stopped Jones in round seven. The new British champion subsequently signed a two-year contract with promoter Frank Warren, which resulted in the termination of his arrangement with Coldwell, who was contracted

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to rival promoters Hayemaker Promotions. Brook thus returned to the Ingle gym. Dogged and Tagged Brook’s first title defence was against Kevin McIntyre, a Paisley postman, downing him three times in the first round. His next three defences, against Stuart Elwell, Michael Lomax and Michael Jennings, lasted a total of ten rounds. At the end of 2009, now the owner of a Lonsdale Belt, Brook was named ‘Young Boxer of the Year’ by the Boxing Writers’ Club. Whilst punching for glory, a court was told that Brook also punched for pride. Barnsley Magistrates Court heard that Ryan Casey, the manager of a nightclub in the town, claimed he had been assaulted by Brook and a friend when he intervened to prevent them entering the club’s ladies’ toilets. According to Casey, when the club’s bouncers came to his aid, Brook and his friend assaulted them before leaving through a fire escape. Phillip Moy, defending Brook, said he believed his client to be naïve but not someone prone to violence, adding that because of his profession he did not usually go out drinking. Found guilty of the offence despite claiming he was misidentified, Brook was spared community service thanks to a letter to the court from Frank Warren, who stated that such a sentence would interfere with his boxing training. Brook instead was ordered to wear an electronic ankle tag and observe a 56day curfew. He also had to pay £600 costs and £150 compensation to his alleged victims. An appeal saw the conviction overturned when Casey failed to turn up at Sheffield Crown Court. His Honour Judge Robert Moore stated: ‘There were issues relating to identification that if represented at the lower court may have had a proper airing and the magistrates directed in relation. This is a young man of good character who has status in a sport. It doesn’t seem to us that it is in the public interest that, having come today for the hearing, that it is adjourned’. His legal costs and victim compensation refunded, Brook declared: ‘Justice has finally been done’. Fight Time With little in Britain to challenge him, Brook’s next two opponents came from Africa. In late 2010, he beat Philip Kotey of Ghana, downing him in the first and stopping him in the second for his 23rd consecutive win and

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16th inside the distance. Six months later, Brook faced his toughest fight yet, against the veteran South African Lovemore N’dou, who had twice challenged the USA’s Paulie Malignaggi for the IBF light-welterweight championship and had never been stopped in his 61 contests. Brook won a unanimous points verdict. It was the first time he had gone beyond eight rounds; his leap of delight at the final bell showed he knew he had achieved a result that would bring him to the attention of the world’s best welterweights. In the meantime, Brook signed a contract with Eddie Hearn’s49 Matchroom promotions, which in turn agreed a deal for Sky Sports to cover Brook’s fights. The first opponent under this arrangement was the Pole Rafał Jackiewicz, a veteran of 48 fights; Brook became the first man to beat Jackiewicz inside the distance. Brook was now to fight in the USA for the first time, against Luis Galarza in Atlantic City on the undercard of super-middleweight Carl Froch’s world title fight against Andre Ward. Aware of Brook’s potential, Hearn declared: ‘Every time I’m in America I’m bombarded with questions about Kell. [He] has that crossover appeal, superstar potential that will in time make him a global star’. The Galarza fight was shown live across the USA on the Showtime network50 and Brook did not waste the opportunity to exhibit his skills to his new audience. When Brook unleashed a barrage of punches in round five, the referee stopped the fight. Brook’s first opponent of 2012 was Ricky Hatton’s brother Matthew. After filling Hillsborough Leisure Centre and Ponds Forge,51 Eddie Hearn became more ambitious, hiring Sheffield Motorpoint Arena for the fight that would decide the WBA Inter-Continental and IBF International welterweight titles.52 Hatton was soundly beaten over 12 rounds. The Tomato Can Champ? With 27 wins out of 27, Brook’s position as Britain’s top welterweight was challenged by just one man, Bolton’s Olympic silver medallist Amir Khan. Eddie Hearn believed a bout between the pair would draw a crowd of 50,000. Excited by the prospect, Brook was to say: ‘Of course I want Khan … if that fight happens, I’ll smash him. I want to be fighting at that top table now with elite fighters’. Brook’s next opponent in July 2012 was certainly from the top table. Carson Jones was rated third by the IBF, two places higher than Brook. The build-up was heated. During the weigh-in at Sheffield’s city centre

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Winter Garden, the pair exchanged insults and squared up, after which Brook told the press: ‘I have never had this needle before a fight but it has fired me up’. Referring to Brook’s unbeaten record, Jones responded: ‘Boy you have fought 27 tomato cans53 and you think you’ve done something, wake up son’. On the day of the contest, Brook’s pre-fight routine included a chat with Sheffield-born Hollywood actor—and fellow Sheffield United FC supporter—Sean Bean at the Aston Hall Hotel on the eastern edge of Sheffield, before travelling the short distance to the Motorpoint Arena by helicopter. Whilst at the hotel Brook explained to Gary Armstrong that his evening comprised three things: getting changed into gear that would make him look good, flying to a venue in a helicopter and then—in his words—‘beating up some bloke’. Apart from the mode of transport, Brook’s Saturday night was thus in line with what generations of young Sheffield men had attempted or indeed accomplished since time immemorial. The one factor missing was pints of alcohol between the first and last task. Bean carried Brook’s IBF international belt into the ring before what became the toughest fight of Brook’s career. He controlled the early rounds before Jones gained the upper hand, breaking Brook’s nose in the eighth. Brook looked exhausted in the final round. Two judges scored it narrowly in Brook’s favour, whilst the third scored it a draw. Brook had maintained his unbeaten record, but only just. Chewing the Fat Having faded in the later stages, Brook realised he needed to improve his nutrition and sports-science preparation. Dominic Ingle thus enlisted the assistance of Alan Ruddock, exercise physiologist at Sheffield Hallam University. Ruddock and Ingle put together a team of experts in strength and conditioning, physiology, nutrition and psychology. Ruddock explained to the website www.boxingscience.co.uk: We observed Brook’s sparring and collected heart rate and [lactic acid] data. We had extensive discussions with Ingle about the demands of the sport. We could then perform tests that would isolate specific components of the way [Brook’s] body uses energy to analyse and evaluate his strengths and weaknesses. For strength and conditioning we focused on movement patterns and mobility before building strength endurance and later

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strength. In physiology we focused on developing Brook’s aerobic capacity using a range of high-intensity interval training sessions. In addition to adjusting Brook’s diet to meet the demands of training and recovery we also helped him build psychological skills like relaxation [and] mental imagery, where you imagine the event and picture the perfect performance.

Admitting he had ‘made a mess’ of his preparation for the Jones fight, Brook enjoyed his new diet, saying: ‘I have eaten things I’ve never had before and have loved the new things I have tried. I am actually eating more than I was before yet I am losing weight’. The new regime would be tested against Hector Saldivia, who had won 41 of his 43 fights but had rarely fought outside his native Argentina. The winner of the contest was to take on the winner of the Randall Bailey v Devon Alexander IBF welterweight title fight taking place the same night in New York. A big Motorpoint Arena crowd saw Brook floor Saldivia in round one and dispatch him with a powerful jab in the third. One disadvantage of such a quick win was that it did not test the efficacy of Brook’s modified dietary regime. Across the Atlantic, Alexander beat Bailey; Brook was now Alexander’s mandatory challenger. The fight never took place. A January 2013 date was cancelled when Brook injured his ankle. When a new date was arranged, Alexander pulled out with a bicep injury. The fight was re-scheduled for May. It was then Brook’s turn to withdraw. Feeling pain in his right foot, a scan revealed two stress fractures. After regaining fitness, Brook needed a credible opponent to elevate him back to world-class status. There was one boxer who would fight Brook readily: Carson Jones, who Brook had narrowly beaten a year earlier. Previewing the re-match, the website www.thebox ingtribune.com accused Brook of having ‘lapses in head movement’ and lacking ‘quality in-fighting skills’, before concluding: ‘This looks to be the night Carson Jones finally gets over the hump and beats a quality, prime opponent’. Brook forced Jones to touch down with his knee in the second round but had his own nose bloodied in the fourth. He then had Jones in trouble in the eighth, forcing him to take a standing count. Moments later, the referee stepped in to stop the fight. Brook’s record now stood at a perfect 30 out of 30, with 20 wins inside the distance.

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Winning and Waiting Three months later at the Motorpoint Arena, Brook was to meet a former world champion for the first time. This was Vyacheslav Senchenko, who won the WBA version in 2009 and defended it three times before losing in 2012 to Paulie Malignaggi, the only defeat of his career. Brook had lost the position of the IBF’s number one challenger but a victory would put him in line to fight the winner of Devon Alexander’s defence against Shawn Porter. Brook produced a stunning performance to beat Senchenko in four rounds. When Alexander and Porter met in New York, the undefeated Porter took Alexander’s title and would now have to defend it against Brook. But events in boxing often take an unexpected turn. When Porter requested that he instead defend against Malignaggi, the IBF agreed. ‘We asked that if the exemption be granted then it should be accompanied by certain requirements’, said Eddie Hearn, ‘the most important of those being that both fighters must agree in writing to face Kell within 90 days of the bout’. With this stipulation in place, Brook knew that although he would have to wait—again—by the summer of 2014 he would finally get a world title chance, but only if he kept winning. In the meantime, he fought Álvaro Robles in March, stopping him in round eight. Admitting to finding it difficult to raise himself for such contests, Brook said: ‘It’s hard to get up at 5.00am and 6.00am each morning to train. I’m only after those elite fighters now’. When the two Americans met in Washington DC, Porter knocked Malignaggi out. Porter would now test his 24-fight unbeaten record and world title against Brook. The Holding Champion The contest was to be held in the open air at an 8000-capacity converted tennis court in the city of Carson, California. Promoted by former multiple world champion Oscar De La Hoya54 and broadcast nationwide by the Showtime network, Brook was to earn the biggest purse of his career—$200,000. On arrival, Brook hired what he called ‘Porter clones’ to spar with. Meanwhile, Porter called Brook ‘the little guy’ who he was going to overpower and wear out, saying: ‘They call him “Special K” but I can’t figure out what’s so special about him’. Renowned for his relentless attacks, Porter rushed forward from the first bell but Brook kept him at range. When the boxers closed, Brook

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frequently held Porter but was rarely admonished by the referee. Both suffered early cuts after head clashes. At halfway, Porter was slightly ahead but thereafter Brook took control. The two American judges awarded the fight to Brook, 117-111 and 116-112; the British judge scored it a 114114 draw. Brook had inflicted the first defeat of Porter’s career and had become the Ingle gym’s fourth world champion. It was the first time since 1986—when Lloyd Honeyghan shocked the previously unbeaten Don Curry—that a British boxer had won a world welterweight title in the USA. Porter had thrown more punches (626 to 441), but Brook landed more (158 to 154). Brook’s connection rate was what swung the fight. Porter accepted the verdict, saying: ‘I thought that I was effective with my attack, but he was ready. I’m not giving any excuses’. His father Kenny— who was also his trainer—was not so philosophical, believing Brook should have been penalised for persistent holding. Asked by reporters if he underestimated Brook, Porter senior replied: ‘I actually underestimated his skill level of being able to hold’. Brook could now reflect on his preparation, which consigned stamina problems to the past. The first half of his 16-week training schedule was spent in the Canary Islands, the last three weeks in Las Vegas in temperatures rising to 38°C. According to Brook’s sports scientist Alan Ruddock, there were physiological and psychological advantages of training in such conditions, including benefits to skin blood flow, metabolic rate, the cardiovascular system, fluid balance and thermal comfort. Brook’s preparation also placed great emphasis on recovery and rest. Psychological training incorporated what Ruddock called ‘cue words’, repeated to improve mental focus. But as Ruddock pointed out, none of the above would have brought success without the dedication and hard work of Brook himself (Fig. 3.1). A Slice of Fortune Soon after the best moment of his boxing career, Brook was to experience the worst moment of his life. Holidaying in Tenerife with his family, he was slashed three times in his left thigh by a man wielding a machete. The injuries caused severe blood loss, necessitating emergency surgery and the insertion of 32 staples to bind the incisions. Brook later told Sky Sports that he and his partner Lindsey had been to a party, after which Lindsey went back to their apartment whilst Brook accompanied a man and a

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Fig. 3.1 Brook—wearing a Sheffield United FC shirt—shows off his world championship belt at Bramall Lane in September 2014 (This image used with permission of [Matthew Bell])

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woman he had just met to continue festivities. Brook then described how events unfolded: We were getting on fine and he was going on about street fighting and boxing, saying they were two different things. He said in street fighting, you can pick weapons up like knives. I just came back and said: ‘Anyone that picks up a knife, in my eyes, is a coward’. He paused for four or five seconds and before I knew it he was standing over me with a knife and, with no warning, he came and swiped me in the leg. Blood was just all over. I thought I was going to die.

Brook blacked out; the next thing he remembered was hearing the stuttering English of Spanish doctors. He heard the word ‘critical’ and the suggestion he might never walk again. His parents and manager Eddie Hearn flew to his bedside. Dominic Ingle revealed more about the extent of the injuries, stating that the wound, though deep, had not caused any ligament or tendon damage. Blaming Brook’s predicament on being too trustful, Ingle said: ‘Kell is very sociable, a great lad, but maybe, considering other things that have happened before, a bit naïve in who he is with’. Brook later said he knew the first name of his attacker and that he was from Nottingham. The Spanish authorities issued an international arrest warrant as the man had fled the country. The assailant was still at large six years later. By March 2015, Brook was fit to fight again. Asked whether there would be any psychological scarring, he replied: ‘Something as bad as that is going to do something to you but I am a thick-skinned kid. I just get on with things and look forward to the next fight’. The next fight was a first defence of his world title against Romania-born Jo Jo Dan,55 the IBF’s number one challenger who had recently gained Canadian citizenship. The Motorpoint Arena event proved to be a no-contest; Brook knocked Dan down twice in the second round and twice more in the fourth. The challenger did not come out for the fifth. Fighting Boredom Brook’s next defence was two months later in an all-British affair against Frankie Gavin, the British and Commonwealth welterweight champion. The difference in class was obvious as Brook won in the sixth. Not entirely satisfied with a victory that hardly tested him, Brook confessed: ‘My

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adrenaline wasn’t running. I wasn’t excited by this. I want bigger fights’. However, his next opponent did not fit this description: the IBF’s mandatory challenger, Kevin Bizier. After Brook easily beat Bizier in round two, Eddie Hearn cuttingly remarked: ‘We [now] have 12 months where we won’t have to fight a poxy mandatory’. Before the Bizier fight, Brook reflected on where boxing had taken him, telling the Guardian: Lindsey, me and our two girls live in the best area of Sheffield. Our oldest daughter is so far ahead of where Lindsey and I were as kids. We want the best for the girls. The best areas, the best schools. When I come back from the gym I can’t believe I’m driving up those roads to my house. As a kid, mum and dad would take me to the Toby Carvery for a treat and we’d drive past these big houses with high walls and cameras. I always said I want to live there one day. I do now – but I deserve it. I suffer in the gym every day.

No Khan Do Brook’s suffering was not helped by a long-running feud with Amir Khan. One of the earliest public examples of this occurred in December 2010 when promoter Frank Warren suggested Brook as a future opponent for Khan, who used Twitter to claim he would do to Brook ‘what I use [sic] to do to him in sparring’. Brook laughed off such claims, arguing: When we sparred together as amateurs they had to separate us because I was giving him a serious hiding. We were young, in a training camp, and he was heading to the Olympics. The national team didn’t want me because they don’t like our [Ingle] style. It was all politics.56

In March 2014, news media reported that Eddie Hearn had offered Khan £5 million to fight Brook but Khan rejected it because even if he won it would not earn him a money-spinning fight with the unbeaten Floyd Mayweather Junior. When it was announced that Brook was to challenge Shawn Porter for the world title, Khan’s response raised the prospect of Brook v Khan actually coming off, when he said: ‘If [Brook] wins then it’s worth me and him getting inside the ring at some point within a year’. However, when Brook won he told Khan to ‘get in the queue’— Brook was now a world champion, Khan was not, having lost his titles to

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Lamont Peterson. Sheffield promoter Dennis Hobson entered the argument. Interviewed by the Sheffield Star in February 2015, he opined: ‘Khan’s exploring the elite league and Kell’s not quite there yet. Khan has too much experience at the moment for Kell. Now he’s won a world title, Kell needs to establish himself with two or three big names’. Brook’s manager Eddie Hearn disagreed, saying: ‘[Khan] is worried about the split [of the purse]. Let’s do 70:30 to the winner or let’s do the winner takes all, that’s how confident I am [of Brook winning]’. Hearn proposed a June 2015 date for Brook and Khan to meet at Wembley Stadium for a £5 million purse. Initially, Khan appeared receptive but later stated he could not take up the offer because the date suggested fell within the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, when he would be fasting. Brook meanwhile tweeted a picture of a mock-up book titled 101 Excuses for Avoiding Kell Brook, by Amir Khan. What Figures? Brook now put himself forward as a prospective Mayweather opponent, but Mayweather wanted neither him nor Khan and announced that his 49th and final fight would be against former WBC welterweight champion Andre Berto. Some in the boxing press concluded that Khan would now have to fight Brook. Khan put an end to such speculation by saying: ‘I am not fighting Kell Brook and that’s the end of it. Eddie Hearn and Kell has [sic] been very disrespectful, trying to fool the public, using my name to keep his fighter relevant in the media’. However, in September 2015, Khan changed his mind, telling the Bolton News: ‘Kell Brook is a fight I would love to take’. Confident that Brook v Khan would come off in the summer of 2016, Eddie Hearn booked Wembley Stadium for early June, a few days before the start of Ramadan. This was the cue for Khan to rant via Twitter: Brook fight could still happen this year but Brook wants 50:50 split with me. Wake up son and smell the coffee! Be realistic and make it happen, even Eddie [Hearn] told you your [sic] not worth that!

Hearn responded by claiming that Khan had demanded an 80:20 split of the purse and a guaranteed minimum of £10 million. Hearn instead offered Khan 60:40. However, in February 2016 Khan announced he was to move up two weights to take on the great Saúl ‘Canelo’ Álvarez,

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the WBC middleweight champion. For five rounds in Las Vegas, Khan’s footwork and hand speed kept him out of harm’s way, but in the sixth Canelo connected properly for the first time and knocked Khan out. After the fight, Brook tweeted to Khan: ‘I’m here – all British showdown’. Khan did not respond. Weights and Measures Later in the year, Brook also moved up two weight divisions to fight the Kazakhstani multiple world middleweight champion Gennady ‘Triple G’ Golovkin. With 32 knockouts in his 35 contests, the unbeaten Golovkin was widely regarded as the world’s best pound-for-pound boxer. He hailed from the grim coal-mining region of Karaganda, where residents had two options to escape going down the pit—sport or the military. In fact, these two activities were inseparable during the Soviet era, but the December 1991 dissolution of the Soviet Union delivered the right of an individual to earn a living through sport. Twin brother Max was said to be a better boxer, but Gennady was chosen to represent Kazakhstan in the 2004 Olympics because he was 15 minutes older. He won a silver medal, beaten in the middleweight final by Russia’s Gaydarbek Gaydarbekov. Turning professional in 2006, Golovkin won the WBA middleweight title in 2010 and the WBC and IBF versions in 2015. Spending weeks at the Ingles’ Canary Islands training camp, Brook added an extra stone in weight. Claiming that middleweight was his natural division, he believed he would increase his punching power without losing speed of hand and foot. Golovkin’s trainer Abel Sanchez57 mockingly called Brook’s regime ‘a ten-week scientific experiment’ that was doomed to fail. Few boxing pundits gave Brook a chance against such a formidable opponent. Golovkin’s WBC and IBF titles were the only ones on offer; fearing a mismatch, the WBA refused to sanction the contest, which was watched by a worldwide television audience and a near-20,000 crowd at London’s O2 Arena 58 that included Premier League footballers Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Andy Carroll and Troy Deeney, the singer Lily Allen, some of the cast of the television fantasy series Game of Thrones,59 Hollywood actor Mark Wahlberg, a rare public appearance by Naseem Hamed and the largest ever travelling contingent of Sheffield boxing fans. Boxing more like a street-fighter than a classic Ingle defensive exponent, Brook hit Golovkin harder and more often than any of the champion’s previous opponents, but he was eventually overpowered.

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Suffering from blurred vision due to a broken eye socket, Brook was saved further damage when Dominic Ingle threw in the towel in the fifth. Brook complained, but later accepted that Ingle was right. At the conclusion, one judge had Brook in front, and the others had it level. Brook’s first career defeat had come against an all-time great at two divisions higher than he had ever fought before. After surgery to repair the damaged orbital, Brook announced he was to remain at welterweight as he did not wish to give up his world title. Bravery in defeat earned Brook a fortune and a new US audience; the fight was watched live on HBO by 843,000 and the replay by 593,000. Mexican broadcaster TV Azteca attracted another 1.5 million viewers. In Britain, the Sky Box Office pay-per-view figure was reported to be 500,000.60 Such numbers paid Brook some £3 million. Take It Outside Brook defended his welterweight title against the unbeaten Errol Spence Junior outdoors at Sheffield United FC’s Bramall Lane Stadium in May 2017. Broadcast live on Sky Box Office and in the USA on the Showtime network, the event, which also featured the WBA super-middleweight victory by George Groves over Fedor Chudinov, attracted Sheffield’s biggest ever boxing audience to a stadium that a few weeks earlier had witnessed another full house when Sheffield United won promotion. Brook, who entered the ring wearing shorts designed in United’s red and white stripes, was reported to be earning £3 million, Spence a third of that amount. The first half of the fight was even but Brook returned to his corner at the end of the seventh with a swollen left eye, which proved to be an almost identical injury—a fractured orbital—to that he sustained to his right eye against Golovkin. Downed in the tenth, Brook voluntarily went down on one knee in the 11th, complaining he had double vision. The referee called it off, leaving Brook without a title and with his future in the sport in doubt. The Sheffield Star reported that Brook was considering ‘significant changes’. Asked whether these would involve moving up in weight or even leaving the Ingles, Brook answered cryptically: ‘I’ll come back clear-minded about everything and do what I think is right. I will be thinking about a lot of things’. Amir Khan chose this moment to return to the spotlight, stating that he would fight Brook at any time. As usual, there was a proviso: the fight

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could only go ahead if Brook left Eddie Hearn, whom Khan again called ‘very disrespectful’. Later in 2017 Khan signed up for the ITV reality television series I’m a Celebrity—Get Me Out of Here! in which 12 celebrities lived in jungle conditions in Australia with few creature comforts. The programme had a reputation for hiring people whose fame was diminishing and were seeking a final pay-day. Brook scoffed: ‘He’s travelled to the other end of the world to get away from me. He’s always finding an excuse’. On returning from the jungle, Khan made a surprise move by signing a three-fight deal with Hearn’s Matchroom Boxing. So soon after his ‘very disrespectful’ comment and two years after accusing Hearn of ‘trying to fool the public’ in using Khan’s name to further Brook’s career, Khan was now joining Hearn to further his own career. Even more intriguingly, Brook and Khan were now working under the same promoter. Meanwhile, Brook admitted in an interview in the Guardian that his recuperation period had made him seriously consider retirement: I didn’t want to go on. I hit rock bottom around Christmas. I remember sitting on my own, thinking: ‘What have I done to myself? What have I done to the people that love me? I’ve let people down who really love me.’ It was very bad. Things weren’t great at home. I was a lost soul – the lowest I’ve ever been. For six months I can’t remember getting up. I noticed after Spence the phone wasn’t ringing. All the hangers-on had vanished. When you win everything is great but when you’re losing nobody wants to know you – except for the people that really love you. I was going out, drinking a lot. When I was drinking I was thinking I was having a good time but it came back twice as bad, the depression. It was just a vicious circle – drinking, not caring about myself – and it gave me a bad low.

It took visits to a counsellor to turn things round, as Brook explained: ‘It really did help, talking to somebody that didn’t know me and just pouring my heart out to them in a few sessions. That’s when I thought I’ve got unfinished business in boxing. I started to love boxing again’. Getting back in the gym brought back the adrenaline. Being around what he called ‘positive people’ relaxed Brook and gave him confidence. His comeback fight was in March 2018 at light-middleweight against Sergey Rabchenko.61 Brook knocked Rabchenko out in the second round. Later in the year it became apparent that Brook was not training at the Ingle gym. Brook did not comment publicly, but Dominic Ingle said

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that if he had been sacked as Brook’s trainer it was news to him. It was then rumoured that retired Sheffield boxer John Fewkes had flown out to the Canary Islands to supervise Brook’s training for his upcoming contest against Michael Zerafa. Fewkes was evasive, stating to one inquisitor that he was not at home because he had gone out to buy a chicken for his Sunday dinner. The obfuscation dispersed when Fewkes and another recently retired local boxer Adam Etches were seen at Brook’s training base in Fuerteventura. Fewkes was in the corner for the Zerafa fight, in which Brook ground out a convincing if uninspiring win. ‘I want the Khan fight now. It’s now or never’, stated Brook, but again it did not happen. In September 2019, Brook—now a free agent after the expiry of his Matchroom contract—spoke once more of wanting to fight Khan in 2020. As time passed, the prospect of them meeting in the ring looked more distant than ever. Instead, after more than a year out of the ring, Brook—now back at the Ingle gym—was back to his best as he dispatched former US marine Mark DeLuca in the seventh. Having promised to retire had he lost, Brook now looked forward with almost divine optimism as he declared ‘something spiritual has come over me’. ∗ ∗ ∗ Sheffield has produced other world champions, from outside the Ingle gym, where the spiritual was usually secondary to the practical. One of the earliest, who won his title just two months after Naseem Hamed become the city’s first world champion, went largely unnoticed, both in Sheffield and—mysteriously—by the organisation whose title he had won.

Smooth as Silk: Paul Jones The reasons for this boxer’s lack of recognition in his home city were apparent; in the first six years of his professional boxing career, which began in 1986, Paul ‘Silky’ Jones did little to suggest he could ever achieve world-class status. Furthermore, he spent most of 1989 living and boxing in Canada and seemingly disappeared from the sport for two years from November 1992. Born in November 1966,62 Jones was one of the many unruly youths that Brendan Ingle put on the straight and narrow. First taking up boxing at Hillsborough Boys’ Club, Jones arrived at the Ingle gym aged 12. In

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his teens, Jones was once charged with assault and later received a sixmonth driving ban. Ingle made sure such indiscretions were not repeated. But the journey this young man sought to travel was complex. Making his professional debut as a welterweight in December 1986, after six fights in two years Jones left Sheffield for Toronto, where he had relatives. His boxing there did not get off to a good start; he was disqualified for biting his opponent Donovan Boucher. Jones then won five of his next six. Returning to Britain in late 1989, he teamed up again with Ingle. Seven wins out of nine earned him a challenge for the Central Area lightmiddleweight championship, held by Jason Rowe. Jones won on points. He then won six out of eight in 1991 and 1992. Foul Play and Fatality Taking a two-year break—many in the fight game believed he had retired—Jones made a comeback in January 1995. Signing with Barry Hearn’s Matchroom group, Jones’ nickname ‘Silky’ began to be used more often to publicise his fights. Two wins saw Jones fighting for the vacant WBC Inter-Continental light-middleweight title against Damien Denny in Belfast in April 1995. Jones knocked Denny out in the first round and later successfully defended the title twice. Hearn then negotiated a world title challenge for Jones in November 1995 against Verno Phillips, persuading Phillips to defend his championship at Sheffield’s Hillsborough Leisure Centre. Phillips downed Jones in the first round; most observers had Phillips ahead after nine, particularly when Jones was deducted a point for butting, but Jones finished strongly. The outcome was a majority decision: the two Puerto Rican judges scored the fight 114-113 in favour of Jones and a 113-113 draw. Britain’s Roy Francis gave it to Jones by a 116-111 margin. After waiting over a century for its first world champion, Sheffield had its second in a matter of weeks. But Jones was never to defend his championship; a fall-out with Hearn resulted in his title being withdrawn by the WBO. Hearn wanted Jones to defend against Bronco McKart; Jones claimed he could not because of a hand injury. Inactive for a year because of his contract with Matchroom, Jones eventually made peace with Hearn, who secured a fight for the vacant British light-middleweight championship against the unbeaten Ryan Rhodes, with whom Jones had sparred at the Ingle gym when Rhodes was a teenager. Rhodes won with an eighth-round stoppage.

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Considering retirement, Jones opted to carry on and challenged Johnson Tshuma for the vacant Commonwealth middleweight title. Tshuma built up an early lead but Jones finished well. In the final round a left felled Tshuma but he survived to the bell; the referee gave the decision to Tshuma by half a point. A March 1999 re-match went in favour of Jones, whose first defence of the Commonwealth title against Jason Matthews at an Oldham sports centre resulted in tragedy. When the referee disqualified Jones in the seventh for persistent holding, violence broke out amongst some spectators. A friend of Matthews who had travelled from London fled the trouble but was attacked as he boarded a coach. He died after falling under the coach’s wheels as it pulled away. It transpired that the instigators were not supporters of either boxer; all were from the Greater Manchester area. Three of those arrested were convicted of violent disorder; another five had earlier admitted the same offence after charges of manslaughter were dropped. The incident was also consequential for Jones. Aged 32, he announced his retirement, stating: ‘If this is what comes with boxing I’m out. I’ll never fight again’. His ‘retirement’ lasted 15 months. A successful return saw Jones win three fights in 2000, but a knockout defeat to Adrian Dodson in March 2001 ended his hopes of regaining global championship status. After one more victory, Jones called it a day for the third—and final—time with a record of 31 wins, 12 defeats and one draw. Pleading and Belting Away from the ring, Jones had another fight on his hands. In 2013, he used social media to reveal that he had never received the WBO championship belt he had won in 1995. He explained on his blog http://silkyj ones.blog.co.uk: ‘The World Boxing Organisation and the British Boxing Board … are denying me the world championship belt I am still fighting for’. Jones detailed the events that followed his win over Verno Phillips. After the fight he posed with a WBO belt and was informed he would shortly receive one to keep. A few weeks later when in Las Vegas, a WBO official told him he would be awarded the belt at his first defence against Bronco McKart. However, after Jones was stripped of the title, he did not hear from the WBO again. In subsequent years, Jones contacted the BBBC several times but received no backing for his campaign to receive his belt. When appearing at boxing functions, Jones borrowed the belt

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of former WBO middleweight and super-middleweight champion Steve Collins. Jones’ son Bradley, acting as his agent, contacted the WBO, but was told that the organisation had no record of his father being a WBO champion, despite being sent a photograph taken in 1995 of Jones with his (temporary) belt. The BBBC meanwhile admonishingly informed Jones that any further correspondence with the WBO must go through them. Jones junior then took to Twitter to gain publicity for his father’s plight. Within a few days, the WBO president stated on his Twitter account that an investigation was to take place. The BBBC meanwhile asserted that because Jones won the world title so long ago, if he wanted a championship belt he would have to pay for it. The WBO revealed the findings of its investigation: the photograph of Jones showed him holding a borrowed belt, and so—apparently—was proof of a fraudulent claim. The WBO further stated that Bradley Jones had not identified himself in correspondence, and that Barry Hearn had informed them that Jones had already received his belt, a claim Hearn denied. At least Jones could rely on the support of boxing fans; websites and forums backed his appeal. The campaign eventually paid off; in August 2015, Jones received his belt, awarded at a boxing event in Doncaster. Said Jones: ‘The WBO at one stage said they didn’t know who I was, even though I am mentioned on their Wikipedia page as a champion who made the organisation famous. I won the title fair and square from a very good champion. Now I can rest knowing that I have what was rightfully mine, something I worked so hard to achieve’. Jones subsequently posted a photograph on-line of himself holding the belt, almost 20 years after winning it. ∗ ∗ ∗ Another Sheffield contender also had a long wait before lifting a world championship belt. The delay was down to his initially failing to grasp the enormity of his talent and the opportunities that could arise from it. His is a truly remarkable journey in the face of adversity.

Meat and Potatoes: Clinton Woods In 2013, Sheffield’s former world light-heavyweight champion Clinton Woods admitted: ‘I went in [to boxing] not expecting to win anything, but I ended up winning everything’. This statement summed up Woods’

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attitude to the sport; he never had an avid interest in boxing but happened to discover he was very good at it. His parents were to blame—they bought their seven-year-old a pair of boxing gloves and a punchbag for Christmas, whereas his brothers received football boots. They kicked, he punched; he alone found sporting fame. One of seven siblings born within eight years, two of Woods’ brothers were given the names Todd and Heath. ‘I think it was ‘cos mum liked cowboy films’, reasoned Clinton. Woods’ father was a steelworker who was laid off at the age of 50 and turned to casual gardening work. His mother took various cleaning jobs, at one time traversing the city from Fox Hill to Totley to bring home just £15 for a day’s work. ‘Dad was a gentle fella, mum could get feisty’, recalled Woods. There was no boxing history in the family, though an uncle named Henry Gray was a Sheffield hard-man of some repute. Family life was financially uncomfortable, as Woods explained when interviewed in 2019: ‘We were often a bit skint. We went potato picking but weren’t getting paid for it. Money was short and so were vegetables. One day we came home with turnips, mum cooked us turnip butties63 … then next day took an overdose. There were difficult times’. Sometimes food was in such short supply that the Woods children were fed in a house on the estate where free meals were available for those in need. The family later relocated from their Fox Hill council house to another in Waterthorpe at the other side of Sheffield. Woods’ time at school was occasionally eventful. Academic ability was not an issue but attitudes evident outside school were. Arrested for stealing confectionery from a youth club, Woods was given an attendance centre order, which entailed taking woodwork lessons, followed by marching up and down under the watchful eye of police officers. On another occasion, Woods was sentenced to 200 hours’ community service for setting fire to a Yellow Pages business directory in a telephone box. Boxing provided both a release and a focus. Aged nine Woods joined Hillsborough Boys’ Club under trainer Ray Gillott (see Chapter 2), who told him—in the manner of the Ingles—that boxing begins with the feet, not with punching. Woods became a Yorkshire schools champion at the age of 12. After this success, nobody his own age locally would fight him, despite Gillott advertising in boxing magazines for opponents. After a year out of the ring, Woods picked up a regional championship. ‘I was boxing from 13 to 15 and knew then that was what I was going to be as an adult’, he said, but before that there was a six-year hiatus and some learning to do.

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News of Woods’ boxing prowess reached those in charge at his secondary school: At big school on the first day a teacher taking the register went through the names and came to mine and asked if I was related to the other, older Woods in the school. When I said yes he body-punched me! He said more would be coming my way. It sounds daft but me and him got on reyt64 well; he loved it that I boxed and came to all my fights throughout my career.

In Woods’ words, however, other teachers ‘hated me’, although at least the headteacher took an interest, withdrawing him from the detention periods some teachers gave him to enable him to work out in the gym or swim in the school pool. Admitting that he ‘pissed around’ too much at senior school, Woods was more interested in girls and earning money. ‘I got a girl pregnant. I was 16’, he said. It was around this time that he gave up boxing, as he later explained to sports website http://bleacherr eport.com/: ‘I had about 80 fights as an amateur but even as a teenager I was working on building sites and grafting. When I stopped boxing I had no intention at all of going back to it’. He also stopped getting an education: ‘In effect I left school at 15 ‘cos I didn’t turn up in the last year. I started work cleaning walls for blokes who would artex [plaster] them. I progressed to plastering’. Picking up tips when acting as a plasterer’s ‘mixing man’, Woods found work with Sheffield entrepreneur and boxing enthusiast Dennis Hobson (see Chapter 5), who also employed Woods as a carpet fitter in houses Hobson was renovating. Other work to earn a few pounds was more unorthodox: ‘I once painted eyes on garden gnomes on a conveyor belt’. With such monies, he bought his first car—for £50—despite the vehicle having no first gear and Woods having no driving licence. With money came a liking for drink. Training for a time at the Ingle gym, Woods had two amateur fights under their care. Ingle recognised a lost soul and had Woods do jobs around the gym in return for a few quid, which Woods then spent on booze. Drinking inevitably led to scraps, albeit he claimed none were ever of his starting: ‘I never once caused a fight. I was necking pints, then others were starting stuff. If there was trouble for some reason they came for me. Then I got mad … and I can get mad’. Getting mad got him glassed in a brawl in Blackpool, but more often his opponent ended up knocked out in pubs and chip shop

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queues. In fine Sheffield style, Woods once celebrated winning a scrap by getting a tattoo. Life was pints of beer and a punch-up, sometimes three an evening. After suffering a beating by two nightclub bouncers, Woods returned to seek revenge, only to receive another going over. On another occasion, he punched a man in a Chesterfield club and was dragged away by three bouncers, one of whom ‘put a cigarette out on my arm’. Police then watched as the bouncers beat Woods up in the street. Apparently unconcerned by such incidents, he confessed: ‘That’s what I used to like doing; work hard, go out drinking with my brothers and have a fight’. Such pursuits could not last, especially when the work dried up. Sometimes with no money for food and unable to fund the electric meter, even a bag of chips was beyond Woods’ budget. Aged 21 and without a proper job or a permanent home, Woods decided to return to boxing ‘to get fit and get meself sorted out’ having been charged with affray for the Chesterfield incident and ‘nearly getting sent down’, i.e. going to prison. He walked into Dennis Hobson’s Woodhouse gym, where there was no heating and the floor flooded when it rained. One of the trainers there was a man Woods had had a near-violent altercation with in a pub a year earlier. This was Neil Port—better known as Porty—who became a huge influence on Woods’ life and career. Woods’ first sparring session broke the ribs of the gym’s sole professional; Hobson suggested that the new man go professional. Woods’ first paid ring work came in London’s St Pancras gym, where the trainer was Sheffield-born Howard Rainey (see Chapter 5), who paid him £60 per week for sparring with locals. The Lambeth flat Woods was put up in had no electricity or hot water. Tiring of such hardship and poor pay, he returned to Sheffield. Fighting under Hobson’s management in a variety of leisure centres, hotels and social clubs in northern England, Woods enjoyed an unbeaten start against a string of limited opponents, despite admitting he suffered from ‘sickening self-doubt’ before fights. During this winning run, Woods’ training base was stable, with Hobson as manager, Rainey as lead trainer and ‘Porty’ as his second. Later, the team was to break up, as Rainey departed and Hobson brought in Frank Maloney as chief promoter. Woods never got on with Maloney but put his feelings aside, as he explained: ‘With Dennis and Porty I had a good team, we did it together’. A weakness at this time was a propensity for gambling: ‘Bandit machines. I once put a hundred quid in chasing a hundred quid jackpot. I once did 500 chasing 15 quid. I’d leave the machine and get money

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out from the bank across the road. I’d then feel terrible. My wife was earning less for a week’s work than I was putting into a machine in an hour’. Somehow Woods’ boxing did not suffer. Becoming the main attraction at Pinegrove Country Club,65 he challenged for the vacant Central Area super-middleweight title against Craig Joseph in November 1996, winning on points, and then defended the title twice. Three more wins took Woods’ record to 18-0 and a meeting with Mark Baker for the Commonwealth super-middleweight championship. Virtually unknown in London—he had never fought south of Sheffield—Woods was a big underdog, but he won an upset points verdict. However, a defence in March 1998 against another young British prospect, David Starie, brought a first defeat. Woods’ below-par performance was explained by his difficulty making the weight. Years later, he told www.livefight.com: I’d always made [the] weight easily but before [the] Starie [fight] I started taking creatine.66 I put loads of weight on and by fight-time was a mile over the weight. I had to starve myself to make the weight and as soon as I was off the scales I ran to the food machine to scoff crisps. Starie then came around the corner to see me eating. He must have guessed that I’d struggled to get my weight down.

Woods was not disappointed by his first loss: ‘I always had the mindset that I’d lose at some point and it wasn’t a big deal’. His weight troubles brought a move to the light-heavyweight division. Towels Decide It After two wins at the new weight, British, European and Commonwealth champion Crawford Ashley was in Woods’ sights. Ashley retained ambitions of a third world title fight of his career but Woods ended them, explaining: ‘I thought I may have been out of my depth, but I got back to the corner and I just got told to “go after him”. I kept the pressure on him and ground him down’. At the end of round eight, Crawford’s seconds threw in the towel. Twenty years later, when interviewed by Gary Armstrong, Woods picked this victory as the favourite fight of his career. The boxer who was not keen on boxing was now a triple champion and ended 1999 in the top ten of the WBC, WBA and WBO rankings. Remaining unbeaten in 2000 and 2001, Woods’ reputation spread

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beyond Britain. The WBA, WBC and IBF light-heavyweight champion at the time was Roy Jones Junior. A three-weight world champion, Jones was rated by many boxing commentators as the world’s best poundfor-pound boxer. He had lost just once in his 47 fights—and that by disqualification. Despite Jones’ status, Woods was not going to turn down a chance to try beat him. Arranging the fight proved a challenge for Dennis Hobson, who in his own words ‘moved heaven and earth’ to get Jones to agree to defend against Woods. Hobson’s most outrageous manoeuvre was to gatecrash a Jones press conference to publicly challenge him. It worked. Desperate to stage the bout in Sheffield, Hobson secured Jones appearances on Top of the Pops and MTV to promote his rap music.67 After seemingly being willing to travel to Britain, Jones changed his mind and insisted on the north-western US outpost of Portland, Oregon. The exasperated Hobson said: ‘Roy Jones’ ignorance, arrogance and disrespect knows no bounds’. Woods responded more philosophically than his manager, remarking in typical Sheffield fashion: ‘It’s the bloody politics what gets you down’. Also in typical Sheffield fashion, to relax before the fight Woods went angling with a British journalist. On fight night, before entering the ring Jones performed one of his rap songs surrounded by dancing girls. It was the precursor to a masterful performance as he gave Woods a boxing lesson for six rounds before the towel was thrown in. Woods acknowledged a superior opponent by offering his hand to Jones at the end of every round. He said later: ‘After the first round I thought I had a chance but after that he just took over’. Accepting his defeat with grace, Woods added: ‘I actually really enjoyed it’. He also enjoyed the biggest purse of his career, almost $1 million. In 2013, Woods admitted to www.livefight. com that he was out of his depth against Jones, but questioned both his own preparation and the choice of venue: I wasn’t ready for him at that stage, my [training] camp was terrible. The two [sparring] opponents were shite. I also didn’t like the venue. Why do you think we fought in Portland? It was a state where they had no drug testing.68 I’m not saying I would have won either way; I was shit.

Iron in the Soul Woods was never to lose inside the distance again. Returning to the ring in January 2003, he recorded three stoppage victories and by the end of

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year was given another world title chance, this time against Glen Johnson for the vacant IBF belt. This was to be the beginning of a torrid threeyear, three-fight series between Woods and Johnson. Hobson persuaded Johnson to travel to Sheffield, the contest taking place in November 2003 at Hillsborough Leisure Centre. Hobson recruited former twotime world heavyweight champion Tim Witherspoon as Woods’ trainer. Witherspoon introduced Woods to chopping wood as a training tool. It worked; Woods noticed stronger shoulders and forearms. In return, Woods introduced Witherspoon to one of the local brews, which quickly turned the giant American into a bar-room crooner! Woods was later to travel to Pennsylvania where Witherspoon trawled the local gyms seeking sparring partners. Said Woods of this episode: In Pennsylvania the gyms were black, Hispanic or Irish. Witherspoon would walk into a black gym he knew and announce me and tell everyone I’d got money for sparring. One jumps up, banging his chest, shouting ‘I’m the champion’. This was Yusaf Mack,69 who was to fight Carl Froch. He gets in the ring and all the rest gather round banging the canvas calling me all sorts. I gave him a bit of a lesson and that quietened them down. I asked ‘who’s next?’ and three blokes shot outside. I loved tough gyms.

Meanwhile, the Johnson fight proved to be a battle of strength and will as Woods, with an injured left hand, held on against the aggressive Jamaican. It appeared to many observers that Woods’ reaction at the final bell showed he believed he had lost. The two American judges scored the bout either way, and then the British judge’s deciding scorecard revealed a draw, which left the vacant title unclaimed. Woods thought the result fair; Johnson believed he had been robbed: ‘Something told me that I wasn’t leaving Sheffield with a world title, no matter how bad I beat that boy’. There would be a re-match in February 2004, again in Sheffield at Ponds Forge. Johnson explained why he was happy to return to the city— economics. ‘That’s where the most money was, so why not go back?’ he said. ‘I beat him once, I knew I could beat him again’. It was to be Woods’ third attempt to win a world title, and Johnson’s fourth. This time there was no doubt over the outcome—Johnson was a clear winner. Fatigued during his preparation, Woods sought an explanation. He was diagnosed with an iron deficiency, a problem solved by vitamin B12 injections and hiring a nutritionist to advise on diet. ‘That was when I became a proper boxer’, Woods later admitted.

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Woods would have to continue his career as a proper boxer without his great friend and cornerman Neil Port, who had been exhibiting erratic behaviour, including putting Witherspoon in a headlock in a dispute after Woods first fought Johnson. At a training camp in Tenerife before the Johnson re-match, Woods noticed Porty’s fingernails were painted pink, his body hair had been shaved and he was wearing a necklace. After the fight, Porty told Woods he was finished with the team. Next time they met, Porty declared he was now to be known as Penny Fletcher. Weeks after this, Porty was dead, stabbed by his son following a domestic argument.70 Said Woods years later: ‘When he died I was in tears. Without him none of this [boxing success] would have happened’. A Word in Your Ear Woods fought just once in the next year, beating Jason DeLisle. Then, when Glen Johnson vacated the IBF light-heavyweight title after refusing to fight number one contender Rico Hoye, the organisation nominated Woods to take on the unbeaten American. The fight, held at Rotherham’s Magna Centre in March 2005, finally delivered a world title for Woods as he stopped Hoye in round five. Woods confessed to being apprehensive about Hoye, who ‘was beating good guys, good boxers in America. He wasn’t just beating them either – he was knocking them out’. Realising he had to be in the best physical condition of his career, Woods prepared more diligently than ever before, employing a strength and conditioning trainer. Woods surprised many with the quality of his performance, landing short hooks when the pair clinched and stunning Hoye with powerful jabs.71 Twice deducted a point for holding, Hoye was exhausted when the referee stopped the contest. The dieting and diligence had worked; science combined with bravery and skill had paid off. After this came four successful defences. In September 2005, Woods fought Julio César González72 —the former WBO champion— at Sheffield’s Hallam FM Arena in a contest described by The Times as ‘grim, unremitting stuff’. Behind at half way, Woods rallied to win a unanimous verdict. He subsequently stopped Jason DeLisle in a rematch, setting up a third encounter with Glen Johnson in September 2006. Before the fight, Woods reflected on his boxing career, telling The Times:

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I started boxing to get rid of my beer belly. Dennis [Hobson] said: ‘Do you want to turn pro and make some money?’ I just laughed. All I used to get out of fighting before that was 200 hours’ community service. My old trainer started telling me I could be British champion and I used to be embarrassed he was saying it. When he said I’d be world champion I didn’t believe him.

Believing he had become a better boxer since winning the world championship, Woods added: ‘It wasn’t really me fighting in the last two fights with Glen. Now I’m different – stronger, fitter’. However, after nine rounds it appeared Woods was on the brink of defeat. It took an expletivefilled ear-bashing from Ricky Hatton, working in Woods’ corner, to turn it round, as Woods later explained: ‘I think the first thing he said was: “Come on you wanker”. It was f-word this and f-word that. [Hatton said:] “Do you want to go back to plastering?”’ Woods pulled himself round to take the last three rounds and win a split decision.73 Always down to earth, Woods revealed to the press he planned to celebrate by taking his family on a caravan holiday in the Lincolnshire resort of Cleethorpes. He did not, however, reveal that he fought much of the contest with a torn elbow tendon, which required surgery and rendered him inactive for a year. Woods would later confess that ‘I still dream about fighting … that piece of human granite’. The pair fought 36 attritional rounds, every one of them close. The final 12 were to have a lasting effect on both men. Said Woods: ‘We both lost something in that [third] contest. Neither of us were ever the same after’. When Woods met Julio César González again in September 2007, he was as much concerned about his elbow injury as his opponent. The Times boxing correspondent Ron Lewis reported that the pair ‘stood toe-to-toe for many of the rounds before Woods ground out a unanimous points verdict’. Complaining about the lack of recognition he received from boxing pundits, Woods said: ‘When I faced Glen [Johnson] they said he was the number one in the world but, when I won, they didn’t say I was number one’. Woods also had other things on his mind. In the week after he beat González, one of his brothers attempted suicide and another was admitted to hospital with stab wounds. Then, outside the Leadmill music venue, Woods dropped five men who were attacking another of his brothers. He stated when interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2019: ‘Within a week of my fourth and most important title defence, three of my brothers had been admitted to hospital’.

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Endings and Beginnings Woods’ lack of recognition in the USA was explainable. Best remembered for being outclassed by Roy Jones, Woods knew that British world champions who had not beaten America’s best were not rated there. A fifth successful defence against Antonio Tarver74 in April 2008 in Tarver’s home state of Florida would earn Woods both respect and recognition. He asserted he was a different boxer from the one who lost to Jones, saying: ‘I watched the Jones fight a couple of months ago and couldn’t believe the shape of my body. For some daft reason I was wearing short shorts and my legs looked like they belonged to [comic actor] Stan Laurel’. Woods was always brutally honest with—and about—himself. As champion, Woods did not have to travel to Tarver’s backyard but chose to do so to prove both to himself and the American boxing fraternity that he was the best light-heavyweight in the world. It did not go to plan. Producing one of the worst performances of his career, Woods suffered a unanimous points defeat. As he dabbed ice on a swollen lip, he lamented: ‘I don’t know if the big occasion got to me and I froze. Maybe it was his southpaw style’. But, he added as straightforwardly as ever: ‘I’m just a skinny kid from Sheffield and I never dreamt of things like this. I’m happy with my career’. Dennis Hobson was more forthright, stating: ‘It pisses me off that he’s come twice to the US and looked the same, limited, one-paced kid. But he’s better than that’. Years later, Woods told the sports website http://bleacherreport.com/ that he should not have fought Tarver because of a back injury: The only [regret] I ever have had is not pulling out of the Tarver fight. I’ve never watched it since, and I never will. It was the lowest point of my career. My trainer and I have never spoken since. It was a disaster.

The fight was broadcast nationwide by Showtime; commercially, Woods could not pull out. The training camp in Tampa was gruesome and painful. In response to Woods declaring his back pain was too much to bear, Hobson threatened to return home. Woods nearly burst into tears during an interview. Off air he admitted to the interviewer for the first time in his professional career he was scared and did not want to make a fool of himself in the ring. ‘I remember actually wishing he would just knock me out so the whole thing would finish’, Woods told Gary Armstrong in 2019.

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Woods intended to retire but instead went to train under Glyn Rhodes. A comeback win ten months later over the Kosovan Elvir Muriqi earned Woods one last shot at the big-time; in August 2009, the IBF matched him with the unbeaten American Tavoris Cloud for the vacant lightheavyweight title. A third disappointing night in the USA was to follow. Woods fought hard and lasted the distance, but the verdict was clearcut. On the verge of being knocked out in the eighth and tenth, Woods survived and even won the final round, but it was not enough. Immediately afterwards, he opined: ‘In my heyday I would have beaten him. Maybe I’m too old’. When interviewed in 2019, he was more direct: I was 36 and washed up. I had back problems. I shouldn’t have fought. But the fight was all about money; it was a massive fight [but] I knew I was going to lose. My team were not experienced in the US fighting business. In the changing room after[wards] none of my team spoke. I went to my hotel room and felt relief it was over.

The Invisible Warrior Six months later, Woods retired, ending a boxing career that saw him become Sheffield’s fourth world champion with a record of 42 wins, five defeats and one draw. Competing for 15 years and fighting ten world title bouts, Woods never commanded the level of pay of his contemporary Naseem Hamed, who earned millions for just one fight. Reflecting on this in 2019, Woods stated: ‘I’m not a millionaire but I’ve made some money out of boxing’. The consolation was good health. ‘I never got knocked out, I never took a beating’, he proudly declared. ‘It was good while it lasted and I am happy with what I achieved’. Interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2016, Dennis Hobson reflected on his protégé’s early career: ‘He was a quiet lad, maybe a bit frightened’. Hobson recognised that Woods needed ‘geeing up’: ‘I told him “We’re the main action here”. He had times when he didn’t believe in himself, he thought of giving up’. Woods himself expressed similar sentiments when interviewed in 2019. ‘I was quite shy, I don’t like showing emotion’, he said. ‘I never did trash talking. Slagging people off is not my territory’. To Woods, the weigh-in and press conferences were arenas in which exhibiting dignity and respect was more important than bravado. He hated the fight walk music and (in his words) the ‘pre-fight bullshit’, admitting that left to him he would walk out to tunes by crooners Matt

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Munro or Dean Martin. Perhaps remarkably, considering his liking for fighting outside the ring in his pre-professional years, he added: ‘I never got mad in a boxing ring – ever’. If Woods had any regrets aside from not withdrawing from the Tarver fight, they were partly to do with not discovering the benefits of proper nutrition early enough; even as a champion, he would have weekends drinking with mates, with burgers and chips to follow. Another regret was being unable to overcome personality traits that might have held him back. He rued ‘not speaking up a bit more. Saying I’m oreyt75 when I wasn’t. I kept things in’. He did not, however, regret a certain reticence when it came to ring earnings: ‘I never asked about the money – that was a fault of mine. The thing with me was it was never about money. When I turned pro I got £240 for my first fight and not much more for my next three’. Before fighting Roy Jones, Woods had never earned more than £25,000 for a contest. The MC for the Jones fight introduced Woods as ‘the lunch-bucket prize-fighter’, an American expression that refers to working-class or bluecollar values. This was a description that Woods did not disagree with. Indeed, he called himself a ‘meat and potatoes fighter’ who fought in the traditional ‘hands up’ style. He also had the prerequisites for a champion of a world-class jab, fast hands and arguably the strongest chin of his generation. At one time static in the ring, he learned mobility as he gained experience, resulting in an increased effectiveness of his already renowned combination punching; as he described it, ‘go left, go right, duck, duck, punch’. His advice to a young boxer was simple: ‘Don’t go on looks – expect surprises. Early on I faced Earl Ling, he looked the part, I dropped him in the third’.76 Woods rested in his well-earned home in the north Derbyshire village of Ridgeway with Spanish wife Natalia and their two children. But as he explained: ‘I got bored. Dug some gardens for cash. Bought a 200year-old house and did it up’. Digging gardens developed into landscape gardening; his first customer was Dennis Hobson. Later, having chopped trees in stifling heat, he wondered why he was killing himself for £90 per day. Moving back into plastering, he earned £120 a day but then lost half a day’s wages replacing a toilet lid when his foot went through as he was standing on it to plaster a ceiling! He then bought a building in the Mosborough district of south-east Sheffield and opened a gym for both professional boxers and people

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wanting to get fit. Before long he stopped training the former, saying he ‘hated every minute of it’: I became a trainer and cornerman but I was a fish out of water – I wanted to be in the ring, not watching and shouting. I got depressed with it all, and with some of the [bad] attitudes young fighters had. I got rid of the pros and concentrated on boxing fitness. I do five days a week with all walks of life. Hundreds a week come through the door, kids and adults, some to get a sweat on, some want to lose weight.

Other means of earning came his way, as he explained: ‘I recently did a Q&A evening in the Midlands. It was easy money. I’m planning to do more’. There was also a 2017 biography, co-written with renowned boxing writer Mark Turley, titled Into the Woods: The Story of a British Boxing Cult Hero. Said Woods of this venture: ‘I wrote it so me kids could read it one day. I used to like reading with me mum when I was a kid. [Turley] said it was the easiest book he’d ever written; it could have been two times the size. Sales? I’ve no idea, honestly’. Woods’ life today is happy and settled. Natalia is a business studies graduate who now works in finance. They met in Sheffield in their early twenties. She has been—in his words—his ‘rock’ for two decades, looking after the family finances as well as insisting that his ring earnings be invested. He thus credits Natalia for the fact that he was not broke a few years after retirement. One of the few visible trappings of self-indulgence was Woods’ car registration plate WBC 1, which he purchased when he was world champion. Soon after his retirement, Woods was honoured by the people of Sheffield, nominated for the status of ‘Sheffield Legend’ as someone who had ‘brought the city recognition at national or international level’. Inductees are awarded a plaque set in the pavement outside Sheffield Town Hall. Woods is also commemorated in a silhouette-type statue on the Trans Pennine Trail between Mosborough and Killamarsh.77 The respect was mutual: Woods loves Sheffield and describes its people as ‘friendly and humble’. Like Woods himself, in fact. From a beer-drinking youth who fought nightclub bouncers to a ‘Sheffield Legend’, Woods earned such accolades the hard way, as acknowledged by boxing journalist Steve Bunce in his 2017 book Bunce’s Big Fat Short History of British Boxing. Remarking on Woods’ relative lack of national recognition, Bunce called him ‘British boxing’s invisible warrior’ who ‘went the

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full 12 rounds 13 times in his career, and seven were world title fights. That is a proper professional’. Modest, old fashioned and principled, and often fighting with debilitating injuries, Woods should be remembered as one of the top three fighters Sheffield has ever produced.

Notes 1. The venue was a large marquee erected for the event. Benn suffered his first professional defeat after 22 wins. 2. On another occasion, Nelson quoted his mental strength as the platform for his boxing success, stating: ‘Opponents had more talent than me but mentally I was stronger.’ The fact that Nelson at different times cited both his mental strength and his mental fragility summed up his enigmatic nature. 3. The WBF folded in 2004 due to financial problems but was resurrected in 2009 by South African boxing administrator Howard Goldberg, who moved its base to Luxembourg. 4. Akinwande won the WBO heavyweight title in June 1996. 5. Nelson fought Wallyn on a bill that included Joe Calzaghe v Chris Eubank for the WBO super-middleweight title and Naseem Hamed v Jose Badillo for the WBO featherweight title. 6. Lewis was unbeaten in 17 contests when he fought Nelson, but his final record read: won 17, lost 23, drew 3. 7. In what was optimistically billed in the last year of the twentieth century as ‘The Fight of the Millennium’, both boxers were unbeaten before Trinidad defeated De La Hoya on a majority decision. 8. The WBU was founded in 1995 by British IBF boxing official Jon Robinson. In its early years, it rivalled the World Boxing Organisation (WBO) for international status but after Robinson’s death in 2004 the WBU became a small player in global boxing. 9. The 2011 Census revealed that some 19% of Sheffield’s population was from a minority ethnic background. The Burngreave electoral ward had the highest proportion of such residents, at 62%. The largest minority ethnic group in the city comprised people of Pakistani origin. 10. Britain took control of the port of Aden in 1839 in order to give its trading ships en route to India a place to take on fuel and supplies. It was thereafter governed as part of British India. The Aden hinterland became a British protectorate. The UK’s Government of India Act 1935 detached the territory from British India; from 1937, it was established as a colony of the UK. This arrangement remained until 1963, when the colony was reconstituted as the State of Aden, within the new Federation of South

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Arabia. The federation became the People’s Republic of South Yemen in 1967, marking the end of British rule. Three years later, Aden became part of the People’s Republic of Yemen. The Commonwealth Immigrants Act 1962 placed restrictions on immigration to the UK from British Commonwealth countries. Prior to the Act, Commonwealth citizens had extensive rights to migrate to the UK. In order to limit the number of such migrants, the Conservative Government permitted only those in possession of Government-issued employment vouchers to settle in the UK. Students and dependants of those already in the UK could also enter the country. This is according to Gavin Evans in his 1999 book Wicked! In his 1996 biography Prince of the Ring: The Naseem Hamed Story, Evans stated that Sal Hamed sailed via the Suez Canal. Worth some £1500 in 2020. This version of events was given as fact by Ronnie Wharton in his 2000 book Boxing in South Yorkshire. Hamed won the following titles as an amateur: 1985 national under11 light-flyweight champion; 1986 national under-12 light-flyweight champion; 1987 national under-13 light-flyweight champion; 1989 national under-15 light-flyweight champion; 1990 national under-16 light-flyweight champion; 1991 junior ABA flyweight champion; 1992 junior ABA flyweight champion. An All-Party Parliamentary Group (of which there are some 550 in the UK Parliament) comprises politicians from all political parties with a common interest. A multi-sports venue in the city centre constructed for the 1991 World Student Games. The BBBC changed its rules as a result of Hamed’s achievements before he reached 21, allowing Hamed’s stablemate Ryan Rhodes to win the British light-middleweight title in December 1996 aged 20 years 24 days. Liendo had never previously been stopped in 49 fights. Hamed did not always get this right. On one occasion during his amateur career, he mistimed his vault over the ropes and crumpled to the canvas. He climbed out of the ring and executed a perfect entry somersault the second time. Cruz, from the Dominican Republic, had never previously been stopped in his 56 fights. Marvin Hagler employed a similar punch in the 1980s. Hamed was hit by a coin thrown from the crowd during his ring walk. He was also subject to frequent chants of ‘Hamed, Hamed, who the fuck is Hamed?’ Before the fight, Johnson stated he was going to ‘go to Naseem’s house, knock on the front door, move his living room table out of the way and

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[fight] him there.’ Afterwards, Johnson said: ‘Naseem is everything he says he is.’ HBO fought off a legal challenge to its rights to show Hamed’s fights in the US from promoter Don King, whose Showtime network had previously owned such rights. In April 1985, the world light-middleweight champion Thomas Hearns fought the world middleweight champion Marvin Hagler at Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas. Hagler knocked Hearns out in round three in what Boxing News magazine called ‘the most electrifying eight minutes ever’. Kelley could not stay for the full post-fight press conference, saying without a hint of irony: ‘I gotta go. The cops have got my brother-in-law, for fighting or something.’ The first pay-per-view contest on British television was Sky’s broadcast of the Frank Bruno v Mike Tyson WBC heavyweight title fight in March 1996 in Las Vegas, which Tyson won in the third round. ‘Pound-for-pound’ is a term used in boxing to subjectively judge the relative quality of boxers regardless of their weight division. Four years earlier, Hamed had told author Geoffrey Beattie in his book On the Ropes: Boxing as a Way of Life: ‘I’ve been with Brendan since I was seven years old. I’ll always stick with Brendan. He’s good for me. He’s done the job. If in the future Brendan did ever sell my contract, I would keep him as my trainer, and Brendan would be a millionaire, which he deserves to be.’ Ingle’s remark about ‘10,000 hours’ is a reference to the 2009 book Outliers: The Story of Success, in which author Malcolm Gladwell claimed that a minimum of 10,000 hours of directed practice is required for an individual to achieve world-class expertise in any pursuit. This theory was expanded on by former international table tennis champion Matthew Syed in his 2010 book Bounce: How Champions Are Made. In February 1998 Hamed married Eleasha Elphinstone, a hairdresser from Wakefield, after she converted to Islam. Hamed first did so after beating Laureano Ramirez in November 1994. A Mullah is a Muslim man or woman educated in Islamic theology and sacred law. Hamed made extensive modifications to the former carpet shop— including installing Roman-style columns at the entrance—without gaining planning permission. He had to seek permission retrospectively, which was granted. Hamed had been involved in a previous accident in a high-performance car. In July 1997 he wrote off a £100,000 Ferrari but escaped uninjured. At the time (2008) this was the most expensive Sheffield house sale ever. Hamed bought the property, Castle Dyke House, three years earlier for £3.5 million.

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38. When interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2017, Dominic Ingle estimated that Hamed made £40 million from boxing. Independent estimates in 2019 valued his property portfolio as worth £80 million. 39. Hamed’s bravado was encouraged by Brendan Ingle early in his career. Ingle knew that a boxer with a personality could sell tickets at a time when it was harder than it is today for a young boxer to gain a media profile. Later in Hamed’s career, Ingle became contemptuous of all the boxer’s ‘hangers-on’, calling such people ‘them who want their face in the corner’. 40. Allan died in May 2012, aged 83. 41. Hennessy is founder of Kent-based boxing promotions company Hennessy Sports. 42. First staged in 2008, the Prizefighter series is a boxing event created by promoter Barry Hearn. Eight boxers compete in each weight division in an elimination tournament. Each bout comprises a maximum of three x three-minute rounds, with all fights (four first-round bouts, two semifinals and the final) taking place in one night. The champion and runnerup therefore fight a maximum of nine rounds. 43. A naturalised German, Schwarzkopf was born Festim Kryeziu in Kosovo in 1991. 44. Herries School closed in 2000, its students transferring to the newly built Parkwood Academy, which Brook attended until 2002. 45. US-born of Hong Kong-Cantonese ethnicity, Bruce Lee (1940–1973) was a martial artist and actor famous for his action movies based on Chinese martial arts. 46. Birmingham-born Buckley retired in 2008 after 300 professional fights. He won 32, lost 256 and drew 12. 47. From 2001 to 2005 the Cactus Club was run illegally but was then awarded a licence to serve alcohol subject to certain security conditions being met. In 2007 the club had its licence revoked when police complained of drugs and firearms on the premises and knife-related violence in and around the venue. 48. No arrests were ever made in connection with the incident. 49. Eddie Hearn is the son of Matchroom founder Barry. 50. Established in 1983, Showtime Networks, Inc. is a US cable television network owned by the CBS Corporation. The channel first broadcast boxing in March 1986. 51. These two venues were constructed for the 1991 World Student Games. 52. Championships for boxers ranked outside each organisation’s top ten. 53. The derivation of this insulting term in relation to boxing is disputed. It refers to an inferior boxer, the insinuation being that an up-and-coming boxer fights a ‘tomato can’ to improve his record. It may be derived

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from the similarity in colour between tomato juice and the blood that the inferior boxer will inevitably spill. De La Hoya won ten world titles at six different weights between 1994 and 2009. Jo Jo Dan was born Ionut Dan Ion. Words that echoed previous similar complaints by Herol Graham, Naseem Hamed and Ryan Rhodes. In a three-decade-plus career, Sanchez trained 14 world champions. Opened in Greenwich in 2000 as an exhibition centre named the Millennium Dome, the interior was later reconstructed as a concert and sporting arena. First broadcast by HBO in 2011, Game of Thrones is based on author George R. R. Martin’s series of fantasy novels. As a comparison, Naseem Hamed attracted 310,000 British pay-per-view buyers when he lost for the first time to Marco Antonio Barrera in April 2001. Amir Khan’s best British pay-per-view figure is 200,000, when he beat Northern Ireland’s Paul McCloskey in April 2011 (figures from https://www.worldboxingnews.net/). This is the Anglicised-Russian version of his name. He is known as Siarhei Rabchanka in his native Belarus. Jones, from the Hunter’s Bar district of Sheffield, attended King Ecgbert School in Dore, which also produced Olympic and triple world heptathlon champion Jessica Ennis-Hill and England international cricket captain Joe Root. A northern England colloquial term for a type of sandwich. Sheffield dialect for ‘right’ or ‘really’. Pinegrove Country Club was a multi-sports and social venue in the Stannington district of Sheffield, open from the early 1980s until it was destroyed by fire in 2004. Creatine occurs naturally in the human liver and kidney but can be used in dietary supplement form to add muscle mass. Usage can produce side effects such as dizziness and diarrhoea. It is not a banned substance. Jones also played Minor League basketball, once famously playing hours before defending his world title. Ring magazine named him ‘Fighter of the 1990s’. In 2000, a drugs test found that Jones had taken steroids, but as the test was undertaken in Indiana, a state whose boxing commission had no anti-doping rules, he was not charged with an offence. In a defence of his IBF super-middleweight title in November 2012, Froch knocked out Mack in the third round. Port’s son, also called Neil, was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to six years’ imprisonment.

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71. The Woods/Hoye contest was the last professional boxing match screened live by the BBC. Hoping to take advantage of the surge in interest in domestic boxing after Audley Harrison’s gold medal at the 2000 Olympics, the BBC awarded Harrison a £1 million contract to broadcast his first ten professional fights live. A series of poor opponents and poor performances by Harrison saw viewing figures plunge, leading to the BBC pulling out of the sport in 2005. 72. González died in a motorcycle accident in Mexico in June 2019. 73. British judge Mickey Vann awarded the fight to Johnson; Puerto Rican Roberto Ramirez and American Ric Bays gave it to Woods. 74. Tarver had returned to the ring following his acting role as heavyweight boxer Mason Dixon in the 2006 film Rocky Balboa. 75. Sheffield dialect for ‘all right’. 76. This December 1994 fight was Woods’ second as a professional, in which he stopped Ling in the fifth round. 77. The Trans Pennine Trail is a 215-mile-long coast-to-coast route between Southport and Hornsea for walkers, cyclists and horse riders. Spurs to York, Leeds, Chesterfield and Kirkburton extend the overall length to 370 miles. Woods’ image stands next to one of local soldier Corporal Liam Riley, killed on active service in Afghanistan, and countryside campaigner Colin Savage (and his dog).

References Barry, F. W. (1889). Report on an Epidemic of Small-Pox at Sheffield, During 1887–88. H. M. Stationery Office. Beattie, G. (1996). On the Ropes: Boxing as a Way of Life. Indigo, Cassell. Bunce, S. (2017). Bunce’s Big Fat History of British Boxing: Five Decades of Unforgettable Fights. Bantam. Evans, G. (1996). Prince of the Ring: The Naseem Hamed Story. Robson Books. Evans, G. (1999). Wicked! The Prince Naseem Phenomenon. Robson Books. Gladwell, M. (2009). Outliers: The Story of Success. Penguin. Halliday, F. (1992). Arabs in Exile: Yemeni Migrants in Urban Britain. International Journal of Middle East Studies, 25(4), 742–744. Misson de Valbourg, H. (1719). M. Misson’s Memoirs and Observations in his Travels over England, with Some Account of Scotland and Ireland. D. Browne, A. Bell, J. Darby, A Bettesworth, J. Pemberton, C. Rivington, J. Hooke, R. Cruttenden, T. Cox, J. Batley, F. Clay, and E. Symon (Translated by Mr Ozell). Nelson, J. with Coomber, R. (2007). Hard Road to Glory. John Blake Publishing.

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Parkinson, N. (2016). A Champion’s Last Fight: The Struggle with Life After Boxing. Pitch Publishing. Pitt, N. (1998). The Paddy and the Prince: The Making of Naseem Hamed. Jonathan Cape. Searle, K., (2009). From Farms to Foundries: An Arab Community in Industrial Britain. International Academic Publishers. Syed, M. (2010). Bounce: How Champions Are Made. Fourth Estate. Wharton, R. (2000). Boxing in South Yorkshire. Wharncliffe Books. Woods, C., & Turley, M. (2017). Into The Woods: The Story of a British Boxing Cult Hero. Pitch Publishing.

CHAPTER 4

Building on Success

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 3, No. 28, 1901] (out of copyright). From the first I was taken with the Sheffield people. Rough in the extreme, 20 or 30 years in date behind other towns, and very uneducated, there was a heartiness about them, not without shrewdness, which attracted me. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_4

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I felt more inclined to take root here than in any of the northern towns I had been.—Edward Carpenter, Socialist poet, philosopher, anthologist and homosexual rights activist (Carpenter 1916) I am sorry that prize-fighting is gone out; every art should be preserved, and surely the art of defence is important. Prize-fighting made people accustomed not to be alarmed at seeing their own blood or feeling a little pain from a wound.—Samuel Johnson, poet, playwright, literary critic and lexicographer, 17731

The single ring in the Ingle gym proved to be a virtuous circle: the more successful those who trained in it became, the more others desired to emulate that success. Achievement however remained relative; whatever an individual’s boxing objectives, Ingle taught that there were no short cuts to victory. One who trod the canvas floor of that ring had modest success in competition but in his post-boxing career used much of what he learned therein to open previously closed doors and obtain personal fulfilment. Others used what they learned to seek global boxing acclamation, some versed in the same boxing pedagogy were satisfied with domestic titles, some used it to receive a steady if somewhat painful income in front of small crowds in provincial venues. Boxing took one individual who did not feel pain into a sort of dreamlike state of consciousness. Yet others used the lessons of boxing and Brendan Ingle’s wisdom to turn around the lives of themselves and others. The boxing and life skills taught provided for others the means for supplementing meagre ring earnings; the night-time economy valued the reputation and restraint taught by the gym. Despite protestations of innocence, supplements of a different kind stalled the careers of two fighters from the gym. Elsewhere in the city, another fighter with immense natural talent who was initially part of the entourage of Ingle’s most famous fighter made his own boxing career— and subsequent mistakes—only to become a gym owner and inspiration to hundreds himself. An individual already famous for his sporting ability changed from foot skills to fist skills and smaller audiences, having decided his future was throwing punches in the ring rather than in pub car parks and curry houses. One fighter’s good looks and honed torso attracted the pages of fashion magazines, proving there were other monies to be made for those who could keep their redeeming features out of the reach of an opponent’s fist.

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The Governor: Brian Anderson Brian Anderson was born in Sheffield in 1961 to Jamaican parents. His plasterer father and auxiliary nurse mother reared their six children in the teachings of the Baptist Church. Some of these words did not sink in. As a teenager, Anderson got caught up in street brawling, petty crime and vandalism. Such escapades led to appearances in juvenile court as a result of breaking into Abbeydale Picture House through the fire escape, earning him an attendance centre order.2 When interviewed in late 2018 the gently spoken Anderson looked back on those days, explaining: The one that got me into the biggest trouble I didn’t do! It was outside the junior disco at the Top Rank and I was with three mates. They’d say to someone our age ‘lend us 2p’, which was the bus fare at the time. It wasn’t ‘lend’, it was menacing – like a mugging. Police came to my house and in my pocket was a 2p! I got a six-month supervision order.3

Living in the ethnically mixed Nether Edge district and attending Abbeydale Grange School, Anderson did not enjoy his education. There was little understanding or guidance for first-generation black children. In his words: The black kids were effectively segregated in what was called the ‘Language Centre’. We had a teacher who we couldn’t understand yet I was a year ahead in numeracy. Intellectually we were not challenged. In the absence of anything constructive to do, we would jump on people’s hedges, knock on people’s doors and get into fights.

A social worker assigned to Anderson introduced him to the Croft House centre, where instead of being on the streets after school he could play table tennis. Aged 14, Anderson, inspired by Muhammad Ali, took up boxing at Croft House, crediting the venue’s trainers Bob Biney and Mick Taylor for putting him on the straight and narrow. He said of them some 40 years later: ‘They nurtured me. I used to walk from Nether Edge all the way to the gym to learn from them’. Another inspiration was a local boxer named Chester Coburn,4 with whom Anderson sparred at Croft House. ‘I was cock of my year at school’, said Anderson. ‘I’d had a few street fights and thought I might be an instant sensation in the ring. It took a few rounds and I took a few licks [from Coburn] but I got used to sparring’.

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Picking up skills in this manner, Anderson won a National Association of Boys’ Clubs title and represented the North of England. During a competition in Germany he was housed with a German family, whose diet of bread and pork clapped half a stone onto the Anderson girth. Therefore paired with a heavier opponent, he was stopped for the first time. It was after returning from this trip that he met Brendan Ingle, waiting at the ferry port for three of his boxers who had competed at the same event. Offering Anderson a lift presented Ingle with the opportunity to persuade his passenger to move to his gym, a process made easier by circumstance: leaving a gym meant taking a medical card from one to the other, which could be a problem if they did not want you to leave. Said Anderson: ‘I’d got mine in my pocket because I needed to show it in Germany’. Leaving Croft House brought some tensions but, in his estimation, ‘Bob and Mick forgave me’. Bitten and Beating The quality of boxer at the Ingle gym was much higher than at Croft House: At the time Herol [Graham] had just turned pro. Brendan wanted me to train with him. He said to Herol, ‘have a round but don’t hit him’. I thought, brilliant, I can hit someone who can’t hit me. I went a round and couldn’t touch him. We ended up sharing a house on Newman Road. I was his sparring partner for 38 of his fights. The first time he fought without [me] he lost.

Anderson meanwhile discovered the importance of diet: ‘We learned that steak sticks in your stomach and to “carb up” on pasta. I was lucky; mum always cooked from basics and never bought ready meals. I never drank or smoked’. Such a regime served Anderson well when he turned professional in 1980, winning his first two contests as a light-middleweight. In his third, he was disqualified for biting opponent Dave Ward. As Anderson got on top Ward butted and bit him. On returning to his corner Ingle told Anderson: ‘The referee’s doing nothing to stop this so you go out there and bite him back’. When he did so the referee disqualified him. Ward’s manager paraded his boxer pointing out the teeth marks, proclaiming: ‘Anderson should be caged!’ Ward fought just twice more; Anderson was destined to be a British champion.

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Two years Anderson’s senior, Herol Graham had won the British light-middleweight title in March 1981 by beating Pat Thomas. A year later, Anderson had the opportunity to compare his own ability with that of Graham by fighting Thomas in what was his first contest in his home city, at the Crucible Theatre. Anderson recorded a comprehensive points victory. Climbing the British rankings did not however bring good monies. Work as an apprentice electrician at Sheffield steel producer Hadfield’s and later with the Sheffield Recreation Department brought necessary income to support a man who got married at 19, became a father at 20 and had a mortgage at 21. The Crucible contest earned him £400. ‘We weren’t in [boxing] for the money’, he reasoned decades later. By this time there was speculation that Anderson would fight his close friend Graham, but the prospect did not appeal to either. Said Anderson in 2018: ‘I twice refused to fight [Graham, but] the possibility got us a photo in the Daily Mirror. It was also a bit of a con. Barney [Eastwood] got the rights to the fight but did Belfast want to see a contest between two black fighters from Sheffield?’ In September 1982, Anderson beat Darwin Brewster at Sheffield’s Top Rank Suite. This earned him a final eliminator for Graham’s British title at Sheffield City Hall against Noel ‘Prince’ Rodney, whom Graham had two years earlier knocked out inside one round. Anderson however was stopped for the first time in his career. A move up to middleweight followed; in May 1983, Anderson stopped Jimmy Ellis in nine rounds to win the Central Area title, which earned him a final eliminator for the British light-middleweight title fight against Chris Pyatt. This was a division below his new fighting weight but, losing the necessary pounds, Anderson took the unbeaten Pyatt the distance, narrowly losing on points. Subsequently boxing around Europe, Anderson awaited an opportunity to fight for a British championship at his favoured weight. Eventually matched with Steve Johnson in an eliminator at the City Hall, Anderson won in five rounds to set up a contest with Tony Burke for the vacant title in October 1986. Anderson beat Burke in the seventh to give Ingle his second British champion.5 The Times reported Anderson’s victory as ‘workmanlike rather than anything pertaining to brilliance’, but Ingle described it as a performance that went to plan, built around Anderson’s accurate left jab. The opponent for his first title defence was Tony Sibson, a veteran of 61 fights. In round seven, Sibson floored Anderson, who rose quickly but when he went down again the referee stopped the contest (Figs. 4.1 and 4.2).

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Fig. 4.1 Taping the hands before fighting Jimmy Ellis for the Central Area title at Sheffield City Hall in 1983 (This image used with permission of [Brian Anderson])

Bailed to Progress The defeat brought a new perspective. Aged just 26 Anderson retired, determined to get the education he missed out on. Years later, he told The Times why he quit so young: ‘When you get beaten up on national TV, it’s OK for you but the whole family has to live with it as well. It’s more difficult for the people around you. I knew straight after the [Sibson] fight that was it’. Anderson’s career record read: 27 wins, nine defeats and three draws. His biggest purse was £15,500 for the Sibson fight, but after paying his trainer, manager and taxes there was, in his words, ‘sod all left’. Retirement did not please everybody, as Anderson explained in 2018: Herol and me had a sort of pact that we’d retire at 25. I did; it was a decision made in a moment. I had options. I could have fought Errol

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Fig. 4.2 Brian Anderson displays his Lonsdale Belt alongside Brendan Ingle in July 1987 (This image used with permission of [Brian Anderson])

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Christie for good money. Nobody thought I’d stay retired, but I did by staying away from gyms. Brendan was angry. He got the [local] newspaper involved saying we’d agreed to my retiring but this was my decision alone. I’d done my time and taken my licks. I made no money but boxing gave me an education for life.

Throughout his boxing career Anderson had pursued other vocations. In 1981 he began working for the Government’s Youth Opportunities Programme ‘Sheffield Starting Point’ scheme, teaching electrical engineering to teenagers. When the Tory6 Government removed funding for this and similar schemes, Anderson and Ingle joined demonstrators on the streets campaigning—futilely—for its restoration. Meanwhile, Anderson was introduced by Ingle to a probation officer named Julian Broadhead, better known as J. P. Bean, author of The Sheffield Gang Wars. Volunteering to work in bail hostels, Anderson attained a paid position as an assistant probation officer, which somewhat incongruously saw him turn up to meet clients in a car with his name on the side as a result of a sponsorship arrangement between the Ingle gym and a Toyota dealership. After retirement, Anderson qualified as a boxing referee; between 1988 and 1992, he officiated in 90 professional contests (as Britain’s first black professional referee) before ‘I fell out with it, walked away. At least when fighting in the ring you had some in the crowd on your side. Not with reffing’. In the same period he obtained a degree in social work from Huddersfield Polytechnic. Subsequent courses in criminal justice at Leeds Metropolitan University and Sheffield Hallam University directed Anderson towards employment in this field; he joined the prison service in 1994 with a goal in mind: I never set out to be a prison officer, I wanted to be a prison governor. Probation teams were always needed in prisons. They were seconded to them [but] the ‘Red Republic’ of South Yorkshire7 probation teams refused to be seconded to the new private prisons; Doncaster was the second private prison on the UK. I volunteered to work there. Some colleagues weren’t happy. In later times when I was governor some I’d worked with would behave in a peculiar way when visiting the prison – they didn’t want to be searched, or claimed the search was painful. I had to negotiate this stuff.

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Meet the Governor There were many hoops to jump through, but Anderson impressed those high up. Whilst still in the probation service, he was appointed Britain’s first prison anti-bullying co-ordinator; the levels of violence at Doncaster subsequently dropped by 70%. A visit from Sir David Ramsbotham, Her Majesty’s Chief Inspector of Prisons from 1995 to 2001, made an impression on Anderson, who subsequently sought out the route to become a prisons inspector, a position available only after acting as a governor. Accepted into the prison service’s ‘Accelerated Promotion Scheme’ to qualify as a governor, Anderson was the first black candidate ever selected. Becoming a poster boy, he later joked: ‘They wanted to attract more minority ethnic candidates. I was in the brochure photos wearing uniforms and rank pips that I’d not yet attained!’ An outstanding career ensued in a combination of places of custody. Time served at HMP Armley in Leeds was followed by HMP New Hall, also in West Yorkshire. Later came stints at HMP Everthorpe in East Yorkshire and at an immigration centre in Scotland. Appointment as governor of HMP Doncaster followed in 2006; Anderson was the UK’s second black person to hold such a status. There he discovered as inmates three men with whom he grew up. One was now a convicted rapist, another was the godfather to his daughter. A third was serving an ‘Imprisonment for Public Protection’ sentence.8 It was not lost on Anderson that he might have been in a similar position were it not for Brendan Ingle and boxing, as he explained to The Times in 2007: ‘I am in jail, and I am proud. Without [boxing] I would still have been in prison, but on the other side of the bars’. The most famous HMP Doncaster inmate in his time there was Naseem Hamed, a photograph of whom in boxing guise hung on Anderson’s office wall. ‘I did contemplate taking it down’, said Anderson, ‘but I thought “why the hell should I?” He’s a friend and just because he’s done something wrong doesn’t mean I dissociate myself. If society did that to everybody, where would we be?’ In 2009 Anderson was appointed director of HMP and Young Offenders Institute in Ashfield, Bristol. Leaving this post in March 2013 he became director of HMP Lowdham Grange, Nottinghamshire. After a period as director of the National Citizen Service Network (NCS)9 he was employed by the Abu Dhabi Police Service as a strategic advisor at the Ministry of the Interior. Returning to Britain he found work as operations director for a young offenders institute in the West Midlands. Now

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living close by, he owns other properties elsewhere and has four children and two grandchildren, none of whom show any interest in boxing. Wherever he worked inmates and officers knew of Anderson’s boxing prowess, but he never felt inclined to put his skills into action. ‘I never had to use my fists’, he said. ‘I negotiated situations. That said, I’d like to see boxing promoted in prisons and I lobbied MP Charlotte Leslie of the All-Parliamentary Group on Boxing. I’m convinced boxing does not make you violent but makes you self-disciplined’. Turning back to his time in the ring, Anderson reflected: My time – the 80s – saw great talent, some of the best ever in the history of boxing. Michael Watson turned down a fight with me. Nigel Benn was a support bout when I fought Sibson. You had to be world class to win a Lonsdale Belt. I got in and out [of boxing] OK. Others stay too long and end up bitter, twisted, broke, drunk, violent.

And what did he think of modern-day boxing? People make millions from their fighters and then they drop them when there’s no money left in them. I sense in some cases they don’t even like the lads they train. Today it’s even worse than in my time. You do the five o’clock [in the morning] running, your life is training, sparring, managers, promoters. One kid I hear recently made £4,000 for a title and half of that came from the tickets he had to sell himself. Only a handful achieve anything.

Anderson may not have been as big a name as some of Ingle’s other protégés, but his mentor measured the worthiness of his work by more than honours attained in the ring. Anderson’s final words were about Ingle: ‘Brendan was the wisest man I ever met. I use what he taught me today: be dignified, treat people as equals and never tell someone what you really think of them’. ∗ ∗ ∗ When in October 2006 Ingle received the Joe Bromley Award10 from the Boxing Writers’ Club for services to boxing he cited Anderson as his greatest success story. Success to Ingle came in many dimensions. He was unorthodox and inspired the recalcitrant, one of whom arrived at his gym as a six-year-old ruffian who claims no Damascene life-change in his trajectory but who evidences a determination few could match.

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The Spice of Life: Ryan Rhodes Born in Sheffield in November 1976, Ryan Rhodes’ early home was on Duke Street near the city centre, before moving with his parents and three brothers to the Parson Cross council estate in the north of the city. Rhodes’ father was originally a steelworker but later formed an asbestos-stripping company. There was no family history of boxing but when Rhodes’ mother sought advice on how to deal with her unruly son she turned to a boxer, marching young Ryan to meet Herol Graham at his Sheffield market stall to ask him how best to keep her boy in check. Graham’s advice was to ‘take him to Brendan’s’. It was not that the infant Rhodes was out of control due to bad parenting. When interviewed in 2018 he remarked: ‘I was full of beans, out on the street, too much energy [but] I wasn’t out street fighting. It wasn’t upbringing, it was just me’. The first thing Ingle asked Rhodes was how many swear words he knew. The six-year-old reeled them off. Ingle listened, then told him: ‘From now on you don’t swear when you’re in this gym and you do as you’re told’. Rhodes—eventually—did as he was told. In a 1996 interview with the Irish Times, Ingle described Rhodes’ character when he first arrived at the gym: ‘He was a proper little gnat. He was out of control. I got him here and he couldn’t say please or thanks or do anything except stir up trouble. He couldn’t relate to anyone. We persevered with him. [Now] he is fitting in and he’s learning all the time’. Not studious at school, Rhodes quickly took to the rounded education the Ingle gym provided, years later recalling his early days there: Brendan said go and hit the bag. I did – I think he knew I had something. My mum had bought me some boxing gloves specially for the session. When I finished I realised I’d split the gloves. I thought ‘this is for me’. The next time I went I was told to do half an hour on the lines before any punching. I learned it was all about footwork and balance.

Rhodes’ mother was grateful her son had found something he enjoyed. As her husband often worked away she did the ‘fetching and carrying’, driving Rhodes to the gym after school, then waiting until he had finished his session to take him home. She was not, said Rhodes, ‘a pushy mum’; she sat in the background until one day she ended up as a ‘sort of treasurer and fund-raiser’ for the gym.

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Joining the Unity ABC—the junior section at St Thomas’ Gym— Rhodes won several local and national schoolboy championships and captained an England team in Russia. He turned professional as soon as the rules allowed, aged 18. One reason for doing so was his perception around the favouritism of amateur judges. Officially beaten in 11 of 67 amateur contests, Rhodes claimed he truly lost only three or four, complaining: ‘If you’re going to get anywhere [as an amateur] you have to come from one of the top London clubs’. Such a view had not changed in over two decades, as he explained in 2018: ‘You have to accept at that level that you’ll lose some shows, even in Sheffield. You’d have to knock a kid out to get a draw in some places … and some places didn’t like Ingle and all he stood for’.11 What Ingle stood for was a training regime alien to the established way of doing things. Rhodes told Boxing News how Ingle’s methods differed from those of other boxing trainers: I remember the footwork – always, always, footwork. At least 30 minutes, sometimes 45, before doing anything else. You’d go on the lines and circles on the gym floor. Up and down the lines, first one way, then back, reversing your stance, mixing it up between southpaw and orthodox. That way, we learned to switch [boxing stance] early on.

Keen to master both the unorthodox and the orthodox ingredients that went into making a professional, Rhodes frequently travelled to watch Herol Graham in action. Rhodes was distraught when, aged 14, he saw Graham knocked out by Julian Jackson in Spain. Rhodes’ travelling companion on most of these trips was Naseem Hamed. ‘Me and Naz were inseparable in [our] mid-to-late teens’, said Rhodes. ‘We’d train then go to the Pinegrove Country Club and play snooker. If we had a holiday it was with boxers from the gym’. Musical Youth Rhodes’ first professional fight was in February 1995 in Cardiff on the undercard of local hero Steve Robinson’s WBO featherweight title fight. Selling a lot of tickets to earn his £1,000 purse, Rhodes said: ‘I had a big extended family, dad had workmates and there were a lot from the estate’. But taking on local man Lee Crocker was a chastening experience; Crocker downed Rhodes twice in the first round before Rhodes knocked

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him out in round two. Said Rhodes of his debut: ‘I was sitting on the floor thinking, “what am I doing here?” I’d gone in too relaxed’. Recalling the contest years later when interviewed by Gary Armstrong, Rhodes said: ‘I was more bothered about me entry music being right … what I asked for they got wrong! I wasn’t all there first round. When I went to the corner Brendan’s screaming, “what the fuck are you doing?” and gave me a clip’. Lesson learned, Rhodes beat a series of mediocre challengers to climb the light-middleweight rankings until in September 1996 he took on former British welterweight champion Del Bryan at Sheffield’s Concord Sports Centre. A points win propelled Rhodes into the position of number one challenger for the vacant British light-middleweight title. After just ten professional contests, and less than two years into his career, Rhodes had not yet fought beyond six rounds. His credentials were to be tested by his more experienced opponent Paul ‘Silky’ Jones. The contest took place in December 1996 at Ponds Forge and was given added intrigue by the fact that the pair had often sparred at the Ingle gym as youngsters. Rhodes’ ability to switch stance proved the difference. In the seventh, he changed to a left-hand lead and knocked Jones down with a straight left. When Jones rose, he was staggered by two more punches and the referee stopped the fight. Afterwards Rhodes commented that fighting Jones ‘was like fighting my shadow’, so similar were their styles. ‘We’d known each other for years’, he added in 2018. ‘It was weird standing there seconds before [the fight]. After[wards] we shook hands and all was fine’. At the age of 20, Rhodes had become the youngest post-war British champion. Promoter Frank Warren predicted big things, saying: ‘Provided he lives a fighter’s life he’s going to win a world title’. Similarly impressed, The Times boxing correspondent Srikumar Sen enthused about the way Rhodes could hit opponents with ‘unorthodox blows from all angles’, a skill of many Ingle-trained boxers. Ingle meanwhile called for people not to get carried away, proclaiming: ‘Rhodes is only a baby’. The baby however loved being a professional boxer, explaining: ‘I’m not “hard” in any part of my life, just my boxing. It’s my living. I’ve never worked, never had a job or wanted one’. Rhodes also declared his intention to win a Lonsdale Belt in a shorter time than record-holder Michael Ayers, who in 1995 achieved the feat in 95 days. In pursuit of this aim, Peter Waudby, the Central Area champion, was dispatched in the first round at the Hillsborough Leisure Centre in February 1997. The following month Rhodes stopped Del Bryan in a re-match to win

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a Lonsdale Belt in record time—just 90 days. He credited world champion Naseem Hamed, two years his senior, for his success, saying: ‘He’s explained things to me, told me what’s going to happen and told me how to handle it. He’s always been there encouraging me’. Rhodes admitted there were better boxers than him at the gym but few could match his attitude and work ethic: [Some] had lots more ability but got to 16-18 and discovered girls and going out. I trained. Lived at home. I had my first alcoholic drink when I was 28. When I boxed for Great Britain as an amateur I got expenses but otherwise my mum and dad paid for me and I got £100 from a scaffolding company [to pay] for gloves and boots.

Parental support continued throughout Rhodes’ career; his mother attended all but two of his professional contests and even travelled to Mexico when her son took on Saúl ‘Canelo’ Álvarez in a world title challenge. Spice Boy The Boxing Writers’ Club’s selection of Rhodes as its ‘Best Young Boxer’ of 1997 was a formality. Collecting the award on Rhodes’ behalf, Ingle rebuked the hosts for not allowing women to attend its functions. Ingle’s comment was a product of his innate sense of equality, but it was also an unintended statement on the anachronistic nature of such a policy in mid-1990s Britain. The Spice Girls12 were at the height of their popular music fame and personified a movement of the period termed ‘Girl Power’ that encouraged young women to be individual, assertive and ambitious. Rhodes had plenty of female admirers (he said in 2018: ‘I weren’t a bad-looking kid. I’d done modelling for a boxing equipment magazine’) and it was not surprising that he should collect an epithet that fitted the time. After his victory over Peter Waudby, John Ingle left Rhodes’ packed dressing room complaining: ‘I’m getting out. It’s like a Spice Girls convention in there’. The Spice Boy nickname was thus born, and Rhodes carried the moniker on his shorts from then on. The next step was a challenge for the IBF Inter-Continental title, a championship for boxers rated outside the world’s top ten. Rhodes’ opponent, Lindon Scarlett, lasted less than a round. Unbeaten in 14 fights, Rhodes moved up to the middleweight division and defeated Yuri

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Epifantsev inside two rounds on the undercard of an October 1997 Sheffield Arena bill that featured four WBO Inter-Continental title fights, one Commonwealth title fight, one British title fight, one European title fight and two WBO world title fights. Some 12,000 spectators witnessed one of the greatest nights of boxing in Sheffield, which at the time could attract some of the nation’s top contests.13 Ingle was almost overcome with emotion as he witnessed the scene, saying: ‘This is what it’s been about all these years. It’s been my dream to put on a show like this’. Rhodes was now in line to challenge for Lonnie Bradley’s world title. However, Bradley suffered a detached retina; the WBO withdrew his title and ordered Rhodes to fight Otis Grant for the vacant championship in December 1997 at Ponds Forge. Grant’s greater experience told; the three judges scored a close but unanimous victory in his favour. Rhodes finished the stronger, but Grant used his ring craft to keep out of trouble. Consoling himself with the words: ‘I’ll be back. I’m only 21’, Rhodes then flew to New York to see Naseem Hamed knock out Kevin Kelley. After seven months’ absence Rhodes returned to beat Lóránt Szabó for the WBO Inter-Continental title. Continuing his rehabilitation with two quick wins, Rhodes was nominated by the WBO to take on Bert Schenk in for what was termed the ‘interim’ world title.14 When Schenk pulled out injured his replacement was Jason Matthews, who said in reference to Rhodes’ hands-low style: ‘He has his head in the air. That’ll suit me fine’. Matthews knocked Rhodes out in the second; Brendan Ingle lamented: ‘Ryan went out on a suicide mission and got caught’. Rhodes disappeared from boxing for six months, then went on a winning run throughout 2000 and 2001, but a stoppage by Lee Blundell in March 2002 set him back. It was to be a long path back to the top; Rhodes was virtually re-starting his career at the age of 27. Eventually an international bout came his way in July 2006 with a challenge for Gary Lockett’s WBU middleweight title. Defeat meant that Rhodes’ future was in doubt once more. Returning but Changed Dropping down to light-middleweight Rhodes began from the bottom, but also left the Ingle gym to train with Dave Coldwell. When interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2018 Rhodes explained: ‘I had to leave – I’d got stale. I needed a change. [Coldwell] had been at the Ingle gym and knew me well as a boxer and a friend. It worked straightaway. I got down to

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light-middleweight and won my next three fights’. This brought Rhodes a second British championship challenge in April 2008 at the age of 31, against Gary Woolcombe. Rhodes’ performance recalled his early years as he knocked Woolcombe out in the ninth. More than 11 years after he first won the British light-middleweight title, Rhodes was champion again. It was the biggest gap in British boxing history between a fighter winning and regaining a national championship. A points win over Jamie Coyle in his first defence was followed in November 2008 by a win over Vincent Vuma in a WBC International championship contest. Eventually, in June 2011, almost 12 years after his previous attempt, Rhodes fought for a world title, this time for the WBC light-middleweight belt, travelling to Mexico to take on the phenomenal Saúl ‘Canelo’ Álvarez. Aged just 20 and unbeaten in 36 professional fights, Álvarez was the youngest ever world light-middleweight champion. Álvarez dominated from the first bell to the finish; Dave Coldwell and the referee simultaneously signalled the end in the 12th. Rejecting suggestions he should retire, Rhodes claimed there were still titles to be won at domestic and European level and consoled himself with £100,000—the biggest purse of his career. Five months later Rhodes was back, beating Sergey Khomitsky. One more big fight awaited, in June 2012 against Sergey Rabchenko for the vacant European light-middleweight championship. It was to be Rhodes’ last—he was stopped in round seven. He retired with a record of 46 wins and six defeats. Perhaps unusually, Rhodes found the post-career transition easy, with a wife and family, a house and savings. There were none of the problems associated with mental health, addiction and money that afflict so many other retired boxers. He explained his reasoning in 2018: I’d done everything I’d wanted to do. I thought: ‘I’m getting too old’. I was getting punched on split-second decisions that I’d avoided years earlier, getting marked up in sparring. It’s not good when your kids ask why your face is cut and bruised. I also had too much respect for those that paid to see me to not do what I was capable of.

There was an offer from his father to join his business but Rhodes wanted to pass his boxing experiences on to others. Opening a gym called POW! Fitness in Sheffield city centre, he later moved to a premises on London Road and re-branded the venture as 26RR Fitness in honour of his wife and two daughters’ birthdays: all were born on the 26th

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of the month. As the business grew, the building became too small; in late 2016 the gym relocated to a two-storey former car showroom in the Shalesmoor district. The gym today caters for both professional and recreational boxers. Those who have trained there include former Commonwealth and European bantamweight champion Ross Burkinshaw, former British light-welterweight champion Curtis Woodhouse, former English light-welterweight champion Sam O’maison and English featherweight challenger Razaq Najib. Outside the gym business Rhodes runs a promotions company that organises nights with boxing names from the past, such as Thomas Hearns, who the day before Rhodes was interviewed for this book signed a deal to appear at an event in Sheffield. Rhodes is happy with his lot, in both his personal and professional lives. He never won the world title his talent deserved, but he is not rueful. As he explained, his life had followed what seemed a natural course since he was a teenager: I weren’t academic but I set out to be a boxer. Lived well, trained hard. I was always going to make it. Then I met my wife-to-be when I was 20. I bought a house – with a mortgage – aged 21, a brand new four-bed detached. We’ve been together ever since and have two daughters, and still live there. I’m 41, been happy with the same woman for 21 years, got a business that employs half a dozen and I’m healthy. I’ve got a great job running this gym, a great wife and family. I’m happy, comfy and content. I left the ring in one piece and without regrets. Maybe I am one of the lucky ones.

∗ ∗ ∗ Ryan Rhodes and Johnny Nelson were undeniably ‘home boys’, but some boxers travelled miles to work with Brendan Ingle. Their stories tell of a sometimes difficult life in the Ingle gym but show that such times were sufficient to set them up in careers they can thank boxing training for.

Pickering the Right Move: Esham Pickering Born in Newark, Nottinghamshire, in August 1976, Esham Pickering knew where he had to go to learn how to box. After winning his first five contests as a super-bantamweight Pickering left home in 1996 to train at the Ingle gym. His first contest in the city came in April 1997 when he

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beat Graham McGrath on points at Hillsborough Leisure Centre at the bottom of a bill topped by Ryan Rhodes. Improving under Ingle’s tutelage, within a year Pickering was to fight for the British featherweight title, but lost on points to the more experienced Jon Jo Irwin. Recovering to win his next six, Pickering challenged Mauricio Martínez for the WBO title at Sheffield Arena but was knocked out in just 72 seconds. Taking over two years—in which time he beat the same opponent, Carl Allen, four times—to return to championship level Pickering fought Duncan Karanja for the vacant Commonwealth superbantamweight title in February 2003. Winning by a stoppage, Pickering went on to lift the British and European titles over the next two years. During this period as a triple champion Pickering credited Ingle, saying: ‘He is an inspiring guy to work with, and he is brilliant at his job. His best asset is his patience, but he also teaches you about discipline, life and social skills’. Ingle had also taught Pickering how to switch stance from orthodox to southpaw. ‘If you can box two ways I think you have an advantage’, said Pickering. However, in October 2005 he lost his titles to the unbeaten Michael Hunter and the following year lost a European title challenge to Bernard Dunne. In August 2007, Pickering left the Ingle gym. Geography was the issue. Pickering rented a house in Sheffield but his family was settled in Nottinghamshire; he thus returned to Newark. Departing with kind words, Pickering stated: ‘Brendan did a lot for me; he was a big part of my success. Dominic has come on as a trainer and I think a lot about them. Brendan always told me stability is important, and the drain on me training and travelling became too much’. The move proved beneficial; five months later Pickering won the British title for the second time by beating Sean Hughes. His reign was short; the following May he lost his first defence to Matthew Marsh. Now in decline, Pickering lost three of his next four contests before retiring in 2010. A comeback four years later also ended in defeat, after which Pickering called it a day with a record of 34 wins and 11 defeats. ∗ ∗ ∗ Many, if not most, young boxers take up the sport dreaming of adoration and riches, but one Ingle boxer from the 1980s deliberately retained a low profile, regarding boxing as a means to an end, namely to earn enough monies to enable him to invest in property when his boxing days ended.

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Bobbing and Weaving: Vinny Vahey Belfast-born Vinny Vahey moved to Sheffield with his large family at the age of six. His father and older brother Vernon had been amateur fighters in Northern Ireland and taught Vinny to look after himself. On his first day at High Storrs Comprehensive School, he became involved in a fight. A crowd gathered as Vahey beat up the bigger, older boy. He later explained to author Geoffrey Beattie in his 1986 book Survivors of Steel City: A Portrait of Sheffield: ‘I was really scared at first but as soon as it got going I was OK. I really enjoyed it … it was great fighting in front of all those people’. Aged 14 Vahey won the junior championships of South Yorkshire, the North-East and the North and two years later joined Ingle’s gym. Leaving school and working as a steel erector he was made redundant aged 18 and so decided to become a professional boxer. Deceptively frail looking, Vahey had fast hands and feet and good reflexes. Entering the fight game not to escape a life of crime and poverty—his family was reasonably comfortable—Vahey simply wanted to see whether he could make a career out of his natural skills and invest any earnings wisely. After losing his first professional fight, Vahey rose to ninth in the British rankings by recording nine wins in his next ten contests. His biggest fight was in May 1983 on the undercard of the Sheffield City Hall bill that climaxed with Herol Graham’s defeat of Clement Tshinza to claim the European light-middleweight title. Fighting Jimmy Bunclarke for the Central Area lightweight championship, Vahey was knocked down in the first round. Rising at the count of four, he was shocked to see the referee waving the contest over. Vahey nevertheless collected £500, the biggest pay-day of his career. Under no illusions about his future in the sport as a result of this defeat, Vahey managed to find a positive; it made him more attractive to London promoters who, in Vahey’s words, ‘don’t want someone from the north who wins every fight and is going to give their boy a good hiding. They don’t want a real dummy either, but they definitely don’t want somebody who is too good’. His logic was sound; he had already fought in the capital at the World Sporting Club in Mayfair and the National Sporting Club in Piccadilly. Having entered the doors of such esteemed boxing venues Vahey meanwhile stood by a door in Sheffield city centre until past midnight for decent money.

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The Bigger They Come Supplementing his boxing income by working on the door of the Metro bar, Vahey found that the late hours impinged on his primary occupation. When interviewed by Geoffrey Beattie in 1983 Vahey had not trained properly for months. He was not overly concerned, as he reckoned he could earn £3,000 annually from each of his two jobs.15 He had also succumbed to the temptation of customers buying him drinks in the hope he would be on their side if trouble started. At five feet ten and under ten stones, Vahey was not the archetypal bouncer, but regulars knew what else he did for a living. He would overhear customers saying ‘Who? Him?’ when told the doorman was a professional boxer, but stated that beyond the scepticism very few ‘had a go’ at him. One who did came off badly. Whilst on his way home in the early hours Vahey was punched in the back of the neck by a man who accused him of eyeing up his girlfriend earlier that night. Not wanting to fight, Vahey attempted to persuade the couple to get in a taxi, but without success. The man came at him, so Vahey started bobbing and weaving, resulting in the aggressor getting angrier. His girlfriend then joined in. Vahey fended off the man with what he called ‘a slap’, then grabbed his girlfriend’s leg and sat her on the pavement. It was a show of minimum force. As Vahey explained: ‘Some boxers would have punched the pair of them’. Humiliated by a skinny kid in front of both a crowd and his girlfriend, the man departed with a threat to Vahey to return and ‘blow him away’. He never did. Realistic about his boxing prospects, Vahey’s long-term aim was not ring glory and boxing belts, but security, reasoning: [Herol Graham] wants to be world champion and be a millionaire. I just want a steady stream of fights with nice regular payments, so that I can buy some property and rent it out. But you can’t get a mortgage if you’re a boxer; your income fluctuates too much and is too unreliable. So I really need some good money. The British title would be nice, but I’ll probably make more money in the long run if I’m not too hot.

Fighting just four more times, Vahey retired after a December 1985 challenge for the light-welterweight championship of Northern Ireland resulted in a first-round knock-out. ∗ ∗ ∗

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The term ‘journeyman’ carries undertones of unintended sporting mediocrity. In boxing however some deliberately choose that path, sometimes through a lack of talent or dedication, but often through a heavy dose of pragmatism. Boxing journeymen understand they will never win any titles—or even plaudits—and usually enter the ring knowing they will lose, but for them it is a decent way to earn a steady—if not large—income.

The Journeyman: Daniel Thorpe Born in May 1977, Daniel Thorpe spent his early years on the tough Parson Cross council estate in north Sheffield before the family moved the short distance to Wincobank. Unusually withdrawn as a child, Thorpe’s grandfather took the boy to the nearby Newman Road gym to see if learning to box could instil some self-belief in the seven-year-old. It was not all about boxing at the Saturday morning children’s sessions: standing in the centre of the ring talking about himself and singing songs in front of the group transported the shy Thorpe into another realm. Gaining confidence, he was to become good friends with Ryan Rhodes and Naseem Hamed. By the age of 11 Thorpe was training daily and had his first amateur bout. Like Rhodes, Hamed, Herol Graham and Kell Brook before him, Thorpe quickly learned that that the ‘Ingle style’ was not appreciated by amateur officialdom, as he told author Mark Turley in his 2015 book Journeymen: ‘The old boys all wanted everyone to box in a particular way. Even when Naz started they used to have it in for him’. Ingle’s junior boxers would don flashy gowns, vault over the ropes into the ring and shadow box. During the contest they would switch stance and ‘dance’ around their opponents, traits that did not go down well in some amateur arenas. At this age Thorpe was considered the equal of his stablemates, but this was to change. In a reversal of the oft-cited beneficial effects of boxing, Thorpe began to lose interest in the sport, first falling for a girl and then becoming entangled with a street gang that thieved, drank and sought fights. ‘I’d learned things in the gym that I was using in the wrong way’, admitted Thorpe. With a child to support and a poorly paid job, a workmate and boxer named Andrew Facey16 facilitated Thorpe’s route back into boxing. Discovering how much money Facey was making from boxing—around £1,000 per contest—Thorpe’s interest was awoken. A chance encounter with John Ingle sealed the deal. At the age of 23 Thorpe returned to the

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Ingle gym, which brought home to him the scale of the opportunities he had missed: Hamed was a multiple world champion earning millions; Rhodes had won a British title and had fought for a world title. Still possessing talent but lacking the dedication required to become a topclass boxer, Thorpe was unsure how to proceed. Should he knuckle down and try to become a contender, or should he accept a role of fighting anywhere, any time, as often as he could to earn as much money as possible? The latter course would brand him as a ‘journeyman’. A brief reflection on the world of the journeyman boxer is appropriate here. The term is usually applied to a fighter hand-picked to provide someone regarded as a ‘prospect’ with another notch on his belt as he climbs the rankings. Regardless of the venue, the ‘prospect’ is termed the ‘home’ boxer, the ‘journeyman’ the ‘away’ boxer. As the ‘home’ boxer, the prospect is expected to sell dozens or even hundreds of tickets for the event. In some cases, the boxer might receive just 10% of the value of his sales, the rest going to the promoter of the event. In contrast, all the ‘away’ boxer has to do is turn up, give the prospect a good workout, and—crucially—lose. Jon Pegg, manager of journeyman Kristian Laight,17 explained to Mark Turley that his boxer’s role was to ‘go in there and test the prospects and further their education’ and to ‘give the kid something to think about’. Laight added: ‘The last thing [promoters] want is some lad who’s shifting four or five hundred tickets a time to lose, get disheartened and quit’. A journeyman who does not follow the script and beats the prospect may find that his invitations disappear and his journeys end. The Cost of the Journey For this supporting role—and the indignity of losing—the journeyman is often paid more than the prospect. A journeyman who understands what is expected of him can make a good living, but to do so he must remain healthy. Laight explained there was an art to being a journeyman and not getting hurt: ‘It’s about looking after yourself in there, lots of movement, being crafty, knowing when to punch and when to step back. You can’t just go in there all guns blazing because you’ll get cut. If you get cut you’re out for 28 days… so that means no money for 28 days’. A small but regular income is the aim, not fame and fortune. The mentality of sportsmen who do not mind losing is hard for some to fathom, especially

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in a sport as dangerous as boxing, but there is logic to the journeyman’s chosen path. The problem for Daniel Thorpe was that it took him a while to realise what he wanted to do. After nine fights his record stood at four wins, four defeats and a draw. Two things helped determine his future: one was that his still highly active social life meant he was disinclined to both train hard and do the rounds selling tickets; the second came when John Ingle asked Thorpe to register as ‘self-managed’. BBBC rules prevented a boxer from fighting anyone under the same management; Ingle’s request spelled out to Thorpe that the Ingle camp wanted him available to ‘school’ the stable’s prospects, i.e. to become a journeyman. Thorpe had been given a hint of the future in his eighth fight, against debutant Jackson Williams, as he explained: ‘I was told directly beforehand to lose on purpose. I was told to just look after [Williams] and let him win. They gave me a little bit of extra money for that’. This soon became the norm. Thorpe fought Nadeem Siddique three times, explaining in Mark Turley’s Journeymen: … every time it was the same deal. He was a massive ticket seller so they wanted him well looked after. I remember on his debut I was walking to the ring and all his supporters were giving me absolute dog’s abuse and I felt like turning round and saying, look, I’m letting him win this! The truth is I could have smashed him to pieces at the time, but I was being paid to do a job.

It did not always go to plan. In April 2003, Thorpe fought Stephen Mullin live on television. With several ABA titles behind him, Mullin was considered a prospect. But the promoters forgot to pay Thorpe a bit ‘extra’ to make sure he lost. Thorpe caught Mullin with a right hook in the first and stopped him. He then fought Mally McIver for the Central Area lightweight title—and won. This was not how it was supposed to be. With more than a hint of irony Thorpe lamented: ‘The problem was… the work started to dry up. When I was losing I was getting sometimes four fights a month and the money was fantastic’. Matchmakers thought Thorpe was taking boxing seriously again. Thorpe added: ‘That’s when it really kicked in for me and I realised that winning wasn’t doing me any favours because I couldn’t get any work’. Losing his title on a close decision to Stefy Bull proved a godsend: Thorpe’s phone began to ring again.

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Having proved himself as a journeyman with a touch more talent than most thanks to his Ingle upbringing, well-paid bouts started to arrive. Thorpe fought future world champions Gavin Rees, Ricky Burns and Anthony Crolla, as well as two-time world title challenger Kevin Mitchell. In December 2005, he was placed in the same London’s Docklands Arena ring as 2004 Olympic silver medallist Amir Khan. It was Khan’s fourth professional fight. This was one contest in which Thorpe planned to ditch his journeyman tag; an upset win over the new star of British boxing would change the Sheffield man’s future. In Thorpe’s words: ‘We thought we’d give it a go. There was a chance to make myself a superstar’. Going for Khan from the opening bell, Thorpe put the novice professional under pressure for the first time in his career. But Khan responded, putting Thorpe down. When he did so again twice in the second the referee stopped the contest. After this Thorpe fought a draw with future British champion Anthony Theophane and lost on points to Commonwealth champion Derry Matthews. Thorpe believed he could have beaten Matthews, but by now fully committed to being a journeyman, said: ‘I stood off’. Between November 2008 and February 2011, Thorpe lost 41 consecutive fights. But a commitment to losing brought with it a lack of commitment to training. Turning up for contests half-fit did not endear Thorpe to the BBBC. In 2011, the board withdrew his boxing licence. Short of motivation to continue, Thorpe did not complain. His two regrets were ‘not giving it a proper go from the start’ and squandering all the money he earned from boxing. But he did not give up entering a ring to fight, taking part in a number of unlicensed (by the BBBC) European Boxing Federation (EBF)18 contests to earn what he termed ‘beer money’. Thorpe even reprised his journeyman role: he admitted in Journeyman that matched with a 14-stone opponent he could once have beaten in his sleep he went down via the first blow, in the knowledge he would still get paid. Retiring with an official record of 23 wins, 113 defeats and three draws, Thorpe never discovered how good he could have been. ‘I never won three fights in a row’, he said. ‘It’s not because I couldn’t, it’s because I knew if I did that my career as a journeyman was finished’. ∗ ∗ ∗

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Boxing accommodates all sorts, with all kind of ambitions. This accommodation includes the repentant, who can leave the ring ever appreciative of what was provided for them.

Towering Inferno: Richard Towers Standing six feet eight and weighing 17 stones, the appropriately named Richard Towers briefly trained at the Ingle gym in the late 1990s under his birth name Richard Hayles. Then he disappeared. Years later Brendan Ingle recalled: ‘I was asking people what happened to him and nobody knew where he had gone’. In 2007, Towers walked back into the gym stating his desire to become a professional boxer. Recalling the big lad with the powerful physique, Ingle asked him where he had been. He received the simple reply: ‘Prison’. The reason for Towers’ incarceration came as a shock even to the redoubtable Ingle. In July 2001, Towers was part of a gang that kidnapped a Sheffield man in the Pitsmoor district of the city and transported him to a flat in Thorne, near Doncaster. Once there, for three days, two of the men—not including Towers—tortured their captive using a hot iron and an electric stun gun. Finding contact details on his mobile phone, the men rang his family, demanding a ransom of £150,000. During the calls his family could hear their relative’s screams. Eventually reducing the ransom demand to the somewhat random sum of £37,000, a place and time were arranged for the mutual exchange. The family meanwhile contacted the police, who put up the ransom money and kept watch on the nominated drop point opposite Sheffield’s Concord Sports Centre. The ‘exchange’ was somewhat farcical. One of the kidnappers collected the money and sped off on a waiting motorcycle along a narrow path, leaving the car-bound police unable to follow. The captive was later dumped in Sheffield and required weeks in hospital to recover from hypothermia and multiple burns. A police investigation led to the arrests of Hayles (Towers) and three other men. The reason for the kidnap was that the men believed their victim’s family was wealthy on account of him being—in Hayles’ words— ‘a drugs baron’. Hayles and an accomplice pleaded guilty to kidnap; both received 13-year prison sentences, later reduced to 11 on appeal as the judge accepted that neither took part in the torture. The ringleader was sentenced to 17 years, whilst the fourth man received a six-year custodial sentence. Released after serving six-and-a-half years, Towers related this

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story in a 2012 interview with the Independent, explaining how he was drawn into a life of crime and violence: I went to Brendan’s gym as a 16-year-old but I saw all my friends flashing money and driving nice cars and kids don’t see much further than that, so slowly but surely I ended up on the wrong path. [The kidnap sentence] wasn’t my first time in prison. There were [also] two charges of attempted murder, one after I went to the flat of someone buying cannabis off me and when I left there were about 40 people waiting for me downstairs, some with Samurai swords. They all rushed me and were trying to stab me in the face and whacking me around the legs with bats. I got a knife off one of the kids and started cutting and slashing. I think I stabbed five people. I was on remand for 12 months but was found not guilty on the basis of self-defence. Then I got into a fight a few years after that and got locked up [for] grievous bodily harm. I was an animal, involved in drugs and guns, as deep into crime as you can get. I’d had a dozen bareknuckle fights in prison, strictly illegal, of course, but well organised. The ‘screws’19 seemed to turn a blind eye.

Towers began smoking aged 11 and was drinking, smoking cannabis and stealing cars by the age of 13. He added: ‘I ended up robbing drug dealers and loaning out the money at extortionate rates’. The turning point came when his mother visited him in prison and told him his younger brother ‘was struggling and that he needed me out [of prison]’. Changing his prison lifestyle, Towers was eventually released on parole for good behaviour. Thinking he could box because of his prison fighting experiences, Towers quickly discovered he had a lot to learn. Said Ingle in 2012: ‘I didn’t know what to make of him but we taught him a few things, put him in some amateur bouts where he looked good. We got him a professional licence. And, it seems odd to say this after what he’s done, but you couldn’t meet a nicer fella’. To prove he was a ‘nice fella’, Towers immersed himself in the Ingle gym culture, mentoring children and picking litter. ‘Sure, it’s a bit like doing community service’, Towers told the Sheffield Star in 2008, ‘but I do what I’m told because I respect [Ingle]. All I do now is clean up the roads, train and see my three-year-old son. Then I am at home sleeping. Boxing has taught me how to pick myself up from failure. Thank God for Brendan and his sons Dominic and John. Brendan is an amazing human being. I have another chance now. I want to make a life for myself and help other lads to try and do the same’.

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Like many of Ingle’s boxers, Towers was given a nickname—‘The Inferno’. Making his professional debut in June 2009 he won his first 14 fights, including lifting the European Union heavyweight title in 2012 by stopping Gregory Tony. He then lost for the first—and only—time in a Commonwealth title eliminator against Lucas Browne in November 2013. Originally scheduled for Australia, the bout was moved to Britain when Towers was refused a visa because of his criminal record. Towers fought only once in 2014—a win—but was in demand as a sparring partner for British heavyweight champion Tyson Fury. Towers did not fight in 2015 after injuring a shoulder in a car accident but sparred with world champion Wladimir Klitschko as he prepared for his November 2015 defence against Fury. Aged 37, Towers retired in 2016 and moved into training, learning from the great Emanuel Steward, former world heavyweight champion David Haye’s one-time trainer Adam Booth and local man Dave Coldwell. In 2019, Towers told www.boxingnewsonline.net: ‘I remember Brendan lining me, Junior Witter, Kell Brook, Kid Galahad and some of his other fighters up. He went down everyone and said they were either going to be British, European or world champion—then when he got to me he said, “You’ll make a fantastic coach!” He saw qualities in me that I weren’t experienced or educated enough to see. But that just made me know that I am made for this’. Towers had come a long way from his youthful days of drugs and violence; boxing had played no small part in that transformation. ∗ ∗ ∗ Fighting in the street was seen by many a boxer as a one-way ticket to incarceration. The boxing ring thus afforded respectability to those who enjoyed punching. Long careers and big monies were never going to be the story of everyone who entered a boxing gym but some whose boxing career was brief could tell a tale for the remainder of their years.

The Man Who Knocked Out Klitschko: Pele Reid One of Ingle’s stable was once responsible for defeating a world heavyweight champion by stoppage. Vitali Klitschko lost just twice in his 47-fight professional boxing career and retired in 2012 after successfully defending his WBC heavyweight title 11 times. In 1992, however,

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Birmingham-born Pelé Reid knocked Klitschko out in a kick-boxing bout before either became a professional boxer. Some 13 years later Reid told the boxing website www.boxnews.com.ua the story of the World Kick Boxing Association European championships in Varna, Bulgaria. Reid, representing Great Britain, and Klitschko, representing the Commonwealth of Independent States,20 met in the final of what was termed the ‘Light Contact Division’. Seeded second and first, respectively, it surprised nobody present that the pair made the final in which Reid, at six feet four inches, was the underdog against the six feet seven inches Klitschko. Reid described the lead-up to their contest: I breezed through the semi-finals, and Klitschko did too. He happened to walk past me after our matches and I thought: ‘Man, this guy’s big!’ Then he looks down at me and smirks like he’s measuring me up. He looked at me like he was gonna bust me up and I knew then that I just had to put him down.

Klitschko tried to take the initiative, using the kick-boxing equivalent of a jab by lifting his left leg and poking it towards Reid. But Klitschko left himself exposed, enabling Reid to unleash a spinning kick that connected with Klitschko’s jaw. In a conventional kick-boxing match, there would have been a count, but as this was ‘light contact’ the referee stopped the contest with Klitschko down and declared Reid the European champion. Three years later, Reid chose the type of boxing that did not allow the use of the feet and moved to Sheffield from Birmingham to be trained and managed by Ingle. Reid’s father was a fan of Brazilian football—he named his other son Santos after the club the great footballer Pelé played over 600 games for—but this Pelé was more interested in martial artists Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee than his great footballing namesake. In his home city, Reid made the choice of many boxers; he took up the sport to keep out of trouble. He said: ‘The kids I ran with in Aston were a hard lot and there was a chance I would get into trouble. That is why I chose another route. I want to set a good example’. Said Ingle of his new charge: ‘If he hits you, he knocks you out. He is so strong you have to nail him to the floor to beat him’. Victory in his first 13 contests earned Reid a fight for the British and Commonwealth heavyweight titles. Not all his opponents stretched him. His tenth win came against one Eli Dixon, described in the Sheffield Star as ‘an embarrassingly out-of-condition heap’. There was the farcical sight

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of Dixon’s shorts continually slipping below his huge belly before Reid knocked him out. Reid’s double title contest against Julius Francis in January 1999 brought his first defeat. He fought until 2009, unsuccessfully challenging for the British title again in 2008. His career record read: won 20, lost six, drew two. He later worked as a personal fitness trainer in Birmingham.

The Name Game Brendan Ingle often gave his boxers nicknames. Sometimes he changed their names entirely. When Derby-born Clifton Mitchell joined his stable Ingle re-launched his career as a supposed black Irish heavyweight named Paddy Reilly, under which name he fought for the British title in November 1994, losing by a knock-out to James Oyebola. Reilly/Mitchell retired in 1996 with a record of 18 wins and two defeats. He then took up ring-side security at boxing shows. Perhaps the most notorious—and successful—name change imposed by Ingle involved a super-middleweight who fought between 1987 and 1995. When Fidel Castro Smith arrived at the gym, Ingle considered his birth name not outlandish enough so renamed him Slugger O’Toole. He then dressed him in an emerald green hooded robe as he walked to the ring, so as to relay the impression that he was Irish. O’Toole’s ring revelation of being a black man from Nottingham was part of Ingle’s kidology towards opponents and also served to dilute his fighter’s attitude, which Ingle described as ‘arrogant’. The bluff worked; in 1992 the IBF rated Sheffield’s Slugger O’Toole as sixth in their world rankings and Nottingham’s Fidel Castro Smith as ninth! O’Toole/Smith won the British title in September 1991 by stopping Ian Strudwick. He successfully defended it against Lou Gent but lost his second defence to Henry Wharton in September 1992. Another challenge for the title a year later ended in defeat to James Cook, and after two further losses O’Toole retired with a record of 22 wins and eight defeats. Perhaps inspired by the boxer’s feats, in later years an Irish political blog www.sluggerotoole.com was formed, whilst a racehorse named Slugger O’Toole won three times between 2007 and 2011. Reverting to his birth name, Smith is now a social work manager in Nottingham.

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Buster: John Keeton A black Mercedes on the driveway of a nicely furnished home in the south-east Sheffield district of Stradbroke—perhaps the best-kept council estate in the city—stands as testament to the laudable achievements and quiet determination of the owner of both the house and the car. The pursuit of the vehicle’s registration plate, which is not far removed from this man’s surname, saw him follow its previous owner to her home to politely ask her whether she would sell it to him. It took another visit some six months later to eventually get his hands on it, whereupon he left her house £500 lighter but with the car and the registration plate in his possession. When interviewed—in his garden, and socially distant—by Gary Armstrong on a blazing August 2020 afternoon, garden renovations are on hold as he potters around with his partner Kerry. The last few weeks have not all been sunshine however as John Keeton, unsurprisingly known as ‘Buster’, deals with an employment dispute. After 32 years with the same company ‘doing basically everything’, the regulations have changed. Now aged 48 and working on an old contract, the immediate future is preying on his mind. But you just know he will survive—he always has done. For almost two decades carrying on a career in professional boxing alongside his ‘day job’ only added to the singular pursuit of controlling his own destiny, a characteristic he carries with him today. The hot weather facilitates virtually full viewing of Keeton’s extensive body art. A tattoo covering his back depicts various scenes from what might best be termed US rapper/gangster culture. The lower left leg is covered by images of handguns; the right arm carries depictions of Japanese art and motifs. How does this happen? I’ve got a fascination with 1990s ‘gangsta rap’. I love Cypress Hill, Biggie Smalls and Soul Assassins. Then when me dad died a few years ago I was having the big [tattoo] done on me back. I found the pain of it therapeutic. When they finished I asked them to put three small dots on my right cheek. It stands for Mi Vida Loca – ‘My Crazy Life’.

The Numbers Game Born in 1972 and raised in the edge-of-city suburb of Woodhouse, Keeton’s early life did not indicate a subsequent successful boxing career.

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The Keeton family saw the value of education. Boxing was not a family ‘thing’; punctuality and hard work were. Buster’s father was a colliery electrician before going into property repairs and then becoming a selfemployed milkman. His mother was a shift manager at a supermarket, then took a milk round herself. His grandfathers on both sides were pit men; Buster reckons he owes some of his red-blooded genes to one of them: ‘Mum’s dad was a pit safety officer, strong like, and like me carried 17 stone in weight’. Industrious parents did not want Buster and his two brothers to box; to them good schooling was the priority. Reflection on his childhood produces a very thoughtful analysis of his circumstances, which suggested undiagnosed dyscalculia21 : They never went to pubs or clubs. Dad would have a few cans in front of the TV of a night. He was never nasty, never swore. I loved him to bits. He had made good money working away and bought a big house in Woodhouse. Maybe there was pressure from my mum’s side; her sister had moved to London and done well for herself. Maybe there was pressure for us all to be academic like some of our cousins. We had a private maths tutor to help us … but I don’t see numbers, have trouble telling the time and I’d no interest in reading a book.

Bully Beef It is hard to believe today that this shaven-headed man consisting of 17 stones of muscle and tattoos was once the victim of bullying, a miserable experience that led Buster to seek an avenue towards redemption: As a babby22 I was stiff … they could change me nappy holding my two feet like a plank of wood. At junior school I had a big head and big hands but the body was slow to grow. Then they found out I had maths tuition – and I looked like Little Lord Fauntleroy23 – blue shirt, grey shorts, socks pulled up, shiny shoes. I hung out with one kid who was a vicar’s son and one whose dad went on to be a well-known composer.24 It got better at big school. There was a kid there – Kevin Lax – his grandad was a pro boxer25 and everyone wanted to be his mate … thing is, in later years these cool kids told me they had me down as someone not to mess wi’.

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Schoolmates were instrumental in getting Buster into boxing, but a degree of subterfuge was required to keep such an ambition concealed from his parents: A kid called Jimmy was like me – not popular. He’d started going to Richmond ABC. Mum met him and took to him and let me hang about with him. I’d go to his house then the boxing club without her knowing. Then Jimmy packed it in and I went on my own and my dad caught me walking home from the club and that was it.

There were thus to be no schoolboy boxing awards for Buster. There were however other achievements that few of his peers could match: To steer me away from boxing mum and dad bought me an old VW Beetle to pull apart and rebuild. I stripped a washing machine at the age of eight and rebuilt it. I was welding at the age of ten. Dad was proud of that. I did a bit of motocross as well. I also helped out with the business. Dad got up at 2.00am to deliver in Stocksbridge and never had a day off. Mum went door-knocking on the Flockton estate26 and went from delivering two crates to a 70-gallon round. At 13 I’d be on the back of me dad’s flat-back in all weathers helping on the round. I’d weigh and pack the eggs and potatoes. Then when he got the round in Woodhouse I’d go out collecting the milk money … I weren’t that good as I couldn’t add up. Some got their milk cheap I reckon!

The simultaneous demands of both helping the family and a desire to box were pulling the teenaged Keeton apart: I got new mate – Tom Bradley – whose brother Nigel was a boxing pro27 and they asked me to go with them to the Ingle gym. I was by now old enough to make my own decisions and I went. Mum and dad realised I wanted to box … a couple of times I missed the bus from the gym – it was two buses and a walk away – and I got in too late to go collecting the milk money. I didn’t want to let dad down and realised I couldn’t do both.

Boxing had to go—for now. Leaving school at 16 without qualifications Buster worked at a fruit and vegetable market, then obtained an apprenticeship at British Telecom, impressing his employers with his mechanical skills. He meanwhile attended a weekly martial arts session at Woodhouse Youth Club, which sometimes got out of hand:

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It was a bit of a free-for-all … kick, punch, whatever. I broke a few people’s ribs and then Tom [Bradley] and me had a spar and I kneed his mouth and shifted his teeth. I was upset. Nigel [Bradley] said to me: ‘Right, now let’s do this properly and get back in the Ingle gym.’

Returning there aged 17, Keeton was not a ‘typical’ Ingle boxer. Wanting to fight anywhere, any time to earn an income, he admitted to being physically unable to ‘get that elusiveness of others’ at the gym. Despite Brendan Ingle’s teachings around footwork, learning from other boxers, maintaining body shape and staying relaxed in the ring, Keeton’s style remained stiff and plodding. The ‘hit and don’t get hit’ Ingle philosophy was alien to Buster. Seemingly impervious to pain, he enjoyed being hit and welcomed the physicality of exchanging punches: I wasn’t Ingle’s style and he always told me I’d overachieved. He liked me and gave me the name Buster after he’d wanted me to be called Frankenstein and enter the ring with some bolt contraption wrapped around me neck. And Herol [Graham] and Johnny [Nelson] in training proper beat up on me. People say it hurts getting hit … it never hurt me. No one’s ever hurt me in the ring and I’ve never had a headache.

Keeton described his boxing philosophy as ‘attack and not back off’. This approach was not a problem; the Ingle gym catered for all sorts, especially those who possessed the self-discipline demanded therein. Says Buster: I did the lines. Not all stuck it out – it was a boring thing to do but the gym was obsessed with it. They had a three-stage training plan – footwork, blows, sparring. I did that OK and then had ten amateur fights. I won one on points and knocked the others out and I lost just one. I was a wrecking machine. Then I went to the ABAs and got two knock-out wins. At 21 I went pro on the undercard of Johnny Nelson’s 1993 title fight against Tom Collins … I knocked Tony Colclough out in 40 seconds, then got robbed on a points decision against Val Golding by a referee making his debut.

All young boxers at the gym wanted to be noticed by Ingle. Keeton was no different; he once fell for the Ingle ruse of angling for a free lift. When Ingle asked Keeton if he was doing anything that night, Keeton responded in the negative. He then found himself and his vehicle requisitioned to drive Ingle to a boxing show in Leeds. As he grew older, Keeton

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learned to find a convenient excuse when a similar request came his way. Ingle taught Keeton boxing and life lessons in ways he did not always appreciate at the time, as highlighted by the following example: After the Bruce Scott fight [see later] I collapsed and was taken to the Royal London [hospital] under ‘twos and blues’.28 Brendan followed in his car. I’m under scans and being kept in for the night. Brendan gives me 20 quid and says tomorrow get a train back to Sheffield. I called me mam and she sent an uncle to drive down and pick me up. Next day I saw Brendan and he asked about the train. I told him about how I got back. He went fuckin’ mad: (imitating Ingle)29 ‘You’re over 18 and a fuckin’ adult, that’s why I gave you that task’. I didn’t know where St Pancras was or what train to catch. Anyway he says: ‘You let yourself down’. Why? ‘Because I said make the journey, find out how to do it’.

Another lesson was learned when Ingle asked Keeton if he would take a short-notice fight against British light-heavyweight champion Crawford Ashley in Cardiff. He jumped at the chance. Naseem Hamed was on the same bill, so Keeton and Hamed travelled together. On the day Ingle informed Keeton that the BBBC had decided he was not experienced enough to fight Ashley. Keeton recounted to Wise Guys Podcast Productions in a February 2020 Youtube interview that in the hotel room he shared with Hamed, the latter—having earlier weighed in—was up for much of the night eating chocolate and ice cream. The next night Hamed improved his record to nine out of nine. On the way home, Ingle revealed to Keeton that he had known for a week that the Ashley fight was off. He had sent Keeton to Cardiff for two reasons: to have him experience attending a big fight night, and (in Keeton’s words, imitating Ingle), ‘to babysit the Naz fella’. Another time Ingle rang Keeton to ask if he would fight world title contender Nicky Piper—that night, in Cardiff. Keeton put up a good show but retired after eight rounds. He later reflected that he preferred this rushed scenario; suffering from pre-fight anxiety such an arrangement gave him less time to think about what lay ahead. Keeton hid such mental troubles from the Ingles, telling them he was tired when they noticed he was not operating at full speed. Today he admits to sometimes having a strange feeling of not knowing who or where he was both during and after fights:

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I was often terrified [in the ring], not of an opponent but of the circumstances I was in. It’s hard to explain … at times I was dreaming whilst fighting, my eyes were open and I could smell stone being cut – I was trance-like, maybe a bit like death – but I knew what I was doing. It could come and go for 24 hours. I could leave the ring not knowing who I was. I’d have brain scans after but no abnormality ever showed up.

Boxing transported Buster into what might be described as an alternative realm of sense. He tells of another occasion when he experienced some kind of physical transcendence: ‘I was dreaming at the final bell and I asked Dominic [Ingle] where me son was – I was dreaming me and him were walking in a field’. Drink and Drive Boxing delivered such beautiful recollections, but there were also titles to be chased. A run of five wins in 1995 and 1996 earned Keeton a British title fight against Terry Dunstan, who beat him on a stoppage. Keeton admits this was the only fight in his career for which he forsook drinking alcohol to supposedly aid his preparation, explaining: I was into heavy drinking. I always drank throughout my boxing. I’d have four cans of Stones a night and a few more at weekends. Brendan saw them in my bag and went mad. I went off the booze before the [Dunstan] fight, gave up for six weeks. It killed me, I felt weak all the time.

His body was used to alcohol, not a lack of it. Keeton drank frequently, even in the days leading up to a fight: Against Gary Delaney I fought for the WBC Inter-Continental title. I was in the Tivoli [nightclub] in Rotherham the week before out of me head and then drank all week … and won on points. I took the fight with 48 hours’ notice.

Despite such alcohol consumption, Keeton possessed the will power to not drink for at least 24 hours after a fight, having learned of the effects alcohol could have on a brain potentially damaged by punches. Friends from Woodhouse and Gleadless were Buster’s ‘partners in crime’ when in city centre bars. Not all establishments welcomed their custom. This, and seeing mates disrespected or threatened, brought out

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the warrior in Keeton. One particular bouncer suffered Buster’s wrath for a few weeks: Every time I saw him I’d clip him. I’d been sticking up for a mate getting bullied. The bouncer got involved and later he’s barring me entering a club. The head doorman knew us both and suggested we shake hands and try to get on. We did, and we’ve got on reyt well ever since. It saved a lot of trouble for both of us and put the issue to bed. That’s how it should be.

This statement encapsulates Keeton’s sense of morality—stand up to bullying but let the matter drop when reconciliation is offered. Modesty is another of Keeton’s character traits. A local reputation meant that preferential treatment could be acquired at nightclub doors, but Buster eschewed such benefits: ‘I could never walk to the front of the queue outside a nightclub and breeze past the bouncers without even saying hello. My mates used to stand waiting wi’ me, going berserk, telling me to walk to the front – so they could get in quicker!’ Title Trail Four years after losing to Dunstan, Keeton had another attempt at winning the British title but was knocked out by Bruce Scott, who was to figure again later in Keeton’s career. June 2006 brought a third attempt, which ended in defeat to Mark Hobson. Keeton was nothing if not persistent. Four months later, he tried again, against Lee Swaby after Hobson vacated the title. Some 13 years after his debut Keeton at last won a Lonsdale Belt, knocking out Swaby. He put his late-career success down to a visit to a sports therapist at Sheffield’s English Institute of Sport. ‘I thought he was going to kill me’, Keeton explained to the Sheffield Star. ‘I have never been in so much pain in all my life. But the benefit has been phenomenal. I feel much more flexible, and I am even sleeping better’. The benefits of such treatment did not last long; Keeton lost his first defence to the returning Hobson. Taking an 18-month break, in May 2009 Keeton entered the Prizefighter tournament, as he explained to Gary Armstrong: I beat [Bruce] Scott but got a fractured eye socket and a damaged facial nerve. I couldn’t feel me face. I hid it from my corner, carried on and

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knocked out Dean Francis, then in the final met Ovill McKenzie and lost on points. He was a late sub and younger, faster and lighter. I was coughing blood for two days after. The hospital wanted to replace some of the bone around me eye … I didn’t let them. I had no feeling in my face for 18 months. They told me the problem was the gum shield I was wearing … it was from Suggs30 and maybe cost a quid.

The Prizefighter runner-up position earned Buster his biggest purse of £12,500. He considers the notion of external employment, stating that the British Telecom job was secure and paid well, adding: ‘I might have gone further in boxing If I didn’t have that safety net’. The Prizefighter defeat was Buster’s last fight, leaving him with a record of 28 wins and 17 defeats. He explains: The threat of losing my sight if I got hit there again, combined with a niggling hand injury and my ex-wife and the CSA31 … I had a long depression and put weight on. So many boxers end up like that you know. Every fighter gets it in some way. At times I’ve done 25 pints of Stella, half a bottle of whisky and a bottle of wine. Now it’s just a bottle of wine – Kerry’s sorted me out.

Kerry is Buster’s new partner, who offered redemption and encouraged self-reflection. Alcohol had always been Buster’s coping mechanism, albeit he never allowed it to affect his boxing or his job. Now he has new goals, with a good home life, an 18-year-old son who enjoys messing about with cars, and coaching boxing at Sheffield Dragons Martial Arts Super Center in the Handsworth district of Sheffield. Asked about any career regrets, Buster responds: There’s no point looking back. Had I got my head screwed on I should have gone for a world title. Fighting Troy Ross in Canada [for the Commonwealth cruiserweight title] I was in tip-top condition, but all I could think of was a plate of mashed potato and having a pint. He caught me in the second, I went down on a knee … then to pinch a few more seconds I spat out me gum shield.

However, instead of the respite he expected, the referee stopped the fight: the North American custom was that spitting out a gum shield signalled forfeiture.

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Pondering on what might be left to achieve in his life, Buster reflects: ‘Grow old wi’ Kerry. I like the quiet life. I sometimes go walking in the middle of the night and sit in the woods nearby and just enjoy the darkness and the quiet – all you can hear is birds singing’. Such an admission sums up this fearsome-looking man who is in fact a gentle and amusing character, very self-reflective and willing to stand up to what he perceives as wrong. One senses he has achieved peace of mind. Keeton has great admiration for Clinton Woods’ post-boxing acumen; both men are what we might term—in admiration—old-fashioned individuals, keen to do the right thing and do so with dignity. ∗ ∗ ∗ Redemption can occur outside of the boxing gym; some accusations and recriminations are not best sorted out via punching. Retiring as an honest boxing champion matters to some in more ways than one.

The Drugs Don’t Work: Jon Thaxton The Ingle gym has produced many champions, but on the way a few of its boxers have encountered unexpected obstacles. In February 2000, Jon Thaxton became the first British boxer to be banned for testing positive for nandrolone, a naturally produced form of testosterone that can be used in drug form to build muscle mass. Thaxton was suspended for nine months and fined £1,500 by the BBBC. The revelation shocked the gym. ‘You cannot meet a straighter kid than Jon Thaxton’, declared Brendan Ingle. ‘He is sick about the ban and will fight against it’. Thaxton began his professional boxing career in 1992. Working his way up the rankings, in November 1999 he fought Jason Rowland for the British light-welterweight title, losing in the fifth round. Two months later came the drugs ban. At the time many sportsmen and women were testing positive for nandrolone; some had suspensions annulled because of doubts over the legitimacy of the test results. Thaxton was one such successful challenger, taking the BBBC to court to get his ban overturned. ‘I had to clear my name’, he said, ‘but it cost me thousands’. Making a comeback in late 2000, Thaxton took Ricky Hatton the distance in a bloody battle. He eventually lifted the British lightweight title in 2006, beating Lee Meager. Successfully defending it twice to win a Lonsdale

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Belt outright, Thaxton retired in 2009 with a career record of 34 wins and 11 defeats. He is now a boxing trainer in his native Norwich. ∗ ∗ ∗ Anti-social and troubled youths have always had their perspectives changed by the strictures demanded of them by the boxing gym. Leaving the pre-gym life sometimes entails a total separation. What replaces the past is often intriguing.

Arabian Nights and Early Mornings: Kid Galahad Born to Yemeni parents in Doha, Qatar, in March 1990, Abdul-Bari Awad (also known as Barry Awad) moved to Britain when his father left the Qatari Army at the end of the first Gulf War.32 After living in Liverpool for a time, the family settled in the Upperthorpe district of Sheffield. Awad took up boxing aged 14 at the Ingle gym thanks to a chance meeting with Naseem Hamed at a mosque. Years later Awad told www.bbc.co.uk: ‘I was quite a small kid and wanted to get a little bit bigger and decided to go to a gym in the town centre. The gym had a boxing ring and I would spar with my friend and just mess around and do some shadow boxing. When I met Prince Naseem I told him I wanted to become a champion and he said that I should speak with Brendan Ingle’. Unsure of the gym’s location, Awad and his mother toured north Sheffield for an hour before finding it. When interviewed in 2017 Brendan’s son Dominic described Awad’s entrance to the gym: He walked in when he was 14 saying ‘Naz sent me down’. Dad thought he might have been spying for Naz but gave him the time of day anyway. He told him he needed footwork and set him a routine telling him to stay on the lines till he comes back and tells him to stop. Dad went for a three-hour walk. On the way back he bought a sandwich just in case the kid was still there. He was, still doing footwork; he’d never left the task. Dad gave him the sandwich, then asked him to sweep the gym.

Brendan told Awad to come back the following morning to prove he was serious. As Awad recalled: ‘The next day I was there on time and Brendan started to take an interest in my life. He told me that he wouldn’t train me if I didn’t take my education seriously’. Awad’s life followed a similar path to that taken by many a wayward youth before him: he was expelled

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from school for persistent fighting and barred from public transport for refusing to pay fares. He was also banned from attending youth clubs and was involved in various theatres of violence and crime. Awad was ‘saved’ by boxing; the script was familiar. On turning professional in 2009—by now nicknamed ‘Barry the Arab’ by Ingle—Awad explained to the Sheffield Star how he had escaped from a previous life: I was never in a gang but I used to get in fights all the time at [Myers Grove] school. I used to fight on the buses and I would fight with the drivers. Some of the kids round here [Upperthorpe] I used to hang around with are in prison now for drugs and guns and that kind of thing. A kid I used to know at school is dead now, the one who was shot at the barber’s shop in Burngreave.33

In 2019, Awad told the Guardian a similar tale, describing how he dodged the bullet, perhaps literally: We used to rob people every day. We’d get their money and rob their phone – three or four a day – and then we’d go to town and sell it. Then, one day, just after I started boxing, I stopped doing it. They carried on and I just stopped. That same week, they got caught. Some of my friends were drug dealers … they had loads of money. I didn’t have any money. I looked up to them. I never, ever thought they’d go to jail or get killed.

As for his former acquaintances, Awad had little to do with them: You can stay out of the gangs if you want to. I don’t live in the [Upperthorpe] area any more. Brendan found me a place near the gym. When I see my old mates now they say: ‘Are you coming to chill with us?’ I say no I’m going to the gym and they call me a pussy. I can live with that. I’ve got better things to do now.

Awad’s mother thanked Brendan and Dominic Ingle for steering her son away from a lifestyle of drugs and guns. She was to state to the Sheffield Star in 2009: ‘[Barry] was driving me mad. I didn’t know what to do. Then I took him to the gym to meet Brendan and suddenly he’s getting up at 5.30 in the morning to go to the gym, and Brendan got him into Hinde House School. I don’t worry about him any more. I thought he

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might end up like some of the others round here’. Dominic Ingle meanwhile admitted to www.bbc.co.uk that he was not impressed when Awad first stepped into a ring: ‘He was one of those over-hyperactive kids. But then, after a few weeks of training him, we realised he was good at taking instructions and was always asking questions. A lot of kids that come [to the gym] do not have the right motivation and just want to become famous through boxing. He realised early on that he needed to stick with me and Brendan and avoid learning bad habits’. Awad’s boxing style, ethnicity, self-confidence and small stature drew inevitable comparisons with Naseem Hamed, about whom he had some interesting things to say for a boxer who at the time of the 2009 Sheffield Star interview had not yet fought professionally: In a boxing sense, Naz is my hero but in other ways he spoilt it for himself and wasted his talent. I want to win world championships at three weights, which is what Naz said he would do. He got sidetracked by his own fame. I want to do better. I think the money went to his head. Everyone would tell him he was invincible, then he was saying God had made him the best. He forgot the basics and the hard work that got him there in the first place. I’m a different character. I won’t be distracted.

Brendan Ingle fancied his young protégé’s chances, arguing: ‘He is very clever and difficult to hit. He can make good fighters look ordinary. I think he is going to be outstanding, he could finish up winning everything’. After just two professional fights a BBC feature had Awad down as ‘one to watch’: He loves to showboat and I have seen him … embarrass [an opponent] by dancing around … and having the cheek to give the other a boxer a peck on the cheek. This year will be about learning the pro game and figuring out when to dance and when … to dig in and fight. At best, he makes you look stupid. At worst he beats you up in the process.

Barry’s New Titles Ingle reckoned Awad needed a ‘proper’ nickname, considering the ‘Barry the Arab’ tag unsuitable for a professional boxer. The alternative Ingle came up with was ‘Kid Galahad’, after the lead character in the Elvis Presley film of the same name.34 Awad once watched the film with Ingle

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and his sons and explained: ‘[Brendan] said Elvis was the king of rock and you’re going to be the king of the ring’. Opening his professional career as a super-bantamweight in September 2009 with a four-round contest against 100-fight veteran Delroy Spencer, Galahad recorded an easy points victory. His first stoppage came in his third fight, his first knock-out in his fifth. After seven victories, he came to the attention of national promoters, fighting at Wembley Arena in July 2011 on the undercard of the Tyson Fury v Dereck Chisora British and Commonwealth heavyweight title fight. Opponent Pavels Senkovs offered little as Galahad won comfortably. Galahad had not lost a single round in any of his fights. Dominic Ingle now looked for stronger opponents. Paul Griffin, who had won 25 of his 29 contests, was supposed to be one such but was stopped in the first. Hardly tested, Galahad fought again three weeks later, stopping James Ancliff in the fourth. Galahad was now matched against the former British champion Jason Booth for the WBC International super-bantamweight title at Rotherham’s Magna Centre. Topping the bill for the first time and broadcast live on Channel 5, Galahad took a standing count in the first round. It was a new experience but he recovered to win on points, elevating himself to the upper rank of British super-bantamweights, behind Scott Quigg and Carl Frampton, both unbeaten at the time. Galahad next had to contend with a May 2012 fight against Josh Wale, who had a reputation—in Dominic Ingle’s words—of being a ‘crash, bang, wallop’ fighter. Live on Channel 5, Galahad bloodied Wale’s face so badly that at the end of the ninth the ring-side doctor declared him unfit to continue. Despite such a comprehensive win some boxing critics believed Galahad lacked punching power. Brendan Ingle claimed such talk was rubbish: People say to me he should knock more people out [but] the way he made the other fella [Wale] miss and then countered was excellent. And confidence growing from performances like that will help him achieve more power. I felt sorry for the other fella when the punches started getting through to his face. Barry was taking him to pieces.

Meanwhile Galahad kept his feet on the ground, doing voluntary work in the local community and stacking shelves in his uncle’s corner shop. Interviewed by the Sheffield Star he said:

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I still pick litter up off the streets like Brendan had us doing when I was 14 years old. It’s not a big deal. People tend to think it’s a dirty thing to do or that it’s beneath them but it’s only litter and it makes the place look better. It’s not a big deal for me to help out. I didn’t get into this sport to be famous – just to win. I want to be a world champion, but I have no wish to be some sort of public superstar. Some people get star-struck because boxers appear on TV, but underneath it all everybody is human. I don’t think I am special just because I have been on TV. Brendan and Dominic have always drilled it into me to never believe the hype.

After seeing off Iván Ruiz Morote and Isaac Nettey inside the distance, Galahad was ready for a British super-bantamweight title challenge against James ‘Jazza’ Dickens at the Magna Centre in September 2013. Both boxers were unbeaten but Galahad argued: ‘I am seven or eight levels above him’. Fitness was to tell in a gruelling battle that finally went Galahad’s way in the tenth. Once more live on Channel 5, Galahad struggled early against his southpaw opponent. Between rounds Dominic Ingle told him Dickens was tiring. In the tenth, Dickens went down; as he rose his corner signalled to the referee to end the fight. Now British champion, Galahad faced Sergio Prado for the European super-bantamweight title at Ponds Forge in March 2014. Winning nearly every round, Galahad could not land a telling blow. With the British and European titles in the bag, Galahad now targeted the Commonwealth title against Australia’s Fred Mundraby, who at the pre-fight press conference said he was impressed by Galahad’s ‘awesome footwork and good hands’ and, continuing his charm offensive, concluded: ‘Win lose or draw I am just happy to be here in Sheffield. Thank you Sheffield for having me’. When it came to the fight, Mundraby was far from happy, enduring a four-round beating. Unbeaten after 17 fights and a triple champion, in September 2014 Galahad faced the unbeaten Adeilson Dos Santos for the IBF Youth title, a championship for boxers under 25 years of age. Galahad knocked Dos Santos down in the first and the tenth. All three judges awarded Galahad the contest by wide margins. Spiky Character Four days later, Galahad was voted ‘Young Boxer of the Year’ at the Boxing Writers’ Association annual dinner at London’s Savoy Hotel. His

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next fight was arranged for December, but it was not to take place. Everything went mysteriously quiet for several months until in May 2015 Galahad revealed he was serving a two-year ban for failing a drugs test following the Dos Santos fight. He did not contest the findings but told the Daily Star that his brother—serving an unrelated prison sentence— had admitted that he had ‘spiked’ what Galahad called his ‘recovery powder’ (a legal supplement) with the anabolic steroid stanozolol35 after a disagreement between the pair over money. This evidence was presented at Galahad’s hearing but the UK Anti-Doping Panel (UKAD) nevertheless applied the maximum penalty. Galahad lamented: I’m absolutely devastated especially as I have not done anything wrong and have never taken a steroid in my life. I don’t know anything about the drug other than you would take it to allow you to get bigger, which in my case makes no sense at all. I have to be very disciplined and careful about what I eat and how I train because I box at super-bantam. Bulking up does not help me at all, so why would I take it?

Dominic Ingle said: ‘If the ban stays, he’ll come back when he is 26. It’s difficult to prove he didn’t do it deliberately, but we’re behind him’. Meanwhile Galahad continued to attend the gym every day, training as hard as if he had an imminent fight. A year into the suspension he decided against an appeal because—in Dominic Ingle’s words—‘the evidence that we needed and all the stuff to make it go forward wasn’t in place’. Ingle had no doubts about Galahad’s ability to take up where he left off in a year’s time; his ‘sheer athleticism and desire’ would see to that. Galahad no longer saw the brother he claimed was responsible for his ban but did not hold a grudge and was satisfied that ‘my mum gave him a rollicking’. In March 2016, Galahad learned his suspension was to be cut by six months after an appeal to UKAD. Galahad’s barrister stated that the concentration of the offending substance was ‘so low that it couldn’t even be properly measured’, adding: ‘The results certainly weren’t consistent with a deliberate doping programme and there was no other evidence to suggest doping was taking place’. Galahad was the first UK sportsperson to have a ban reduced without admitting culpability. He got back in the ring in April 2016, easily beating Simas Volosinas. The comeback continued with a move up to featherweight and several more comfortable wins. His victory over Brayan Mairena in December 2018 elevated him to the position of mandatory challenger of the winner of

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the Josh Warrington/Carl Frampton IBF featherweight title fight, which the unbeaten Warrington won. In a 2019 interview with the Guardian, Galahad looked back on his career, stating: ‘I’ve sacrificed everything. I’ve got no kids, no girlfriend, no social life – just boxing’. Explaining how his father worked 17 hours a day, 365 days a year in the family shop, Galahad believed that kind of discipline and focus had shaped his own character. ‘My dad wasn’t very emotional; he was a soldier’, he said. ‘You don’t realise but it ingrains things in you’. Another huge influence was Brendan Ingle, who in Galahad’s words ‘was a father to me; he prepared me for life’. Galahad continued: ‘When I was a kid, [Brendan] used to tell me things again and again. I used to think, “this guy is crazy” because he would keep on repeating himself. But all he was doing was getting me ready’. Ingle also taught Galahad how to react to the racist abuse he was sure to receive during his career. ‘Brendan would desensitise it [racism] for me’, said Galahad. ‘He used to say to me, “listen to me, you Arab bastard”. If they want to call me that stuff, it really doesn’t bother me’. Galahad also had to put up with abuse of another kind in relation to his suspension. Josh Warrington called him ‘a disgrace to the sport’, whilst during a pre-fight press conference some Warrington supporters kept shouting ‘cheat’. When Warrington and Galahad met in Leeds in June 2019 Warrington retained his title on a split decision following an untidy contest in which Galahad frequently switched his stance to confuse the champion. Many observers disagreed with the verdict but the first defeat of his career left Galahad contemplating his next move. It came in February 2020, when he stopped Claudio Marrero to once again set himself up for a possible world title challenge. ∗ ∗ ∗ Galahad considered himself unfortunate to be penalised for an offence he claimed he knew nothing of. Conversely, one Sheffield boxer fell foul of a different type of drug, one he admitted possessing, but he was to find redemption, establishing an institution that was a beacon in so many ways to the hundreds who entered its premises.

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Room to Learn: Reagan Denton The place known as ‘De Hood’ resides in a former infant and junior school at Sheffield’s Manor Top. Known to all Sheffielders, Manor Top is the peak of a hill in the south-east of the city, the meeting point of three large council estates, Arbourthorne, Manor and Woodthorpe. These districts are home to a collective 60,000 people. Local folklore reckons that the next highest point east of here is the Ural Mountains, over 2,500 miles away in deepest Russia. This Sheffield pinnacle hosts around two dozen shops dominated by a Poundland store, and in its 1970s heyday the road leading to the top was home to a trio of social clubs that facilitated the famous ‘Bingo Run’, as punters (mostly female) staggered their visits to the three venues to coincide with the strategically timed bingo games. Manor Top also has a reputation for poverty, tough people and crime, as the man being interviewed at De Hood explains without reservation. According to research by Sheffield City Council, the Manor Castle electoral ward is the most deprived of the city’s 28, with a third of its households earning less than £15,000 per annum. Some 15% of the ward’s adult population are unemployed. The interviewee is former professional boxer Reagan Denton, founder of De Hood. A visitor who enters the establishment’s car park might notice that the last shop on the parade on the right is a pawnbroker, book-ended by a Romanian-owned tattoo parlour. On the left can be seen the emerging builds on the Woodthorpe estate where the idea is that new privately owned or rented houses on the ‘Prince’s Gardens’ development will elevate the downtrodden image of the area. Changing the reputation of the area was also the idea behind De Hood when it began in 2013, as Denton explains: We started with a derelict pub on the Manor Estate. We rented a room for a tenner a week for ‘boxercise’.36 It was a couple of RSJs and a few bags hanging off them. A few local businesses contributed stuff. It was needed; there was too much drug dealing, shoplifting, fire starting – cars, bins, skips and benches – and all the ASBO37 stuff. The local corner shop helped out, the local fire chief was all for it and when he retired he joined our committee. [Taxi firm] City Cars donated a snooker table. We’ve had a 37% drop in crimes of arson, theft and burglary because of what we’ve done. Before De Hood was set up the No.10 bus stopped running because drivers were sick of the buses getting vandalised. The service is running again now. The streets have never been cleaner. If [club members] see

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anybody dropping litter they challenge them. They have pride in where they live. Relations with the police have never been better. A police officer who heard about what we were doing gave [us] some boxing gloves and from that moment things totally changed.

So what is this premises that has achieved so much in so short a time? Denton relates that De Hood is both ‘a boxing gym and a community facilitator’. The idea is a simple one, delivering it more complex. Essentially about improving communities and creating opportunities, this facility offers also a place of safety and sanctuary for the 12 hours a day it is open. Furthermore, part of the ‘improving communities’ methodology involves hosting two dozen teenagers from a Pupil Referral Unit38 twice a week, whilst those in ‘the recovery community’ seeking a better tomorrow free from various addictions also make use of the ‘drop-in’ facility housed in the premises. Local job centres send the long-term unemployed to sample the work ethic the place asks of its users to enable them to learn what employers will appreciate. The ‘Family Connections’ programme39 sends people here; local GPs refer the obese and those with mental illnesses. Then come the self-motivated walk-ins seeking to partake in the variety of educational programmes on offer. Some volunteers at De Hood were once users of the premises, often arriving here during a prison pre-release work placement. The recurring theme is one of belonging, and dealing with and developing both individual and shared esteem. Probably inadvertently it echoes the pursuit of collective sentiment evidenced in the nineteenth century by social thinkers Robert Owen40 and John Ruskin (see Volume One), a notion popularised in the 1990s by the ‘communitarianism’ idea of sociologist Amitai Etzioni41 and later re-invented without theory by Prime Minister David Cameron’s ‘Big Society’42 ideology. Inclusivity defines De Hood. Denton boasts: ‘We have Russian, Somali, Bangladeshi, Slovakian and Pakistani kids at the club [and] did you know we’ve got the most single parents in the UK here on the Manor? The mums do a great job, but there are hardly any fathers around to help parent these kids, so I feel it’s up to me and my team of brilliant volunteers to be positive male role models to these young people’. Denton found that during the long summer holidays some children who attended the club were losing weight without their free school dinners. To ensure their good health, he persuaded local supermarkets to provide food free

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of charge. Volunteers also cooked Sunday lunches and Saturday breakfasts as a reward for the youngsters after they had been out for a run with De Hood boxing coaches. The kids were consequently motivated to help elderly people, take part in charity events and do litter picks. Since 2016 De Hood has also operated as a ‘Social Enterprise’, a business model that sells goods for profit but which reinvests such monies for the benefit of the local community.43 Members now number some 2,000, with 150 people coming through the door each day, some doing so merely for the comfort of company over a mug of tea. A dozen fulltime and many more part-time volunteers care for a well-equipped boxing gym with two rings, the usual array of punchbags and weights, as well as a kitchen with an eating area and other utility rooms. The corridor walls are adorned with pictures of apparently random (but famous) people. Thus Audrey Hepburn shares space with Usain Bolt, Muhammad Ali is close to Popeye and Bob Marley glances over at the ‘Rat Pack’ and the Stone Roses. De Hood’s most regular users come to punch, others to grapple. A judo club makes use of the premises and has produced junior champions. A mixed martial arts club trains in the two rings. The ‘boxercise’ and step-and-tone fitness classes attract all sorts of motivations that are often to do with weight loss; one attendee lost 14 stones in 18 months. Football training and dance lessons are also offered. Competitive boxing in comparison is a minor but just as important concern. The club has four professionals, one of whom is aiming for an area title, and dozens of youthful amateur enthusiasts; no fewer than eight recently competed in an ABA tournament. Denton is manager of them all and cornerman to two of the professionals. He knows a bit about boxing. He also knows a bit about being in strife. Born in 1978 and brought up on the Manor he made his professional boxing debut as a welterweight in 1999, winning nine of his first ten fights. However, in 2005 his career came to an unexpected standstill; he told the Sheffield Star why: ‘The [BBBC] has been in touch with my doctor and found out I had a rehabilitation order. They want to know more about that and what medication was offered to me’. The order was in place because, the report explained, Denton was addicted to heroin and crack cocaine. How this situation came about is a sad and perhaps instructive tale for someone who once wore a £50,000 watch and drove a Porsche.

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On the Manor the Denton family name carried both admiration and consternation: ‘There were thugs and thieves and rough arses with my surname. There were good hard-working ones as well’. For this particular Denton early education started badly, but at the same time it suggested a future career in boxing. ‘It was nursery, for fuck’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wanted this teddy bear which another kid had. When I finally got it I flushed it down the bog44 to hide it and flooded the room out. I got suspended – from a nursery!’ Suspension became a habit, especially in secondary school, resulting in Denton’s school days effectively ending aged 15 when he pushed the school bully through a large pane of glass. When Denton left school he could not read or write. Work as a hodcarrier was perhaps inevitable, but labouring on building sites was never Denton’s sole source of income. Various nefarious activities had gathered him cash since he was 11, when he was riding stolen motorbikes. He progressed to stealing cars. Denton was another of the many who hoped that boxing might offer redemption. In his early teens, he proved handy with his hands at the Manor Boxing Club, fighting for a schoolboy championship, but in fact he found that he was offered other—less legal but more profitable— opportunities. Thus the car-driving abilities of the youthful Denton attracted attention he would live to regret. One individual at the club was active in other ventures and always had new clothes and attractive women around him. Denton describes what happened next: ‘What I could do with cars suited him. I was a car thief and he robbed post offices and building societies. I got involved…. the car was fingerprinted and I got not guilty; he got nine years’. Things improved as Denton’s boxing career took off, aided by good people in the fight game, such as Glyn Rhodes, with whom he turned professional. Early in his time with Rhodes, Denton flew to New York on Concorde45 for Herol Graham’s final fight against Charles Brewer in Atlantic City in 1998. There was also a spell at the Ingle gym, where Denton met Naseem Hamed, with whom he joined in several training camps, including three in Los Angeles and others in New York and Las Vegas, staying in expensive hotels and meeting celebrities. Living the high life ended up ruining Denton’s own life, as he told www.burngreavemail. co.uk: I went with Naz to Atlantic City and Hollywood. We stayed at fantastic hotels like the MGM in Las Vegas. I met people like Michael and Janet

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Jackson. I spent time with Muhammad Ali’s family and Mike Tyson. I went to Jamaica and visited Lennox Lewis’ home there. One day, Naz gave me a £20,000 Jeep. A businessman who wanted to sponsor me threw £10,000 at me. I had a lot of pull then, I was going to be a big star. But the lifestyle made a monster out of me. I got spoiled, big headed. I became lazy and fat, topping 14 stone. I self-destructed.

Even before his life went off the rails, hanging out with Hamed was consequential for Denton in other ways. In 2019, he explained to Gary Armstrong: I got in with Naz and Frank Warren. When Naz left him he [Warren] went berserk. Knowing I was Naz’s mate he phoned me to tell me a fight he’d arranged for me at York Hall was off. I told him I’d sold 280 tickets; the fight went ahead.46 He said later: ‘I’m not going to work with you if you hang about with him’. I didn’t fight for a year.

The end of Naz was nearly the end of Denton, as partying replaced training and illegal substances replaced protein supplements. In Denton’s words, he had sunk to ‘rippin’ people off left, right and centre’. Drug dependency inevitably led to arrest: Naz lost to Barrera and went to Neverland,47 I went to the Manor. I had a three-year deal with Warren. I’m 26 years old slurping champagne in Spearmint Rhino’s,48 the Ruby Lounge and the Kingdom49 thinking I’m Elvis. It’s cocaine and strippers; it’s not happiness. Drugs filled the void and I’m selling stuff to family and friends. I got locked up in police cells and got a fine and a 100-hour community service order after breaking a bouncer’s jaw. I admit I ripped a lot of people off; they would lend me money and I’d not give it back. I made a lot of enemies. On my 26th birthday I woke up in a hostel somewhere near London Road and knew I had to clean myself up. I was sick of everything and felt like committing suicide.

His father and brother disowned him. Hamed however remained loyal, offering to take Denton to Yemen, where he could be ‘detoxed’. To an extent Denton realised what was happening to him and pulled himself together, if only temporarily. His boxing licence restored, he returned to the ring with a victory in February 2006 but his pledge to stay out of trouble did not last long. ‘I had dangerous mates’, he admitted, ‘then came a ruckus with me and one of our cornermen. I got pursued by

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police. I got two and a half years for damage to a police vehicle, robbing a car and breach of an ASBO’. Ironically, it was a fight in HMP Doncaster that began the most effective turnaround in Denton’s life: In prison I got addicted to methadone. Strangely it helped me get through. One bloke – the prison bully – laughed at me, calling me a has-been. I told him to get in the showers ‘cos that’s where matters got sorted out. A crowd gathered there at half-six before lockdown. Then came the shout ‘five minutes to bang-up’ and he’s nowhere. I’d covered my back – that’s the first rule of prison. [But] I was washing my face before going to bed, then out of nowhere he hits me with a tin of tuna in a sock. I broke his jaw with one punch. He was taken to hospital unconscious. There were repercussions. The governor was Brian Anderson. I had to stand before him and explain what happened. I told him the bloke had slipped in the showers and banged his chin. Brian said that as far as he was concerned two men had met in the showers to sort out their differences and the best man won.

Shortly after this incident the ‘best man’ was moved to HMP Lindholme, where the prison staff made their concerns about Denton’s potential for violence known to the governor. But the move proved the making of him: At Lindholme I got off methadone, started doing courses. I also got ill withdrawing from addiction. I was badly for a week. When I came round I got baptised. I’ve been a – mostly – Catholic ever since. The prison pastor was a good man and he saw me as a positive influence. He liked it when I’d tell stories to others about mates who were either dead or in prison, all for wanting to be top of the hill robbin’ people. Boxers need prayers and praying got me through prison.

It was just as well Denton had a friend in Jesus, as he reflects: ‘I took 26 mates to Las Vegas to watch Naz versus Barrera. It cost them a token £100 each. For that they got a flight and a room in the MGM Hotel’. Mates however were in short supply in less affable times. Released from prison, trouble still followed Denton; altercations he had no role in instigating brought him once again to the attention of police. Fortunately his penchant for (legal) fighting saved him—Denton returned to the ring for the first time in five years to knock out Courtney Owen in 77 seconds.

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Fighting five more times—all wins—Denton retired in 2013 with a record of 16 wins and one defeat. Whilst still boxing Denton had opened a gym in the Pitsmoor district of Sheffield, but it was after retirement that his life took a real turn for the good. Seeing a group of Manor youths throwing dog faeces at a young mother with a baby, he asked them if they wanted to learn to box to give them something more useful to occupy their time. Two took up the offer, so Denton set up elementary boxing equipment in a local social club. The following night six boys turned up; soon the number reached 20. Encouraged, Denton set up De Hood Boxing Club in the nearby Prince Edward School premises and within a few years it had developed into what it is now. Its positive local impact was rewarded by hard cash: a £7,700 grant from the South Yorkshire Fire and Rescue Service was augmented by a January 2017 donation of £3,000 from One Health, a Sheffield-based group of specialist surgeons and healthcare managers. Later that year, De Hood won a ‘Community Impact’ award for the area. But the gym’s future was threatened in early 2018 when a supermarket group expressed an interest in developing the site for retail outlets. Denton was not impressed by such a possibility: ‘This was built in the Manor, by the Manor and for the Manor and it has got to stay. It saves lives and has transformed the community. Who would kick those kids out of that centre? We want to work with the [city] council to find a solution and we want to secure our future here’. As owners of the building, the council had allowed Denton to use it for free in exchange for its upkeep. Now there was talk of Denton applying for a ten-year lease or petitioning to have the property classified as an ‘Asset of Community Value’,50 which would protect it from redevelopment. Denton and his partner Laura Jackson began talks with the City Council to retain the project on its existing site. Prospective developers of the land were reported to be prepared to offer the centre a new base, support for which was expressed by Councillor Shaffaq Mohammed, leader of Sheffield’s Liberal Democrats, who said: ‘We’re pressing for De Hood. It’s an old school building and a challenge but provides a fabulous community project. It’s fine to do deals with developers but the community should be considered’. Gym member Joel Timmis told a council meeting: ‘It keeps kids that have nothing to do off the streets and helps teach them discipline. It helps people physically, mentally and spiritually’. Leroy Young, a club volunteer, said he was once an alcohol

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and drug addict. The usual routes to rehabilitation had not worked but since joining De Hood in 2016 he had been substance-free. By late 2019, De Hood’s fate was still undecided. Said Denton: ‘Until we have a firm agreement on our future home, it is difficult for us to plan for the future’, but he remained optimistic, adding: We got the building for nothing. We’re custodians, if you like, of an empty school, and we’re all volunteers, no one takes a wage. They can’t move us, they have to build us into any new development. We’ll get a lease for part of the new-build then go to the National Lottery and the BBBC for funding. We have plans to have six people on the board of directors and we plan in future to have five trustees and four paid posts. It’ll cost we reckon about £3 million … but I talk to people.

The boxing rings, punchbags and weights of De Hood are the kernel of something wider. The rings, trainers and coaches animate those who enter. The boxers and coaches have the chat and swagger, but this should not be mistaken for arrogance. The fight game provides the core membership of the premises and adds a sense of credibility, but entering this space also brings expectations. A visitor is greeted by a notice requesting the avoidance of foul and abusive language. Meanwhile, the comportment of the toughest users of the premises cannot fail to impress. All look a visitor in the eye and proffer a friendly ‘hello’; no dark looks are thrown. Denton explains the unwritten club philosophy: ‘Bring yourself, drop your ego. Join in and be respectful of the less fortunate’. It is an infectious place. Those of lesser physicality than the boxers can absorb an enthusiasm for life by osmosis; they are included in the banter and sit on the benches with the tough guys. Inclusion is the name of the game here. The past is another country in De Hood; it is about the here and now and facing up to personal troubles. It appeals to those in transitional moments of their lives. It teaches people to live healthily and connect with others; the key issue is imparting a sense of learning to both control a life and acquire the resources and emotions needed to do so. It attracts those wanting to change. For some it is a place of weekly learning, for others it is a way of life, and on top of all this the food is reasonably priced and the nearly-new charity clothes stall can reveal a bargain. The premises carries regrets and reflection and facilitates rehabilitation and redemption. It offers a better tomorrow, or in Denton’s words, ‘a second chance in a non-judgemental environment, and a sense of belonging’. What Denton

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is attempting is remarkable in its ambitions, especially when one considers where his own life was a few years ago. But the story is not all about him, as he is quick to point out. He has exceptional people alongside him in the aforementioned Leroy Young (who is a sort of chief executive) and Laura Jackson, who, one senses, is worthy of a life story in her own right. Then there is the 65-year-old boxing coach who recently went 40 rounds non-stop against all-comers to raise money for the club. Another tells a visitor of both his past and his present: ‘I had 17 years in prison, then came in here and have never done a crime since. If I can’t keep young ‘uns out of trouble, who can?’ Even Lady, the club’s American bulldog that roams the building freely, has a back-story. Once part of an exchange for an eighth-of-an-ounce of crack cocaine, she first came to De Hood in the company of one of Denton’s former school friends seeking to borrow money to buy booze to satisfy his alcoholism. Leaving Lady with Denton the old mate promised to return in 20 minutes. Instead he stole a car, crashed it into a police vehicle and was given a three-year custodial sentence. Strays of all types are welcome here. De Hood is a sanctuary for so many people attracted by so many circumstances. But why is such an establishment needed in contemporary society? One reason is the long-term demise of the sense of community that defined the mass-collective working conditions and experiences of steel and coal production. Neighbours on big council estates such as the Manor today do not know each other like they once did. More immediate however is the Government-inflicted austerity that has led to the termination or contraction of all kinds of social services. Council-run youth clubs are virtually a thing of the past, libraries and leisure facilities have suffered major cutbacks. Without De Hood the Manor would have been left to fester and decline further. New-build homes are all well and good in ‘uplifting’ a downbeat area, but when the locals cannot afford to buy or rent them what happens next? When people make mistakes of various dimensions, who today is there to catch them when they fall? In this case, the answer is somewhere that started out as a boxing club but which quickly attempted to provide everything the council used to for those in despair and poverty. Its founder is someone who when he returned to the neighbourhood from prison saw local urchins doing what he used to do; he knew their future. He had the cultural collateral that a one-time boxer carries in such an area and so could approach them and persuade them to re-think their ways. As Denton declared: ‘There’s younger versions of

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me in here. I want these kids to learn from my mistakes. I’m the lesson all can learn from’. ∗ ∗ ∗ One Sheffield-based boxer who flirted with trouble before he even became a boxer eventually realised that he enjoyed a punch-up so much that he might as well get paid for it. This in itself is not unusual, but the fact that this individual was already a top-level athlete who had represented England in another sport marks him out as unique. Eschewing the huge monies available in football he preferred instead the self-satisfaction he had always sought in fighting.

The Punchy Footballer: Curtis Woodhouse Individuals who excel in more than one elite-level sport are rare. In the early twentieth century, C. B. Fry represented England in cricket and football and once held the world long-jump record. The same era saw J. W. H. T. Douglas win a boxing gold medal at the 1908 London Olympic Games and later captain the England cricket team, and Andrew Stoddart captain the England cricket and rugby teams.51 Another supreme allrounder of the period was Max Woosnam, who won tennis gold and silver at the 1920 Olympics, the doubles at Wimbledon, scored a maximum 147 snooker break and captained the England football team. All were amateurs. A professional in both sports was Harry Makepeace. who played four times each for England at football before the First World War and cricket after the war. The immediate post-Second World War years saw the rise of the professional cricketer-footballer, such as Denis and Leslie Compton, Ken Taylor and Brian Close. In the 1950s, Willie Watson and Arthur Milton were similarly double internationals. They were followed in the 1960s and 1970s by cricketer-footballers Ted Hemsley, Chris Balderstone,52 Phil Neale, Jim Cumbes, Jim Standen53 and others, but as football began to encroach at both ends of the summer such dual performers became impossible.54 It is—we think—unique for a professional footballer to give up the game to become a professional boxer. This is what East Yorkshire-born Curtis Woodhouse did in 2006. Joining Sheffield United FC as a boy, Woodhouse progressed through the club’s youth teams to break into the first team aged 17 in 1997. Seemingly destined for a great future,

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Woodhouse was the subject of multi-million pound bids from Sunderland and Glasgow Rangers and played for the England Under-21 team aged 19, becoming meanwhile Sheffield United’s youngest ever Player of the Season in 1999. This proved to be the peak of his footballing career; frequently out in Sheffield city centre bars on Saturday nights along with similarly aged teammates, Woodhouse did not progress as anticipated and was to make the news for non-football reasons. Woodhouse got into late-night scrapes in his home town of Driffield. One involved a Christmas tree and a pub window; another ended in a car crash. In January 2000, he was arrested in Driffield but denied any involvement in alleged criminal damage. No charges ensued. The following month the Sheffield United manager Neil Warnock felt it necessary to publicly ban Woodhouse from returning to Driffield after Saturday matches, but trouble still followed him. In December 2000, Woodhouse was arrested and spent a night in police cells after an incident in a pub following a Sheffield United v Sheffield Wednesday derby match in which he had played. No charges were brought. The episode suggested that Woodhouse was letting outside influences interfere with his footballing talent. Years later he admitted to the Guardian that was the case: I was at my worst then, really reckless, fighting in the street three or four times a week. I’m not exaggerating. [Neil Warnock] was always calling me in because I’d been fighting bouncers outside a club at 2.00am. I’d come into training with a black eye, so there was no denying it. I was in the public eye and some people were jealous. Because I’m only little they’d think it would be easy to give me a pasting in the car park. It might sound brutal but I enjoyed the fighting. I was young and full of anger.

Woodhouse believed that ethnicity was the root cause of his youthful angst. The people of Driffield, a small, parochial market town, saw few non-white faces. The mixed-race Woodhouse explained: ‘When we walked down the street there’d be all kinds of name-calling. People would just stare or come up and touch your hair as if it was something weird. They tried to pick on us – but we’d fight them’. The Curry House Brawler Tiring of Woodhouse’s antics, in February 2001 Warnock sold Woodhouse to Birmingham City FC for £1 million. Just three weeks into his

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new job Woodhouse was again in trouble. In Cardiff for Birmingham’s League Cup final against Liverpool at the city’s Millennium Stadium (Woodhouse could not play as he had played for Sheffield United in the competition earlier in the season), Woodhouse and two friends from Driffield were involved in a brawl in an Indian restaurant. When one of the trio threw food at members of the Cardiff University rowing team, restaurant staff asked them to calm down. Instead they overturned a table and Woodhouse brandished a chair as a weapon. In court, all three pleaded guilty to affray. Woodhouse was sentenced to 120 hours’ community service and ordered to pay £250 costs. Thereafter Woodhouse’s career stalled. Admitting in 2006, at the age of 26, that he no longer enjoyed football, he retired to take up boxing, telling the BBC: ‘Boxing has always been my first love, even as a kid, and I’ve always wanted to do it for real. I was sparring in the boxing gym every day after football training and I never let the manager know what I was doing’. Reasoning that as he was always getting into fights, why not get paid for it? Promoter Frank Warren saw the publicity benefits of the footballer-turned-boxer and gave Woodhouse a three-year contract. A few days before his first professional fight against Dean Marcantonio at London’s Grosvenor House Hotel in September 2006, Woodhouse spoke to the Guardian about his future: ‘It’s pretty intense when someone’s coming at you with the aim of taking your head off, but I love the fact it’s just me against the other guy – that’s much more serious than football’. Taking boxing more seriously than he did football, Woodhouse did not go out drinking for three months before his debut fight. Shedding two stones since giving up football and lager, Woodhouse made the welterweight limit of 147 pounds. Asked by a journalist if he could take a punch, Woodhouse replied of course he could, adding: ‘It will make a change being pounded with a glove rather than a bare fist’. It was to be a short introduction to the ring; the Marcantonio fight was scheduled for four two-minute rounds. This was time enough for Woodhouse to knock his opponent down twice and win on points. Meeting the Twit Woodhouse’s second fight would have to wait. Found guilty of assaulting a police officer in the Yorkshire coastal town of Bridlington the previous April, the BBBC suspended his boxing licence. Aggrieved that something that happened before he became a professional boxer should interrupt

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his boxing career, Woodhouse returned to football to make a living, signing for non-league Rushden and Diamonds FC. Furthermore, he claimed that boxing had changed his outlook on life: ‘If you spend four days a week fighting [in training] the last thing you will want to do in your spare time is go out and have a fight’. His licence restored in January 2007, Woodhouse continued in both sports for the next four years, climbing the British welterweight rankings with ten consecutive wins before losing a tight points decision to Peter McDonagh in October 2010. A win in his next fight saw him face Frankie Gavin for the WBO Inter-Continental welterweight championship. Woodhouse took Gavin the distance to lose on a split decision. After this, Woodhouse alternated wins and defeats. In September 2012, he beat Dave Ryan to win the English light-welterweight championship but later lost it to Shayne Singleton. After this defeat, Woodhouse showed that the confrontational side of his character remained. In March 2013, he became embroiled in an online spat that saw him seek the identity of an abusive critic who under the pseudonym @jimmyob88 used Twitter to brand Woodhouse a ‘complete disgrace’ and a ‘laughable joke’ for failing to successfully defend his ‘mickey mouse title’. Woodhouse offered £1,000 to anyone who could help him find his Internet tormentor. Learning his name was James O’Brien and that he lived in the Norton Lees district of Sheffield, Woodhouse decided to pay him a visit to give him what he termed ‘a right pasting’. This is how their Twitter altercation unfolded: O’Brien: Woodhouse: O’Brien: Woodhouse: O’Brien: Woodhouse:

what u going to do knock me out like your last opponent oops you will find out soon enough son chill out pal I was only doing it so you would bite back it was only abit [sic] of harmless fun just on my way to Sheffield to have a little chat with a [sic] old friend, get the kettle on i was only joking about Didnt [sic] think you would be bothered thought you would take them as a joke to [sic] late for all that now jimmy, ive [sic] had enough of your mouth, ill [sic] be about 50 minutes and you can have your say then

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right Jimbob im [sic] here !!!!! someone tell me what number he lives at, or do I have to knock on every door i [sic] think the daft lad thought I was joking!! where are you keyboard warrior?????????? i [sic] am sorry its [sic] getting abit [sic] out of hand I am in the wrong i accept that just had a call from somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody and @jimmyob88 has asked what he can do to make me go away! @jimmyob88 never came out to play so im [sic] going back home! maybe a bit daft what I did today but sometimes enough is enough ive [sic] had some funny days in my time but today has to be right up there!

During the few hours this episode occupied the number of Woodhouse’s Twitter followers doubled to some 18,000. A few days later ITV invited Woodhouse and O’Brien to appear live on the Daybreak breakfast television show. O’Brien apologised, calling his behaviour ‘childish’. The pair then shook hands; Woodhouse did not look pacified. All tweets after January 2013 under the Twitter handle @jimmyob88 were deleted. Champion Display In February 2014, Woodhouse achieved his lifetime ambition by winning a British boxing title and with it a Lonsdale Belt. Matched with Darren Hamilton at Hull’s Ice Arena, Woodhouse forced the pace throughout to take a split decision. After the fight he refused to confirm or deny rumours that he had bet £5,000 on himself to win—which was against the rules—saying cryptically ‘the drinks are on me’. He also repeated his pre-fight vow that this was to be his last fight, but added: ‘Boxing is more addictive than any drug invented’. So it proved. Four months later Woodhouse was back in the ring, taking on Willie Limond for the British and Commonwealth light-welterweight titles at Glasgow’s Braehead Arena. This time Woodhouse was on the wrong end of a split decision. In 2016, Woodhouse released an autobiography titled Box to Box: From the Premier League to British Boxing Champion. Forever restless, he then planned a ring comeback in September 2017, training under Richard Towers at

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Dave Coldwell’s Rotherham gym. More than three years after his last fight Woodhouse beat Arvydas Trizno on points, and won again two months later. When Woodhouse gave up football for boxing he was regarded as a novelty. Doubting he had the necessary courage and temperament, never mind the skill, critics claimed that a pampered professional footballer could never succeed in the ring. But anybody who had seen him play football or was aware of his lifestyle knew he possessed the qualities that make a boxer. Nevertheless, reports on Woodhouse’s boxing career always included the words ‘former footballer’. His trainer Glyn Rhodes once said that Woodhouse knew he was not the world’s best boxer, but he was a boxer, which was all he ever wanted to be. ∗ ∗ ∗ Another local boxer with an unusual tale to tell is one whose personality could not have been more different from that of Woodhouse. In fact, boxing was just one of three strings to this man’s bow and boxing ability was not the finest of his redeeming features.

The Model Accountant: Lewis Taylor Lewis Taylor trained as an accountant and possessed the polite demeanour associated with that profession more than that of a pugilist.55 Neither did Taylor fit the profile often associated with boxers: he began his professional boxing career in 2011 whilst living with his parents in a semidetached house in a quiet suburban cul-de-sac in the Sheffield dormitory town of Dronfield, a stone’s throw over the Derbyshire border. Nevertheless, he won the English middleweight championship in his 19th fight, successfully defended it in his 20th but lost on points to Tommy Langford in his 21st in a challenge for the Commonwealth middleweight title. Seeking more exposure, Taylor left manager Dennis Hobson in 2016 to sign with Dave Coldwell, explaining that he believed Hobson did not want to work with Sky Sports, which thus affected his fight-cheque prospects. However, Taylor lost all three of his 2017 fights, at which time his record was 19 wins, five defeats and one draw. His first defeat by stoppage left him contemplating a future in a profession in which looks were everything, explaining:

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I am having a break [from boxing] and doing some thinking about what I am going to do. I’m a bit fed up with the sport, it can be hard work. And that’s not just the training, the fighting, the dieting, the selling of the tickets, it’s the politics which always seem to be against you. I have lost a few fights now so it’s harder to sell tickets. Plus a few modelling jobs have been coming up and that and boxing don’t exactly go hand in hand.

Taylor signed with modelling agencies Face and DK Model & Casting, his image subsequently being seen in advertisements for smart clothes and expensive wristwatches and also on the packaging of a brand of nappies whilst holding a baby. This boxer’s cultural collateral—his physicality and looks—were thus not to be employed in the traditional mode of the night-time economy or the protection of wealthy or notorious individuals, but in a field altogether more subtle, which reflected perhaps the growing acceptance of boxers and boxing into avenues previously not known to associate with individuals who could punch hard. ∗ ∗ ∗ History is meant to teach. In this pursuit interpretation of the facts is crucial. A common assumption the world over is that tough places produce tough people, and some of these people pursue status in boxing rings. The historically tough city of Sheffield should thus enter this equation. It does—eventually—but the correlate was slow to emerge and when it did the equation was not a simple one. From the late nineteenth century until the late twentieth, Sheffield did not produce a single boxer of global renown. In that same time span a nationally recognised individual emerged once every generation. However, from the late 1970s this changed, thanks initially to an inspirational Irishman and a uniquely skilled tyro from Nottingham (see Chapter 2). Sheffield required such external catalysts to uncover and nurture latent local talent. The champions the city subsequently produced could not have attained such a status on their own; they needed the help and guidance of the more worldly-wise who on occasion proffered ‘fatherly’ advice and when necessary both admonishment and gentle persuasion. Others who possessed both the ‘clout’ and know-how to prise open the doors that lead to the riches on offer via big-name opponents and lucrative television deals also played a part in the fulfilment of a fighter’s dreams and ambitions. Twentieth-century Sheffield has plenty of such suited and track-suited

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individuals who, by employing a variety of methods and systems, did much to maintain the city’s position in global boxing’s front ranks.

Notes 1. Quoted in Boswell (1776). 2. A court order stipulating that a young offender must attend a designated centre for a defined number of hours. 3. A supervision order gives a local authority the legal power to monitor a child’s needs via a social worker, who liaises with the child’s family. 4. Coburn boxed four times professionally, all in 1976. He lost all four bouts. 5. Anderson earned £4,000 for this fight. 6. The official name of this UK political party is ‘Conservative’ but ‘Tory’ is a generally accepted alternative term. The word ‘Tory’ in this context can be traced back to the seventeenth century. 7. The ‘Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire’ was a nickname given to the county as a result of its left-wing local governments of the 1980s. In this period, Sheffield City Council would fly the Socialist emblem ‘the Red Flag’ over the Town Hall on May 1, the traditional ‘workers’ day’. 8. Introduced in 2005 by the Labour Government, Imprisonment for Public Protection sentences (IPPs) were designed to ensure that dangerously violent and sexual offenders remained in custody for as long as they presented a danger to society. The definition was abolished in 2012 by the Conservative/Liberal coalition administration. 9. The NCS offers training and opportunities to 16- and 17-year-olds to—in the words of its website—‘build your skills for work and life, while you take on new challenges and meet new friends’. 10. Boxing journalist Joe Bromley was a founder member of the Boxing Writers’ Club in 1951 along with other boxing writers Peter Wilson, Frank Butler, George Whiting and Walter Bartleman. 11. It will be remembered that Herol Graham and Naseem Hamed suffered similarly in the amateur ranks. 12. According to the information and sales tracking system Nielsen SoundScan, the Spice Girls are the all-time best-selling all-female group worldwide. 13. In July 1998, Sheffield Arena hosted the Chris Eubank v Carl Thompson WBO cruiserweight championship fight, and in December 2000 staged four world title contests on one night. 14. An ‘interim championship’ is awarded when a world champion is temporarily unable to defend his title because of medical, legal or other reasons beyond the boxer’s control. When the original champion is able to return he must defend his title against the interim champion. If the

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original champion cannot return, refuses to defend his title or transfers to a different weight division, the interim champion is promoted to full championship status. Vahey’s combined 1983 income of £6,000 is equivalent to around £18,000 in 2020. Wolverhampton-born, Sheffield-based Facey fought 27 times between 1999 and 2009, winning 20. Laight retired in September 2018 after his 300th fight, of which he had lost 279. Founded in 2005 in the Fylde region of north-west England, the EBF promotes itself as ‘Great Britain and Europe’s oldest and largest semiprofessional and white collar boxing authority’. It claims to ‘provide a safe regulated platform for boxing shows’ and to ‘bridge the void between amateur boxing … and professional boxing’. Its boxers undergo the same medical tests as BBBC-licensed boxers. The EBF has around 2,400 registered boxers and puts on some 170 boxing shows annually throughout Britain. British English slang for a prison officer. Formed in 1991, the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) is a regional trade, security, lawmaking and financial confederation of the former Soviet republics. The CIS also had an unofficial sporting arm before the newly independent states were able to form sports governing bodies of their own. Dyscalculia is a disability that affects the comprehension of arithmetic, such as a difficulty in understanding numbers and learning how to manipulate numbers. Sheffield dialect for ‘baby’. Published in 1886, Little Lord Fauntleroy is a novel by the EnglishAmerican writer Frances Hodgson Burnett. This was classical concert pianist Mark Gasser. This was 1950s Sheffield boxer Eddie Lax (see Volume One). A small estate in the Handsworth district of Sheffield. Nigel Bradley fought 27 times between 1987 and 1998, winning 11. Tom Bradley fought 15 times between 1995 and 1999, winning 10. He was killed in a motorcycle accident in 2011. Meaning in an ambulance with blue light flashing and two-tone siren wailing. Keeton possesses an uncanny ability to imitate Brendan Ingle. His impression of the Irishman is so good that he was asked to perform it at a tribute to Ingle after his death. A long-standing, but now defunct, Sheffield sports outfitters. The Child Support Agency, now known as the Child Maintenance Service, came into being in 1993 with the aim of calculating how much child

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maintenance was to be paid by a non-resident parent to the person with care of the child. It was also responsible for the collection, enforcement and transfer of the payment. The original system was deemed unworkable and has been revised several times. The first Gulf War took place between August 1990 and February 1991. The USA, Britain and various allies mounted military action in response to Iraq’s invasion of the neighbouring state of Kuwait. This individual, aged 17, was shot dead in July 2008. Four men were convicted of his murder and sentenced to life in prison. Originally released in 1937, Kid Galahad is a boxing-themed film starring Edward G. Robinson, Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart and Wayne Morris. The film was re-made in 1962 as an Elvis Presley musical. According to the boxing records website www.boxrec.com there were four previous professional boxers who used the name ‘Kid Galahad’: one South African, one Australian, one American and one Singaporean. Stanozolol is a synthetic anabolic steroid, famously used by Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson, who finished first in the 1988 Olympic 100 metres final before being disqualified for failing a subsequent drugs test. ‘Boxercise’ is a form of aerobic exercise incorporating boxing movements such as shadow boxing. The website www.boxercise.co.uk states that ‘boxercise’ has been taught in the UK since 1992. The 2015 report The Right Hook by the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Boxing stated that 1.2 million people participated in ‘boxercise’ every week in the UK. Introduced in 1998, an anti-social behaviour order (ASBO) was a civil order against a person engaged in anti-social behaviour. ASBOs were discontinued in 2015. A Pupil Referral Unit is an education provision for children unable for a variety of reasons to attend school. The website https://www.borderlinepersonalitydisorder.org/ states: ‘Family Connections is a 12-week course that meets weekly to provide education, skills training, and support for people who are in a relationship with someone who has BPD [Borderline Personality Disorder]’. Robert Owen (1771–1858) was a textile manufacturer and philanthropic social reformer. He was one of the founders of utopian socialism and the co-operative movement. Amitai Etzioni (born Werner Falk in 1929) is a sociologist who founded the communitarian movement in the early 1990s. Communitarianism is based on the belief that a person’s social identity is moulded by community relationships, where the community is defined as a number of people in a geographical location who share an interest or a history. The ‘Big Society’ was a political ideology developed in the early twentyfirst century that proposed ‘integrating the free market with a theory of social solidarity based on hierarchy and voluntarism’, drawing on ‘a mix

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of conservative communitarianism and libertarian paternalism’. The term was originated by Steve Hilton, director of strategy for the Conservative party, but became associated with David Cameron. Its stated aim was build a ‘big society’ that would take power away from politicians and give it to local people and communities. Cameron did not use the term in public after 2013 and the phrase ceased to be used in Government statements thereafter. According to the website https://www.socialenterprise.org.uk there are over 100,000 social enterprises throughout Britain that contribute £60 billion to the economy and employ two million people. Colloquial British English for a toilet. Concorde was a type of passenger airliner that had a maximum speed of over twice the speed of sound. Jointly developed by British and French aerospace companies, it first flew commercially in 1976. The aircraft was taken out of service in 2003 following a crash near Paris three years earlier that killed all on board. This was Denton’s second professional fight, a win over Colin Vidler in November 1999. At the time the home of singer Michael Jackson. Founded in 1989, Spearmint Rhino is a chain of strip clubs that operates venues throughout the USA, the UK and Australia. The Ruby Lounge and the Kingdom were Sheffield nightclubs. An Asset of Community Value (ACV) is land or property of importance to a local community, subject to additional protection from development under the Localism Act 2011. Voluntary and community organisations can nominate an asset to be included on their local authority’s register of ACVs. Douglas died aged 48 in 1930 when a ship on which he was a passenger sank off the coast of Finland. Stoddart committed suicide in 1915. In September 1975, Balderstone played for Leicestershire CCC and Doncaster Rovers FC on the same day. In 1964, Standen achieved a unique double, winning the cricket County Championship with Worcestershire CCC and the FA Cup with West Ham United FC. In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, two female competitors won Olympic medals in two sports: Rebecca Romero in rowing and cycling and Sarah Storey in Paralympic swimming and cycling. Taylor worked with one of the authors for a short time during his accountancy training.

References All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing. (2015). Boxing: The Right Hook— A Report by the All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing. All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing.

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Beattie, G. (1986). Survivors of Steel City: A Portrait of Sheffield. Chatto and Windus. Boswell, J. (1776). The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, with Samuel Johnson, LLD. The Colonial Press. Carpenter, E. (1916). My Days and Dreams, Being Autobiographical Notes. Charles Scribner’s Sons. Turley, M. (2014). Journeymen: The Other Side of the Business—A New Perspective on the Noble Art. Pitch Publishing. Woodhouse, C. (2016). Box to Box: From the Premier League to British Boxing Champion. Simon and Schuster.

CHAPTER 5

Fixers and Makers

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 4, No. 41, 1901] (out of copyright) It is pretty evident that some natures require a periodical ‘punching’, or its equivalent in pain, to bring home to them the consciousness of life. Incapable of verifying their existence by the apparently simple process suggested © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_5

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by Descartes, they require to feel in order to be sure that they are alive, and a blow on the nose is for them but a practical demonstration in the philosophy of being.—Galveston Daily News (1875) Sport, or that which diverts and makes merry, without injuring any one either in body or mind, will do very well; but pugilism, where two men go to work and pummel each other to a jelly, is a very strange sort of amusement, and seems better fitted for barbarians than civilized people.— Boston Investigator (1859)

Sheffield’s increasing boxing profile in the 1990s and 2000s owed much to its world champion fighters, but it could not have happened without mentors and guides, and people to fix, promote and grease both wheels and palms. One Sheffield man not shy of confrontation but not skilled enough to box professionally made money by managing and matchmaking. As tough as the boxers he managed, he saw boxing as a way out of a life that started in crockery selling, followed by years in scrap metal trading. Utilising the wit and street-sharpness learned in such entrepreneurial economies he knew well how to negotiate deals for both boxers and himself. Meanwhile, the Ingle influence around Sheffield boxing was continued by two of Brendan’s sons who, whilst maintaining their father’s traditions of learning, introduced modern techniques to their operation. Concomitantly, two of Brendan’s former protégés proved they had an affinity and talent for doing good outside the ropes. One founded a gym that attracted some of the highest awards in the land— no less than four of its staff were recognised by way of national honours. The second overcame financial hardship to work amongst some of the biggest names in British boxing. A newcomer to the Sheffield fight scene meanwhile developed a reputation for training title-winning amateurs that relied on perception not systems and lured a string of promising professionals to his stable, one of whom became Sheffield’s seventh world champion.

Choices and Contests: Dennis Hobson ‘I like winning against the odds’, Dennis Hobson told Gary Armstrong in 2016. This was something he had done throughout his life. Fighter, trainer, manager and promoter, Hobson got involved in boxing at a young age. From the Stradbroke council estate in south-east Sheffield,

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Hobson was one of two brothers born to a father—also named Dennis— who had tried his hand at boxing in between carrying slates on his head as he repaired house roofs. Known for his strength and work ethic, Hobson senior was a bon vivant and entrepreneur who put his considerable intelligence to making monies in a variety of ways connected to the city’s scrap metal industry. Never short of company and cash and having a table at Sheffield’s Fiesta cabaret nightclub reserved weekly for him and his guests, Hobson senior was a man-about-town and a fixer. Generous to pensioners in the Attercliffe neighbourhood where he was often found in the company of other scrap men, he was not a man to renege on a deal if it had been struck on the shake of a hand. He did not look kindly on those that did.1 Hobson junior took on board his father’s entrepreneurial acumen. With two partners, he today owns hotels and holiday homes in Jersey and has homes in Sheffield and Tenerife. He fought for what he earned, both figuratively and literally. Frequently ill as a child and in his words ‘very sensitive’, Hobson was given a punchbag by his father at the age of 13 to build him up. Taking boxing lessons in Billy Calvert’s Darnall gym, Hobson later fought out of the Richmond Boxing Club under the tutorship of trainer Harry Carnall. Other instruction came from Lionel Biney, who taught the simple things, such as how to unbalance a man by catching him on the elbow with just two fingers. For a while, Hobson trained at the Ingle gym. His true athletic talent however lay in football. Trialling with both Barnsley and Sheffield Wednesday, he played at good non-league level until the age of 40. Football skills produced various forms of collateral, such as a large network with mutual respect for each other’s sporting and business ability. Hobson drew on those connections in later life. At school, Hobson used sport to seek solace from his travails in the classroom. ‘I was the last of the Hobsons and some teachers didn’t like me because of the surname’, he said. If academia did not suit Hobson, grafting did. Straight talking and shrewd, aged 15 he began a college cookery course and worked in the staff canteens of both the Town Hall and the Midland Bank. An inherent ability to buy low and sell high generated income that went into a skip hire business. His greatest business asset however was his audacity. A chance encounter over a shared enthusiasm for dog racing is worth re-telling:

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I’d be a regular as a teenager down the Owlerton dog track putting bets on [whilst] under-age. I then started breeding dogs. I had a good one for flapping2 but it was not so good at Owlerton on the corners. Still, the footballer Terry Curran3 bought it off me for £1,250. I bought a pick-up truck next day with the money.

The truck was utilised for scrap trading. Picking up waste metal from engineering firms and selling it at scrap yards, Hobson did not want to make the same mistake as his father, who he said ‘should have been one of the wealthiest men in Sheffield from his scrap business but he was out every night, at the dogs or casinos’. Hobson thus used every moneymaking avenue open to him, explaining: ‘There was money in 45-gallon oil drums and when that was quiet I would take domestic waste away for cash. Scrap metal is volatile; prices rise and fall. I needed more strings to my bow. At 21 I went into property’. He also taught himself plastering. ‘I’d buy small houses going for a bargain’, he said. ‘I’d got someone who could pay cash. I’d do it up and rent it out and the man got his cash back’. There was also a venture into office furniture. This penchant for business lay in both necessity and confidence. ‘Personality is all I’ve ever had’, he said. ‘I’m not too proud to knock on doors. At 17 I got tons of copper cable. I got a bloke to burn [cut] it. Then I sold it at Boothy’s [a Rotherham scrap yard]. Months later I’m in Skegness market selling crockery. I was always competitive and that went from winning something in sport to business. In both arenas you need a strategy and have to know when to make a move. You also need the support of others’. The Lincolnshire seaside market trading involved the support of Hobson’s mother. The pair travelled to Stoke-on-Trent to buy pottery before selling it at Skegness and Ingoldmells, both favourite holiday destinations of Sheffielders. Recalling this period in an interview with the Sheffield Star, Hobson said: I lived in a ten-foot caravan and I was rubbish at selling pots. I remember going to bed night after night with the gas fire on and wearing tracksuits with the hood up and being absolutely freezing cold and waking up even colder an hour later. I lived on tins of rice pudding and Irish stew. I used to go in the supermarket and swap the price tickets on meat so I could get a bigger piece.

Making money from boxing occurred almost by accident, as he explained to the Newcastle Evening Chronicle:

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There wasn’t really any boxing history in the family, though my dad must have had a thousand street fights! The local gym got knocked down so people started coming to my house. I eventually got a place for £15 a week and opened a gym there. Someone asked me if I’d be a second for them so I got my second’s licence and someone else asked me if I’d be their manager so I got a manager’s licence.

The first ‘someone’ was Harry Carnall. The ‘place’ was a former CoOp store in the Herdings district, kitted out with basic equipment and a garage blow-heater. Amongst the boxing enthusiasts attending was a plasterer’s labourer named Clinton Woods (see Chapter 3). Seeing potential in Woods, Hobson said: ‘He just came into get fit. He was a decent, strong kid. I’d spar with him. I suggested he go pro. I got him painting some houses I’d bought and he worked on the scrap for me as well. We were made for one another and grew up together in pro boxing’. The boxer’s determination to succeed, along with astute matchmaking by Hobson, took Woods to a world light-heavyweight title and earned the pair considerable fame and fortune. Annoyed by a boxing promoter who had laughed at his intentions to go into promoting, Hobson staged his first show in May 1993 at Sheffield University’s Octagon Centre. Top of the bill was Sheffielder Glyn Rhodes against Hartlepool’s Mark Chichocki. A friend in the printing trade helped Hobson with publicity and ticket sales. The following December the upwardly mobile Hobson hired Sheffield City Hall for an evening that included an after-dinner speech by former world featherweight champion Barry McGuigan and four boxing contests, topped by cruiserweight Terry Dunstan. The event sold 550 tickets and produced a small profit. Meanwhile Hobson also promoted boxing events at the Pinegrove Country Club, where top of the bill was usually the young Clinton Woods. Ticket demand was growing. This required Hobson to source seating, music, a PA system and catering. ‘Selling was my speciality’, he explained in 2016. ‘I went round the local amateur football clubs – they knew me. I went to ex-boxers who knew me. I had a deal with everyone that if they sold ten [tickets] they got in free. I got to know people on the Star [newspaper] and local radio’. Proving the cynics wrong was motivation enough for Hobson. He was making it as a boxing promoter and getting national recognition for doing so. A big earner was Paul ‘Silky’ Jones’ world title win over Verno Phillips in November 1995. A world

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champion on his books—even a short-lived one—gave Hobson credibility and negotiating power both within and beyond the UK. Hobson’s ability as a promoter took him to the USA and into the company of some serious players in the fight game. Things he had learned in the scrap metal business served him well: Scrap [metal] is all wheelin’ and dealin’, like a daily game of poker. The boxing business is no different. When I promoted Ricky Hatton I met [American boxing promoters] Don King, Bob Arum and Gary Slew. There were others who were always in Clinton’s ear trying to get him to move. He stayed with me and became a champion.

The unorthodox was utilised in negotiations. ‘The only language in boxing is money’, said Hobson. ‘It ruins people’. On the road to such ruin when in the USA Hobson played his trump card—himself: ‘You’d go into meetings and throw them. I’d say: “Where’s me tea and hobnobs?” They’d look at you nonplussed. It was a tactic. They weren’t sure how to deal with this chap from Sheffield’. Splits and Spats Such a profile brought problems. Hobson carried enough clout to attract one of British boxing’s biggest names to his promotional camp in WBA welterweight champion Ricky Hatton. Hobson took a financial gamble to persuade Hatton to leave his long-time promoter Frank Warren, offering unbeaten world champion Floyd Mayweather Junior £5 million to fight Hatton in Manchester. However, Hatton—or rather his father Ray— backed out of the deal to negotiate the Mayweather fight themselves with Oscar De La Hoya’s Golden Boy Promotions. In reply to a question to his personal website in 2014 Hobson stated that Hatton was one of the boxers who had made him most angry because ‘the deal we shook on, he reneged on it’. In 2013, an acrimonious split from another world champion—IBF bantamweight champion Jamie McDonnell—occurred, which Hobson said was more fraught than his separation from Hatton. Hobson bitterly stated: I don’t think [McDonnell will] ever be the fighter he could’ve been if he’d stayed with me. And I can tell you he’d be a lot wealthier. You think you

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know people but when you think someone is family you drop your guard. Jamie went behind my back. I invested a lot of money to get Jamie where he was and it’s such a shame he wasn’t loyal, and he’s got that to live with.

McDonnell had signed with rival promoter Eddie Hearn because of Hearn’s Matchroom Boxing having an exclusive deal with Sky Sports, which attracted larger television audiences for boxing than other stations. In an interview with the Daily Telegraph Hobson described this arrangement as ‘crippling’ boxing and ‘akin to a monopoly which is damaging other promotions’. If any promoter other than Matchroom contacted Sky Sports to discuss the possibility of the network broadcasting a boxing bill, they were instructed to go through Matchroom, which, of course, would want a slice of the cake. Since leaving Hobson McDonnell had won the WBA bantamweight title and successfully defended it four times. His trainer Dave Coldwell called McDonnell’s improvement in this time ‘nothing short of fantastic’, to which Hobson replied in his column in the Sheffield Telegraph: [McDonnell] was always going to be in these big fights because I got him there! I created Jamie McDonnell and I’d only say someone is a good trainer if they’ve had someone from the off, like I did with Clinton Woods. Jamie already had ability but it needed shaping, which I did, mentally and physically, by sending him to different gyms to work with different people.

Disagreements and accusations of back-stabbing are commonplace in boxing and for the fan add to the spectacle. These incidents proved that Hobson was a major player in British boxing promotion and someone that Hearn, Warren and others had to respect and deal with on equal terms. Not a Scrap of Evidence Hobson faced trials of his own and had a reputation to defend. In 2008, in a long-running court case covered by the Sheffield Star, Hobson was implicated—and then exonerated—in a plot in which a large amount of scrap metal was stolen from a Sheffield steelmaker. A lorry driver and a security guard were convicted and jailed for seven years. Judge Robert Moore QC expressed surprise that the pair were the only ones on trial when those he considered the masterminds of the theft were still at large.

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He stated in court that two companies, Meadowbank Metals and Hobson Metals (UK) Ltd, had ‘spirited away’ stainless steel scrap worth some £500,000 over a period of 14 months. A security guard had apparently turned off CCTV cameras to allow a Hobson Metals (UK) employee to drive his lorry loaded with scrap off the steelmaker’s site without passing over the weighbridge. The load was supposed to be taken to another site to be melted down. The driver took it instead to Meadowbank Metals in Rotherham. Judge Moore believed that the convicted pair were ‘in the employment of [unknown] others operating at a much higher level’. A South Yorkshire Police spokeswoman said that others had been interviewed but the evidence was insufficient to bring charges. Angry that he was being connected to the crimes by implication, Hobson said he had no knowledge of the events and was not involved with either scrap metal business, stating: ‘I have no criminal conviction. I have never been cautioned. I have never stood trial before any court. I know that it is incorrect to say that the police failed to investigate further than the security man and lorry driver. At least four other persons were interviewed to my knowledge. I have never been a director of Hobson Metals (UK) and I do not own the company’. In a startling move, Hobson wrote to Judge Moore via his solicitor to demand an apology because the ‘Code of Conduct for the Bar’ prohibited those working in the justice system from making statements that were ‘scandalous or intended or calculated only to vilify, insult or annoy a witness or third party’. The letter led to a special hearing at Sheffield Crown Court at which Hobson and his nephew Andrew were able to clear their names of any suspicion. A reputation of another sort was welcome and recognised by others. In October 2015, Hobson was ranked by the business consultancy website www.thekingmaker.me as Britain’s fifth-most influential boxing promoter. His journey was remarkable. From selling crockery in his teens to holding his own with boxing ‘royalty’, Hobson’s self-belief was his greatest asset. His was a life of hard knocks and steely determination. He can also claim some credit for putting Sheffield on the world boxing map in the past 25 years. Today, as well as promoting and managing, Hobson organises black-tie sporting-themed events and white-collar boxing evenings. ∗ ∗ ∗

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A poll conducted in 2013 by the boxing website www.boxrec.com ranked Britain’s top boxing trainers. At number one stood Adam Booth, who trained David Haye and George Groves, with Rob McCracken, trainer of Anthony Joshua and Carl Froch, in second. In third place came the man who took over the running of the Ingle gym from his father—and this accolade came before he guided Kell Brook to a world title.

Dominic Ingle: Interiors and Exteriors An A4 sheet of paper taped to the flaking plaster wall in this combined changing room and utility room suggests ideal scenarios. The fading photocopy informs aspiring boxers as to what constitutes a recommended weekly meal plan. The advice is big on vegetables and carbohydrates. The floor in this small room is bare concrete, the gun-metal locker spaces rusty, a plastic bucket serves as an all-purpose rubbish bin. The adjacent gym has a more forgiving wooden floor and a low ceiling that holds 11 strip-lights and four maroon girders from which hang 17 punchbags of various shapes and colours. The installation of the girders is a story in itself. A gift from local scrap metal dealers Walter Heselwood Ltd, the task was to raise them to ceiling height. It took 20 men—some perched unsteadily on chairs and tables—to lift each one into place. The six radiators in the room are old and might not keep out the cold that blows along the nearby River Don and up the Wincobank escarpment. It’s not for everyone, but this building changes lives, and for some who enter its doors brings an income not available from other industries in the city. This modest premises offers—to borrow from a psychological principle—a daily diet of pain with the hoped-for longer-term outcome of pleasure. It is a health club of sorts but there is no jacuzzi or energy drinks machine and the reception afforded a visitor is not that of a club seeking to expand its membership. One side of the gym reminds an observer of fame and pain; the iconic image of Muhammad Ali snarling over a prostrate Sonny Liston dominates the far wall. The wall opposite carries the mantra of Brendan Ingle around gaining and keeping self-respect. For those who having looked into their soul now seek to see the change without, full-length mirrors along the gym’s back wall remind them what physical workouts can do to a body. The few nods to modernity arrive in the shape of a running machine, a stepping machine and a whiteboard populated with words written in wipe-off marker pen, spelling out the

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names of 14 boxers with advice next to their entry. The advice, available for all to view, states the various techniques that need to be addressed: • • • • • •

Be more competitive Don’t rush in Re-wind your jab Over-reaching Focus on lines Disguise power

Meanwhile, the plastic chairs that take the strain of weary legs are second hand. To most observers, the place, whilst spotless, could do with a coat of paint. But no one comes here for interior design or personal comfort. This gym lies somewhere between a workhouse and a talent factory and offers for many a place wherein various forms of rehabilitation and redemption are pursued. The younger men here—the ones wearing the fewest clothes—take non-negotiable orders. These are given by those who wear similar sporting apparel and have physiques that suggest some past involvement in the fight game. An unstated hierarchy exists in this place of respectful nods of acknowledgement, half-smiles and stares visited upon both the uninvited and those in the single boxing ring. This is not a place to slouch. All involved here stand upright, move quickly and seek to accomplish what is considered needed with minimal words and fuss. There is respect—affection even—in the room. The man everyone listens to is aged 50 and shaven-headed. Under his black T-shirt he sports a serious torso and biceps that suggest he can handle himself. This upper-body profile is enhanced by the seemingly endless posture necessitated by holding a mobile phone to an ear. The calls indicate a man at the centre of things. The conversations are perfunctory. Decisions are made quickly. One senses this is a man who rarely makes mistakes. Were he to do so an apology would be quickly given and life would be expected to move on. For the past decade, this man has been the most important face at the Ingle gym. He is Dominic Ingle, the chief trainer for the boxing talent therein. The son of Brendan, Dominic is his own man but understands the motivations of his father that consequently made him such a sought-after figure:

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Brendan wanted to save every sinner. He gave thousands of men two hours a day of stability and discipline in their lives. He gave them lectures on life. They’d take maybe half of it on board because in their eyes he was a credible individual [like] most had never known.

Leading by words and deed, Brendan also preached, as Dominic explained: He knew the perils of life; drink, drugs, smoking, gambling, tattoos, lying, getting a girl pregnant, hanging out with married women. When I was 30 I told him I could tick a few of those off. He was 100% right in all this but you have to go through it yourself. Mum and dad weren’t ‘pushy’ and there was no demand from them to join the family business. We were taught the basics; how to read and write and add up, be polite and respectful and in fact encouraged to be outspoken and do our own thing. I left school at 16 with five GCSEs,4 to a degree self-educated, confident, a decent footballer and no idea what to do with the rest of me life.

Boxing provided both opportunities and reservations. The ability to fight was gifted by nature to Ingle junior, who in his own words was ‘short, had ginger hair and looked like an angel’. The ‘celestial Celt’ look provoked mirth in infant schoolmates. This was answered with punches. Two years of playground brawls provoked Brendan to proffer wisdom: ‘He said I was a street fighter but one day I’d come up against a boxer who would teach me a lesson and hurt me’. The child thus learned the art in the family gym, doing so ‘in case I needed it, not to be a champ’. Nevertheless, between the ages of 11 and 14 he had 14 ring fights, of which he won 12. He might have gone further but his proximity to the business saw him realise the realities the fight game demanded of its protagonists: ‘Herol [Graham] was living with us. I’d sometimes go running with him at half five in the morning or nine at night. He wasn’t getting the breaks his talent deserved. I thought “what does it take to make it in this game?”’ One answer came from watching Brendan train his stable of fighters: ‘He always thought outside the box. He knew the pitfalls of the game. He didn’t want 50:50 fighters or “rough-house” fighters. He didn’t want open sparring every day. He didn’t want his “kids” hurt’. This business and boxing philosophy took time to bring returns. The pursuit was relentless, not just for those in the ring: ‘He’d come home and be on the phone talking boxing from half eight till half eleven, then one Christmas he came

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home with loads of toys for us all. It was the first time he had seen any money from the hours he was putting in’. A year working in a Sheffield engineering factory brought the realisation that an assembly-line life was not for Dominic. Having taught himself to play guitar from the age of 12, the lure of music and an audience produced a band. For close to a decade a living was earned playing covers with a bit of original stuff thrown in at arenas as diverse as Butlins holiday camps, Sheffield working men’s clubs and Scottish festivals. A boxing background served well in such a pursuit: ‘Thanks to the years of training I was disciplined, I ran daily, did weights and I was confident as a person’. Having travelled the length and breadth of Britain on stages the amateur singer/fighter returned home. He had found love and realised he needed to earn a regular income. He looked on as Brendan, then aged 54, gave up manual work as at last boxing brought a good enough income to live off. Brother John meanwhile had bought a house out of his earnings working with Naseem Hamed. Dominic thus fell back into the boxing world and drew on talents acquired in his late teens: I was 19 when I became a qualified timekeeper. I kept time at the Jim McDonnell-Barry McGuigan fight.5 Boxing up till then was a sideline but it was also the furniture to my life. I’d walk with dad as a kid and the talk was boxing and boxers. I was living at home sporadically till I was 30 and was immersed in it. When dad was full time with Naz he’d send John and me to be cornermen and ‘seconds’ with the others when he couldn’t get there. We were amateur coaches. I’d also do what you’d call auxiliary work, go on runs with the boxers then watch the pad work. It took me three years to learn the trade. When dad and Naz fell out John and me stepped up. John did more on the fighting, I did nutrition and strength and conditioning. Junior Witter was maybe 10% down to me, Kell Brook I trained from the age of nine.

The Ingle gym has always attracted inquiries from prospective boxers and curious pundits. What makes the many fighters and champions who have lived and breathed the institution is in part down to its leaders. For them, the phone calls are incessant. Queries never cease. The trainer is the font of all knowledge in so many ways to so many people. The raw material is often hard to manage and sometimes even harder to find, as Dominic explained in 2017:

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There’s 45 years of experience here. I’ve been part of it since I was seven. You learn the game by taking it in subconsciously by hanging around. You learn from every fight and see things before they happen. For me and the others here it’s a vocation, not a profession. You don’t lock up and go home in this game. We don’t inherit ready-made fighters in this gym.6 We get paid when we ‘make’ a fighter. It’s a system, if you want, based on discipline and patience and the three Ds: Drive, Dedication, Dream.

All involved in the gym have to understand the trilogy; this connection has to be learned very early in an aspirant’s life, as Dominic explained further: As a trainer you’ve to be as dedicated as the boxer. You need to ‘connect’ with him and at times live in their system. Meaning? Find their breaking points and know what affects them. There’s no shortage of lads walking in the door thinking it’s a short-cut to fame and fortune but I tell ‘em ‘don’t pursue a boxing career – it’ s not what it seems’.

Some actually listen to him. Others understand his warnings and enter not seeking not fame and fortune but the ambience and athletic work ethic of the gym: ‘Others in here just want to get fit and enjoy the craic. It’s a city of hard people who’ve done decades of hard graft, they appreciate what a fighter achieves’. The obvious question to ask of a man associated with champions is: What makes for such success? The response calls on notions of citizenship and parenthood, and the realisation that to a degree the gym’s success relies on self-selection. Significantly, bearing in mind the public perception of the gym and its champions, few who train there retire wealthy: We had a church upbringing and morals instilled. We in turn give all who enter the gym the best possible chance. I ask all who enter: do you really want in? I’ve got children, you ask yourself, ‘What’s the best you’d want for them in a gym?’ and then you set out to be that gym. There’s maybe 50 to 60 a year come to the gym with dreams of being contenders. Some 30 years ago the gym was 90% white lads. Today its 90% ‘something else’ if you get what I mean. Regardless of who they are there’s a natural attrition as the stages go on. Only a few will ever make money out of boxing, and on their way up it can be a pittance. At one time offering a Sheffield lad from some poor council estate £300 to have a fight would have seen a dozen come running. There’s easier ways to make that kind of money today than boxing.

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The young fighters answer questions, get told what to do and receive designs for life: We mother them in their time with us. You have to know the kid inside out; where he’s coming from and what he’s come from. We hope what we do rubs off in the long run so that when their boxing career ends they’ve learned enough to live a good life. At the same time we have to realise that control is not the main issue; you don’t want to baby them too far. At the request of a promoter-manager I took a fighter who had fell out with his trainer. The trainer had him on lockdown in the pre-fight months and the kid rebelled against this. I have them in and tell them the programme and what I expect. There has to be mutual trust.

But is there a ‘blueprint’ or DNA pattern that gives a young man a better chance than others of making it to the very top in boxing? Believing there is, an analytical explanation as to why is offered: The ones at the top are often what I call ‘wayward fighters’, lads who in all honestly are not qualified to do anything but fight. My take is they are often ‘naughty boys’ and have often got ADHD, or dyslexia/dyspraxia7 … they’ve a ‘repetitive channel’. They’re prone to doing their own thing. This can bring big problems down the line when they finish fighting. Some have the ‘X-factor’ – Naz [Hamed], Kell [Brook], B-J [Billy Joe Saunders]. I call it ‘disassociation with self’. They cut themselves off from family and friends in pursuit of a belt. They also realise that once in the ring no one can help them. They know what’s expected and what will come. They know at times they’re going to get hurt.

Preparation for a big fight means that the boxer and his team have to leave everything—family, friends, socialising—behind as they head off to some (usually) warm weather spot for an intensive training camp. For the Ingles, this is Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands, where they have a gym as well equipped as the one at Wincobank. The island’s mountainous inclines are as steep as those in Sheffield, but longer, and the weather is, of course, hotter, making for ideal conditions for first losing weight and then toning the body. Sometimes the former takes longer than planned if the boxer has let himself go between contests. This scenario occurs more often than one might imagine. It could be a matter of a small weight increase over a few days, but in some cases there might be three

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stones gained in three months. The excess has to be removed efficiently, as Dominic explained: A fighter can go five months without training between fights. They signed up to be champs but that can bring behaviour that has to be remedied. They can disappear and put on 12lb over a weekend. You have to deal with that mindset. Some always seek something or someone to blame. If a fighter is three stone overweight you’d want a stone off in the first month of ‘prep’ then reduce it to 6lbs, then 3.5lbs a week. There might initially be little boxing as you concentrate on cardio-vascular, cross-training, cycling, jogging, 7k a day at walking pace, oxidising fat – fat not glycogen8 – beats per minute, two 75-minute sessions a day. You might do 30 minutes a day shadow boxing and footwork. You’d be on the Ketogenic diet9 – four meals a day with no carbs, eating bacon, chicken and drinking coconut oil. A nutritionist buys the stuff and cooks it. This way you’re never hungry ‘cos the stomach’s always full, but you train at low intensity. This helps lose weight. This life is that of the boxer and the trainer – we shadow them all day. If they’re dieting we wouldn’t have sugar in our tea or coffee. You can get bored with it [dieting]. You and the fighter learn the language of ketone, re-feeding, carbing up and energy systems and when the weight is off ‘camp’ begins. How long that is depends on the fighter but this is the point of no return. These are the weeks to ‘switch on’. Training camp is abnormal, there’s a structure for everything. If you’ve three fighters in three camps over three months that’s exhausting. You need eight or so like-minded people – me, another trainer, the dietician, some fighters to spar with him and keep him company. You need the dedicated and the focused. We’ll even have a ‘gee-up man’ – you know, the character that makes us smile and we want around.

For the curious, it might seem a touch odd that amidst all the science, nutrition and best practice, the process of making a champion contains an employment opportunity for someone who makes the group laugh. Such an individual is part of the puzzle that has to be carefully pieced together. [Camp] can be three weeks or three months. We all have a role. Camp is like a jigsaw and you want things gradually fitting into place. Things can go wrong – a fighter can leave and go on a three-day food and drink bender. It’s a form of release, it happens. They come back and we have to sort of lock him in and work extra time on getting the weight he’s gained off. At the end of a 12-week camp, if the boxer has not made a mistake in that time I believe there’s a 99% chance of winning.

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The Ingle method of training is ordered and well controlled. Tactics are as much part of the pedagogy as fitness. ‘We don’t encourage “crashbang-wallop” fighters’, Dominic explains. He continues: So this needs brains, a game plan and situations. The trainer tells a fighter what he wants of him. It’s not a negotiation but you would explain why you have chosen this plan and then you begin a training programme and have timelines for the completion of the planned stages. You’re training a man for what might be 12 rounds of three minutes each. This needs skipping, sparring, feet and fitness. It’s essential to get technique. Sparring is crucial in this ‘cos it’s practice for the ring. We teach defensive skills as much as attacking ones; no one goes fast and ballistic for 12 rounds. Pad work comes at the end of all this. We use sport science later on to see how the body is geared up for training.

Then one day all realise that the contest is imminent. What happens then? On the day of the fight there might be a steam-room session early afternoon and a gentle run, then having made the weight it’s time to ‘carb up’ with pasta for what we consider enough energy for six rounds. The carbs and hydration bring the weight up, but not too much. Days before [this] the fighter’s water income is reduced to sips to emphasise the muscle definition at the weigh-in. On the day we get to the venue two hours before the fight time. Certain people can come to the dressing room – the lad’s father or his best mate. The music might be loud or quiet, it might be calm or a bit of a circus. Some 30 minutes before it’s shadow boxing. With 20 minutes to go you’re fully dressed and doing pad work and ready to go. Then we have 15 minutes of just me and him. Then we walk out. I don’t need to lead the procession – I’ll take the longer route via the audience and meet him in the corner.

This brings us to the role of cornermen, which is laden with dark arts and mysticism. What do they all do? Well, it appears that even the man who carries the boxer’s stool and fills the water bucket is crucial to the task at hand. A television viewer might hear the trainer and his aide simultaneously yelling into the fighter’s face between rounds. Then there is the ‘cuts man’, who wields what looks like a miniature iron (called an ‘enswell’ or ‘end-swell’) and cotton buds (known in the game as ‘swabs’), as well as a jar of a jelly-like substance that is actually a coagulant such as adrenaline chloride, designed to thicken the blood and stem bleeding.10 There is not a second to waste in the minute between rounds if a fighter

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is cut—the cuts man will therefore have two or three adrenaline-soaked swabs in a wrist band, prepared for action as soon as the boxer sits down. As much as trying to control blood flow, the cuts man’s task is about keeping the boxer calm, reassuring him that the gash is not as bad as he might think it is. At this moment, the cuts man is in charge and might order the trainer out of the ring to give him more space to work. Applying pressure to the cut, not wiping it, is the order of the day. Then comes the vaseline, smeared on the fighter’s face as he stands up so that his opponent’s leather slides off the skin rather than cause abrasions. Too much vaseline however can get in the boxer’s eyes. A final cosmetic touch is to wipe traces of blood from the boxer’s torso, so as not to give his opponent the slightest encouragement from any sight of ‘claret’. The referee might also be adversely influenced by blood on a fighter’s body, just as he might be positively influenced by a cuts man going about his work in a cool, confident matter. In the ring, impressions count in many ways. There are four men in the corner of Ingle championship fights. Alongside Dominic is usually brother John. The cuts man has known Dominic since he was 15. Another trainer from the gym ‘washes the gum shield and passes me what I ask for’, says Dominic. This man’s tasks also include handling the vitally important stool, placed in the ring by ‘someone who’s known to the fighter and who he’s comfortable with’. The fact that the boxers have to be comfortable with the stool man perhaps says a lot about the sometimes fragile nature of their personalities. When the fight begins, Dominic often deliberately talks facilely to his boxer, who might be too busy concentrating on his opponent to hear any of what is said. He explained: There’s kidology involved in all of this from me. I’ve also told fighters all sorts from the corner: ‘You won’t knock him out’, ‘You’re seven rounds up’, ‘Switch and spin off to the right’, ‘Finish on your feet’, ‘Stay in his face’. Sometimes it’s so childlike; the fighters taught me how to be a dad to my three!

At the same time, Dominic fully comprehends the absolute seriousness of what is unfolding in front of him. Events in the ring can either financially secure his fighter for the rest of his life, or alternatively see him end up in hospital with life-changing injuries:

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I’ve got to make sure I’ve done what I needed to do to the best of my ability. I can get them a big pay-day. Some can get a fight purse of millions – that sets them up for life. Others fight for purses of less than £30,000 – they might get enough to live a few years as a pro. In either case if a fighter is in trouble or in over his ability I have to get him out. I’ve also to consider income over serious injury. With a nose broken and swallowing blood I have seconds to get him back into the fight; all the crowd are shouting up for the other guy to kill him or shouting instructions contrary to mine, and yes I do tell them to ‘shut the fuck up’ at times. Anyone can talk, but I make decisions. The fighters trust me to make decisions for them. In return I make good money, got nice clothes and see my face on TV. This is my business, one without morals and which maims. It’s full time and the hardest game in the world.

Whether his boxer wins or loses, so long as he is healthy Dominic gives him the freedom to do as he wishes after a fight, which usually involves a holiday. The other boxers in the gym are also encouraged to attend to his every need. Says Dominic: ‘After a victory I want the gym around the boxer like courtiers keeping the king happy. They’ve lived like monks for months and often blow out on food and drink’. But a modicum of normality has to be maintained: ‘We’ve always tried to encourage a postfight “de-training” programme, making them do something every day to keep a sense of routine. One session a day working at 50% with a run and a swim, maybe low-intensity shadow boxing’. A couple of rarely mentioned but revealing truths end the conversation. The first is that ‘no one ever left the Ingle gym and subsequently became a world champion’.11 More important, however, is Ingle’s final statement, which succinctly sums up exactly what the Ingle boxing philosophy entails: ‘Our gym never had a fighter killed or really hurt and none are walking around today damaged by fighting’. ∗ ∗ ∗ Redeeming qualities might be hard to find in some boxers. Not always exemplars of model citizens, the pugilist benefits from those in proximity who tend his demons with serenity and wisdom. The processes of redemption can be very understated and softly spoken.

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Behold and Beware: John Ingle Billy Joe Saunders is a permanent fixture in the Ingle gym these days (early 2019). Perhaps such cloistering might be for the general good and not just for fitness routines. Two days previously Saunders had been the subject of iPhone footage posted on social media of an incident in Nottingham. Saunders can be heard, head out of a car window, offering cash to a young woman to perform a sex act. Weeks earlier the same man was involved in a confrontation with the world heavyweight champion Deontay Wilder in the Belfast branch of the Nando’s restaurant chain. Mutual accusations were exchanged before chicken allegedly landed on Wilder’s entourage courtesy of Saunders, who left the restaurant rapidly when Wilder’s bodyguards intervened.12 Boxers are often complex. They can earn themselves and their trainers small fortunes but have to be managed in more ways than one. As the aforementioned incidents demonstrate, the Ingle gym has to deal with all types. It can be worthwhile. Thoughtful and soft spoken and giving no hint of being the engine behind one of the UK’s most successful boxing stables, John Ingle wears the demeanour of a kindly seen-it-all religious studies schoolteacher (who might just have known a few ‘wrong-uns’). Casually dressed and easy company, he is accustomed to being both a confidante and a wise man. Ingle realises that human nature is complex and that the caring and the generous can co-exist with the thoughtless and the reckless. He babysits occasionally impulsive young rich men at the same time as keeping the broke and wayward on the right path. Does he have a preferred job description? I don’t really ‘manage’. I might best be described as ‘fixing’ if you want. ‘Adviser to Dominic’ might be the best description. I was assistant coach to Brendan. I took the kids. I was in Naz’s corner for [all] his amateur fights. Today? Yeah, ‘Minister Without Portfolio’. And I’m not really that much of a matchmaker either; our kids in here decide who they fight – we only have them fight an opponent if we feel they have no less than an 80% chance of winning. That’s as much science as there is to our ‘matching’.

This man does not blow his own trumpet. He is in the eyes of some the éminence grise behind decades of fame for the gym, the ever-present individual who has seen it all and when needed softly mediates and lowers

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emotions. Such qualities are often found in what we call common sense, an attribute that seemed to have been present in Ingle from an early age: I wasn’t a fighter. I never planned to box for a living. When I was 11 dad said get in the ring with Bomber [Graham] and try and hit him. I couldn’t. Then he put his arms behind his back and I still couldn’t. Then he knelt down and moved on his knees and I still couldn’t. I thought then ‘if this is what it takes to be a champion then it’s not for me’, and I didn’t have ambitions to be the regional ninth best in my age group either.

School did not hold any fascination, but neither did a life of what we might best describe as ‘normal’ work. The young John was seeking more than a lifetime relationship with a hammer and a screwdriver. There was however a fascination in the practice of boxing and the life of the boxer. There was also inquisitiveness. Money was never his motivator. It took a decade and years of living frugally before his devotion to the gym paid off and brought a lifestyle that many now envy. Did you ever read that book The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists ?13 I reckon 70% of people live like that today. I walk the dog in the morning and see buses full of people going to work, then I see them going home nine hours later. Now, each to their own but thanks to this gym I don’t have to worry about paying the rent. When I left school I started work on a building site – trainee joiner – across the road from the gym. In truth I spent a lot of the time calling in the gym. I learned about boxing non-stop even when earning money and I earned enough skills on the tools to help out on some of the 20 properties around here that [brother] Dom and me own.

Having the best of both worlds would not last forever. One day a decision had to be made that ultimately set John on the road to glory but in the short term cost him a decent income. It also brought a friendship that later delivered wealth for both parties. When that site ended after two years the next one was in Leeds. It was ‘stay over three nights a week’ or travel up at 6.00am every day. That would be me finished in the gym. I left the firm and lived off £54 dole money. I gave me mum £20 of that. I spent all day in the gym with Naz [Hamed] doing pad work. I was a young 20-year-old, he was a mature 15-year-old

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… we sort of met intellectually as two mates in their ‘late seventeens’ if you get me meaning. I didn’t drink and our life away from the gym was the Pinegrove Country Club where we played snooker. Other evenings were taken up with watching amateur fights all over the region and Saturday and Sunday we had our own fighters involved in stuff.

Ingle’s life was now boxing training and the boxing corner. The enjoyment came from working with some of the best in the world at their craft combined with a philosophy that was the foundation of the Ingle gym: As me dad used to say: how much does it cost to keep a man in prison per week? The answer is more than it does to live a week in the Dorchester Hotel. It was always more than a business and making money. Some critics said Brendan was all about money; he wasn’t. If you think only money you lose the point of it. The money Brendan made was still with him when he died.

Greatness can be sought. At other times, it can be thrust upon people. The Ingles might qualify for the latter route to fame. It’s all been a bit accidental. There was no wish-list for Brendan – or me – when it started. Then we got top of the bill at the Royal Albert Hall and Madison Square Garden with Naz and Wembley Arena with Herol. A few years in we realised we didn’t have to just ‘get by’ on stuff anymore – but we did for years. Even today we take some small amount off some kids when they have their fights but others we know who’ve got nowt we don’t take a penny.

Money is the cause of the biggest fall-outs in the fight game. No single boxing stable seems impervious to this situation. So, what metrics are the champion-makers working with? Trainers take 10% [of a fighter’s purse]. A manager takes 25% up to £10,000. Over that price the percentage is negotiable. Agreements can be legal or verbal. A fighter might get a £50,000 fight, two £30,000 and a £20,000. In the course of a half-decent career we take our percentage out of that. We managed him, we got him the promotion – he joined us, we didn’t force him. You can ask for more … but you might get less. World champions are the only ones in this game making what you might call ‘real money’.

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Some of the prize money is decided by the competition. Other incomes are a product of broadcasting rights. The purses depend on the nature of the contest; British, Commonwealth, European and world titles have their own tariffs so to speak. What’s negotiable? Take pay-per-view … I might ask for a guarantee of £1 for every buyer – think of a million people each paying £15 – or more if it goes above an agreed figure.

Such sums bring different agencies. Some act as financial guardians, others add to the complexity of the negotiation: Monies are lodged with the BBBC, who act as guarantors for the show to go ahead so no one loses out and all get paid what was promised. Promoters get the TV deals. Nowadays it’s often along the lines of 20 shows a year. They then sign up fighters and guarantee so many fights in so many months. That’s not the end of it; this is where we come in. We might go to Frank Warren and ask for a better deal. As a manager we know what a fight and a fighter is worth.

Is all that is guaranteed always paid out? Some get paid on the night, sometimes in cash. These are the small figures. Others wait 28 days for a cheque. Some managers and trainers have subtracted percentages for dubious ‘expenses’. That’s been a problem in the game forever. But no one fighting ever admitted to getting paid enough!

One senses that fights at professional level are never straightforward occasions. The trainer has to consider his fighter’s future; thought has to go into the choice of opponent, who might be selected with the contest three fights ahead in mind. There’s a calculation to be considered. Take Charles Martin, who fought AJ [Anthony Joshua] in 2016. He’s never earned more than $40,000 in a fight before. He’ll get a lot more than that for taking that fight, but he’ll know he’ll lose. Lose a fight and make good money though. Now, put up a good fight and he’ll be told you’ll get a profile and the chance to fight again. We once got one of our fighters a bout which didn’t pay well but would bring him a victory and then a world title fight, and that fight

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would bring him more money than he had ever seen before. It did; the ‘plan’, if you want, worked.

So one day the poor boy wakes with a cheque and a status. The wise man invests it, but not all in the ring are wise and the manager, trainer and confidante can only look on. One of ours 15 years ago made £30,000 on a fight. He walks in days later with loads of gold jewellery and shows us the car outside he’d just bought for cash. He’d got £300 left to live on. Herol [Graham] came in after one fight wearing a Cartier bracelet worth more than my dad’s house at the time. Another made £5,000 and a week later it was all gone … it’s all about mentality.

And when does it all start getting mental? When and why do the fall-outs that define the fight game happen? A youngster today might get £1,000 a fight. I’m getting 10%, and we don’t always take our percentage of what we can call ‘crap money’. Then he makes £5,000, then £250,000 and I’m taking my cut. When he makes £2.5 million they turn around and ask: ‘What is it you do for your money?’ Things change when the purses get bigger, the fighter often looks down on you.

And how do fall-outs come about? The obvious one concerns Naseem Hamed. The explanation reveals that money was the issue in part but the water was muddied by more stringent demands and an offer that could have torn the Ingle family apart: Naz’s brother started to act for him. He wanted our percentage of Naz’s earnings reduced. Then he specified that none of us could give interviews and mention Naz; no pictures of Naz could be used for the gym’s publicity, and so on. Brendan wasn’t being told what he could and could not do and said he’s finished. Then Naz’s people offer Dominic and me a fortune – enough to buy a house each, cash – to be in his corner. We couldn’t take it. That would have been unbearable.

Potential big-purse fights can be lost, the reasons only sometimes logical. Other fights take place despite conscience when the price rises. There are parables ever available about human nature and the ability for money to change minds, or at least slow down the response of ‘no chance’.

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Fights fail to happen. Not all boxers want to fight at a particular weight where there was a chance for big money but also a chance of losing. Others avoid fighters who they know are better than them – why would they fight and know their career might be over? Others refuse to fight a mate they shared years in the same gym with, but then when the purse rises they soon change their principles saying something like: ‘Well, it’s nothing personal so why not?’

Hitting the big time can bring out pangs of conscience. Not all that glitters is gold, and there can be scrutiny around the conflicting notions of value and entitlement: Before one London fight we all stayed in the Dorchester [Hotel] on Park Lane. Small sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a small bottle of water cost £36 each. A bowl of cereal was a tenner. Dad thought that was scandalous, and Frank Warren was paying the bill, not him! Dad wouldn’t have it – we all went for breakfast in a small café round the corner.

A nearby nightclub after a world title fight brought further reflections on fame and temptation: Heads get turned with money. I was once with Naz in a hotel nightclub in London. There was a lot of beautiful women around. One came and sat next to me thinking I might have been ‘Big Time’. I told her within a few minutes I was a mate of Naz but actually a bin man. She left seconds later and hit on someone else. One girl claimed she had a fling with Naz and the papers printed it. She specified the hotel and room, but he wasn’t there at the time!

Money talk is not always a bad thing in the fight game; at times the fighter and his entourage can play games with an opponent by making use of fiscal calculations: You can use money to get into an opponent’s head. Naz was good at head games. Before his fight with Steve Robinson, Robinson was moaning about the purse. Naz got to him and offered a winner-takes-all deal. We made out to their camp we were happy with that prospect. They didn’t run with it … Naz was 16 to one on to win.

The pursuit of monies via ticket sales can provoke inducements that do not dignify the sport. Some go along with the pantomimes, some don’t:

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Johnny Nelson had a fight in New Zealand against a Maori-born kid [James Thunder in Auckland in 1993]. The promoter organised the prefight talk in a hotel and dreamt up a scene he wanted us to be part of. Their man was going to insult Johnny and in return he was supposed to throw a glass of water conveniently placed on the table in his opponent’s face and we’d pretend all hell would break loose and it would get publicity and sell tickets. We said ‘sure, we’ll go along with it’. Then on the day when the insults came Johnny just politely ignored them saying nice things about his accuser. The promoter was furious. We just told him we don’t do such things.

The cornermen have a duty of protection inside and outside the ring. They have no formal training for this task other than the collective experience accumulated by dealing daily with the strange world of the boxer. Is there a template to work with? It’s not all about tough, troubled boys. Them that were ‘cock-of-theschool’ aren’t our champions. We had one of them once; we put him in a Boys’ Club event. He came up against a fat kid from his school who he’d bullied in the playground, fighting for another club. The fat kid spanked him. Bashed the school bully. Succeeding in boxing needs a different type of toughness.

The word ‘wayward’ defines many a category of young men who entered the Ingle gym. Sometimes issues beyond sport have to be sorted out: I remember a knock on the front door at 3.00am. A young black lad who was with us was also dealing drugs in Havelock Square14 and he got robbed and shot by rival dealers. Dad took him in and sorted it out all for him … that was what we were and this was recognised by [the] probation [service] and CID who wanted wayward kids with us to keep them in line. Some of them types today would not get in the gym. We still have waifs and strays but there are more choices for them today, there’s no shortage of gyms around. We get more coming in here [now] seeking to be champions than seeking a social worker.

Success can be modest and unacclaimed. One story heartens both teller and listener: We had a lad who arrived in Sheffield hidden in the boot of car aged 15 fleeing Kosovo. He boxed under the name Tony Montana.15 He might

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have had 50 fights, won 20, and made a total of £20,000 but that money got him a car and he drives a cab for a living and he’s got a wife and two kids and a house.

The outsider to this world needs to be corrected about terminology and stereotyping. In doing so, a story is re-told that illustrated that no two fighters will react the same to the same stimuli: You don’t have one ‘boxer mentality’ to deal with. The best example I can give on this was when we had two well-known black fighters travelling to fight in France. We got to French immigration and one bloke behind the desk was not having it – call it racism. He took one of their passports and having stamped it kind of threw it so it left the desk and fell on the floor. The one fighter picked it up and carried on through without saying anything. The one in the queue with me sees all this and starts sucking his teeth and staring at the bloke who then stamps his passport and once again flings it on the floor. This fighter refuses to pick it up, tells the bloke he’s going to bang him out and there’s a stand-off like High Noon. The official gets out of his cabin, others from the desk join him. Our man continues his threats so the official grips his gun and releases the safety catch. Guess who picked up the passport?

The manager must defend the fighter and sometimes the indefensible. Ingle speaks highly of the controversial Saunders and sees the good side the man carries: ‘He fought in Canada recently. Paid for the flights of three young lads from here to go along for the experience and when there bought them each a Grey Goose puffer coat which cost $1,500 each. He’s generous and good to his family’. The ever-curious Kid Galahad joins the chat. During a disturbed childhood, he entered the Ingle gym and is now one of its foremost citizens and is delightfully courteous. He’s comfortable with his mentor and asks the interviewer to enquire of John: ‘Who owns half of Wincobank? Ask him … and the other half is owned by Dominic’. The boxer aspires to similarly own properties and the pair discuss the dilemma of a man living locally who has £250,000 in cash in his house but no visible means of income and how banking such monies or investing them would raise inquiries from various agencies. John recounts his knowledge of a friend with £30,000 in undeclared cash who realised that holding on to such funds and remaining under the radar was not worth the effort. When the issue is money, the mentoring is subtle. The message is that the straight

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and narrow is always the preferred route. John and Dominic thus maintain a level of continuity in the gym, but with slight differences from the way their father did things. The boundaries of negotiation and behaviour remain, as does the belief that money, whilst necessary, can be root of all evil. The gym’s founder and his oft-repeated warning of ‘behold and beware’16 is gone but his legacy lives on in his sons. ∗ ∗ ∗ Professional boxers in Sheffield are blessed with a number of successful trainers to choose from to guide their careers. One such is a one-time Ingle man who branched out to do things his own way. Brought up the hard way, the life story of this garrulous man is inspirational, if tinged with regret as to what could have been.

Glyn Rhodes: Rewards and Awards This hyper-active, shrewd, joke-cracking, funny and welcoming 58-yearold is more than a boxing trainer, manager and promoter. By any standards he has done well, considering he never knew his father and lived intermittently throughout his childhood with grandparents. Growing up on the Shiregreen council estate in north Sheffield, Glyn Rhodes attended the nearby comprehensive school, but in his own words, ‘I left without an O-level or a spirit level and a school report in which one teacher stated: “The attitude he has towards authority will lead only to disaster in later life”’.17 Disaster was averted, probably because of boxing. In his teen years, the street held some attraction, with company chosen for pragmatic reasons: ‘I hung around with the bullies … to avoid being bullied. I was hanging around under gas lamps, it was fights and mischief. I went to the Ingle gym at 16 in 1976. Until then I’d never boxed in my life’. This new world was a revelation: We thought we could fight. Then I took up boxing and realised that some kids hit you back! I sparred with Walter Clayton, a junior ABA champion. He took me to the cleaners … he impressed me even if I felt fuckin’ stupid. Brendan knew what he was doing. A year later I’m in the ring in contests in Leeds and London and staying over in nice hotels. Brendan even took me to Germany. But with me it was a case of ‘I’ll do boxing till something better comes along’. Meanwhile I realised the schoolmates

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started dropping off and I’m more mates now with the gym lads. Boxing opened so many doors … and nothing better came along!

Realising he was decent at boxing and liked it, Rhodes never turned down a fight, even when not fully fit—which was often—as he explained to Gary Armstrong in 2017: I took fights at very late notice. I was a substitute so many times. One time I went on holiday for two weeks, came back and had a fight three days later. I was never ‘fighting fit’. I’d eat whenever, whatever. I’d lie to Brendan about what training I’d done. I liked fighting more than training [for] fitness. I once read that Sugar Ray Robinson had three ten-round fights in one month – two against Jake LaMotta.18 He can’t have trained. I’d go for it for the first two rounds hoping I’d get a knock-out. After that when I’d cheated in training I’d be blowin’ like a steam train.

If not quite a ‘journeyman’ fighter hired to give up-and-coming prospects a good workout before dutifully losing, Rhodes’ career record was a little better than 50:50, winning 33 and losing 27 between 1979 and 1993. He put this down to one simple explanation—inconsistency: I turned pro at 19 and got £100 for me first fight. I had 65 pro fights, many against good kids. I fought five British champions. I was inconsistent. I’d win two then lose one. I once won five in a row and once lost three in a row.19 I’d do really well then get dropped by a mug. I broke my hand and cheekbone and got cut eyes but I never got a good hiding.

Money—or a lack of it—was always a difficulty for a man for whom the closest he got to stardom was beating Kevin Pritchard to win the Central Area lightweight title in November 1982. Rhodes broke both hands doing so, then lost the title in his first defence. Always a good attraction because of his ‘showboating’ style, Rhodes was never short of opponents or willing buyers of tickets. The problem was that the venues were usually small and the audiences modest: ‘I sold tickets. I came from a big council estate and I weren’t shy in going in pubs selling [but] I never made much from fighting. At one point I was borrowing money from my mother on the basis that I’d pay her back after me next fight’. Two days before beating Pritchard, Rhodes got married. A few days after that, in his words, ‘I’m brawling in a nightclub’. Fighting, either for pay or pleasure, was ingrained in him. In the ring, he loved to entertain:

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‘I was the “Clown Prince”, the “Entertainer”. I’d do daft dances, pull faces, chat to women ring-side. Brendan used to go fuckin’ mad wi’ me. Called me all sorts he did. He once clipped me round the head when I was sat on the stool between rounds’. Much of the bravado was designed to hide an ever-present dread over what might happen to him in the ring: Cus D’Amato20 said: ‘Fear is like fire. Look after it and it will keep you warm, feed you and keep you alive. Ignore it and it’ll burn your house down and kill you’. You box on nerves and you win if you can handle fear. I was frightened every fight. My showboating hid that fear. If I was cocky it was a disguise. I prayed to God before every fight … and do you know what? I don’t even believe in God.

Rhodes knew when his time was up. In May 1993, he beat Mark Chichocki at Sheffield’s Octagon Centre, but after suffering a cut eyebrow thought he had lost. He later called it a ‘home-town decision’. Less than two weeks later Rhodes was in the ring again against Gary Logan, this time in London: ‘He’s jabbed me and there’s blood running down the same eye. Then he hit me with one and dropped me. I got up but walked out of the ring – I didn’t wait for the ref’s decision. I should have left the ring a long time before’. After the fight, he told Ingle he was finished: We shook hands and I walked away. I was disappointed in a way. I’d had 18 years and thought there might be something for me at the gym. For a while after I was in the wilderness. When you’ve gone you find there’s not much money and even less friends. I weren’t depressed and I didn’t see a doctor [but] I’ll admit to being fed up. I went to college and studied for cabinet making. I was better at it than some of the teachers. I made a living out of it. I laboured on building sites. I also worked the doors of pubs and nightclubs, but to be truthful I detest drunkards. I then worked nights in a sauna making sure those with drink in them didn’t get out of order with the girls. I was always looking for something better to come along … it never did!

This was until 1994, when Rhodes decided to open his own gym— the Sheffield Boxing Centre—in a former school in a run-down area of Sheffield: Burton Street, Hillsborough. The building was used as a location in the 1997 comedy film The Full Monty. When the new facility drew some boxers away from the Ingle gym, Rhodes’ former trainer was not amused, as Rhodes explained in 2017: ‘Me and Brendan, I suppose we

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fell out when I opened the gym and some of his fighters came to see me – it’s what fighters do. Fighters leave gyms. It’s happened to me. I was called a “snake” by Brendan publicly. We talk now’. Sheffield Boxing Centre today trains ten professional fighters, the most promising of which is flyweight Tommy Frank, who won the Central Area championship in May 2018 and the Commonwealth title in March 2019. The black T-shirts all the staff wear inform the visitor exactly where they are. The leitmotif of such belonging is emblazoned across T-shirts that stress the word ‘UNIT’ in block capitals. When asked if trainers make boxers or vice versa, Rhodes responds rhetorically: ‘One winner gets the gym noticed. Good boxers start attending that gym. Next thing you know you’ve a stable of fighters – but was that down to you?’ The professional game however is not the gym’s raison d’être. Rhodes describes it as a ‘fitness gym enabling pro boxing’. It contains a weights area, 40 punchbags, two permanent boxing rings and one that can be roped up to become a de facto ring. The clientele ranges in age from five to 72, who use the facilities all year round from 7.00am, including a Christmas Day session for which 21 turned up in 2016. The gym evidences flaking plaster, much of it concealed by floor-to-ceiling photographs and boxing memorabilia: a framed Cassius Clay boxing robe, inspirational posters and sound advice to pursue the straight and narrow, such as ‘stealing makes your nose bleed’. For those entering the pictures tell a thousand stories. There are photos of trips to the USA, and even of a club visit to the Auschwitz Nazi death camp. Dedications to deceased club members compete for effect with pictures of Rhodes alongside various famous boxers and letters of thanks from charities who are the recipients of the gym’s fund-raising. Junior classes are held for under-11s and over-11s, there are general fitness and circuit training, and a women-only class. All pay £4 per session or £10 per week, which helps pay the monthly rent and rates bill of £1000. Rhodes describes many of the juniors who use the gym as a product of variously: … police, probation, them who walk in themselves, others are brought by their mams. [There’s] lots of young blood coming through. They come from local estates and Pitsmoor and Burngreave and Fir Vale. We apply for grants but get told our district isn’t priority for funding. The kids from the priority areas fill my gym! Don’t forget what a gym does, and not just for the kids who train. I’ve got a bloke in every night who’s in his 70s and

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helps out ‘cos this is his life. Another has a wife with a terminal illness and a daughter with disabilities. This place keeps them sane.

Does the gym also serve as a diversion from a potential life of crime? ‘Not for all. It’s too big a claim to make. Some who come in here work out their lives, some don’t’. The recent proliferation of what can loosely be termed ‘boxing gyms’ does not impress Rhodes, who learned the hard way what it takes to become a professional boxer and boxing trainer. Believing that many such gym owners are merely pretending they are teaching the real thing, Rhodes states: ‘It’s not hard to hold a white towel, a stop-watch and yell “Time!” every now and then’. Rhodes puts his faith in men who like him have been through the boxing mill. His trusted trainers include Carl Wild, a one-time Central Area light-heavyweight champion who retired in 2017 after winning 15 of his 48 contests. Known as ‘The Boxing Binman’, Wild now passes on his knowledge to the gym’s younger aspirants. Also guiding the youngsters is Matt Mowat, who made his professional boxing debut in 1990, aged 23. His late start was attributed to having been an inmate of HMP Strangeways, Manchester, where he was caught up in the riots of April 1990.21 Mowat’s subsequent 11-year boxing career record stood at six wins, 19 defeats and two draws. Joining Sheffield Boxing Centre in 1997 as an unpaid coach, Mowat was 19 years later awarded the British Empire Medal in the Queen’s Birthday Honours. After hearing of the award, he said: ‘I’ve had a colourful past, but I can use my own experience to guide the kids the right way’. Says Rhodes of Mowat, whose day job is working on demolition sites: ‘[He’s] made a great life since prison. Great bloke’. The background to the award was Mowat’s extensive charity work; he first organised a boxing night in aid of Sheffield Children’s Hospital in 2007. Charity fund-raising plays a big part in the gym’s day-to-day life, as does Rhodes’ commitment to anti-bullying campaigns, which takes the form of visits to schools with his protégés, giving talks and holding boxing exhibitions. Rhodes also believes in the power of travel to change minds, as he explained (Fig. 5.1): We took 16 [youngsters] to California in 2016. We got helped with an anonymous donation of £5,000. We’ve been to Miami, Rome, Germany, Jersey, Tenerife, New York. We raise money with days where we all go packing shopping at Morrisons [supermarket], or car-washing days. We’ve

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Fig. 5.1 Glyn Rhodes (left), Sean Bean and Paul Fairchild (better known as ‘Farquhar’) at a charity boxing event in the late 1990s (This image used with permission of [Glyn Rhodes])

raised £300,000 over the years for charities and the Children’s Hospital. We recently paid £5,000 for a disabled kid’s stairlift.

Such work earned Rhodes recognition too: he was awarded an MBE in the 2013 New Year’s Honours for services to boxing and young people. The award was not regarded by Rhodes as the pinnacle of his life. What gives him more satisfaction is, in his words, ‘changing lives and giving hope’. The MBE arrived in part thanks to commendations from city politicians. Further awards for the gym were to follow in the 2019 New Year Honours. The gym’s manager Michael King was made an MBE for services to disadvantaged young people in Sheffield, whilst 73-year-old volunteer coach Leslie Tomlinson received the same award for services to boxing and young people in Sheffield. For four people from the same gym to receive such recognition is perhaps unique in the history of British boxing.

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Although grateful for these accolades, Rhodes does not hold many elected members in high regard. Such aversion extends to some boxing officials, but he acknowledges that interaction with such people is part of the game. When Rhodes organises one of his many junior boxing nights he has to jump through hoops to satisfy all involved. One of the strictest requirements is that to be in the proximity of under-18s all trainers and officials must hold valid ‘Disclosure and Barring Service’ (DBS) certificates.22 An official of the Central Area Council of the BBBC checks accreditations and the suitability of the selected venue to hold the event. The same man ensures that an ambulance is parked close to one of the main exits and has unrestricted access to the nearest public highway. Serious-looking men are hired from a licensed security firm to maintain order. One such event held in December 2017 at a sports and social club in the Heeley district of Sheffield sees some 250 people each pay £10 to watch the 12 junior bouts. Precautions must however be taken as this is the first time Rhodes has used this venue, as he explains: ‘This is a place new to boxing. [It’s] hard to find a 400-or-so [capacity] place to host an event in Sheffield these days’. The logistics of setting up for such an event are simple, but longwinded. The boxing ring—hired—was erected earlier in the day. All that remains is to put out some 300 collapsible chairs around the ring. The social club has such comfort but all are stacked in an upstairs room and so begins 45 minutes of five-man hand-balling led by Rhodes to get the chairs from there to ring-side. There are four tables to hold the trophies for both winners and runners-up and eight comfortable chairs for the three judges, the medics and others in attendance deemed important. Despite such efforts being made to make the venue presentable, other aspects reek of decline. The cold and wet evening reminds all here that the roof is made of corrugated iron. The painted breeze-block walls do not hold warmth. The extractor fans—no doubt priceless in the summer months—are sticky with congealed matter. Posters advertising two types of beer are stuck on the walls at various angles. Others advertising futsal 23 evenings at the same venue are faded with age. Next door is a more comfortable bar area, which tonight sells chicken curry and chips. The vegetarian options are chip butties or chips and cheese. This once well-appointed facility was formerly home to the sports and social societies of Sheffield City Council’s Public Works Department. Responsible for renovating and modernising the city’s large stock of council houses and later renamed the Sheffield Works Department, the

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social club side of the organisation was jettisoned by the council in the 1990s as a cost-cutting measure when its various departments contracted and merged and tasks were outsourced. In private ownership since then, the building is now a shadow of its former self. Nevertheless, the parents and relatives who enter from six o’clock are proud people from all walks of life. Some of the young mums and elder sisters of the fighters wear heels and dresses not out of place in a nightclub. For others, it’s casual and sportswear. The occasional sari hints at the cross-cultural attraction of the genre. After expenses are subtracted, the monies raised from admission fees will go towards a boxing camp in the USA for 12 Sheffield Boxing Centre junior members. Tonight sees boxers from five different local gyms. Matchmaking is done via the website www.warriorboxing.com, which lists all amateur boxers in the area. Opponents are thus selected based on weight and experience. Some gym trainers contacted about a contest might add further details such as ‘he’s very strong’ or ‘he’s not very good’. This requires trust so that the fight is not a walkover for a deliberately undersold candidate. The first bout starts at 6.30-pm, whilst the final one ends at 10.00-pm. The event is a success; there is no controversy and good monies are raised. The only hiccup is a muddle at the presentation ceremony as some winners are given runners-up trophies and vice versa, but no complaints result. Outside such events, Rhodes holds boxing classes sponsored by the local branch of a national building company: ‘They’re called Sanctuary Housing24 and they build council houses. They know for the money they get they have to give something back so they pay for boxing classes twice a week’. Rhodes has also hosted numerous black-tie events for which former world champions such as Marvin Hagler, Ken Norton, Frank Bruno, Roberto Durán, Jake LaMotta and Sugar Ray Leonard are guest speakers. Meanwhile, Rhodes has handled world champions of his own in Clinton Woods and Paul ‘Silky’ Jones. Recalling with something approaching nostalgia the champions he has been involved with, Rhodes says: I was in Bomber’s corner for the world title fight at Atlantic City [against Charles Brewer in 1998]. Top of the bill was Lennox Lewis with Emanuel Steward in his corner. It was a long way from Shiregreen! With Clinton I was with him for his first title fight for the area championship at the

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Pinegrove Club and then with him for the world title fight against Tavoris Cloud. [Woods was] dedicated, determined, and had a great chin.

It is important to Rhodes that the men in the corner for such fights have the experience of being in similar circumstances. Imagining himself in trouble in the ring, Rhodes says: ‘I’ve one eye closed, tekin’ body shots and swallowing blood and just got one on the nose. I’d be lookin’ to the corner where an ex-boxer would have empathy with my situation. If the man in that corner hasn’t boxed what they gonna tell you?’ Rhodes has enjoyed decades in the boxing business, but as a father he had no desire to pass on his skills or experiences to his offspring; one of his children works for an airline, the other studies at a top-ten university. He might be glad they did not take up boxing. On prominent display on a wall at Sheffield Boxing Centre is a poster detailing the findings of Deaths in Sport, a document compiled by a Dr Brian McLeod, which placed boxing way down the list. But the dangers of boxing hit the Rhodes gym in the ultimate fashion in February 2018 when 31-year-old gym professional Scott Westgarth died following a light-heavyweight win over Dec Spelman in Doncaster. Westgarth appeared to be in pain during his post-fight interview and later collapsed in his dressing room. He died after being conveyed to Sheffield’s Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Westgarth was the first active professional boxer to die post-fight in Sheffield since the 1890s.25 A few weeks later a tribute and fund-raising afternoon was organised by Rhodes in Hillsborough Park. On a sunny afternoon around a thousand well-wishers attended, including many famous faces from Sheffield’s boxing fraternity. Food stalls, tombolas and lucky dips competed for attention with children’s rides and sporting memorabilia auctions. The event reflected both the standing Rhodes holds in the area and the respect for a very decent man who died doing what he loved. It was reported that Westgarth’s donated organs helped save the lives of several people. ∗ ∗ ∗ ‘Saving’ is an oft-used word in boxing circles. Ever cognisant with the notion of redemption, some save others whilst also saving themselves. This mutuality suits everyone and can induce remarkable levels of devotion and innovation.

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Rain Man: Howard Rainey The words reveal the age of the speaker and his way of doing things: ‘Bloody Nora! You’re in a state … do you feel that?’ The man’s grip is part in the armpit and part on the rotator cuff. It is painful but who dares admit that in a boxing gym in the middle of three tough Sheffield council estates? There’s a big age gap between the 59-year-old man suffering the pain and 76-year-old one inflicting it. The former remains silent as he is instructed to take his top off and embark on exercises hitherto never taught over 13 months of costly physiotherapy. This does not surprise the instructor, dismissive of that genre of treatment but praising for the work of osteopaths. Asking the pain-denier to stand facing him, he then recognises a right hip pronation issue. He is correct; it has been for a burden for a year, and this man has diagnosed it in 30 seconds by just looking. Then again he has always had his own way of doing things and is renowned in British boxing for both his coaching methods and his innovations in training and recovery. The name Howard Rainey is known to everyone in the UK fight game; he has trained no fewer than nine British champions. A boxing coach who also does ‘intervention therapy’, Rainey carries a remarkable life story. One senses this man could have made a fortune in the past four or five decades, but money is not his motivator, hence his current situation coaching the under-16s in De Hood boxing club three evenings a week. Despite never having trained in medicine or rehabilitation, Rainey combines his coaching with doing his thing in a room in the premises dedicated to his way of getting people walking again. Known to the club users as the ‘vertical room’, this small space houses a contraption Rainey invented that does not have a name but is used by individuals who travel from as far afield as Leeds to put their faith in his methods. Some in the medical profession find his rehabilitation work fascinating. More about this later. Meanwhile Rainey has five young lads to train for upcoming fights. The February 2020 evening is bitter cold. The floor is damp, the room heated by a gas canister feeding a Gemini ‘toaster’. Rainey’s nearby room carries warmth of another kind as the five do their stuff under the watchful eye of the eldest in the building who wears a tracksuit revealing a support for Sheffield United FC and whose eyes peer over large framed spectacles in a way that combines wisdom with instruction that does not put much stock in verbal finesse: ‘Don’t stick your arse out when throwing that left’, one

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young lad punching a bag is told. Another with a tight back rolls over four metal boules wrapped in a thick rubber band accompanied by Rainey’s aside ‘glute rolling … you know it’s working when they pull a funny face’. To the rest of us, the funny face is a grimace of pain. And so the session goes on. The music is Billy Joel (Rainey decides the tunes) and the room has a crash mat leaning against a wall in front of which is a contraption consisting of 11 planks of wood with four ‘hollows’, which teaches those punching the mat to move laterally over four steps. Nearby one youth is given two ‘wobble sponges’ to stand on and practise throwing punches whilst off balance. A rope ladder is strung at head height across the two corners of the ring; the young boxers bob their head in and out of the rungs. The sessions are organic; no two are ever the same but always involve the basics, i.e. foot and bag work, combined with whatever Rainey throws into the mix. Rainey’s training philosophy is to ‘teach confidence first and foremost. Teach self-belief – that becomes your “mojo”. Get the boxer to trust you … he’s your mate, make sure he’s not going to get hurt … don’t talk a lot. I observe and listen’. Back to Basics Brought up in the city centre during the war, home was a ‘two up, two down and outside loo’. A good pupil at Springfield School (near Glossop Road baths), Rainey turned down a place at King Edward VII Grammar School to remain with mates, much to the annoyance of his mother. Rainey’s passion outside of school was rock climbing, which he began aged 14 in Derbyshire. Why? ‘Cos it was exciting’. His teen years were spent on Derbyshire and Cumbria rock-faces, accomplishing some 35 ascents. On leaving school at 15, he completed a three-year plumbing apprenticeship and then moved to the Lake District to be near the climbs that defined his life. Rainey had never boxed until he was 18, as he explained: Because of climbing I was a big strong lad and a boxing gym in Keswick suggested I have a go. A couple of men in the gym – the Golden Rule at Ambleside – saw me training. I was sparring and someone was impressed. Jim Temple, who owned a ski-lift in the Lakes, paid for me to move to London and join the Thomas A Beckett gym. I was 20 and lived in the pub’s upstairs. I went and trained with the Fitzroy Lodge club, where the

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coach was Billy Webster. We just agreed to give it a roll and see what happens.

And where did the roll end? ‘I wasn’t too good until I got the shit knocked out of me, then I got decent’. He admits to two-and-a-half years of being a ‘proper boxer’. In that time, he represented North West Counties and later won the South East London heavyweight division before losing to Billy Wells in the final of the all-London championships. In this period, Rainey sparred with Muhammad Ali at a US Air Force base in Ruislip when Ali was in Britain to defend his world heavyweight title against Brian London. ‘He played with me’, recalls Rainey. ‘Good as gold he was, he just moved in and out’. Ali gave Rainey his robe as a keepsake; Rainey dyed it a different colour and unpicked the ‘Ali’ embroidery; then he lost it. The garment would have been worth perhaps hundreds of thousands to a collector today. A GB reserve for the 1968 Mexico Olympics boxing squad, Rainey considered himself ‘a skilled and fit boxer who could have a row’, but his downfall was—in his words—‘lack of concentration’. Seven professional fights as a heavyweight26 followed. After two years, he left London and returned to the Lake District, married and returned to plumbing, meanwhile opening a boxing club in the Keswick YMCA premises. Then aged 26 Rainey suffered a heart attack: ‘I had a wife who wasn’t well, and inlaws living in the house I’d bought’ offers a succinct if limited causation to his condition. Making a good recovery, Rainey returned to London, for years living in squats in Hampstead and Camden Town and for a time was head of door security at Dingwalls music venue at Camden Lock. Returning to Fitzroy Lodge as a trainer, he later took a training position at St Monica’s Boxing Club, Hoxton, where some of Frank Warren’s stable trained. Rainey was also instrumental in establishing the Islington Boxing Club in Archway, north London. A chance encounter was the spur: ‘I used to use the climbing wall at the Sobell Centre, Finsbury Park, and afterwards do some boxing training in the gym. I met Ronnie Hagland27 in there. We put on shows in the place – Bunny Sterling was one of ours. I even thought about a comeback. Many of them who coach there [Islington BC] now were trained by me’. Others more famous were also trained by Rainey, including Roberto Durán and Chris Eubank, for three weeks each before fights in London. Rainey says of Eubank: ‘I had him on the pads before one championship fight. He said after one week: “You’re gonna train me”. I said, “No, I’m

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fuckin’ not”. He’s nuts, nice nuts mind … very generous’. Some regret enters Rainey’s thoughts: ‘If I’d worked with Eubank I might have made big money from what he made’, but this comment was overshadowed by a realisation that what he taught Eubank had produced unintended consequences: ‘I had Eubank before the Michael Watson fight and knew that Watson could be beat on uppercuts. We spent days on uppercuts and … Michael was knocked out by an uppercut’.28 Rainey also trained Nigel Benn and Mike McCallum. The great American trainer Eddie Futch was so impressed by Rainey’s ring craft he asked him three times to move to the USA. He could have earned a small fortune. Why not go? Rainey does not do silent contemplation, answering: ‘I always did it for love. You get a relationship with your kids [boxers]. I’d got good fighters and money has never been a god of mine. Take Paul “Scrap Iron” Ryan29 … Frank Warren saw him fight and said, “I want to manage him, how much do you want?” I said £2,000 cash. Done. Warren comes back with that amount and I called Ryan over and introduced him to Warren and said, “Meet your new manager” and gave him the cash. Warren stood there and said [in admiration for Rainey’s honesty and generosity], “I’ve never seen that done before”. I had the trust of the men who went on to be champions – Colin McMillan, Terry Dunstan, Cornelius Carr’.30 Rainey is renowned for always refusing to take his trainer’s cut when one of his boxers earns less than £1000 for a fight. Rainey’s other renown was his dislike of the limelight, as journalistturned-boxer David Matthews explained in his 2001 book Looking For A Fight: ‘Howard has an aversion to having his photo taken. When a show was on Sky Howard would leave his boxers and the promoters to do the post-fight interviews. “I’d just get me things together, pack me bags up and fuck off,” he said’. Naming Dunstan as the best boxer he coached, before outside influences derailed his career, Rainey reasons: ‘He had it all – mobility, a good punch. He went pro after just 14 amateur fights. Then he ended up in prison and was never the same, but he’s turned out to be a good boxing coach’.31 Another champion to benefit from Rainey’s teachings was Clinton Woods, of whom he remarked, again with a tinge of regret: ‘He listened … good learner, plenty of “arsehole”. I got him training balancing on a ten-pin bowling ball. A lot of people without a clue were telling him what to do later in his career. He should have left the Roy Jones fight for a year later and he’d have won it’.

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Return to Sheffield Rainey remained in London until the mid-1990s when the lure of working for Dennis Hobson and training Woods proved too good an opportunity to turn down. ‘I got £100 a week from Dennis and a percentage of Clinton’s winnings’. Just as importantly, such a deal enabled him to live close to his ailing mother in her final years. She had reservations about boxing, which she only made known when Rainey took it up. The issue was inseparable from the father he never really knew: ‘He was in the Canadian Air Force during the War and he met my mum – a Sheffield girl – in war-time when they both visited Blackpool’. They were to marry and move to Sheffield for two years before emigrating to Montreal when Rainey was two. Rainey’s mother—now with two children—returned to Sheffield after four years, leaving behind his lumberjack father whom Rainey was to learn years later was a Canadian military middleweight boxing champion.32 The family returned to the same street and his mother worked all the hours she could in a restaurant on Charles Street, where the Hippodrome33 theatre crowd could be found and the tips were good. Rainey and his siblings were meanwhile cared for by grandparents. His brother Barry was good enough to be on the books of Sheffield Wednesday FC, whilst Howard was offered a contract by Workington Town FC when he was 19 but turned it down. Some in the family had a notoriety, which explained his surname: ‘My great-grandmother, who was Irish, emigrated to Canada and changed her surname to Rainey, which was “Protestant”, because at the time the Canadians – who were Scottish – weren’t keen on Catholics. I should be an O’Neill cos my great-great-grandfather was John O’Neill, who was one of them who started the IRA’.34 Rainey claims provenance from another notable historical figure—Harry Brearley, the Sheffield-born inventor of stainless steel. Says Rainey: ‘My other grandfather invented stainless steel – by mistake. He did something to the steel and left it for a fortnight and they found it was still shiny. It was “stainless steel” and had never been done before. It was all a bit of a mistake really. The money went to the company, never to him’.35 The Inventor Perhaps Brearley’s ‘inventor’ genes filtered down to Rainey, who came up with an innovative technical aid for physical rehabilitation, saying:

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I’d had the idea since the early eighties … I never got round to it. Then a Sheffield United player – Charlie Hartfield36 – came to me needing help. He’d snapped a tendon and was offered a trial at Swansea in ten weeks’ time. It was impossible. But I banged up a treadmill on a wall and got him training running whilst lying on his back. Three months later he’s playing for Swansea. He had a heart rate of 135, I asked him to go faster, for 30 seconds more. He then stood up and his heart rate went 20 beats up … the heart works 33% effectively at horizontal. It’s also about getting circulation working … it’s worked with people with multiple sclerosis and serious leg injuries and paralysis.

Working for a time in Frank Bruno’s camp, Rainey remembers ‘Big Frank’ trying out the vertical treadmill. Realising that boxing could be staid in its training methods, Rainey was forever seeking incremental gains. The treadmill contraption arrived through trial and error, with inspiration from many sources, as Rainey explains: ‘I had a welder mate … I told him what to do, and me being a plumber helped’. Inspiration also came from men in white coats: ‘A bunch of university sports scientists visited me once and I asked them, “What is it that moves you?” They said muscles and ligaments and I said, “Wrong, it’s the floor, you know – gravity”. On my machines you move the floor … it’s all about plasticity’. A lay person might be lost by now but Rainey is in full swing: ‘In 2007 George Brooks37 talked about lactate threshold. I’d talked about this 15 years earlier. Then [his university] got a huge grant to look into this and found that lactate inspired the brain, the central nervous system and the heart, the lungs, liver and kidney – and can do so inside a minute. It produces glycogen in helping repair stuff’. Rainey enjoys talking about plasticity and elasticity, adding: ‘In my track training I used a lot of elasticity, I ran with a parachute on me back for resistance. I didn’t get injuries in my boxing career’. Some with injuries now rely on Rainey and his genius. The ‘vertical room’ measures about ten feet by 20 and is cluttered with Rainey’s tools and machines. One senses that only Rainey knows how they work, but he reveals that a similar device is in operation in a private practice in Barnsley owned by the former physiotherapist of Wakefield Trinity RLFC. Two men in their 40s are also in the room. Muscular and at one time exceptionally strong, both are now in wheelchairs, one by virtue of a car crash that damaged his spinal cord, the other because of cauda equina syndrome, a compression of the nerve roots at the base of the spine. They do what Rainey advises and both admit to making

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great progress since working with him. Rainey convinces them that in time they will have a level of mobility they once believed beyond them, all down to what he calls ‘that fuckin’ thing’, which he adds has ‘performed a few miracles’. He applied for a patent for ‘that fuckin’ thing’ in 1999, which was granted in 2001. At the same time, he gained a patent for something described in the application as a ‘specialised rehabilitation and exercise machine … using flexible elements for reciprocating movements, e.g. ropes or chains using special pulley assemblies’. Two of his former champions were converts to his methods. Clinton Woods once said of him: ‘He used to be sat thinking what he could make. He’d have a hammer in his hand, making some contraption’. Colin McMillan agreed: ‘He’s a man of ideas. He didn’t stick to the tried and tested ways. He had a number of different ideas that were quite novel’. Those novel ideas included tying a boxer’s ankles together with a short cord to prevent the feet getting too far apart, thus maintaining the ‘correct’ stance, and tethering the boxer to two corner posts to teach movement whilst restricted. David Matthews described other wacky methods in Looking For A Fight: ‘[Boxers] were made to wear eye patches, blindfolds … iron boots, roller blades and assorted gadgets designed to improve movement, technique and power. Every fighter who came to the gym and allowed Howard his indulgences benefited from his weird and wonderful techniques’. Why the inventions? Rainey’s response is immediate: ‘Curiosity. I never believed in what was accepted about lactate. They’d got it wrong and I challenged it, as did George Brooks’. David Warren, a practising osteopath, was invited by the BBBC to visit Rainey, who says: ‘He watched me training kids and talked to me … we became friends for years after. He once gave a lecture and when asked who was his best ever student he replied, “Howard Rainey”, over all them he taught who went on to work in Harley Street’. Now on a roll, Rainey continues: The head has 50 million years of evolution but the brain is in the heart … that’s the highway for everything in a person. The heart stops the head acting stupid. Meditation – which I started when feeling suicidal and I’ve been doing 45 years – opens your heart and provides the consciousness between the brain and the heart. Your brain is your environment, but the heart is the main player – it feeds the brain. Champion boxers are there because of the size of their heart and even that has its own brain called the mitochondria38 – it fires the neurons and is 35% of the heart’s weight.

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So boxing is down to the heart, but not in ways the philosophers of boxing explain it. Everything Rainey wants and needs—both personal and professional— can be found in Sheffield: ‘There’s immense [boxing] talent here and a camaraderie in gyms you won’t find in London’, he says. Why? ‘Environment. Boxing took off in Sheffield in the 70s when steel was closing and unemployment hit the city. It’s the desire to do better … look at Mexicans and black Americans … poor young men, not a pot to piss in, looking to earn a few quid in fighting’. Despite his decades in proximity to people who made fortunes out of the fight game, Rainey lives close to De Hood. His life is modest. He is also helping raise two young grandchildren. Life is local and everyone knows him. In his words: ‘I’m happy. I like things simple. I’ve had the guts and the glory and I’ve changed lives. I like it here. House and car are paid for’. This final sentence sums him up. Unpretentious beyond belief, his life is devoted to the betterment of others, and repairing people. Rainey is part of the remarkable provision that is De Hood and the sanctuary, hope and company offered therein. This is a premises that addresses some of the worst aspects of contemporary society and helps some of its most unfortunate citizens but is blessed in being host to the time and skills of some of the best-hearted people to be found in Sheffield. ∗ ∗ ∗ Good hearts proliferate in Sheffield’s boxing gyms. The personal backstories of those now making good are often inspirational. Those who teach redemption often first had to find it themselves.

Hidden Depths: Dave Coldwell One wonders whether the fight game in Britain has ever been more underground than at this moment in April 2019 at level minus-4 in the bowels of a four-star hotel overlooking the River Thames. In 48 hours, the 20 fighters assembled here—two of whom are female—sporting varieties of designer tracksuits and ‘athleisure’ will seek to punch each other in ten scheduled fights—two of them for championships—at the O2 Arena in Greenwich, south-east London. Exhibiting varying degrees of ostentation, the 20 protagonists enter this room 200 feet below street level from the hotel’s elevators. One

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fighter and his trainer wear matching tracksuits. Another walks in the midst of an eight-man V-shape led by a friend shouting their arrival. The event has another entourage—an agglomeration of frightening-looking men and glamorous women (on such occasions a leopard-print top seems de rigueur). Some in the room wear shades—even so far below street level. Some fit-looking middle-aged men wear their hats at an angle to make them just that little bit rakish. There is a lot of ‘checking-out’ of others going on. Then the event—a pre-fight press conference—begins. The pugilists sit in close proximity on a stage awaiting their cue to speak from the tanned man in the expensive suit positioned amongst them. The Matchroom Boxing event is sponsored by companies that tell the story of this impending fight night: a High Street sports apparel company that sells clothing which makes muscular men look good in T-shirts; two betting companies, which reflects the boom-and-bust and winner-takes-all nature of what is about to unfold; and—a nice touch this—Voltarol pain relief gel, which many of the protagonists might partake of post-fight. Matchroom has a dozen-strong liveried, dedicated security team capable of both withering looks and—probably—hurting even the biggest of recalcitrant men in a 200-strong audience of boxing scribes, enthusiasts and camera crews. This subterranean occasion of both respect and charade is a last opportunity for the boxers to sell themselves and their fight as they spout soundbites. A few boast about their lethal boxing potential, implicitly attempting to strike fear into their nearby adversary. Such a procedure has become an integral part of professional boxing. In this slick production, one man is outstanding. This is Eddie Hearn, son of Matchroom founder Barry. Eddie, the current ‘face’ of British boxing, is articulate and possesses a brilliant knowledge of all the fighters around him. He thanks the American MC David Diamante, a tall, gregarious figure with dreadlocks down to his backside and a trilby-type hat perched on top. In introducing his performers Hearn asks the room rhetorically, ‘What can boxing teach?’ and then goes on to explain that one of the men present spent over five years in prison and on his release in 2015 turned to boxing for redemption. This is John Harding junior, who spent much of his earlier life ‘hustling’ (as he called it) on a tough estate in south-east London. The room politely claps his changed ways. The main man in the room has also changed somewhat. He is the Zimbabwe-born naturalised Brit, and former British, Commonwealth and European heavyweight champion, Dereck Chisora. Sporting a baseball cap and jacket

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he sits largely immobile and when invited by Hearn to speak is polite about the abilities of his opponent Senad Gashi. Some three years previously in a similar scenario before a British heavyweight title fight Chisora had attempted to place a table over his opponent Dillian Whyte’s head following an animated exchange between the two. In the middle of all, this is a diminutive South Yorkshireman. Dave Coldwell is here because since February 2019 he has been Chisora’s trainer, based in the Hayemaker promotion and management group gym located at the rear of the hotel, run by former world heavyweight champion (and former Chisora adversary) David Haye. At the back sit Coldwell’s wife and two children, aged seven and 14. They make for a most charming—if incongruous—semblance of normality. Prior to this scenario and over a pot of tea (soya milk specified) the slim, fit, polite and gently spoken man in his early 40s, of indeterminate minority ethnicity,39 clad in black tracksuit bottoms and black shirt and looking like an instructor of Modern Buddhism, recounts the journey that got him here today. Now a regular on television boxing programmes but not instantly recognisable to the great British public (a situation that suits him), he admits with a smile: ‘I never asked for publicity. I just get invited onto stuff and like to oblige’. At other times, Coldwell’s television appearances are the fleeting moments between rounds as he stands over his seated protégé offering tactical wisdom whilst others wearing the same design of T-shirt faff around the fighter with water and towels. As well as Chisora, Coldwell has had other big names under his charge—Tony Bellew, the McDonnell twins Gavin and Jamie, Kell Brook, David Price and Curtis Woodhouse. Coldwell is much in demand these days. Well known in boxing circles, Coldwell enjoys success and boxers who now bring him a good income. Does it get any better than this? He smiles as he recalls: Life was so bad as a kid and now it’s so good. I always wanted a nice family and people to know who I was, and to be respected for what I’d achieved. I spent my childhood as a half-Asian at Ecclesfield School, a little scruff with no money, a homemade haircut, old socks, shoes with holes in, crap clothes. Some of the nice kids talked to me in school but didn’t want to be seen with me outside it.

Stated factually and without outward anger or apparent emotion, Coldwell has obviously pondered before on who he once was. With prompting

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he elaborates on what was a far-from-ideal domestic circumstance wherein being an only child did not make for a privileged upbringing. Shopping was occasionally heartbreaking: ‘I’d want a toy … an Esso petrol tanker! They’d say “Christmas is comin’…” Well, it was, but in five months or so. Meanwhile at the supermarket checkout there’s bottles of wine and spirits going through … the toy was no more than a couple of quid’. His father was white British, his mother Asian. The former held down work amidst the drink, the latter was hard work: ‘If I hadn’t left at 15 my mother would have killed me or I’d have killed her. I suppose I realised I can’t have this anymore and moved out to live here and there and eventually ended up living with my grandmother’. His father died many years ago from cancer. Back in contact with his mother, the relationship is today being rebuilt. Beginning Boxing Around the time Coldwell left the family home he broke off other relationships: ‘At 15 I snapped from all the piss-taking I was on the end of. I went mad on someone in a street fight’. Others now saw him in a new light. He meanwhile sought reinvention—or was it redemption? Boxing was integral to this transformation. One summer Sheffield City Council sent a lorry and trailer carrying sports equipment around different housing estates. Coldwell explained what happened next: ‘Bomber [Graham] and Johnny Nelson were on it and talked to anyone who went up to them. I talked to Johnny and he told me to turn up at the Ingle gym’. This sound advice did not come with any information on how best to enter the place. Consequently, the timid boy was scared to walk in: ‘It took me ages to go in. When I did a huge black guy in there screamed so I ran out. I crept back in 15 minutes later. This was Paul ‘Stinger’ Mason40 and he was screaming when lifting a weight, not threatening me’. Coldwell made new friends at the gym, no one screamed at him and one man in particular provided inspiration: ‘Johnny [Nelson] was my role model. I followed his fitness regime. He was once skint then came good’. Contemporaries would watch Coldwell training and considered him the Ingle gym’s next great fighter. However, the gym brilliance did not translate into the real fight situation; turning professional as a flyweight in 1996 Coldwell was hardly a boxing sensation, finishing four years later with six wins and 13 defeats. He did however briefly hold the Central Area

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championship. The pay-days were not great; Coldwell’s biggest earnings were £3500 for a fight against Micky Cantwell, then £2000 and £1800 for Central Area title contests. The end of his boxing career proved frustrating, caused by a dispute with the Ingle camp: ‘I had a three-year management deal. They wouldn’t release me. I didn’t know you could take the matter up at the BBBC [but] it’s a business, it’s life. I don’t hold any bitterness. Brendan brought wise words and made connections’. Buying his first house close to the Ingle gym, his first child saw Coldwell consider where he wanted her to grow up and go to school; he removed the family to Rotherham’s relatively well-to-do Wickersley district. This move brought certain hardships but Coldwell believed it was worth it. His self-belief sustained him. In his words: We lived on bare essentials. You live off your overdraft. I once sold clothes in a shop in Meadowhall. I didn’t mind being skint, as I believed I would make it one day. The one person who believed in me was my grandmother, who helped me out when I was broke.

With a plan to get income from training and promoting, Coldwell set up a gym in Sheffield’s Hyde Park flats (called ‘Concrete Canvas’) and also coached children at the Pipworth School premises in the lower Manor district. Initially he made just £5 per hour. He reflected on this when interviewed in 2019: I started with kids’ sessions and a few one-on-ones. Then I got a pro fighter, Simon Francis.41 I was up at 5.00am and home mid evening, making £80 a week. The rent at Hyde Park was £80 a week. A Rotherham businessman paid the rates and a parent lent the money to buy a boxing ring. I lasted five years there [before] the premises owner Northern Counties [Housing Association] put the rent up to £400 a week. I got eight weeks’ notice to get out.

Things did not get better as he sought to make a living: ‘I got a letter one day starting bankruptcy proceedings on me. I nearly gave up. I thought a full-time job in Meadowhall or car sales would be the future’. But Coldwell battled on in boxing. Next stop was a former industrial unit in Ecclesfield: ‘I lost a fortune. I did it all up. A lot of people chipped in. It lasted a year. It was freezing in winter [but] I was getting a living from training and managing me pros. Ryan [Rhodes] was doing well, Kell

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[Brook] was getting good fights and Daniel Thorpe was a journeyman who could attract fight money’. Then an opportunity came up at a Rotherham commercial gym called Body-Tec Health and Fitness Club. The premises were up for sale. Said Coldwell of this establishment: A mate looked at the books and saw an annual profit of £250,000, but it’s got an £80,000 debt and the owner’s selling it for a grand. I saw space in it for a boxing gym and a coffee shop for the keep-fit crowd. I’m too trusting and not a businessman. I kept the staff and the schedules and two weeks later got a bill from HMRC telling me I owed £35,000 PAYE on a Jaguar company car. The accountants got it wrong. There were dozens of life memberships on one-off payments of £500. That accounted for the profits on paper that year. After four months I’m digging into my savings to pay me staff. Really good friends helped me out and someone else bought the place. Then he disappeared and didn’t pay me but took all the gear in the gym. He got jailed soon after. I lost a fortune and got no gratitude from anyone.

Fortunately things picked up and Coldwell was able to move into former office space in Rotherham’s Masborough district, where he set up a boxing and fitness gym in partnership with Sheffield businessman, sports fanatic and friend Spencer Fearn. It was from these premises that Coldwell took the McDonnells and Ryan Rhodes to national and European titles. But these were more than boxer/trainer relationships; Coldwell took out a promoter’s licence in 2003 and began to manage and promote his boxers. He was well aware of the risks involved, asking himself: ‘Will the tickets sell? Will fans turn up? Will fighters pull out at the last minute?’ Before long what this small-town do-it-all was achieving on a shoestring budget in a northern backwater was turning heads in London. Attracting the attention of David Haye’s trainer Adam Booth, Coldwell was offered a job in 2008 as head of boxing at Hayemaker, as he explained: ‘Hayemaker saw what I did with small venues and asked me to join. I get my face on TV, I’m doing big shows – the O2, Wembley, Manchester – and get a guaranteed wage at last’. The money was good, but it meant long days and a lot of travelling; some days he would train Ryan Rhodes and then board a train to London to work with Haye and future WBA super-middleweight champion George Groves. The Londoners tapped into Coldwell’s local knowledge, staging

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the first Hayemaker promotion in Sheffield in September 2008.42 Unfortunately, Hayemaker signed a television deal with the ill-fated Setanta Sports network. When Setanta went into administration in 2009 several of the stable’s better-known boxers moved elsewhere, and when Haye retired in 2012 Hayemaker effectively closed down. Coldwell dabbled in live streaming of his boxers’ fights but realised also he was missing his children growing up so decided to reel himself in, concentrating on management and promotion. This was until a late 2013 phone call out of the blue from Tony Bellew, who had just lost badly to Adonis Stevenson in a challenge for the WBC light-heavyweight title. As Coldwell explained to www.boxraw.com: ‘He asked me to have a chat, I went to his house, sat in his kitchen. We spoke and he asked me if I’d train him. I said yes’. Coldwell taught Bellew that defence and footwork were as important as aggression. A successful move up to cruiserweight earned Bellew a challenge for the WBC title in 2016; he knocked out Ilunga Makabu in the third round. Two acrimonious fights with Coldwell’s former employer Haye were both won by Bellew, before in November 2018 he was beaten by the undefeated Oleksandr Usyk and afterwards retired. It was after this that Coldwell was approached to train Chisora in the restored Hayemaker gym. Things had gone virtually full circle, enabling Coldwell to look back on a turbulent life—both professional and personal. As so many before him have reasoned, he was to reiterate: ‘Boxing brings perspectives on life … [it] saved me’. He also learned so much, about promoting, money and, not least, family. An example? ‘Be straight up with people’, he said. He continued: The purse is agreed between me and the fighters’ managers … and in any event it’s a platform for their man to profile himself. You’ve got to not let the big boys dictate and keep good relations with the boxers’ managers. When you’re on TV you don’t always make any money. You pay for the venue, security, fighters and you rarely get that back in ticket sales. It’s always an investment in the hope of a massive future TV deal.

Admitting to sometimes not caring about people when he was younger, Coldwell found that having a family changed him, as he explained: ‘I’ve done some wrong moves, pissed people off. I was [also] a bastard for littering! Dropping stuff. Sheer laziness. Nowadays I’ll walk far to find a

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bin. It came after becoming a father – it brings about the basic disciplines of caring’. His wife is ‘the best in the world, always there. At 40 I’m overdrafted to the limit surviving on £40 a week. Now I’m 43, she’s 39 and it’s our first year in front’. As a young man, boxing replaced the sense of family Coldwell never had. Now approaching middle age he has another family outside the ring and is a contented man and widely respected in the boxing world. ∗ ∗ ∗ The motivation for trainers is as complex as it is for the boxers they tend to. Surviving near-death injuries must change everyone in some way. One individual who considers every day a bonus now runs one of the most talked-about boxing gyms in the country.

People not Systems: Grant Smith Just one pub remains on what was once a lively crawl of ten that linked the one-mile distance between Darnall and Attercliffe. The rest are boarded up, converted into residential accommodation or in one instance host to a Christian Evangelical congregation, the concerns of the after-life taking precedence over the pursuit of ‘after-bird’.43 The imposing former pub called The Ball, which once hosted a boxing gym, lies derelict less than 100 metres from a newly built mosque. The Ball overlooks the onetime school premises that today houses a boxing club whose name—Steel City ABC—reminds the visitor of the raison d’être of this working-class district. This neighbourhood was once home to the men and women who worked the steel-producing factories that defined the area and indeed the city. The plethora of terraced streets and the two-up, two-down housing round here provided for what British social historian Richard Hoggart (1957) described as ‘the barracks of an industry’. In such places timekeeping mattered, shift-work and unionised workforces were the norm and people were expected to pull their weight. The young knew their destinies—they could see, hear and smell the work that lay ahead. This however was not a depressing place; people worked and played hard. Here there were dozens of pubs, half-a-dozen social clubs and many churches of various Christian denominations. Freddie Garrity of Freddie and the

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Dreamers opened a Tesco supermarket at Darnall crossroads in the late 1960s. One of the authors was there! Then it all changed with the decline of the area’s manufacturing base, largely caused by the ideology of the 1980s Conservative Government that ruled under the moniker ‘Thatcherism’ (see Chapter 7). Large local engineering employers such as Davy McKee, Bone-Cravens, Tinsley Wire, Brown Bayley Steels, Record Ridgeway and others either contracted or closed completely. Darnall was also the scene of Britain’s longest ever strike action when in 1986 workers at sheet metal-making machinery company Keeton and Sons, of Greenland Road, walked out over an employment dispute. They did not expect to be still picketing at the end of 1994 but, abandoned by their union, that was what they did. In the interim Darnall became neglected and run-down, the area depopulated as people moved out and housing stock was reduced with the demolition of terraces, to be replaced by more spacious social housing. The void was filled to a large extent by a new immigrant population that started to arrive from Pakistan in the 1970s. For many, Sheffielders Darnall had become a place to pass through, not somewhere to live, work or shop. Only in recent years have the area’s fortunes begun to swing the opposite way. One reason for the upturn was the fact that Sheffield City Council was cash-strapped as a result of Government cuts. Sensibly it sought ways to increase its income, for example by renting out former school premises for business and leisure use. The school hosting Steel City ABC has a history, a present and a future. First, the history. As a result of the Education Act 1870, from the late nineteenth century to the first decade of the twentieth the body known as the Sheffield School Board engaged architects Innocent and Brown to design and construct a host of schools. Such buildings still dot the city, recognisable from their stone-built walls, tall gables, large, church-like windows and, usually, a small bell tower. The building on Darnall Road, originally known as Darnall Board School but later renamed Darnall Road Council School, was one of the earliest in this scheme, opening in 1875. The premises are today populated by half-a-dozen small start-up companies, a Christian religious centre and the boxing gym that today rivals the Ingle gym two miles away for the quality and quantity of its output. Perhaps uniquely for any concern in this area of Sheffield, Steel City ABC hosts four generations of one family, all of whom grew up either in the midst of Darnall’s terraced streets or on the post-war Littledale estate

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less than a mile up the hill. These are the Smiths, one of whom, Grant— better known as ‘Miffer’—is the story behind the gym. The personalised plate on the nice car outside the entrance tells everybody who is in charge here, albeit this vehicle has a rival in the presence of a Range Rover bearing a plate containing the letters ‘CE’ and ‘WBC’. This vehicle’s owner is revealed once inside the building, where the interviewer is greeted by a man in his late 40s, shaven headed, with a muscular torso and heavily tattooed arms. This is Miffer, who might have been cast for this role. He sits in his office behind a desk, on which stands a large framed photograph of him embracing Range Rover owner Charlie Edwards seconds after the latter had won the WBC flyweight championship in December 2018. Such high-profile victories bring relative riches, but the club’s current financial status is simplified to: ‘It’s a notfor-profit enterprise. There’s not a full-time income for anyone really. We’ve lost money in fact … well, I have. I calculated [I’ve spent] about £68,000 in ten years of operating’. In return for all that time, effort and financial outlay the gym has developed a national reputation for producing top-class boxers. Currently, there are seven professionals, five amateurs and 30 to 40 ‘keep-fitters’ and ‘drop-ins’ who enter and do their own thing, asking the boxing coaches for advice should they need it. The gym is spotless. The two rings stand adjacent to 12 punchbags. An adjoining room houses the multi-gym and running machines. Meanwhile, Miffer has the air of somebody you would not want to fight but who you might really enjoy talking to. Chatty, forthright and funny, Miffer wears an infectious smile and offers a ready welcome. He is clearly obsessed with his protégés, one of whom is his former amateur champion and recently turned professional son Dalton, who in the words of his father is ‘the most accomplished amateur fighter ever out of Sheffield’. Boxing really is a family affair for the Smiths; Miffer’s daughters Chelsea and Gervan competed as juniors, whilst grandson Cavann has also taken up the sport. Miffer is thus a proud father as well as a proud coach. He does the father bit on his own, a single parent since his three children were infants. Keen to explain how the premises work and his role in it, Miffer says: We claim to be the most successful amateur boxing club in the history of the city. We’ve got the most ABA champions at schoolboy, junior, youth and elite level … the first club in Sheffield to have a fighter to fight for Team GB – Dalton when he was 16 – and another in Sunny Edwards.

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The oldest man here is Miffer’s dad. Aged 68, Brian was one of 13 siblings in Darnall with a renowned fighting ability in and out of the boxing ring and part of the late 1970s self-denigrating ‘Darnall Trendies’, a group of well-dressed men who knew their way around pubs. Miffer joined Brian on building sites when he left school at 15 accompanied by the words of a teacher assuring him he would never make anything of himself. Training as a joiner, Miffer later made a good living as a kitchen fitter. Boxing as a youth at the Richmond and Wybourn clubs, in his words ‘to keep fit rather than to chase titles’, Miffer preferred football and played to a good level in local leagues. There was one occasion however when the pursuit of fitness nearly killed him. On a four-mile run with headphones setting the tempo but making him unaware of his surroundings, Miffer ran into the path of a 46tonne tram travelling at 20 mph, smashing his shoulder and fracturing his skull in three places. Following surgery that left him with impaired sight and hearing, Miffer was aware of visitors weeping over him and doctors advising them to expect brain damage and life in a wheelchair. Having none of that, he regained consciousness and discharged himself a week later. Some 12 weeks after this he returned to work—using just one arm. What lessons can a man take from such a circumstance? Miffer has a quick answer: ‘Dad said to me years ago, “If something happens to you and you don’t learn from it and then it happens again then it’s your fault”’. Miffer is not a man who apportions blame. Neither does he seek excuses from his fighters. Throwing the Kitchen Sink at It Steel City ABC started up in 2002 in an old school in Woodhouse, southeast Sheffield. The club then moved three miles to an industrial unit in Darnall and initially opened two hours an evening for amateurs. Leaving there for the current premises in 2015 saw Miffer, family and mates knock down walls and build new ones. There is now a big room for the two boxing rings and three demarcated changing rooms for professionals, amateurs and keep-fitters. The project was two years in the making. A kitchen and Miffer’s office make up the one-storey assemblage. Miffer holds the title of ‘Head Coach’, but there are others he describes as ‘proam coaches’. None make a living wage from the place. When the original head coach left to work with Dennis Hobson, Miffer stepped up.

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I’m my own boss, always have been, even when fitting kitchens. I work here seven days a week starting at 7.00am and life’s too short for not enjoying what you do, and money isn’t everything. I get a small amount as a percentage of a fighter’s winnings but in fact I’ll tell you now I earned more fitting kitchens. You need a roof and food and not much else – it’s only money.

In 2010, Miffer gave up the day job and went to the gym full time, with the ambition of producing a world champion. When interviewed in May 2019, he had achieved that just five months earlier. There was no grand plan and no grand design as to how the gym would teach and train. The method he adopted came as a result of never having been a professional boxer himself. As he explained: In a way I’m glad looking back I never got into the ring; fighters tend to train the way they were taught themselves. My approach has always been the individual, not the system. Does it work? Well, we’ve won national [ABA] titles with it. I’ve a gift for seeing things in fighters and ‘reading’ fights. I’ve a sense of what might happen. It’s instinct and it means I have to set fighters up for what might happen.

Echoing the Brendan Ingle school of all-round education, Miffer told the Sheffield Star in 2017: ‘I give them business advice, life skills. If I can do something for them, I will. I’ll give them no bad advice’. Such advice came with caveats. Gym rules must be obeyed. His boxers—whether amateur or professional—‘get told that if they don’t make every squad session, if they don’t make the morning sessions when they’re called in, if they start slacking, they’ll get a warning’. A second infraction brings another warning, a third and he is—using Smith’s word—‘gone’. One boxer who suffered this fate was a national amateur champion. Earlier success is no safeguard if rules are broken. But his boxers accept and even enjoy such discipline. The defection of local prospect Kyle Yousaf to Steel City from the Ingle gym speaks volumes about Smith’s growing reputation. Obtaining a professional trainer’s licence in 2015 brought unnecessary obstacles, courtesy of the Association Internationale de Boxe Amateur (AIBA), the global governing body of amateur boxing. When the Amateur Boxing Association of England (ABAE) reformed in 2013 as England Boxing, it had to comply with AIBA’s regulations, which decreed that a professional trainer could not be in the corner of an amateur

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boxer, even if he normally trained the boxer, which explained why GB Boxing performance director Rob McCracken could not be in the corner when his Olympic boxers competed. Illogically, trainers of amateur boxers were allowed to work with professional fighters, so McCracken could remain in the corner of world super-middleweight champion Carl Froch. Stranger still, in 2015 AIBA organised its own professional tournament and the following year permitted professionals to compete in the 2016 Rio Olympic boxing tournament, a decision that saw the overturning of the professional/amateur trainer distinction.44 Fearing mismatches, the idea of accomplished and experienced boxers in the same ring as a teenage novice—albeit for just three rounds—was a prospect that abhorred many. The BBBC called the decision dangerous and asked the AIBA to reconsider. The WBC announced two-year bans for any of its champions or top-15 rated boxers who fought at the Games. The IBF followed suit, stating that any of its champions who competed would be stripped of their titles and removed from its rankings. As it transpired, just three professional boxers competed in Rio. All had won recognised global titles but all suffered early elimination. They were no match for the amateurs.45 Nevertheless, the AIBA’s change of tack was good news for Miffer, who no longer had to choose between his boxers. His gym also stood to gain; good gyms attract aspiring boxers and nothing beats an argument like a metric, as he explains: They come here because of reputation and word of mouth, and reputation is about win ratios. We have a win ratio for national titles that attracts boxers. I’ll have ten fighters and most will win something. I could have double that [number of fighters] but then the ratio goes down.

The gym does not seek to expand, nor does it pursue talent: ‘There’s no secret to our success. I don’t poach fighters – I’ve never approached a prospect in my life. I develop boxers’. Development requires decision making, which itself requires both insights and responsibilities. This is Miffer’s gym, not a design by committee: ‘Coaches and boxers have to fit in. It’s my way and our methods. That sorted, the issue then is how to deliver the task of producing winners: ‘You coach an individual not a system. You need to know the make-up, the personality, get a feel for your fighter and then be honest with them’. Sublimation of a trainer’s ego is useful in all of this and can be done in various subtle ways: ‘I don’t do the ring walks. I go ahead of them. It’s the fighter’s time. They’re

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personalities themselves, not cogs in a machine’. No single method works for everyone in the fight game; some fighters have strong personalities, others are deluded. Either attitude makes for some seeing star signs elsewhere whilst maybe being resentful of the demands placed on them by a taskmaster: ‘Boxing’s hard graft, full stop. I speak my mind and won’t muck people about. Actions speak louder than words. I won’t blow smoke up anyone’s behind’. So, does this annoy some? ‘Might do’, answers Miffer. ‘Two fighters left here for what they thought were better things; both came back after a year’. Others look on and hear about the place and wish to be part of something that is obviously working. In doing so, they manifest a degree of treachery: I get phone calls from pros – I can’t name them – asking if I’d consider training them. I’ve been offered full-time jobs here and abroad. I turn them down. I want kids more than pros. I won’t kid them – I tell ‘em I’m too busy. Then later you read their social media and there they are praising their coach days after they’ve been tapping me up.

We must be wary of any romantic notion of place and space. The postal district Sheffield 9 is Steel City ABC’s home but the fighters are not local lads scrapping for a way out of their plight. Young fighters come here from a variety of backgrounds from across Sheffield and even from across the country. When asked if he has any idea why, Miffer responds: ‘I dunno … laws of attraction maybe’. For Miffer, social circumstances and place of upbringing are less important than attitude: You don’t have to be [brought up] rough but you need a work ethic. Rough areas historically produced fighters because in well-to-do areas the premises were too expensive to rent. Parents today prefer them to go to football and many fear their kid getting hurt [in boxing] but train kids properly and no one gets hurt.

Granting Permission One of Steel City’s ‘incomers’ is Croydon-born Sunny Edwards, who in 2015 became Sheffield’s sixth national ABA champion, winning the 49 kg class. Edwards arrived in the city for a sports studies course at Sheffield Hallam University, albeit he left after a year. He explained the path he took from south London to Sheffield and his aims for the future in an April 2018 interview with the Sheffield Star. Edwards had trained under

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Grant Smith whilst representing Britain as an amateur, so joined Steel City ABC in order to work with Smith again. A 100% record in his first five professional contests as a super-flyweight was deemed sufficient by the WBO to challenge for the organisation’s vacant European regional title against another unbeaten fighter, Ross Murray, who somewhat unusually had turned professional at the age of 34. Edwards won on a stoppage. Full of confidence, he predicted he would be, in his words, ‘a world champion in three years. Remember where you read it first’. In July 2020, Edwards’ record was 14 wins out of 14, his most recent victory earning him the British super-flyweight title. If Sunny Edwards were to become a world champion, he would not even be the first in his family or from Steel City ABC to do so. In 2016, his brother Charlie lost to John Riel Casimero in a challenge for the IBF flyweight title. Admitting the fight came too early in his career, Charlie moved north to train alongside Sunny. He was not exactly entering the unknown, having often trained at the EIS as a member of the ‘Team GB’ amateur squad. Now, he said, he was settled, believing he had ‘gone up another three levels’ thanks to working with Smith. When a second flyweight world title chance arrived in December 2018 against Cristofer Rosales Charlie produced a brilliant performance to comfortably outpoint the champion. He had not been based in Sheffield for long, but the city could claim Charlie Edwards as its seventh world champion. Edwards’ first defence in March 2019 was as convincing as a points victory could possibly get—veteran opponent Angel Moreno did not even share a round as all three judges scored the bout 120-107 to the champion. He retained his title in bizarre fashion the following August when his bout against Julio Cesar Martinez was ruled a ‘no contest’ several minutes after the challenger had been awarded victory following a third-round knockdown. The venue’s video screen later showed Martinez hitting Edwards when the latter had one knee on the floor. This was an illegal blow; WBC president Mauricio Sulaiman overturned the ring decision and declared the result void. There are other champions at Steel City. Congo-born Chris Luteke took up boxing in 2013: just two years later he was a national youth champion. Junaid Bostan, then aged 13, won the ABA schools championship in 2016 and represented Great Britain in the European junior championships in 2017. His aim was the Paris 2024 Olympics before turning professional. Levi Kinsiona is a three-time Yorkshire champion and twice national development champion at 64 kg. The Olympics were

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not on his mind however when in November 2017 he told the Sheffield Star that he was to turn professional, believing his style would fit well in the paid ranks: ‘I am a long-range boxer and counter puncher … it is a style that will do well when I cross over. It is about not taking punishment if you want a long and healthy career’. He won seven of his first eight pro bouts. Kinsiona’s younger brother Dan is also at the gym, winning the 60 kg national development class the same night as Levi, whilst older brother Christian won the Central Area super-middleweight title in September 2018. In July 2020, his record was 9-2-1. Meanwhile, Dalton Smith was a serial ABA champion, winning school and youth titles in 2010, 2011, 2013, 2014 and 2015. Selected for the Great Britain senior squad in 2016, Smith won golds in tournaments in Poland and Macedonia and in December 2016 won the 64 kg class at the GB Boxing championships held at the EIS. He then successfully represented the ‘British Lionhearts’ amateur team against Italy. Smith told the Sheffield Star his goal was a place at the 2020 Tokyo Olympic Games.46 Explaining how he first entered a boxing gym aged five and had his first contest on his 11th birthday, Smith opined: ‘From a very young age I’ve had to sacrifice not being with my friends, not doing what a normal kid does. I’ve travelled the world since I was 12. People might think it’s a life of luxury but it’s hard. This is a one-man sport. You do it yourself’. Doing it himself—with parental help—had procured Smith little in the way of financial assistance. At pains to thank the two local companies that sponsored him, he looked forward to gaining a full-time position in the GB squad, which would bring UK Sport funding, a salary and accommodation, living with the rest of the Olympic training group. ‘They’ve [GB Boxing] virtually said it will happen but we’ll just wait and see’, he said. Offers to turn professional had already come, but all were declined. ‘I’m not interested’, Smith declared. ‘I want to keep winning medals and get to Tokyo. I’ll only be 23 or so then so time is on my side’. In the meantime, he travelled to Rio as a training partner for Britain’s 2016 Olympic squad. What Smith could not ignore however were injuries and the vagaries of Olympic weight regulations, which conspired to persuade him to turn professional in March 2019. Three hand operations in two years were put down partly to the limited hand-bandaging allowed in the amateur game, as Smith explained: ‘In the amateurs you get a four-metre bandage as your wraps, which isn’t much protection. As a pro you get tape, gauze and can wrap your hands like plaster’. The second deciding factor was

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the—on the face of it—small change in the weight for his Olympic category from 64 kg to 63 kg, which must be maintained throughout the competition, not just on the day of a fight. He said: ‘The [weight drop] doesn’t sound much but I’m big for a light-welterweight and making that every day would have been a struggle. When you’re making a weight and not comfortable, your performances are not there. The Olympics was a goal for so many years but it’s kind of taken away now’. Having seen first-hand the success Charlie Edwards had enjoyed with Smith’s father as his trainer, Smith junior knew exactly what was required to reach the top: ‘It’s so good being around people like that and if I keep my head down I believe I can be a world champion one day’. Smith won his first five professional contests. Training Session: Grant and Dalton The hand-strapping of the 22-year-old Dalton takes five minutes and is done with care and attention by his father. Miffer uses these moments to speak with Charlie Edwards who, fresh from a 90-minute session, is now prostrate in various stretch-down poses whilst talking about his newly acquired three-bedroom property in Beighton on Sheffield’s south-east border. Meanwhile Dalton uses the length of the gym to warm up using lateral movements, then yoga poses for the pelvis and shoulders. The chest reveals a large tattoo advising a reader to ‘Never Give Up on Life’, a replica of the tattoo on the chest of his father. Dalton is well known hereabouts for his four-mile training runs undertaken at two in the morning. Some days involve him in three sessions; morning running on a track or a treadmill based in high-intensity interval training (HIIT) principles, a middle session of 50-minute strength and conditioning and later in the day 90 minutes of bag and ring work. Does dad ever have to motivate the boy? ‘He answers me back more than the others … I’m down on him more than I am with the others. That’s why a lot can’t coach their kids … too soft’. Today’s session consists of a 15-minute warm-up followed by six threeminute rounds on pads held by Miffer, then five three-minute rounds on the bag (the biggest of the gym’s 12), then two three-minute rounds on the speedball. The session ends with warm-down stretching. Miffer explains the logic but not before Charlie is reminded that each bottle of water taken from the fridge requires 50 pence to be put in the honesty jar, even by a world champion.

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As Dalton shadow-boxes, his ‘pocket-bully’ pup—named Canelo for obvious boxing reasons—is in a deep sleep in a cage, oblivious to the ‘huh’ and ‘shu’ sounds emanating from the soul of his owner and the words and rhythms of murdered rapper Biggie Smalls drifting out of the gym stereo. Progressing to an aqua bag the punches get harder. Dalton steps into the ring and faces his dad. Watching from the ropes is his grandad. The bell rings and the next 22 minutes witness a boxer who never speaks listening to instructions spoken softly from his father never more than a metre away: One, two … straight left … one, two, one … too low … leaving gaps … don’t lean back, sit in … pap-pap-pap … see it? There. Three, four … you’re leaning forward … roll … better … six twos … three and two … boom bang bang … that’s better … keep your shoulder out … more combinations …. two left. Jab and roll … sit back on that … bend the knee … don’t open with it … over, under … over the shoulder then sit back … try and spin out … don’t walk into that … four shorts. That’s enough.

A kind of telepathy is evident. Miffer’s hand-pads are never once missed by the punch thrown by his son. The father occasionally strikes the son gently around the head to remind him that in attack he has neglected defence and that the paternal tickle will in a real-life boxing situation be a vicious counter-punch. Whilst water is taken Miffer explains how he works his protégés: I can tell when they walk through the door and down the ramp what mood they’re in … sometimes when it’s not going right we’ll stop training and sort it out. Sometimes it’s confidence, sometimes it’s women trouble … that’s what I’m here for, there’s trainers and there’s coaches. A trainer does the routines and gets the [fitness] levels up. A coach teaches situations … I do both.

The bag work begins, timed for three-minute intervals. As Dalton punches and moves, Miffer watches and occasionally intercedes: Move further away … or expect some back! Come through the middle, then round the side … step in later and stay there … now go round, manipulate it … feint after to keep him off … re-set sharp … that’s what he was doing [names boxing opponent], settling then busting through

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trying to outbox you … touch the back first … long and mid-range … start off with pom-pom-pom-pom-pom then work the legs … pop shots … use your legs… park inside … stiffen your feet and move … strong core … stay strong, 15 seconds to go …

Five minutes of ‘whappity whappity’ on the speedball precede abdominal stretching and the arrival of the jolly figure of Kyle Yousaf. He’s the next 90-minute task for Miffer. But meanwhile there’s a puppy to stroke and pamper. Darnall Welfare Whilst Darnall has thus far resisted the processes of ‘gentrification’ evident elsewhere in former run-down parts of Sheffield, it is a decent place to live. But today factory time-horns no longer sound. The end of the shift does not disgorge thousands onto the streets. The rhythm of life is not played out to the sound of drop hammers and plumes of steam from the factories. Figures published by Sheffield City Council in 2017 showed that 29.5% of the area’s working population occupied manual and/or skilled trades; in decades past this number might have been closer to 75%. However, 90% of Darnall’s shop units are in use, the few pubs that remain are doing OK, a roast dinner at a café that feeds the elderly can be had for just £4, and excellent fish and chips are available. Adjacent to such places are shisha bars, takeaways and all sorts of establishments that satisfy the generations that originated from the Asian sub-continent, as well as the shops opened in the past decade by enterprising East European migrants drawn to Sheffield from Romania and Slovakia. The mixed ethnicity of the area is highlighted by Sheffield City Council figures, which showed that of the Darnall electoral ward’s population of some 22,000, 41% were Muslim and 37% Christian. Some 54% were classed as ‘black and minority ethnic’; 86% of the population described themselves as ‘British/English’. Some 6.4% of the area’s school attendees were from a Roma background. As a consequence of such multi-culturalism, shops that announce their halal credentials sit side-by-side with another advertising pork stuffing; Methodism, Evangelism and Islam co-habit. One shop sells Czech products, Asian and Roma fashions are displayed nearby, other premises dedicated to money transfers to ‘back home’ are busy. The tanning, nail and beauty salons that might be found in other parts of Sheffield are not so prevalent here. Instead, it appears there is

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much pride in male grooming; there are no fewer than six barbers in a 300-metre row of shops. Steel City ABC helps improve the area, which is the sixth-most deprived of the city’s 28 wards. It occupies what would otherwise be empty space. It adds a profile and attracts users who in other circumstances might drive through Darnall on their way to somewhere else. In some ways, in boxing mythology it is where fighters should come from, but none here were brought up in the immediate vicinity. Perhaps more significantly, the head coach’s uncompromising work ethic, derived from an industrial process of another age, is not what the young men in the gym have ever and perhaps will ever experience outside the gym’s walls. The boxers therein are some of the hardest-working men in Darnall but they drive to homes elsewhere in the city. Well dressed and ‘boys-abouttown’, they will never be brawling full of beer on adjacent streets on a Saturday night. The redemption in this gym is Miffer’s; one senses he has passed it on to those who enter perhaps unsure at one time where life might take them. ∗ ∗ ∗ The inequalities that defined Sheffield since its origins were by the late twentieth century more complex than any idea of ‘Us’ and ‘Them’. The fragmentation of social class brought many distinctions in both social life and incomes, a diversity heightened by the arrival in the city of migrants who brought new dimensions to notions of identity and belonging. Amongst the various demographics, there would always be found wayward young men needing guidance and determined young men seeking some physical outlet; boxing became a form of redemption for a new layer of participants. The practices it taught were employed for social good and its techniques became something the fashionable and even the affluent aspired to perform. The poor boys still populated the boxing gyms but the nature of those gyms changed and imitations of the boxing aesthetic brought a new audience to the fight game. Boxing became de rigueur in fashionable circles but the pain some sought was about looking good, not making good. New premises for boxing were to be found in the unlikeliest of locations. The missing ingredient however was knock-out punches in what was in fact a pastiche of the genuine fight game.

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Notes 1. Hobson senior died in January 2017 aged 82. 2. ‘Flapping’ is the term given to unlicensed greyhound racing organised independent of the Greyhound Board of Great Britain. 3. Curran played for Sheffield Wednesday FC from 1979 to 1982 and for Sheffield United FC from 1982 to 1983. 4. General Certificate of Secondary Education. 5. This was in May 1989 at the G-Mex Centre, Manchester. 6. This statement is not totally accurate. In June 2017, WBO middleweight champion Billy Joe Saunders moved to Sheffield to be trained by Dominic Ingle, who said: ‘I got a call a from Frank Warren asking if I’d like to train him, and to be honest I don’t tend to train kids from other gyms who are ready-made, but Billy Joe I’ve known for many years’. 7. Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is a condition that includes symptoms such as inattentiveness, hyperactivity and impulsiveness. Dyspraxia is a childhood developmental disorder of the brain causing difficulty in activities requiring coordination and movement. 8. Glycogen is a type of glucose that serves as a form of energy storage for the body. 9. This is a low carbohydrate diet, where the body produces ketones in the liver to be used as energy. 10. In Britain, this substance is handed to both boxers’ cornermen by a BBBC official to ensure each has the same formulation. 11. Paul ‘Silky’ Jones did achieve this feat, but he only trained at the Ingle gym early in his career. Ryan Rhodes regained the British title after leaving the Ingle gym. 12. After the Nottingham incident Saunders was fined £100,000 by the BBBC for bringing the sport into disrepute. The following month Saunders was stripped of his WBO middleweight title after being denied a licence by the Massachusetts State Athletic Commission, where his bout against Demetrius Andrade was due to take place. Saunders had failed a voluntary drugs test; the stimulant oxilofrene, present in a nasal spray, was found in his system. Under World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) rules, the substance is permitted out of competition, but Wada was not the agency that conducted the test. Not officially banned, Saunders was in further trouble in March 2020 when the BBBC suspended his boxing licence after he posted an online video advising men on how to hit their female partners. Four months later, his licence was restored on payment of a £15,000 fine, which the BBBC donated to charity. 13. Written in 1914 by Robert Tressell, an author Brendan Ingle also cited as one of his biggest influences. 14. Havelock Square, in the Broomhall area of Sheffield, was once the city’s ‘red light’ district. In January 1981, Peter Sutcliffe (the ‘Yorkshire

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22.

23. 24.

25.

26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

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Ripper’) was apprehended nearby. Subsequently convicted of the murders of 13 women, he was sentenced to life in prison. This was Elton Gashi, born in Kosovo in 1982. He fought 43 times between 2000 and 2006, winning 15 and losing 25. ‘Behold’ and ‘beware’ are words that commonly appear in the Bible. The teacher was 1968 Olympic 400 metres hurdles bronze medallist John Sherwood. Robinson fought LaMotta six times in all, including twice in three weeks in February 1943. In late 1950, Robinson fought five times in four weeks. In 1990 and 1991 Rhodes won four in a row, then lost four in a row. D’Amato was the trainer of Mike Tyson, Floyd Patterson and many other big-name boxers. Strangeways Prison was the scene of a 25-day riot and rooftop protest against prison conditions. One inmate was killed and one prison officer died of a heart attack, whilst 147 prison officers and 47 prisoners were injured. Repairs to the prison cost £90 million. According to the official Government website www.gov.uk, ‘The Disclosure and Barring Service (DBS) helps employers make safer recruitment decisions and prevent unsuitable people from working with vulnerable groups, including children’. Futsal is a type of football played on a hard court, often indoors, by teams of five players each. According to its website www.sanctuary-housing.co.uk, the company provides ‘good quality, affordable housing’. It is a not-for-profit organisation, reinvesting any surplus into housing and services. It has built 85,000 homes across England over more than four decades. 2011 research by Joseph R. Svinth for the Electronic Journals of Martial Arts and Sciences (https://ejmas.com/) lists four boxing deaths in Sheffield prior to Westgarth: Edward Bower (April 1833), Thomas Thorpe (May 1861), John Dawes (October 1864) and Michael ‘Chappie’ Moran (April 1896). The research for this book independently found these four instances and no others. None of these fights are recorded on www.boxrec.com. Hagland was a founder member of Islington Boxing Club. He died aged 86 in 2018. After losing to Eubank in 1991, Watson was in a coma for 40 days, leaving him partially paralysed and with impaired speech, hearing and vision. Ryan won the British and Commonwealth light-welterweight title in 1995. McMillan won the WBO featherweight title in 1992; Dunstan won the British cruiserweight title in 1995; Carr won the British supermiddleweight title in 1994.

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31. In 2000, Dunstan was sentenced to eight years in prison after admitting false imprisonment, blackmail and aggravated burglary. 32. Over half a million Canadian military personnel passed through the UK during the Second World War. Some 50,000 were to marry British women. 33. The Hippodrome stood on Cambridge Street between 1907 and 1963. It was demolished to make way for the Grosvenor Hotel, which itself was demolished in 2016. 34. Ireland-born O’Neill served as a Union Army officer in the American Civil War. A member of the Fenian Brotherhood (a group supporting militant action to expel the British from Ireland), he took part in raids into Canada, which explains his reputation in that country. He died in 1878. 35. Brearley did indeed invent stainless steel by ‘mistake’. In 1913, working as a metallurgist for Brown Firth Laboratories, he found that an experimental type of chromium steel was very resistant to acids. 36. Hartfield played for Sheffield United between 1991 and 1997, then for Swansea City from 1997 to 2001. 37. George A. Brooks is a professor in the Department of Integrative Biology at the University of California, Berkeley, where he researched the metabolic disposition of lactate in the body. 38. Mitochondria are membrane-bound cellular structures that generate most of the chemical energy needed to power the cell’s biochemical reactions. 39. Coldwell was born in Kolkata (then Calcutta), India, in July 1975. 40. Mason fought 37 times between 1989 and 1997, winning eight. 41. Francis, a cruiserweight, boxed six times in 2004 and 2005, winning them all. 42. The event was at Hillsborough Leisure Centre, where Ryan Rhodes topped the bill. 43. A colloquial Sheffield term for being able to purchase alcoholic drinks after pubs have ostensibly closed. 44. The AIBA Technical Rules, dated December 19, 2016 refer to the eligibility of coaches and seconds in regulation paragraph 16.1.2, which states: ‘Any Coach active in professional boxing shall be allowed to be a Coach and/or Second in AIBA Competitions once the Coach has been certified by AIBA as a registered Coach’. To become certified, a coach must attend and pass an AIBA-recognised training course. 45. Thailand’s Amnat Ruenroeng won the IBF flyweight title in 2014. Fighting a French opponent 10 kg heavier in the amateur ring, Ruenroeng was stopped. Cameroon’s Hassan N’Dam N’Jikam went into the Olympics with a record of 32 wins and two defeats, both in world title challenges, but was beaten by Brazilian amateur Michel Borges. The previously unbeaten Italian Carmine Tommasone became the first professional

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to win an Olympic bout but lost his next contest to Cuba’s Lázaro Jorge Álvarez. 46. The Games were postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

References Hoggart, R. (1957). The Uses of Literacy: Aspects of Working Class Life. Chatto and Windus. Matthews, D. (2001). Looking for a Fight: How a Writer Took on the Boxing World—From the Inside. Headline. Tressell, R. (1914). The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists. Grant Richards Ltd.

CHAPTER 6

Legacy and Leverage

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol. 3, No. 37, 1901] (out of copyright). Boxing with soft gloves is an admirable means of bodily development. It teaches a man how to use both hands with equal readiness, makes the physical carriage erect, the movement of the limbs graceful, and best of all it is © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_6

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an object lesson in diet and exercise, since excellence in boxing demands a bodily condition incompatible with intemperance in the pleasures of the table or the wine cup. But boxing is not prize fighting. Prize fighting is inexcusably barbarous and absolutely immoral.—Morning Oregonian, 1889. These contests are managed by blows with the head and fisty-cuffs. These bruisers … take off their cloaths [sic], and often strip themselves to the skin: it is but politeness in an Englishman to act in this manner, when he has a foreigner to contend with. The combatant shews thereby, that he is not afraid of blows, and that he has nothing upon him that can either ward them off or deaden their effect.—Pierre-Jean Grosley, French writer, 1772.

In the millennial decades, away from the professional fight game Sheffield became synonymous with British Olympic boxing champions. The city saw not only the male but also the newly enfranchised body of female boxers carry one location in Sheffield to the forefront of international boxing success. Venues scattered across the city today see more Sheffield men—and women—punch a bag in the name of ‘boxing’ than probably at any time in history. Only a few however would seek to enter a ring and go the distance, or even trade punches. The new venues for what might be termed ‘hobbyist’ boxers reflect an enthusiasm for boxing techniques as part of a leisure and lifestyle activity of those with greater disposable incomes than the ‘hungry’ fighter of yesteryear. The techniques, discipline and indeed pain of boxing became a fashionable training practice of those seeking personal redemption, often around weight loss and body image, as well as providing the opportunity for some to compete in a once-in-a-lifetime bout of public pugilism. Boxing gyms had greater distinctions than ever before; some were still about producing champions, some hosted a dual economy of champions and keep-fit enthusiasts. Others delivered boxing and all its paraphernalia but never had any intention of giving lessons in inducing pain or tolerating it. Meanwhile, tough young men took to a new genre of combat that required boxing ability but also permitted kicks to the head.

Punching Above Its Weight In January 2016, the website www.boxingnewsonline.net ranked 13 Sheffield and South Yorkshire-based boxers in the UK top ten of the

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numerous weight divisions. The region thus accounted for over 8% of the country’s top boxers. The pro-rata metric is interesting. The 2011 UK Census gave the population of South Yorkshire (the metropolitan boroughs of Sheffield, Barnsley, Rotherham and Doncaster) as 1.34 million. With the total UK population numbering 63.26 million, South Yorkshire’s population thus made up 2.1% of the national population. It could be argued that the region produces some four times as many topclass boxers as its population suggests might emerge. Put another way, in terms of national profile Sheffield punches above its weight. According to the boxing records website www.boxrec.com, in mid2016 Sheffield had 32 licensed professional boxers, a figure bettered only by London (103) and Liverpool (42).1 What exactly constitutes a city is open to debate as urban and metropolitan areas merge; local authorities might define a city’s area differently from a resident’s notion of where they live. That said, even taking such variables into account, population figures make a comparison between cities more valid than absolute numbers. Based on 2011 UK Census results, the website www.lovemy town.co.uk listed UK cities and towns in population order.2 According to this list, London’s population was 8,173,941, which equated to just one in 79,358 of its inhabitants being professional boxers. Sheffield’s population of 518,090 gave an equivalent ratio of one in 16,190. Other major cities’ figures were: Belfast Liverpool Sheffield Hull Manchester Derby Swansea Plymouth Sunderland Bristol Leeds Birmingham Portsmouth Nottingham Edinburgh Cardiff Glasgow Stoke

25 boxers, 280,211 population 42 boxers, 552,267 population 32 boxers, 518,090 population 13 boxers, 284,321 population 23 boxers, 510,746 population 11 boxers, 255,394 population 7 boxers, 179,485 population 9 boxers, 234,982 population 6 boxers, 174,286 population 15 boxers, 535,907 population 13 boxers, 474,632 population 29 boxers, 1,085,810 population 6 boxers, 238,137 population 7 boxers, 289,301 population 11 boxers, 459,366 population 8 boxers, 335,145 population 14 boxers, 590,507 population 6 boxers, 270,726 population

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

1:11,208 1:13,149 1:16,190 1:21,870 1:22,206 1:23,248 1:25,640 1:26,109 1:29,047 1:35,727 1:36,510 1:37,441 1:39,689 1:41,328 1:41,760 1:41,893 1:42,179 1:45,121

(continued)

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(continued) Newcastle Southampton Coventry London Bradford Leicester

5 boxers, 268,064 population 4 boxers, 253,651 population 5 boxers, 325,949 population 103 boxers, 8,173,941 population 4 boxers, 349,561 population 5 boxers, 443,760 population

= = = = = =

1:53,612 1:63,412 1:65,189 1:79,358 1:87,390 1:88,752

This non-scientific survey reinforces the widely held perception of where the UK’s boxing ‘hotbeds’ are found; Sheffield ranks third in the UK as a ‘boxing city’ behind Belfast and Liverpool. If further evidence were needed, the website www.boxingtonight.co.uk named Sheffield as third in England’s top 20 ‘boxing cities’ based on urban population and the number of amateur boxing clubs within its boundary. Hull ranked first, Liverpool second. These two—and Belfast—are historically resilient, sea-faring cities, their histories interwoven with poverty, violence and casual labour, conditions that traditionally made for fertile ground for the production of boxers. Liverpool and Belfast also suffered from sectarian conflict.3 Perhaps the fact that many boxing clubs in Liverpool and Belfast were founded by the Catholic Church can be explained by the notion of redemption, i.e. atonement from sin and ‘keeping on the straight road’. So, we might ask, where does land-locked and non-sectarian Sheffield fit in this milieu? The steel mills and coal mines that traditionally produced Sheffield’s boxers are gone, largely replaced by white-collar clerical and service jobs. Today boxing attracts people from a range of social backgrounds. Sheffield’s twenty-first-century boxing profile extends to the suburban (such as commuter-belt Dronfield) as much as it does to the inner-city (for instance, the ethnically-diverse Burngreave), and the city’s council estates, but significantly does not encompass the affluent western districts, where no amateur boxing clubs are—or ever have been—situated. The sense of place or practice that this inquiry involves might benefit from our expanding the sporting horizons to help our analysis.

The City of Sport Sheffield has long celebrated and enjoyed feats of sporting endeavour. The city’s famed merciless inclines meant that Sheffield was custom-made for the hard running that sporting achievement of any genre required. The cutlery and heavy industries Sheffield was built upon made for tough

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people; the leitmotif of the city was strength and fortitude. Religious connotations notwithstanding, Sheffield’s motto Deo Adjuvante Labor Proficit (‘With God’s Help Our Labour Is Successful’) is appropriate. In Sheffield’s industrial heyday merely attending work was hazardous; shiftwork was tiresome, dirty and often dangerous. The labour that both steel production and coal heaving required was gruelling and wages were poor by the standards of many other occupations elsewhere in Britain. In their free time, some put the same effort into their sporting pursuits that the tasks that paid their wages demanded; such a correlate is understandable if not exactly provable. Achievement required effort, and effort was often painful; labouring hurts. For a few, relief of sorts from this daily grind was afforded by the roped confines of the boxing ring. The monies earned there might help towards a post-athletic career working in a pub instead of down a mine or in front of a furnace. This was an ambition of many, and one that Sheffield lent itself to. For several decades from the late Victorian era, Sheffield was synonymous with sporting success—notably in football, athletics and cricket— but not in boxing.4 The inter-war period brought the General Strike and the Great Depression; in times of hunger there was no shortage of hungry fighters. However, the poverty that defined the Sheffield boxer of the 1920s and 1930s gave way to the more comfortable environment of the ‘New Society’ of post-war full employment and the welfare state. Pay in the city was not great, work was still hard, but few had to fight to live. By the 1960s, we can postulate that the ‘hungry’ fighter was not to be found in Sheffield, a city where jobs were plentiful and in which, as Prime Minister Harold Macmillan stated in 1957, the population ‘had never had it so good’. Sheffield’s males did not need to pursue the ‘hurting business’ when strong trade unions ensured that wages were paid and jobs protected in modernised industries that did not require—or inflict— as much pain as in decades earlier. Thus from the early 1950s to the late 1970s, Sheffield boxing was in the doldrums; facilities were basic, there were few professionals to act as role models. The boxing trainers in the city were not well known, promoters were small-scale and the venues were parochial. There was little public interest outside of the major televised fights, which usually involved either London boxers or American heavyweights. By the late 1970s, the profile of the city as a boxing centre was due more to a single club than to any correlate of ‘place’. The repute of the club was a product of those who arrived in the city from elsewhere,

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either as first- or second-generation immigrants. Theirs was not a correlate of boxing ability and local industrial production. Their hardships were an outcome of Empire and prejudice. Their body movement had no connection with loading furnaces or hewing coalfaces, their skills at times being best equated with dancers, not labourers. They were renowned as masters of the art of avoiding pain above inflicting it. They were unique individuals, united in methods of training and inseparable from a mentor who preached a philosophy of both how to live and how to box. These men—Brendan Ingle, Herol Graham, Naseem Hamed and Johnny Nelson—transformed Sheffield from a boxing wasteland to a place that produced champions. Successful boxers from Sheffield were thus made by a combination of their individual determination and the coaching personnel that guided them. The raw material was recognised and the inherent talent nurtured by the words and wisdom that form the basis of expert coaching. But the men who passed through the Ingle gym also performed more far-reaching roles in that they were integral to the evolution of both boxers and boxing in the city in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

Fight Club’s New Members Whilst some troubled young men take solace in the physicality that boxing provides, thousands of aficionados of the genre—including the university educated and celebrities—see the value of its training regimes on their waistlines or in their pursuit of masculine credibility. From the 1980s, boxing training developed into a fashionable exercise regime even for those who never held the intention of stepping into a ring. Fuelled by a national increase in the burgeoning—and, for some, very profitable— genre of health and fitness, the economics of many boxing clubs changed. In the near past Sheffield boys—only boys—would learn to box at clubs such as Hillsborough Boys’ Club, Parson Cross ABC, Croft House ABC and the Double Six Club. Factory sports clubs also had boxing sections— for men. Some of these establishments survive, but others such as Heeley Bank ABC and Meynell Youth Club no longer exist, their former premises either closed or demolished. In their place, a city-wide network of venues and personal trainers sprung up in the new millennium with the objective of keeping an individual fit. Open to all ages, genders and abilities, such places and people might offer ‘boxercise’ or, for the more competitive, Thai boxing, kick-boxing or mixed martial arts (MMA), an amalgam of

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different styles of combat. Its martial use has been overtaken by that of entertainment; it is now a very lucrative enterprise.5 The extreme form of MMA is ‘ultimate fighting’ or ‘cage fighting’, known worldwide through its global promotional body ‘UFC’ (Ultimate Fighting Championship). MMA was imported to the USA by Brazil-born jiu-jitsu grandmaster Rorion Gracie, an exponent of the Brazilian Vale Tudo (‘anything goes’) fights that developed in the 1920s as sideshows in Brazilian circuses. Jiu-jitsu was introduced to Brazil from Japan in the early twentieth century. The fighting style remained marginal and largely underground until in 1993 Gracie, alongside film director John Milius, advertising executive Art Davie and sports promoter Bob Meyrowitz, decided to introduce a similar fighting style to the USA, which they titled ‘UFC’. After discussing the possibility of holding contests in a sub-floor pit or—implausibly—a ring surrounded by a shark-filled moat, the group settled on the more modest scenario of an octagonal cage measuring 30 feet across, enclosed by a six-feet high mesh. This arena became popularised and is synonymous with MMA today. The early days of the sport were brutal. No weight categories were specified, victory was gained by variously: ‘knock-out, surrender, doctor’s intervention, or death’. The first UFC championship in 1993 featured fighters wearing variously a sumo outfit, tight underpants, jogging bottoms and a judo suit. By the new millennium, the sport’s savage nature attracted political opprobrium and began to turn television executives away from promoting it. The failing UFC business was revived in 2001 by American businessmen Frank and Lorenzo Fertitta. They realised the event could be a television success if it was more ‘civilised’, i.e. regulated. The Fertittas believed that combat sports needed an alternative to boxing, which in their opinion had become too fragmented and confusing with its multitude of governing bodies and weight categories. They introduced into UFC weight classes, rounds, time limits, over 30 forms of foul and eight possible ways to end a fight. With this new sense of legitimacy came a broader appeal. When these qualities were allied with aggressive marketing and promotion based on fighters’ personalities and nicknames, UFC became one of the world’s fastest-growing sports. Vowing to arrange the fights that everyone wanted to see—unlike boxing, where the interests of rival television companies often precluded the meeting of the top fighters in the ring—Frank Fertitta explained that he wanted UFC to mirror the ‘simple’ days of the 1950s when there were eight boxing

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world champions and nobody avoided each other on the route to such status.

Where’s the Real Champion? In boxing, there are currently 17 weight divisions with all four main governing bodies (WBC, WBA, WBO, IBF) declaring a world champion in each. A handful of boxers are recognised by more than one entity as champion. In addition, other governing bodies generally accepted to be of lower status (e.g. WBU, WBF, IBO, IBU, IBA) claim champions of their own.6 There was a good side to this, as boxing journalist Steve Bunce wrote with some regret: ‘It was nauseating … toxic, but essential for boxers to get a living’. Until 2018, there had been no ‘undisputed’ world champion (recognised as such simultaneously by the WBC, WBA, WBO and IBF) since middleweight Jermain Taylor7 in 2006. The picture is further obfuscated by confusing titles such as ‘Emeritus Champion’, ‘Lineal Champion’, ‘Interim Champion’, ‘Diamond Champion’, ‘Eternal Champion’, ‘Silver Champion’, ‘Super Champion’ and ‘Regular Champion’. Attempts have been made over the years to simplify the picture. Between 2009 and 2011, a super-middleweight tournament named the ‘Super Six World Boxing Classic’ took place at various global arenas, broadcast by the American Showtime network. The six original competitors were of the highest class: WBA champion Mikkel Kessler, WBC champion Carl Froch, 2004 Olympic medallists Andre Ward and Andre Dirrell, and former middleweight champions Jermain Taylor and Arthur Abraham. A complex group system resulted in semi-finals and a final in Atlantic City in which Ward beat Froch. However, the organisers found it hard to maintain public interest due to the prolonged nature of the tournament. In 2017, a similar competition named ‘World Series Boxing’ began. Promoted by Zürich-based company Comosa AG, eight boxers (four seeded, four unseeded) in each of two weight divisions (supermiddleweight and cruiserweight) competed in a series of straight elimination bouts leading to a final, staged over a period of nine months. The prize fund was £50 million; the winners were also to receive a trophy named in honour of Muhammad Ali. Any bout involving a current WBA, WBC, WBO or IBF champion was to become a bona fide world title contest within the tournament, which provided a further quirk: the July

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2017 ‘draw’ saw the seeded boxers choose their opponents. In the cruiserweight final, Oleksandr Usyk outpointed Murat Gassiev to become the undisputed world champion—the first since Jermain Taylor. British pair George Groves and Callum Smith met in the super-middleweight final in September 2018; Smith stopped Groves in a contest in which just the WBA belt was at stake. Boxing was in a sense reinventing its format in the face of competition from those who punched and kicked.

Not My Fight? UFC also used new formats to gain publicity. In 2005, the sport’s following was boosted by a television ‘reality show’ titled The Ultimate Fighter. This saw professional MMA fighters live and train together before competing to earn a UFC contract. By the end of 2015, UFC had 573 contracted fighters and offices in Las Vegas, Toronto, London and Beijing. The following year the Fertitta brothers sold the UFC brand to US talent agency WME-IMG 8 for $4.2 billion. WME-IMG then announced that 23 celebrities ranging from Hollywood actors to major sports stars had each invested $250,000 to buy shares in UFC. This form of combat was now firmly in the mainstream. The popularity of UFC in Britain was highlighted in February 2015 on a night that saw both the world super-bantamweight unification bout between Carl Frampton and Scott Quigg—both unbeaten—at the Manchester Arena and a middleweight UFC contest between Anderson Silva and Michael Bisping at London’s O2 Arena. Both events sold out in minutes: 19,700 in Manchester, 16,700 in London. The former was broadcast live by Sky Sports, the latter by BT Sport. Frampton’s comfortable points victory meant the boxing event failed to live up to its billing. By contrast, the UFC contest was the most commented-on sporting event that night on Twitter, beating Frampton v Quigg, football’s Premier League and the Six Nations Rugby Union tournament. According to Lorenzo Fertitta, UFC had such global appeal because ‘it’s fighting, raw human beings, and at some level, fighting is in your DNA. It’s about fight or flight, people get it, they understand it and that’s what has allowed us to scale this business because it just works’. An indirect comparison between the two sports was made possible in August 2017 when the undefeated multiple world boxing champion Floyd Mayweather Junior fought UFC lightweight champion Conor McGregor under Queensberry Rules in Nevada. Mayweather, aged 40,

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had not boxed for two years; McGregor had never boxed professionally. Many boxing pundits believed McGregor, unable to use the majority of his cage-fighting skills, would be no match for Mayweather, widely regarded as the best ever in his sport even if ageing and giving away over a stone in weight. McGregor lasted until the tenth round, when the referee stopped the fight. The spectacle and appeal of the contest were unquestioned, but it answered little as to the relative merits of the two sports. Perhaps as contentious as the fight itself was the coincident imaginary battle between boxing and UFC over pay-per-view figures. According to research by the BBC, the 2015 Mayweather/Manny Pacquiao fight attracted 4.4 million pay-per-view buys, whereas UFC’s top three pay-perview fights totalled 4.2 million combined. On the other hand, both sports had the same number—13—of one million-plus pay-per-view contests in the previous decade. In addition, in 2016 UFC averaged 644,000 payper-view buys per fight, and boxing 267,000. In truth, such figures prove little. The career records of UFC’s top fighters reveal a certain unpredictability that perhaps boxing does not possess; few remain unbeaten for long. Like the best boxers, these men and women are serious, highly trained athletes. Whilst MMA and boxing are related, they are no closer than second cousins. There is room in the sporting and television markets for both.

Office Worker Warriors There exists another form of combat sport that grew alongside, but independent from, MMA. This is ‘White Collar Boxing’ (WCB), so-called because it appeals to boxing enthusiasts who have come to the sport late in life and who outside of the ring are employed in mainly white-collar professions. The origins of WCB are disputed, but in 1988 an attorney named Dr Richard Novak and an English literature PhD named David Lawrence fought in Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn, New York, in what is recognised by many as the first-ever WCB event. Bruce Silverglade, the gym’s owner, continued to arrange contests amongst his customers, many of whom had well-paid white-collar jobs. Several were Wall Street traders. In the 1990s, British boxing promoter Alan Lacey helped Silverglade introduce WCB to the UK. Inspired by the film Fight Club,9 Lacey formed the ‘Real Fight Club’ in 2000 and set up a London gym. Considering WCB as the ultimate stress-reliever for under-pressure executives, his target demographic was

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City financiers with no previous boxing experience. In May that year he recruited a team of British ‘white-collar’ boxers to take on an American team at Gleason’s gym. In what had become a tradition of WCB, the three rounds of each contest did not produce a winner and a loser; both boxers received a trophy. Staging such events developed into a highly successful enterprise in which participants receive intensive training for three months before fighting at a ‘black-tie’ evening arranged to raise money for charity. In 2001 Lacey and Silverglade founded the International White Collar Boxing Association (IWCBA) to supervise WCB contests, paying particular attention to safety. Participants wear headguards and 16-ounce padded gloves to lessen the force of blows. Each contest lasts three rounds. In the mid 2010s, Britain could boast more than 2500 registered white-collar boxers at gyms across the country, around double the number of licensed professional boxers. This total is said to be growing, but no one knows how fast; as WCB is not licensed by the BBBC or England Boxing there are no official figures as to how many participants there are. WCB flies in the face of the convention that decrees that boxing is a young person’s sport; many participants are middle-aged men who wish to chase back their declining physicality. There is also a feminine side to WCB. An executive of the fashion house Chanel explained that boxing offered her an advantage in some male-dominated business situations: ‘People think that everyone who works at Chanel must be feminine and dainty. So when they find out I like to box, it knocks them off their feet – without even having to throw a punch’. According to Silverglade, WCB attracts men and women who want to exercise and exorcise self-doubt. ‘Many people who come [to Gleason’s] are trying to prove something to themselves’, he said. When sufficiently skilled to enter a competition, WCB participants might enjoy a brief period in the limelight in front of several hundred spectators. Such an experience must be cathartic. It is also loaded with redemption. An organisation named ‘Ultra White Collar Boxing’ (UWCB) arranges events throughout Britain. The organisation’s website states: ‘Ultra White Collar Boxing is a unique opportunity for people with no boxing background to experience the wonderful world of boxing, in a safe and enjoyable environment. Raise money for Cancer Research UK and get in great shape!’ The company claims it raises more money for cancer research than any other UK entity, amounting to over £2 million in 2015 alone. One evening in Sheffield in late 2017 added to this largesse.10

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At Night at the Boxing As the organisation explains, the word ‘ultra’ was a marketing device to reassure the curious that the event was a little up-market compared with those promoting the same thing elsewhere. To this end, the audience for this occasion in Sheffield United FC’s Platinum Suite are instructed to wear formal attire, ideally the dress demanded of a ‘black-tie’ occasion; no jeans, no trainers, no casual wear permitted. The audience—numbering some 380—is segregated by admission price; those seated at tables surrounding the ring each paid £40, those watching beyond the VIP partition £22. Here to watch 18 three-round bouts, the attendees are mostly family and friends of the ring combatants. The reality of what might follow hits home when the combatants enter the building. In four years of staging such events, today’s organisers have not known one contender run from what is to ensue. The fighters wear a blue or red vest and protective headgear. Some 30 minutes before the first bout, in the changing room that usually houses professional footballers, all about to participate (ten women and 26 men) are addressed by the referee—a former professional boxer from the Ingle gym once ranked fifth in the UK—as to what to expect and what is expected of them. The ring official has gained weight in the 12 years in the nursing profession that employed him following his retirement from the ring. He has also accumulated a clear and authoritative speaking style and a good line in patter for the silently attentive gathering. He alone will judge the winner and loser and meanwhile seeks the following: I’m looking for clean shots. No windmilling. No punching the back of head or kidneys. Don’t punch arms, punch torso and head. Don’t punch when I shout ‘Break!’ If I speak to you don’t look at me. Don’t mouth back at me either. I won’t let you get beat up nor let you beat someone up. Anyone knocks someone down, go to the neutral corner. Your cornermen can throw in the towel on your behalf. If I call off it don’t argue with me. If your family is ring-side and being mouthy I’ll tell’em to fuck off. I’m watching eyes, face, mouth and I can see the pupils in your eyes. You’re all allowed four standing eights [counts to eight] per bout. When it’s over shake hands and embrace, respect each other. Those not in the ring watch everyone else when they are. If you’re asked to speak to the crowd respect your opponent. I’ll encourage you. Put a show on. Now, how about a round of applause to the trainers who’ve got you this far? And finally a

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round of applause to yourselves for raising £6,638 for charity; one of you alone raised £1,500.

The three paramedics listening in know their role. They are regulars for such events, their ambulance parked by the front door. The hired security corps is nine strong, muscular and experienced in such occasions. The master of ceremonies knows how to work the watching hundreds. Cheering and chanting from the audience is encouraged, booing is not permitted. The four-hour event means much drink might have been taken by the close. Problems could thus arise. In anticipation, before the start the organiser visits each table and tells them what is expected; remain seated throughout, don’t leave the table during a contest and don’t stand ring-side. Experience has informed him that wives and girlfriends are the worst offenders for inappropriate behaviour. Those who do not adhere will be asked by the security personnel to return to their seats or, in the extreme, asked to leave. The night is a parody of elite-level boxing, imitating the professional event but without the outcome of each bout being taken too seriously. The punches exchanged will be real and delivered with gusto but no one is expected to get hurt. The contestants in many instances are living out a dream. Others are using the occasion to work out some issue they have decided was best addressed through the weeks of training this event requires. There is a variety of personal journeys involved. Some 360 signed up three months earlier via the organisers’ advertisements on social media. It cost those interested a £35 registration fee. Some 100 attended the initial meeting with the promoters. Then began eight weeks of training in a programme consisting of 16 one-hour, twice-weekly sessions in conjunction with the Ni Yai Muay Thai martial arts gym on Sheffield’s Ecclesall Road. Most of those on tonight’s bill had not boxed before beginning their training. The sessions challenged them to supplement what they were group-taught in the gym with their own individualised training regime. They were also expected to follow a diet of healthy eating and drinking. Not everyone did. Some 30% of the 100 dropped out early; the physical demands were too great. A few more quit at the weigh-in two weeks before the event. Week four of the training programme coincided with the introduction of sparring; this is the week notorious for drop-offs. When in the ring the fighters will be under the guidance of a cornerman who has trained them for the previous eight weeks. The

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trainers are elite in their fight genre and thus threaten that any form of disrespect will see the offender off the programme. The trainers and organisers collaboratively decide who will face whom on the night as the sparring gets more intense. As training steps up closer to the big day, sparring is reduced. In the pre-fight week, those selected as opponents are kept apart in sparring so that low blows and other spoiling tactics do not come to the fore. The UWCB company organising tonight’s event was founded in 2010. The Derby-based owner—who originally ran a weight-training gym— saw the opportunity to take the fight game to a new clientele. Annually some 400 such events are staged by UWCB. Tonight nationally 27 similar events are taking place. A few hundred associated with the company draw a wage but only to supplement their day jobs; just seven people take a full-time salary. Tonight’s event is quintessentially local; the farthest a contender has travelled is from Rotherham. That said, amongst the lineup is one Chinese female and men with names originating in Mexico, Italy and Eastern Europe. Participation comes with provisos; each has to sell a minimum of ten tickets and pledge a donation of at least £50 to Cancer Research UK. The other financial consideration centres around injury compensation. All entering the ring thus sign a disclaimer around liability. Insurance is offered by the organisers, who also provide a training programme for those it employs, which stresses the necessity of duty of care. Serious injuries are rare.11 All fighters have a pre-fight medical examination to ascertain heart rate, blood pressure and whether any medication they are taking is inappropriate to what they are pursuing. The paramedics at the venue are the first port of call on the evening for any incident requiring medical intervention. All fighters have the opportunity to be checked over after their bout. Any form of head injury receives advice on what symptoms to look out for over the next 12 hours. Infrastructural and procedural matters are considered in tandem with the personal. This sees the organiser filling in forms for safety checks, first-aid requirements and venue feedback. The first glimpse the fans have of their fighters comes via the pre-event parade. Later they will enter alone to 30 seconds of music of their choice. Strobe lights add a Las Vegas dimension. The two ring girls are suitably glamorous and sassy. The female line-up includes Lisa, Carli, Hannah, Laura and Kirsty. One prefers the nomenclature ‘Mad Dog’, another is

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‘The Smiley Assassin’. Yet another assumes the macabre character ‘Morticia’. The men make analogies to nature, notorious male characters and warrior cultures; ‘The Lizard’ and ‘The Animal’ will contest issues with ‘Bronson’, ‘The Spartan’, ‘Iron Man’ and ‘The Real Boss’. Yet others will proclaim their connection with strength and armaments; ‘Bruiser’, ‘Ferocious’, ‘Hands of Steel’, ‘Razor’, ‘TNT’. What they wear with gloves and singlets depends on the individual. Some go the whole hog and purchase boxing shorts and boxing boots. Others sport beach shorts and well-used trainers. The winners have their hands raised by the referee. For most that is the end of the matter but others remain in the scheme’s training regime for years afterwards. Some even go on to have ABA-sanctioned amateur-level contests. The fighters are not quite the white-collar participants that might be expected in corresponding New York or London events. A handful advertise company sponsorship in the event programme but the firms are not Wall Street types. A firm of solicitors is listed, but there is also a doubleglazing firm and a barber’s shop. The vast majority of those fighting have no financial or corporate backing. They are not legal and financial masters of the universe. They are a mixture of clerical and manual employees and from perception mainly of working-class backgrounds. They are in some cases labourers, in some cases self-employed building contractors, and in a couple of cases full-time students. All are enthusiastic in their efforts; the punches are intended to hurt. The competence of the boxers varies. Some seem to freeze in front of the crowd, most struggle with fitness and it is rare to see the initial flurry of punches sustained by the third round. A few might have been better to have called it a day after two rounds. Their fans shout themselves hoarse and their cornermen offer non-stop wisdom and encouragement. A quiet word from the referee discourages the showboater and encourages the one huffing and puffing. A trained eye would realise that a good level of fitness and decent jab could win most bouts. And what we might ask are the combatants living out? Why does a one-time beauty pageant contestant brawl with a legal secretary? One man admits to the authors his involvement is complicated. This is an understatement. His 16-year-old sister was stabbed to death eight months previously, his wife left him and with clinical depression he attempted to take his own life by driving his lorry off a bridge. He survived these calamities because the training and tonight’s event have given him a reason to live. His opponent had weight issues. The training has seen

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him lose four stones and gain a new self-confidence. The attraction for those participating—and watching—is a chance to dip their toe into the elite underworld of boxing. It enables the warrior spirit of some to do their thing and offers the chance for the epicene to show some spirit in an arena never before known to them. It allows women to enter a onetime exclusively male domain. It is a pastiche of the real thing but the organisers seek no harm to anyone and meanwhile make good money for a charity. Dozens of venues exist in Sheffield where combat skills can be practised. Contact sports and boxing training have thus gained a kind of ‘hipster’ fashionability. The absence of industrial labour from the 1980s saw many men seek out endurance sports to compensate for missing out on the physicality their forefathers bore in pursuit of a living wage. Speculatively, we might consider the boxing ring as offering some form of reminder of a masculinity that once was. Suffering in both training and competition has thus become a lifestyle choice for the nouveau pugilist. Such people have jobs and careers. For them, the pain of the ring is temporary; they can leave at any time and their departure is compensated by alternate income streams. The ‘Trial by Ordeal’ of the white-collar fighter is undeniably brave, but the route to and from danger is as clear as that provided by a tour guide.

Down the Tube In recent years, one form of WCB has deviated from its original intention, developing instead into a money-making industry for participants and promoters alike. For this, the fight game can thank the rise of the ‘professional Youtuber’, i.e. someone who uploads, produces or appears in videos on the video-sharing website Youtube, in the process often attracting millions of followers, with whom come the advertisements that can make the ‘Youtuber’ very rich. One such, the London-born Olajide ‘JJ’ Olatunji, known online as KSI, fought another British ‘Youtuber’ Joe Weller in an amateur contest following a social media disagreement between the pair. The fight, which took place in London in February 2018, was watched live online by over 1.6 million, then the largest ever audience for a WCB event. After beating Weller by stoppage, KSI fought the American ‘Youtuber’ Logan Paul in another amateur contest in September 2018, the fight ending in a draw. This event attracted some 2.25 million live online viewers. KSI and Paul fought again in November

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2019, this time in Los Angeles in a professional bout promoted by the mainstream Matchroom Boxing, whose owner Eddie Hearn has a knack of following the money. KSI won a split decision to top off a show that saw two ‘authentic’ world title fights on the undercard. Both headliners earned $900,000 plus a share of pay-per-view figures, which Hearn claimed were higher than the number who watched the Anthony Joshua/Andy Ruiz world heavyweight title fight earlier in the year. Ironically, the fight between two ‘Youtubers’ was not broadcast live on Youtube because of piracy fears, but the fact that a boxing contest between two non-boxers was a bigger draw than those involving genuine world champions confirmed that the fight game can often go in unexpected directions, including into other sports.

Fringe Benefits Boxing training is recognised as beneficial to participants in many professional sports. Sir Alex Ferguson, widely regarded as the best British football manager of all time, acknowledged that the short, sharp bursts of effort and limited recovery periods required in boxing were ideally suited to similar actions in football. One of Ferguson’s converts was multiple FIFA Footballer of the Year Cristiano Ronaldo. According to his gym manager Mike Clegg, Ronaldo ‘took on a new level of total dedication to his training because he wanted to be the best footballer in the world’. When he was manager at West Bromwich Albion FC, Tony Pulis brought in former world super-middleweight champion—and Albion fan—Richie Woodhall to instruct the club’s players in the rudiments of boxing. Said Woodhall: ‘The players realised how tiring [boxing] can be even after just three minutes. [It] is an extremely intense sport that requires quick reactions, both attacking and defending. The mental dexterity it provides can really help in a high-pressure situation in a football match’. In the Sheffield context, footballers Jack O’Connell and John Lundstram can be frequently seen in a boxing gym in their native Liverpool on their days off from their employment with Sheffield United FC and have visited the Ingle gym to take tips from former world welterweight champion Kell Brook. Football players of another kind also incorporate boxing training in their workout routines. Top NFL players Mark Ingram, Russell Wilson and Frank Gore were amongst those who understood that the physical demands of their sport were compatible with the endurance conditions

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of a 12-round boxing match. Rugby has similar fundamentals to American Football; the Rugby Football Union (RFU) thus hired former world super-middleweight champion George Groves to devise boxing techniques to help its players. The reasoning was manifold: both sports are anaerobic power activities; both require a participant to work through fatigue; both require a solid base in respectively tackling and punching; both require deft footwork. Meanwhile, recognising the similarities in speed of hand and foot movement in both her sport and boxing, Grand Slam tennis champion Caroline Wozniacki was another to use boxing training in her preparation. Jockeys, who have to control a tonne of flesh and bone despite their small stature, often employ boxing training to improve their upper-body and leg strength without weight gain. To this end, the British Racing School, which provides education for aspirants in all aspects of the horse-racing industry, runs physical training classes for jockeys in which ‘boxercise’ forms a significant part. The gains to be made from boxing practice are wide reaching.

Political Punches: Games and Frontiers Some amateur boxers can count themselves amongst the nation’s elite and find themselves in Sheffield at an institution with little connection to the city apart from its location. In 2009 the Amateur Boxing Association of England (ABAE) moved its headquarters to the English Institute of Sport (EIS) in Sheffield’s Attercliffe district.12 At the same time, GB Boxing13 decided to base its training centre for Britain’s Olympic boxers at the venue. The site was significant both consciously and subconsciously, constructed as it was on land in Sheffield’s once-thriving industrial East End that was also the heartland of the city’s inter-war boxing community. The EIS opened in August 2003 at a construction cost of £23 million. It had been a long road to arrive at this point, over eight years in the making in fact. In January 1995 Conservative Prime Minister John Major embarked on a scheme that he believed would herald a reversal of the decline of competitive school sport by making National Lottery funding available for both capital projects and paying teachers for outof-hours supervision time. Major’s plan also contained a commitment to elite sport. Seven months later Major and Minister for Sport Iain Sproat expanded on the scheme’s aims in a policy paper titled Raising the Game, which announced that £100 million would be spent on setting up a ‘British Academy of Sport’. The paper explained that the academy

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would be built in the Midlands and would offer residential places to 500 young people to hone their sporting skills whilst pursuing academic subjects. There would be up to ten additional smaller regional academies, all National Lottery funded and administered by the Sports Council.14 It was an ambitious plan, but one that appeared not to have been thought through. Days after the announcement The Times remarked that Sproat had not yet visited similar long-running establishments in Australia (the Australian Institute of Sport),15 France and the USA, so as yet had no idea what a British version should provide. Little consultation had taken place with sporting bodies. Later in 1995 the British Olympic Association (BOA) rejected the idea of a central academy, preferring that each sport either set up its own training centre or continue to use an existing one. The following year the governing bodies of a string of sports publicly voiced their opposition to a centralised academy. Many viewed a ‘new build’ on a green-field site as a waste of money because adequate training facilities already existed in several locations. Undeterred, the Government invited bids from cities wishing to host the proposed academy. The first to come forward was Birmingham, which in collaboration with the city’s university proposed four sites linked to established training centres in the Midlands. By the end of 1996, the number of prospective host candidates had risen to 26, a figure later short-listed to 13. These were to be evaluated for ‘technical and practical’ plans. In February 1997, the list was narrowed to three—Sheffield, Upper Heyford in Oxfordshire and a collaborative bid from Lilleshall National Sports Centre, the city of Nottingham and Loughborough University. Labour’s May 1997 election victory saw the decision put on hold. However, rather than shelve a project instigated by their predecessors, Labour threw more money at it, increasing the available Lottery funding by £60 million to £160 million and retaining the previous administration’s short-list of three. When Sheffield was announced as the chosen location of what was now to be called the ‘United Kingdom Sports Institute’, Chris Smith, the new Secretary of the Department of Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS), explained that the city offered ‘a cohesive site with good transport and infrastructure’. He added that Sheffield had ‘responded well to the Government’s strategy’ and ‘it already [has] extensive public investment in facilities’. This was not the end of the debate. Over the next year, the plans were scaled down due to what The Times called ‘a lack of interest from the governing bodies of most sports’ as

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they remained committed to their existing training centres. They also preferred more of the now re-christened English Institute of Sport’s proposed National Lottery funding to be directed towards them. The EIS was now to be centred more on the provision of sports science, medicine and research. In February 1999, the Government finally admitted that the idea of a single all-embracing sports academy was dead. Sheffield however was to be the ‘hub’ alongside various (mostly existing) satellite centres.16 Sheffield was now to get just £40 million, with the remainder of the promised £160 million distributed around the other sites. Construction of the EIS finally began in 2000. A second term in office for the Labour Government signalled a spurt in momentum. In June 2001, days after the General Election, Prime Minister Tony Blair’s ministerial reshuffle saw the appointment of Sheffielder Richard Caborn as Minister for Sport, replacing Kate Hoey. Shaking up a system where in his words ‘people don’t know what they are supposed to be delivering’, Caborn brought a new focus to the distribution of lottery funds and a demand for a method of measuring the value for money of the £250 million annually given to sport. Also tasked by Blair to deliver the nuts and bolts of the EIS and oversee its opening, Caborn wanted the facility to be independent of university and local authority administration. He thus turned to the Sheffield City Trust, a charity established in 1988,17 to operate the EIS, a role it similarly performed for venues built for the 1991 World Student Games (see later). When the EIS finally opened its doors, it was its long way removed from John Major’s vision.

Financial Strife Initially underused and understaffed, reservations were voiced as to what benefits might accrue from the EIS without more funding for its upkeep. Bryan English, the chief medical officer of UK Athletics, questioned why no lead physiotherapist had been appointed. English’s chief executive David Moorcroft warned: ‘We need to open a serious debate as to why this site is not properly staffed. How can we build such a marvellous set-up and then not exploit its obvious potential?’ On its opening, The Times described the EIS as a ‘white elephant’. Some clearly remained to be convinced of its usefulness. Despite the EIS not fulfilling the role he originally intended, Major proved to be something of a visionary as far as the provision of sporting facilities and funding was concerned. Some 18 months after the January

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1995 announcement of his plans, Britain performed dismally at the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games, finishing 36th in the medal table. Rowing pair Stephen Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent won the team’s sole gold medal. In response, the sport of track and field athletics was the first to formulate a plan aimed at improving future performance. Britain won six athletics medals in both 1992 (two golds, four bronzes) and 1996 (four silvers, two bronzes), but anticipating a decline with the retirements of several star performers, in November 1997 the sport’s administrators set up what it called the ‘World Class Performance Programme’, which aimed to identify and nurture their potential successors and secure funding to do so via the National Lottery. The ‘World Class Performance Programme’ subsequently developed into a scheme run by UK Sport18 for all aspiring Olympic medallists. By 2000, funding had run out because of falling National Lottery ticket sales.19 A 2001 ‘Elite Sports Funding Review’ headed by former Cabinet Minister Jack Cunningham sought a solution. Reporting that an additional £10 million per annum from the Exchequer was required to maintain existing funding levels—taking into account inflation— Cunningham declared that the system of funding in operation ‘does not work properly’ in that inherent bureaucracy and anomalies resulted in competitors of similar ability receiving different amounts. He also recommended a reduction in the number of athletes receiving funding from the existing figure of 650. But before Cunningham’s recommendations could be implemented another Government spending review got underway, resulting in the 63 sports previously receiving funding being reduced to 30, again as a result of declining National Lottery sales. Roger Draper, chief executive of Sport England,20 lamented: ‘We received £270 million in 1997 and only £170 million this year [2003]. The money is not there’. It was to be there in later years when the Government eventually decided that the pursuit of Olympic glory was worth funding to the tune of hundreds of millions of pounds.

The Road to London The July 2005 award of the 2012 Olympic Games to London was the catalyst for new Olympic medal targets to be set, funded by the DCMS and UK Sport. The goals were for Britain to climb to fourth in the Olympic medals table and increase its number of golds to at least 17 in 2012.21 To achieve such aims, the Government agreed to provide elite

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sport with several hundred million pounds annually from the Exchequer, the National Lottery and the private sector.22 But there were caveats. Reports in 2005 and 2006 published respectively by the National Audit Office (NAO)23 and the Committee of Public Accounts24 recognised the performance benefits of funding elite sport but raised concerns around the principle of return on expenditure. The latter body made recommendations as to the manner in which UK Sport should measure and report its own performance and manage funding—five years after Richard Caborn had made a similar demand. In its March 2008 report Preparing for Sporting Success at the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games and Beyond, the NAO expressed satisfaction that UK Sport had acted on most of the recommendations and had established accountable—some might say ruthless—criteria by which funding was allocated and its effectiveness subsequently judged.25 ,26 The effectiveness of National Lottery funding was remarkable: across all Olympic sports Britain won 15 medals (one gold) in 1996; 28 medals (11 golds) in 2000; 30 medals (nine golds) in 2004, 48 medals (19 golds) in 2008; 65 medals (29 golds) in 2012 and 67 medals (27 golds) in 2016. Britain’s place in the medal table climbed accordingly: 36th, tenth, tenth, fourth, third and second.27 However, the cost per medal in Rio de Janeiro in 2016 of almost £4.1 million raised queries from critics as to whether National Lottery money could have been better deployed elsewhere. This question could not be answered definitively.

Precious Metals: Out of Attercliffe Regardless of value-for-money considerations, the sporting facilities today at the EIS—alongside sports science and sports medicine departments within Sheffield’s two universities—make it an ideal host for multiple sporting events and international training camps. Owned and managed by Sheffield International Venues (SIV),28 the EIS is open to the public, who can pay to use the 200 metres indoor track, the gym and most of the other facilities. The boxing section however is dedicated to Olympic aspirants. The venue houses five full-size rings, one of which can be encased in a hermetically sealed bubble to imitate the climatic conditions the boxers might encounter in competition. The boxers have several daily training sessions—interspersed with rest and recovery—ranging from strength and conditioning to physiotherapy to sparring. The EIS receives funding at a level others competing in amateur boxing could only dream of.29 The

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2012–2016 cycle saw £13.8 million invested in Olympic boxing. Some 75% came from the National Lottery, the remainder from the Exchequer. Such income paid the salaries of various coaches, physiotherapists, analysts, sports scientists, nutritionists and medical practitioners, most of them university educated. It also funded 28 boxers (male and female) and bought two townhouses and 14 flats in the south-east of Sheffield for them to live in rent free. Such funding and provision exist as an oasis. The relative opulence of the EIS is in contrast to the hardship experienced by Sheffield’s amateur boxing clubs, which more often than not live hand-to-mouth. Furthermore, none of the staff employed in coaching boxing are from the city, and until Sheffield prospect Dalton Smith was called into the 2016 Olympic training squad, none of the boxers were from the city. When interviewed by Gary Armstrong in July 2016 none of the EIS boxing staff were aware of the significance of Attercliffe in the history of Sheffield boxing. One coach explained the absence of Sheffielders in the programme thus: ‘Locals want to go professional as soon as they can’. Perhaps the best boxing training facility in the world stands a couple of miles from the Ingle gym that has produced four world champions since 1995. The two places rarely interact.30

The Book of Joshua The catalyst for the relocation of England Boxing and GB Boxing to the EIS was an episode a few days before the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Frankie Gavin, a medal favourite, was unable to make the competition weight limit and withdrew. This farcical situation—and the fact that all eight of Britain’s 2008 Beijing boxers turned professional before the 2012 squad was selected—prompted a wholesale re-think amongst Britain’s amateur boxing hierarchy, which decided to train its Olympic boxers as a group at one location—the EIS—and also to house them together. Terry Edwards, the head coach in Beijing, was removed and replaced by Robert McCracken,31 who was given the title ‘Performance Director’. Daily weighing of the boxers became a priority; each had to be within three to 5% of their target weight. One failure brought a reprimand, two disciplinary action and three expulsion. None were expelled in the lead-up to either London 2012 or Rio 2016. The squad won three gold medals in London (Anthony Joshua, Nicola Adams and Luke Campbell), a silver (Fred Evans) and a bronze (Anthony Agogo). In Rio, the tally dropped

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to three (Adams gold, Joe Joyce silver, Joshua Buatsi bronze), but still hit GB Boxing’s target figure.32 The EIS can also boast it has produced a world champion. In April 2016, Anthony Joshua became just the third boxer in history after Cassius Clay (Muhammad Ali) and Leon Spinks to win a world heavyweight title whilst a reigning Olympic champion when he knocked out the previously unbeaten Charles Martin to win the IBF belt. Joshua subsequently added the WBA and WBO titles. Throughout this time, Joshua continued to train at the EIS, which did not sit well with promoter Frank Warren. In January 2016, Warren questioned why Joshua used the EIS when Robert McCracken’s salary came from public funds via UK Sport. Warren wondered whether Joshua was using McCracken’s services for free; if so, were UK Sport, GB Boxing and England Boxing happy with this arrangement? Warren did not receive an answer.33 Some 18 months later, Sheffield boxing promoter Dennis Hobson asked why Joshua was not more visible in the city in which he trains: The people of Sheffield see little of him. I think [they] deserve to see him establish a presence here. It would be great for him to be a role model to some of our up and coming kids, and passing on some of his experience. He’s already made for life and it’d be great to see him giving back, and it wouldn’t be too much of a chore for him to do that around Sheffield.

Such a statement shows that few have knowledge, even in professional boxing circles, that Joshua contributes financially to both his EIS training bills and to the development of the boxers that aspire to follow him to Olympic success; the furnishing of the 14 apartments in which the young boxers reside is testimony to his largesse.

Ladies in the House In 2009 the International Olympic Committee (IOC) voted to admit women’s boxing into the Games, but entry was conditional: just three weight divisions, compared with ten for men. Some women would thus have to lose weight, some gain weight and some may not be able to compete at all. In addition, women were to fight four two-minute rounds rather than the men’s three x three. Despite such caveats, the inclusion of female boxing was the culmination of a process that in less than 20 years saw such contests evolve from an activity that evoked horror and

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scorn in some quarters into one of acceptance and respectability amongst administrators and commentators. The modern-day women’s boxing movement in Britain had an inauspicious start. In May 1993, ‘eight women, a referee and about 60 dirty old men packed the banqueting room at a pub in Tooting’, which is how ten years later Steve Bunce described the goings-on in the Independent. The instigator was Sue Atkins, a Streatham gardener, who also formed a fledgling governing body for women’s boxing. She was mortified when her event was hijacked by voyeurs and ridiculed by the boxing press. It took another five years for the ABA to approve female boxing but the first sanctioned bout—between two 13-year-olds—was not universally welcomed. Writing in the Daily Mail, sports journalist Ian Wooldridge complained: Is there no one out there with the guts to defy the law as rewritten by the loony politically correct? I refer to the British Amateur Boxing Association’s pathetic surrender to permit schoolgirls belting the daylights out of one another for the entertainment of vicarious yobbos in a nightclub.

Professional boxing promoter Frank Maloney called it ‘a freak show’. Postponed twice as a result of protests, the fight eventually went ahead under a media embargo. Later in 1998 Lancashire-born Jane Couch became Britain’s first licensed female professional boxer after winning a sex discrimination case brought when the BBBC refused her permission to box on a (male) professional bill at London’s Wembley Arena, costing her a £10,000 purse. The BBBC’s stance was based on perceived physical weaknesses: women bruised too easily and it was inappropriate for them to box during menstruation. Such a defence was rejected by the tribunal, which awarded Couch £15,000 compensation. Despite Couch’s legal victory, discrimination against female boxers remained entrenched in some quarters. Gradually things began to change. In 1995 12-year-old Nicola Adams was taken by her mother to an aerobics class at a gym in the Burmantofts district of Leeds. It was an enlightened place, allowing Adams, the only girl there, to join in boxing training. She took to it immediately. The problem was that Adams was not allowed to fight competitively—it was four years between her first exhibition bout and her first recognised ABA contest, in 1999. Honours soon followed: Adams was the first female boxer to represent England in 2001. Meanwhile, in May 2003 the first

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female national boxing championships took place at the Metropolitan Police College, Hendon, North London. One competitor was Kristine Shergold, whose total of nine career contests made her one of the more experienced contenders. In 2001, Shergold and her main rival Mickila Jones were amongst a group of women whose skills were assessed by Britain’s Olympic coach Ian Irwin. The objective was to decide if any were good enough to compete in the first female world championships in Pennsylvania, USA, later that year. None were selected. However, one of their number, Tiffany Lynch, was selected to compete in the 2003 ‘Police and Fire Officer Games’ in Barcelona. By the time of the Hendon championships Adams, then aged 20, was a veteran of 12 contests and was one of England’s only two current international representatives. From 2004 the women’s amateur championships were held in conjunction with the men’s. This was real progress. Adams too was progressing; in 2007 she became the first British woman to win a European championship medal and was the first to win a world championship medal the following year. In doing so, she challenged perceptions and changed opinions. Her inclusion in the 2012 Olympic boxing programme allowed her to spar with men and enabled her to enjoy the £27,737 per year tax-free funding Olympic athletes received from UK Sport. Furthermore, accommodation, meals and a sponsored car were provided. But such advantages meant nothing without self-belief and single-minded determination. At London 2012 two wins took Adams to a final against the Chinese Ren Cancan, who had beaten her in the 2012 world championship final. Adams gained revenge with a points victory to become the first woman in history to win an Olympic boxing gold. Winning her second gold in Rio in 2016, Adams was the first British boxer to retain an Olympic title since Harry Mallin in 1920 and 1924. When asked whether boxing was too violent for women, she replied: ‘I’ve never had a black eye or a split lip. The women’s game is about skills rather than power. My coaches have always stressed defence. If they can’t hit you, they can’t score – and you can’t get hurt’. Brendan Ingle would undoubtedly have nodded his approval to such words.34,35

Cannonball and the Sensation The EIS today is just one of many centres of boxing training within and around Sheffield. In 2016, England Boxing’s website www.abae.co.uk listed 21 venues within four miles of Sheffield city centre where amateur

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boxing was taught and practised competitively. Despite the number of clubs, amateur national senior titles won by Sheffield boxers are rare; just six from the city have won national ABA titles. The first three were Henry Hall, Bill Thompson and Ronnie Bissell, all in 1944 (see Volume 1). It was 65 years before a repeat performance, when Liam ‘Cannonball’ Cameron of Steel City ABC won the ABA welterweight championship, appropriately at the EIS. Cameron had the option of trying to make the 2012 Olympic squad but the prospect of three more years as an amateur did not appeal. Turning professional, his first contest was a victory over Matt Scriven, for which he earned £1400. Subsequently finding fights hard to come by, Cameron claimed that nobody wanted to fight him as he was not considered a big enough attraction. Out of the ring for a year from October 2015, two fight cancellations cost him £6000 in training fees, medical bills and lost work in his roofing ‘day job’. The outlook improved when he landed a challenge for the vacant Commonwealth super-middleweight title against home favourite Zac Dunn in Melbourne in November 2016. A career-high £12,000 purse made the long trip even more enticing. Cameron produced an excellent defensive display but suffered two broken hands and a broken nose as he lost by a wide points margin. An all-Sheffield contest against Commonwealth middleweight champion Sam Sheedy in October 2017 was perhaps Cameron’s last shot at the big time. It was the first major title contest between two Sheffield boxers since Ryan Rhodes beat Paul ‘Silky’ Jones in 1996. Cameron produced the best performance of his career, stopping the champion in the eighth after knocking him down three times in the fourth. He had a successful defence in May 2018, stopping Nicky Jenman, but two months later was suspended after a drugs test found traces of cocaine in his system. Blaming the positive test on either a course of antibiotics prescribed for a tooth infection or handling contaminated banknotes (‘I live in a rough part of Sheffield,’ he said), Cameron, stripped of his title and suspended for four years for refusing to accept responsibility, vowed to clear his name. There are several other contemporary Sheffield-based boxers with decent records. In July 2020, Walkley-based Sam ‘The Sensation’ O’maison’s record stood at 16 wins, three defeats and a draw. A postman by day, O’maison won the English light-welterweight title in April 2018, but lost it in September 2019. Featherweight Jordan ‘The Thrill’ Gill moved from Cambridgeshire to Sheffield to train with the Ingles, before leaving to train with Dave Coldwell in Rotherham. In July 2020,

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Gill’s record stood at 24 wins and one defeat, including lifting the Commonwealth featherweight title. Intake-based super-flyweight Tommy Frank—trained by Glyn Rhodes—has made an unbeaten start to his career. Frank’s early successes raised the intriguing prospect of Sheffield becoming the focal point of British boxing’s small men as he, Charlie Edwards, Kyle Yousaf, Sunny Edwards, Loua Nassa and Waleed Din were all highly rated. Meanwhile, the Ingle gym can still attract fighters from far and wide. Its 2020 stable included Scotsman Willy Hutchinson, Irishmen Lee Reeves and John Joyce, Welshman Liam Williams, Belgian Yves Ngabu and Liverpool’s Robbie Davies Junior.36

Making a Din Waleed Din was the next Sheffield-based national amateur champion to follow Liam Cameron into the uncertain world of professionalism. In 2013, boxing out of Sheffield Lane Top Boxing Club in Firth Park, Din became Sheffield’s fifth ABA champion when he beat Luqmaan Patel of Earlsfield ABC on a disqualification.37 Making his professional debut in September 2014 when stopping Mikheil Soloninkini, Din was to challenge for the Commonwealth flyweight title a year later in just his eighth fight, but was stopped by Thomas Essomba. Before the contest, Din was in the unusual situation of easily making the weight. Essomba however added several pounds between the weigh-in and the first bell, and dwarfed Din in the ring. Following a victory in his next fight—as a bantamweight—Din sought to terminate his contract with promoter and manager Dennis Hobson. Unhappy that Hobson was finding larger opponents after Din had requested to fight at light-flyweight or minimum weight38 the boxer sought a promoter with connections in Asia and Central America, from where many of the world’s best small boxers hail. Hobson and his business partner Asif Vali subsequently agreed to release Din from his contract provided Hobson could remain as his manager. In July 2020 Din’s record stood at ten wins and one defeat, but he had not fought for over a year. Other Sheffield-based contenders have travels and travails to explain their motivation. Some individuals who arrive in the city personify processes that were unknown to much of the Sheffield public decades earlier. Boxing provides a platform for such narratives.

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The Immigrant Connection Sheffield has for many decades had a reputation for welcoming refugees and asylum-seekers. This was recognised in June 2007 when—with the support of the City Council and over 70 local community organisations— Sheffield was named Britain’s first ‘City of Sanctuary’. This movement began in October 2005 in Sheffield with the aim of building a culture of hospitality for people from across the globe seeking refuge from war and persecution. A network of over 80 support groups was set up across the UK and the Republic of Ireland using the ‘City of Sanctuary’ theme. Practical assistance was given in the form of providing premises for social gatherings and meetings and locating accommodation for new arrivals. The stated objectives such as befriending and listening, helping build constructive lives and raising awareness of the plight of refugees amongst the wider community were abstract but nevertheless admirable. Begun with a modest £12,200 budget thanks to charitable donations, by 2015 the national City of Sanctuary organisation employed five full-time staff who oversaw an annual income of £215,000 obtained from a host of charitable trusts. Sport had a role to play in helping the indigenous and newly arrived live together. Under-represented in British sport—except for cricket—the boxing ring provides an arena in which young men of Asian ethnicity— whether born overseas or locally—can excel. In Sheffield, the Qatar-born Kid Galahad is currently the best-known example. Following him are Kyle Yousaf, Waleed Din, Uzair Najib, Razaq Najib, Kuwait-born Anwar Alfadli, Qasim Hussain, Yemen-born Muheeb Fazeldin, Atif Shafiq, Kash Ali and the Nassa brothers, Loua, Ramzy, Pharys and Hakeem. Perhaps the most promising of these is the unbeaten flyweight39 Yousaf. Nicknamed ‘Golden Kid’, Yousaf made his professional debut in February 2015 on a night that saw supporters of two of the above come to blows inside the ring after the contest. Super-bantamweights Uzair Najib, from Park Hill, and Burngreave’s Muheen Fazeldin, hitherto both unbeaten, met at the University of Sheffield’s Octagon Centre for the Central Area title. The pair had bad-mouthed one another at a pre-fight press conference. When Fazeldin knocked Najib out in the first round spectators climbed into the ring and brawled. Yousaf’s earlier debut win over Anwar Alfadli was somewhat forgotten amidst the controversy.40

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Sport, we can surmise, does not dissipate angry spirits. It is not the panacea for all social ills. It can however extend the possibilities of acceptance and friendship.

The Asylum Seeker Many boxers have a ‘back story’ but few can match that of Serge Ambomo, who in August 2012 disappeared from the London Olympic athletes’ village, along with four other members of the Cameroon boxing team. His flight was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. Months later he told the BBC: ‘As soon as I got on the plane to come to England, I knew I was saved’. From what he did not elaborate upon but the fact that team officials confiscated his passport and told him it would not be returned unless he won a medal might provide a clue. Ambomo lost his only contest, which he claimed was not surprising because the same officials had failed to organise any training facilities. Team captain Thomas Essomba was the only one of the squad to win a bout; he lost his second. Concerned about their fate on returning home, the five (plus a swimmer and a female footballer) sought safe-haven with Cameroonian expatriates in London. A week later the boxers were discovered training in a London gym. Their visas were valid until November 2012; they thus had three months to add their names to the 25,000–35,000 annually who apply for political asylum in Britain.41 The Cameroon Government dismissed their claims, stating they were economic, not political, migrants. The boxers’ initial applications failed, but with the support of church groups they were given ‘temporary leave to remain’, before later being granted asylum. Two of them found places to live in Sunderland, one in Middlesbrough, one in Rotherham and Ambomo in Sheffield. All wanted to become professional boxers in their adopted homes. Soon after arriving in Sheffield, Ambomo was taken by a Congolese church pastor to Glyn Rhodes’ Sheffield Boxing Centre. Accustomed to all kinds of characters walking through the gym’s doors, Rhodes took the entry of the heavily muscled African with a Mohican hairstyle in his stride. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the new arrival was not ‘just some kid from Wybourn’ but someone who had boxed at international level as an amateur. His life story was in Rhodes’ words one that appealed to established boxers. So impressed were gym regulars with Ambomo’s ability that they collected £500 to pay for his application for a BBBC professional licence. Contrasting Ambomo’s keenness with

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the ambivalence of local youths, Rhodes added: ‘Kids around here don’t know they’re born. We’ve got some who live at the top of the street but are too busy on their Xbox or iPad to come to training. Compare that to what Serge has been through’. Ambomo won his first two professional fights before a May 2014 meeting with Sheffielder Jerome Wilson, which Ambomo won on points. A re-match was arranged; it was to prove career defining for both. Described by the Sheffield Star as a bout between a ‘skilled boxer’ (Wilson) and a ‘rough-house in-fighter’ (Ambomo), the Cameroonian floored Wilson in round two, then stood over him and made a militarystyle salute. In the final round Wilson went down again. As the punch landed Ambomo lost his balance and landed on his stricken opponent. He kissed Wilson’s forehead, then after rising made a throat-slitting motion with his glove. Rhodes was the first to see something was wrong, jumping into the ring to place Wilson in the recovery position. After treatment by paramedics the unconscious Wilson was taken to hospital, where he underwent cranial surgery. Apologising for his actions, Ambomo said he had been overcome by emotion when he knocked Wilson out. Comatose for ten days, Wilson recovered but with a quarter of his skull replaced by a titanium plate. He later co-authored a book titled Wiped Out? The Jerome Wilson Story. This emotional and intimate account recounted the times he fluttered in and out of consciousness, unable to differentiate between what was real and imagined as relatives and medical staff gathered round. Today Wilson works as fitness trainer in Sheffield. Whilst Ambomo’s health remained intact, his boxing career was in tatters. Found guilty of misconduct by the BBBC, he was fined £3000. Living on benefits, he was unable to pay; his licence was thus suspended. Meanwhile, Glyn Rhodes stated when interviewed by Gary Armstrong in 2017: ‘He kissed his prostrate opponent on the head. It didn’t sit right with me. I asked him to make a public statement regretting that action and sending good wishes to the kid. He was reluctant to do so. We parted company. That’s all I can say really’. Ambomo continued training, hoping for a sponsor or benefactor. In 2016, the South Yorkshire-based promoter Neil Marsh negotiated a deal with the BBBC that would see Ambomo’s licence restored on the proviso that he would forfeit half his future purses until the fine was paid. Ambomo won his return bout but then lost his perfect record when defeated by James Metcalf. After this, a string of defeats to young

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prospects showed that Ambomo was now happy to take on the ‘journeyman’ role to make a living. In July 2020, Ambomo’s record stood at seven wins, 20 defeats and two draws. To him, anything was better than having to return to Cameroon; he was now resident in a multi-cultural city that was much changed over the previous 30 years.

Notes 1. According to www.boxrec.com the number of active licensed professional male boxers in the United Kingdom at any one time totals around 1030. In contrast there are only a dozen or so females in the same category. 2. Other sources argue for different numbers. 3. Boxing in Northern Ireland is one of the few aspects of life in which religion scarcely matters. Fighters such as Barry McGuigan, Dave McAuley and Carl Frampton drew or draw support from both the Protestant and Catholic communities. Liverpool, which has one of the largest Irish populations in England, experienced sectarian violence in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, particularly in 1909 when Catholics and Protestants clashed in the streets carrying weapons. In 1885, Liverpool became the first English city to elect an Irish Nationalist MP (T. P. O’Connor) to the UK Parliament. O’Connor retained the seat until his death in 1929. 4. Sheffield United FC were Football League champions in 1898 and FA Cup winners in 1899, 1902, 1915 (see Bell 2011) and 1925. Sheffield Wednesday FC won the League championship in 1903, 1904, 1929 and 1930 and the FA Cup in 1896, 1907 and 1935. Sheffield’s Hallamshire Harriers were national and regional cross-country champions several times in the early twentieth century and provided Olympic medallists Harold Wilson in 1908, Ernest Glover and William Cotterill in 1912 and Ernest Harper in 1936 (see Bell and Armstrong 2014). Sheffield-born cricketers George Ulyett and Ted Wainwright represented both Yorkshire County Cricket Club and England in the late 1800s. Playing many of their games at Sheffield’s Bramall Lane, Yorkshire were County Cricket champions 21 times between 1893 and 1939. Bramall Lane hosted five international football matches between 1883 and 1930, a Test cricket match in 1902 and an FA Cup final in 1912, becoming the second stadium after London’s Kennington Oval to stage all three events. Bramall Lane was also the location of the world’s first floodlit football match in 1887. 5. There are many establishments in Sheffield where MMA/combat sports are taught and practised. Such clubs often exhibit names designed to appeal to prospective members, such as ‘Dragons’, ‘Pride’, ‘Shootfighters’, ‘Powers’, ‘Eagle’, ‘Falcon’ and ‘Excel’.

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6. American cruiserweight Roy Jones once held six ‘world championship’ belts simultaneously. British super-middleweight Robin Reid fought for seven different ‘world titles’, winning three of them. 7. Taylor served prison time for firearms offences and assault. In his defence, a psychiatrist blamed Taylor’s ‘significant difficulty with impulse control’ on brain injuries caused by boxing, combined with marijuana and alcohol consumption. 8. According to its website, WME-IMG is ‘the nexus of sport, entertainment and fashion’. 9. Based on a 1996 novel by Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club is a 1999 film directed by David Fincher, starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton. Norton plays an unnamed man unhappy with his white-collar job. He and Pitt’s character Tyler Durden form a ‘fight club’. The pair are joined by other men who also wish to fight recreationally. 10. A similar form of ‘fight night’ is popular amongst university students, with charity events being held in 2018 and 2019 at—amongst other seats of learning—the Universities of Cardiff, Exeter, Bath, Glasgow, St Andrews and Oxford Brookes, sometimes in front of crowds numbering in the high hundreds. 11. In 2014, Lance Ferguson-Prayogg died two days after being seriously injured in a white-collar fight in Nottingham. Four years later Ben Sandiford from Crewe suffered bleeding on the brain and two cardiac arrests, spending 17 days in hospital after participating in a charity boxing challenge. 12. The ABA re-branded as ‘England Boxing’ in 2013. 13. Established in October 2008 to train and develop a team of boxers for the Olympic Games, GB Boxing is the organisation responsible for Great Britain’s international amateur boxing teams. It is separate from England Boxing, which represents England’s amateur boxing clubs. 14. An advisory council for sports was first established by Labour Minister for Sport Denis Howell in 1965. Re-named the Sports Council in 1972, the organisation increased levels of financial backing to British amateur teams competing at major events, assisted clubs in improving their infrastructure and helped local authorities with the capital costs of new facilities. 15. Opened in 1981, the Australian Institute of Sport is a Canberra-based sports training institution that has produced many notable athletes and coaches. 16. EIS ‘high performance’ satellites exist at Bath, Birmingham, Bisham Abbey, Holme Pierrepoint, Lee Valley, Lilleshall, Loughborough, Milton Keynes and Manchester. 17. Caborn’s successor as Sheffield Central MP, Paul Blomfield, was a trustee of the Sheffield City Trust from 1994 to 1997 and chairman from 1997

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to 2008. The Trust was founded with the aims of: (i) providing recreational and other leisure facilities of a high standard and as economically as possible; (ii) promoting the physical health of the inhabitants of Sheffield, (iii) encouraging the arts, and the acquisition, preservation, restoration and maintenance of buildings of historical interest in Sheffield. UK Sport is part of the Department for Culture, Media and Sport. Succeeding the Sports Council in 1997, it is responsible for promoting sport in the UK and distributing Government funding and National Lottery grants to athletes and sports governing bodies. Annual National Lottery ticket sales (in millions) were: 1995—3426; 1996—3895; 1997—4644; 1998—4592; 1999—4243; 2000—4264; 2001—3860; 2002—3555; 2003—3212; 2004—3227; 2005—3125; 2006—2882; 2007—2723; 2008—2742; 2009—2665; 2010—2639; 2011—2566; 2012—2385; 2013—2359; 2014—2611; 2015—2548; 2016—2402; 2017—1988; 2018—1863; 2019—1925 (figures from www.lottery.merseyworld.com). Sport England is part of the Department for Culture, Media and Sport and is responsible for sport in England at community and grassroots level. Sport England has counterparts in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Both targets were achieved four years earlier in Beijing and bettered in London. The monies allocated from all sources for each Olympic Games after 1996 were: Sydney 2000—£58.9 million; Athens 2004—£71 million; Beijing 2008—£235.1 million; London 2012—£264.1 million; Rio 2016—£274.5 million; Tokyo 2020—£266.5 million. Formed in 1983, the National Audit Office is an independent Parliamentary body responsible for auditing central Government departments, Government agencies and non-departmental public bodies. Formed by an Act of Parliament in 1866, the Committee of Public Accounts is an all-party House of Commons Select Committee responsible for overseeing Government expenditures to ensure they are effective and honest. In the 2007–2008 financial year, UK Sport received and allocated £67.4 million from the Exchequer and £49.5 million from the National Lottery. The latter figure amounted to 22.8% of all National Lottery Sports Funds and 3.8% of all National Lottery proceeds. Handball, basketball, table tennis and wrestling lost National Lottery funding after the London 2012 Olympics. Swimming and volleyball suffered big funding reductions. Britain’s 2016 performance was aided by the absence of Russian competitors after the World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) uncovered evidence of state-sponsored drug-taking in that country. Nevertheless, it was the first

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time in history that a country had improved its medal tally at the Games immediately after it had hosted the event. A not-for-profit company, SIV is the operational arm of the Sheffield City Trust. SIV also operates iceSheffield, Ponds Forge International Sports Centre, Sheffield (FlyDSA) Arena, Woodbourn Road Athletics Centre, Tinsley Park Golf Course, Beauchief Golf Course, Birley Wood Golf Course, Concord Sports Centre, Hillsborough Leisure Centre and Sheffield City Hall. In 2016, the EIS received £67.4 million from UK Sport, whilst its number of employees reached some 300. There have been some exchanges; Kell Brook once visited the EIS with trainer Dominic Ingle and gave a sparring exhibition, whilst in 2017 double Olympic champion Nicola Adams trained for a while at the Ingle gym. McCracken won the British light-middleweight and middleweight titles. Had the target figure not been reached GB Boxing would have lost some of its UK Sport funding. Great Britain’s performances at previous Olympics were: 1992—ten boxers, one bronze medal (Robin Reid); 1996—two boxers, no medals; 2000—two boxers, one gold medal (Audley Harrison); 2004—one boxer, one silver medal (Amir Khan); 2008—six boxers, one gold medal (James DeGale), two bronze medals (Tony Jeffries, David Price). The McCracken/Joshua arrangement was not the first of this type; McCracken had previously trained world super-middleweight champion Carl Froch. Adams turned professional in 2017, winning five and drawing one. She retired in 2019. Research in 2015 by Sport England reported that 164,300 people over the age of 13 participated in boxing-related activity at least once a week, of which 39,400 were female. In July 2020 these boxers’ records stood at: Hutchinson (lightheavyweight) 11-0; Reeves (welterweight) 5-1; Joyce (middleweight) 2-0; Williams (middleweight) 22-2-1; Ngabu (cruiserweight) 20-1; Davies (light-welterweight) 20-2. Sunny Edwards (see Chapter 5) became the sixth Sheffield-based national ABA champion in 2015. Also known as straw-weight, the category has an upper limit of 105 lbs (47.6 kg). In July 2020 Yousaf’s professional record stood at 16 wins out of 16. The University of Sheffield banned boxing events from the Octagon Centre after this disturbance. Athletes from Congo, Eritrea, Guinea, Ivory Coast and Sudan also absconded from London 2012 seeking political asylum.

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References Atyeo, D. (1979). Blood and Guts: Violence in Sports. Grosset & Dunlap. Bell, M. (2011). Red, White & Khaki: The Story of the Only Wartime FA Cup Final. Peakpublish. Bell, M., & Armstrong, G. (2014). Steel and Grace: The Lives and Times of Sheffield’s Olympic Medallists. Bennion Kearny. Bunce, S. (2017). Bunce’s Big Fat History of British Boxing: Five Decades of Unforgettable Fights. Bantam. City of Sanctuary. (2016). Annual Report 2015/16. City of Sanctuary. Davids, M. (2007). Gloved Ones: White-Collar Boxing. The Journal of Business Strategy, 15, 4. Elias, N. (1986). An Essay on Sport and Violence. In N. Elias & E. Dunning (Eds.), Quest for Excitement. Basil Blackwell. Green, T. A., & Svinth, J. R. (2003). Martial Arts in the Modern World. Praeger. Grosley, P. J. (1772). A Tour to London, or, New Observations on England and Its Inhabitants, Volume 1. Lockyer Davis. Hauser, T. (1987). Black Lights: Inside the World of Professional Boxing. Pan. Kim, S., Greenwell, T. C., Andrew, D. P., Lee, J., & Mahony, D. F. (2008). An Analysis of Spectator Motives in an Individual Combat Sport: A Study of Mixed Martial Arts Fans. Sport Marketing Quarterly, 17, 109–119. Little, R. J., & Wong, F. C. (2000). Ultimate Martial Arts Encyclopedia. McGraw-Hill. National Audit Office. (2008). Preparing for Sporting Success at the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games and Beyond. The Stationery Office. Neal, F. (2003). Sectarian Violence: The Liverpool Experience, 1819–1914—An Aspect of Anglo-Irish History. Newsham Press. Oden, E. J. (2005). White Collar Boxing: One Man’s Journey from the Office to the Ring. Hatherleigh Press. Paris, J. (2005). White Collar Boxing: Pencil Pushers Find Their Uppercut. Manitoba Business, 27, 6. Runnymede. (2012). Sheffield Migration Stories. Runnymede. Satterlund, D. T. (2012). Real, But Not too Real: A Hierarchy of Reality for Recreational Middle-Class Boxers. Sociological Perspectives, 55(3), 529–551. Scott, D. H. T. (2017). Boxing: from Male Vocation to Neurotic Masculinity. Sport in History, 37 (4), 469–487. Solomos, J. (2003). Race and Racism in Britain. Palgrave Macmillan. Sproat, I. (1996). Sport: Raising the Game; the Government’s Strategy for Sport. Department of National Heritage. UK Sport. (2008). Annual Report 2007–2008. The Stationery Office. Vey, J. (2007). Restoring Prosperity: The State Role in Revitalizing America’s Older Industrial Cities. Brookings Institution.

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Wade, A. (2006). Wrecking Machine: A Tale of Real Fights and White Collars. Pocket Books. Wilson, J., & Turley, M. (2015). Wiped Out? The Jerome Wilson Story. Pitch Publishing.

CHAPTER 7

Decline and Revival

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol.4, No.40, 1902] (out of copyright). ‘We were in Sheffield today … and in all my life I never was in so stinking, dirty and savage a place. Altogether I never witnessed a scene of more

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_7

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idleness and filth in my life.’ – Lady Caroline Stuart-Wortley, wife of James Stuart-Wortley MP, 1801.1 ‘The glove contests of to-day, under strict rules that confine contestants to delivering blows with gloved hands and avoiding punishment … have become scientific engagements, testing the skill and powers of endurance, and men of culture, wealth and high social standing have become patrons of the manly art of self-defense.’—The New Orleans Daily Picayune, 1892.

The inclusivity and achievement evidenced in Sheffield boxing come at a cost. The city initially sought to reverse its 1980s industrial decline itself, rebelling against ‘Thatcherite’ dogma before a series of self-inflicted financial calamities saw it heading cap-in-hand to central Government for assistance. The late 1980s through to the 2000s thus brought private and Government-funded renewal to Sheffield in the shape of infrastructure, cultural identity projects and modern forms of industry. There was one contest, however, that Sheffield had to fight—and pay for—by itself, the long-term impact of which is still argued over 30 years later. This event transformed a dearth of sporting facilities into an abundance, but cost the city £150 million. The infrastructure of the city changed and to an extent so did boxing, in terms of the contrast between the indigenous (i.e. the local clubs that existed hand-to-mouth) and the imported (i.e. the lavish boxing training facilities enjoyed by Olympic hopefuls at the EIS). Issues of inequality remained and what wealth arrived in the city was often from distant lands and benefited niche industries and services. Physical strength was no longer in such demand in Sheffield’s occupational bedrock but it was still admired for its own sake.

Student Bodies The 1991 World Student Games (also known as the 16th ‘Universiade’) was the first—and only—time the event has been staged in the UK. Before the 1987 award of the Games to Sheffield, few people in the city had heard of the event, despite the fact that two of the city’s best-known track and field athletes, husband and wife John and Sheila Sherwood, won medals at the 1967 Tokyo Universiade. If the staging of the 1991 Games is remembered in Sheffield at all, it is for the huge financial burden it left the city. Acquiring the Games proved easy—no other cities made a bid2 —paying for it was more problematic.

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In 1986, the British Students Sports Federation (BSSF) invited British cities to tender to stage the 1991 Universiade. Sheffield City Council was the only one to respond positively. There was a political motive. The BSSF’s invitation coincided with a period in which the council was looking for ways to promote and redevelop a city in the midst of economic and industrial turmoil affecting the trades Sheffield and its region were built on. The steel industry was in rapid decline3 and coal production had undergone major contractions following the 1985 end of the year-long miners’ strike. The council pushed for the Games in the hope that sport and related cultural activities could be used as a catalyst for the regeneration of both the city’s image and its post-industrial economy in which four out of every ten households were reliant on state benefits. There may also have been an element of ‘bread and circuses’ in the council’s pursuit of the Games, i.e. entertaining the people with a major sporting event that the whole city could feel a part of, however vicariously. It might be argued that the Games provided an example of sport being used as a vehicle of political antagonism. This era was one of profound political division. Under Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative Government, Sheffield’s primary sources of manufacturing employment were decimated, in part due to Tory legislation. Large areas of derelict and sometimes polluted land appeared as factories were closed and demolished. During this period, Sheffield’s unemployment rate rose from 4% in 1978 to 15.5% in 1984.4 This cauldron of economic and social deprivation reinforced the city’s anti-Tory sentiments.

Facilitating Debt The significance of these events may have contributed to the City Council’s determination to host the Games despite the potential financial shortfall, which was exacerbated by the collapse of a promised television broadcasting deal and commercial sponsorships. The Tory Government meanwhile remained virulently anti-Sheffield; a 1992 statement by Mike Bower, then leader of the Labour-controlled council, illustrated this: ‘The [Games] had the verbal backing of Margaret Thatcher as Prime Minister but the Government failed to offer adequate help towards direct running costs. We feel the lack of support is just one example of the Government’s hostility towards the city’. The 1991 Universiade was another

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strand of the ongoing battle between left and right of the political spectrum.5 Without external funding, Sheffield was unilaterally committed to the financial costs of providing for the facilities. It was an investment that proved controversial. Sheffield’s taxpayers even today are covering debts from the Games to the tune of around £25–£30 million per year; it has been estimated they will continue to do so until 2024. So where did it all go wrong? The council set up a private company by the name of ‘Universiade GB Limited’ to organise the event. Raising monies for the Games proved enormously difficult; in June 1990, the company folded with debts of £3 million, resulting in the council assuming responsibility. Later that year, concerns were raised in the district auditor’s report on Director of Games Administration Ray Gridley’s handling of finances. Auditor G. W. Sutton, whilst recognising Gridley’s commitment, accused him of ‘being less than candid about the financial state of affairs’. It was also reported that serious miscalculations had been made regarding income from sponsorship, ticket sales, marketing and merchandise. The audit report found that the predicted budget income from ticket sales of £1.663 million was based on high attendances at every event. However, ticket sales up to June 1991 generated just £40,000, suggesting that the level of public interest was negligible. It was too late for the council to pull out of its commitment. There were originally three monetary projections for the event—£17 million, £21 million and £27 million—with each costing matched to an equivalent income to produce a ‘nil cost’. Yet even the largest projection was a long way off the eventual £147 million staging and construction costs.6 The district auditor’s report suggested that Gridley bore great responsibility for this financial mistake, yet others were also culpable. When the figures entered the public domain, protest graffiti was painted on city-centre walls proclaiming ‘Three weeks of games, 30 years of debt’. Unsurprisingly, council leaders came in for criticism from local taxpayers. Cutbacks in council services were inevitable as a consequence; hundreds of council jobs were lost, libraries and public toilets were closed and authority-run residential homes for the elderly were sold into private ownership.

White Elephants and Assets With the annual debt payments continuing to eat into Sheffield City Council’s ever-restricted budget, many have questioned whether hosting

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the Games was worth it. There is no easy answer. The Games left a legacy that helped put Sheffield on the sporting and cultural map. The city built several world-class multi-use venues and renovated the decaying Victorian-era Lyceum Theatre for associated cultural events. The Lyceum continues to stage nationally renowned plays and musicals. The citycentre Hyde Park flats complex was refurbished as an athletes’ village. Today, it is used for social housing. In 1995, the Sports Council awarded Sheffield the title of Britain’s first ‘National City of Sport’ in recognition of the city’s ongoing contribution and commitment to sport. Furthermore, due to the city’s investment in its sporting infrastructure, Sheffield won the right to become the hub of the EIS, as detailed earlier. Indeed, Sheffield City Councillor Peter Price claimed in 2012 on his personal website: Sport was one piece of Sheffield’s regeneration jigsaw and I believe it was the economic catalyst that began the transformation. I am convinced that if the city had not taken the controversial decision to invest £150 million in new facilities, then our city would not be where it is today and would certainly be a much sadder place.

The city has become a centre for sporting excellence, attracting international sporting events to its venues and athletes from around the globe to the EIS. Indeed, the 1991 Universiade left a legacy that helped create Olympic champions Jessica Ennis-Hill,7 Nicola Adams, Anthony Joshua and Luke Campbell. Nevertheless, what is essentially an issue of cost versus benefit can be argued both ways: the answer to the question ‘worth it or not worth it?’ is a matter of opinion, not fact. Facilities such as Sheffield Arena and the Ponds Forge sports complex proved to be assets for the city, but others did not. The Waltheof sports hall, a building also commissioned for the World Student Games, was demolished in 2006, and in November 2013, demolition commenced of Don Valley Stadium, the main site of the World Student Games and a facility that cost £29 million to build. The stadium’s running and maintenance costs had proved prohibitive. This not only exposed an absence of financial considerations concerning the maintenance of facilities but also a lack of long-term planning.

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Social Distancing The positive impact of sporting facilities can, however, be measured in more than financial terms; sport possesses the capacity to do what we might term ‘social good’. To this end, recent years have seen the recognition of boxing in certain political circles as beneficial to the moral fibre of the nation, leading to its promotion in some state schools. Between its 2007 re-admission to the curriculum and 2015, the number of schools teaching (non-contact) boxing increased from 20 to 3,200. The 2015 All-Party Parliamentary Group on Boxing report titled The Right Hook spoke of boxing’s ability to reduce crime and keep the wayward on the straight and narrow, even advocating that boxing training be trialled in prisons in order to focus and control aggression amongst inmates.8 The anecdotal nature of the boxing-as-salvation lobby was perhaps recognised when the report called for the 900 or so boxing clubs in Britain to collect data so as to improve the evidence base for any applications for Government funding. It also highlighted the apparent contrast between the effectiveness of the social and community work carried out—sometimes inadvertently—by boxing clubs with the ineffectiveness of grand Government schemes designed to do the same thing. In general, the report would lead a reader to believe that boxing clubs achieved much better outcomes at a vastly cheaper cost. Perhaps considerations around both community and individual welfare come naturally to the people who run and populate boxing clubs. On one level, this is because of where many of them are situated. England Boxing chief executive Gethin Jenkins explained to the BBC in June 2020 that around 40% of his organisation’s affiliated clubs resided in the 20% most deprived areas in the country. The boxing gym is thus embedded in the social reality of deprivation and inequality. On another level—as illustrated in this analysis—the gym is home to a plethora of redemptive processes; it houses that ambition as much as it does the pursuit of Lonsdale belts. The gym and its practices and people are transformative in so many ways. The crucial figures in such places know that the world is complicated. They also recognise that people who are struggling implicitly accept that what they are promoting and instructing can help in ways that do not require formal explanations. The 2020 COVID-19 pandemic saw many boxing clubs set up food banks and mental health support services on their premises, which provided another example of the inherent good in their collective make-up. Jenkins commented: ‘I have come from football

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and rugby [adminstration] and… if [these sports] did [this], it would be shouted from the rooftops. You go to [boxing] clubs and say, “Why did you not make more of this?” and they say, “This is just what we do”. They think it’s normal’. And what this research has—hopefully—taught is the understated social welfare ethos of the boxing gym that in many instances finds a role for those seeking something intangible. It meanwhile ensures a place of safety and sanctuary and allows those who enter to learn that lives can be changed in various ways. The ever-present possibility of pain—and indeed death—we might speculate makes for an appreciation of mortality even if it arrives via inhaled droplets as opposed to punches.9 Whilst accepting that combat sports are the only ones wherein contestants deliberately try to hurt each other, the fatality rates of various sports were also highlighted in The Right Hook; horse racing led the way with 128 fatalities per 100,000 participants. The comparative rates for other sports were: • • • • • • •

Sky diving 123/100,000 Hang gliding 55/100,000 Mountaineering 51/100,000 Scuba diving 11/100,000 Motorcycle racing 7/100,000 US college football 3/100,000 Boxing 1.3/100,000

Such figures are instructive. The report concluded that boxing needed to overcome ignorance and prejudice amongst both the public and those with the power to make political decisions and award funding. Its central argument was that sport—and in particular boxing—could play a crucial role in turning individuals’ lives around. This conclusion was nothing new; much of a similar nature had been said in various Government documents since the Wolfenden Report of 1960 (see Volume One). The perceived ability of a sporting practice to prevent certain behaviours had particular relevance in Britain towards the end of the second decade of the twenty-first century, when evidence pointed towards a rise in violent crime against the person. In September 2018, London suffered its 100th homicide (murder or manslaughter) of the year. Police linked 22 of the deaths to ‘gang’ disputes. In the same period, Sheffield

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saw eight fatal stabbings.10 Such numbers were disturbing, but perhaps not indicative of a trend. For example, in Sheffield, in 2013, there were eight cases of murder and three of manslaughter; in 2012, there were four murders; and in 2011, there were one manslaughter and 11 murders. Nevertheless, the public perception was that violent offences—especially those involving knives—were on the increase. A South Yorkshire Police report published in 2017 (South Yorkshire Police 2017) stated there were 2,047 non-domestic knife offences in the county in the previous year, adding that such volumes were increasing and reflected on a national scale. Part of the increase was attributed to a change in the method of recording such incidents, but the report admitted that ‘we have seen an increased social acceptance amongst our young people towards carrying knives’ because of a belief that they were ‘protecting themselves’ or because certain types of music tended to ‘glamourise’ violence. Economic and social factors come into play here.

From B to A In September 2018, the website https://www.citymetric.com/, a spinoff from the political and cultural magazine New Statesman, published an article describing Sheffield as two economically and socially disparate entities (termed ‘Sheffield A’ and ‘Sheffield B’) divided by a ‘Berlin Wall’type metaphorical partition. The article’s author Sam Gregory described ‘Sheffield A’ as: … a healthy, wealthy and leafy mix of greens, golf courses and gastropubs stretching from Fulwood and Ranmoor in the west to Nether Edge, Meersbrook and Dore in the south.

In contrast, ‘Sheffield B’ was: … an adjacent but almost entirely unconnected city running down the [River] Don from Upperthorpe to Hillsborough, up to Ecclesfield in the north and stretching to Tinsley, Attercliffe, Darnall and Gleadless Valley in the east. It is a place economically characterised by poverty, lack of opportunity, low-skilled work, poor quality housing stock and even poorer public transport.

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The invisible dividing line, if not entirely straight, thus ran roughly north to south through the city centre. Gregory posited that in this respect Sheffield was unique amongst British cities; elsewhere—for example, London and Manchester—disadvantaged areas sit cheek by jowl with what he termed ‘moneyed comfort’. A prime example was London’s Grenfell Tower apartment block, in which a fire in June 2017 killed 72 of its hundreds of mainly low-paid or benefits-dependent residents within a few paces of the homes of some of Britain’s wealthiest citizens. Similar ‘have’ and ‘have-not’ discrepancies exist in Sheffield, but not in such close proximity. Gregory did not mention education, but the schools in ‘Sheffield A’ historically produce better examination results and more university attendees than those across the divide. Anecdotally, the disparities can be strikingly visual. A long-time Sheffield resident could hazard a good guess as to where in the city a stranger comes from based on the way they dress, their hairstyle and even their comportment. Independent research supports Gregory’s assertion. Reports by the Resolution Foundation 11 named the Sheffield region as Britain’s ‘low pay capital’, an epithet that is hard to believe for someone travelling west out of the city via Ecclesall Road South or Fulwood Road. The parliamentary constituency of Hallam through which these roads pass is one of the wealthiest in the country and one of the top three in the north of England. This discordance exists regardless of which hue of Government is in power. In 2004 Sheffield City Council reported that one-third of Sheffield households lived in the top 10% of the most deprived electoral wards in the country (Sheffield City Council 2004). Four years earlier Sheffield’s unemployment rate was 4.2%, compared with the national average of 3.4%. However, the inner-city areas saw unemployment above 6%, whilst the western suburbs’ corresponding figure was below 2%. As the global economic downturn began to bite in 2007, Sheffield’s unemployment rate rose to 5.8%, compared with a national rate of 5.2%. By 2015, the rate had not recovered to its pre-recession levels. Furthermore, many of those in work discovered that employment did not necessarily lift them above the breadline. The city’s average wage was some 10% below the national average due to a proliferation of poorly paid retail and administration jobs. Various studies have also shown that life expectancy is some seven to ten years less in the poorer districts of the city than in the west.12 The reasons for Sheffield’s stark demarcation may be perplexing to an outsider, but to a local they are obvious: history and topography. Hemmed in by hills on three sides, from the Industrial Revolution

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onwards the only direction for reliable mass transport of goods into and out of the city was to or from the north-east, along the River Don plain and later the South Yorkshire canal. Sheffield’s water-powered cutlery and edge tools trade had developed in the area’s fast-flowing river valleys further west but with the advent of larger manufactories the necessary raw materials for steel and coal production were found to be in natural abundance to the east of the city. Thus, the East End was where such industries were built up; the workers who manned them lived both here and in the city centre. However, the work that defined Sheffield was notoriously dirty and labour intensive. Hours were long and pay was low. The city’s large working-class population possessed few home comforts. The grime and deprivation prevalent in Sheffield’s central districts appalled and repelled the privileged, such as Lady Caroline, the wife of the city’s MP James Stuart-Wortley, who after a visit in 1801 declared: ‘We were in Sheffield today … and in all my life I never was in so stinking, dirty and savage a place. Altogether I never witnessed a scene of more idleness and filth in my life’. Lady Caroline, who lived in a country residence with an army of domestic servants to see to her every need, was not accustomed to such squalor and—evidently—was both pleased and relieved to return to her grand home after her excursion to the environs of the poor. The scenes she witnessed endured throughout the nineteenth century; in 1877, Socialist poet and social reformer Edward Carpenter wrote that Sheffield was: … finely situated, magnificent hill country all around and on the hills for miles and miles (on one side of the town) elegant villa residences – and in the valley below one enduring cloud of smoke … tall chimneys and ash heaps … and dirty alleys and courts and houses, half roofless and a river flowing black through the midst of them.13

Such vistas induced art critic and utopian John Ruskin to speak of Sheffield as ‘a dirty picture in a golden frame’. The background to this imagery was that from the early nineteenth century the factory owners, as well as professionals such as solicitors and doctors, migrated to the sparsely populated, hilly areas to the west, where they were both elevated above the smoke and filth of the city and upstream of the stench thanks to the prevailing south-westerly winds. Here, they could construct spacious houses with large gardens and spectacular views. The westwards expansion

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did not go unnoticed by G. C. Holland, physician to the General Infirmary, who in a published survey of the health and welfare of Sheffielders in 1843 commented that the newly flourishing suburbs had: … numerous villas, which adorn the neighbouring hills – the expensive establishments – the costly equipages – the manifest command of luxuries and comforts unknown to the same class of manufacturer forty years ago.

Some 50 years later, a Royal Commission on Secondary Education reported that there was ‘no other manufacturing town where the contrast between the dwelling places of the rich and poor are so strongly marked, or the separation between them so complete’ as existed in Sheffield. The citymetric.com article was thus not at all revelatory: such inequalities between east and west—born in the early 1800s—remain in place over 200 years later. If boxing is to be in some way the antidote to both serious youth violence and economic disparities, as suggested in The Right Hook, then Sheffield had better open up a few dozen new boxing clubs quickly. And if the source of boxers is poor boys from deprived areas, then the talent stream will show no signs of drying up; it is no surprise that none of the city’s boxing clubs are to be found in the well-off S11 and S17 postcode areas. This, at least, is one category in which ‘Sheffield B’ scores higher than ‘Sheffield A’, and this is not radical thinking.

Save Our Trees Sheffield’s history of radicalism dates back to the late eighteenth century—around the time that the ‘Sheffield A’ and ‘Sheffield B’ division began to take shape—and continued through Chartism,14 the ‘Sheffield Outrages’,15 early Socialism, women’s suffrage, the fight for access to the countryside,16 the strikes of the 1920s and 1980s and the establishment of ‘The Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire’ in the latter decade.17 Traditionally, such radicalism had its roots in the working classes or the unemployed. However, in the twenty-first century, resistance to authority occurred in the city’s wealthier suburbs in a series of protests both coordinated and spontaneous that saw arrests made, raids on domestic houses executed by police and prison terms threatened—all with the complicity of Sheffield’s ruling Labour council. The issue was trees, and ‘public safety’ the stated motivation.

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The controversy arose out of a 2012 contract worth £2.2 million made by the council with infrastructure specialist Amey to renovate the city’s roads and pavements. The contract permitted the felling of thousands of trees—many over a century old. Both Amey and the council insisted that trees would only be removed if diseased, decaying or a danger to the public. By way of appeasement, at least one young tree was to be planted for each tree felled. However, when work got underway, healthy and perfectly safe trees—in the eyes of opponents—were chopped, which, according to critics, was done to both facilitate access for Amey’s plant machinery and, perhaps more significantly, fulfil the contract more cheaply. Furious locals formed campaign groups to demonstrate against the fellings. Utilising social media, hundreds took resistive action, standing beneath trees to prevent their removal. Often, within minutes of an Amey crew turning up, dozens of people appeared to—peacefully—stop proceedings. Yellow ribbons, bunting, poems, children’s artwork and signs reading ‘Save Me’ adorned targeted trees, which were also given names in order to personalise the issue. At first, the protestors were tolerated, but when they showed no signs of giving up police were called in, at times to forcibly remove them. Footage on news programmes of pensioners being manhandled by police officers gained both sympathy and additional campaigners. Support came from an unexpected source in the shape of Conservative Cabinet Minister Michael Gove, who in a letter to Sheffield City Council urged the cessation of the ‘destruction of thousands of mature trees’ as it would ‘damage our children’s rightful inheritance’. On one occasion, several ‘activists’ (as they were portrayed in the press) were subject to simultaneous police dawn raids, carried out under trade union legislation that criminalised the act of attempting to prevent someone carrying out lawful work. At times, those tasked with tree felling did so in the company of hired private security personnel, i.e. ‘bouncers’. ‘Fake news’ became an issue; one woman was investigated by police for allegedly giving tea laced with a laxative to three Amey workers who had become too ill to work. No evidence was found of the supposed ‘poison’ plot, news of which even extended across the Atlantic. In an interview with the New York Times, the ‘accused’ suggested that the episode was ‘designed to discredit protesters’. The council meanwhile refused to disclose full details of its deal with Amey, releasing only a redacted document that indicated that 17,500 trees could be felled over

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the 25-year term of the contract. Protestors believed that the contract also allowed the council to sue Amey if the work was not carried out in full. The dispute came to a head in November 2018 with the planned removal of 35 trees planted in the Crookes district of the city in 1919 as a memorial to soldiers killed in the First World War. The council, Amey and the Sheffield Tree Action Group (STAG) held discussions chaired by the Very Reverend Doctor Pete Wilcox, Bishop of Sheffield, following which it was agreed that just three diseased trees would be felled, with the remainder being trimmed and retained. The agreement heralded further talks that the following month resulted in what the Independent termed a ‘peace deal’ that would see many of the remaining 305 trees out of the planned initial 6,000 in the city earmarked for removal re-assessed with a view to saving as many as possible. In addition, STAG would take part in any subsequent discussions and Amey would foot the bill for devising alternative solutions to felling. The council meanwhile admitted that almost 2,000 healthy trees had been felled to prevent ‘dangers on the highway or on pavements’. Campaigners believed the figure was nearer 3,000. Meanwhile, South Yorkshire Police revealed it had spent £47,000 in a single month on overtime costs relating to the dispute, whilst in February 2019 in an out-of-court settlement seven protestors shared compensation amounting to £24,300 in connection with their claim for wrongful arrest and breach of the Human Rights Act 1998. The affair had consequences in political chambers; Labour lost four seats in the 2017 local elections, two each to the Green Party and the Liberal Democrats. It also demonstrated that twenty-first-century activism orchestrated by the educated, liberal middle class reflects how both local and national political debate is often more concerned with environmental issues than those pertinent to employment and social class position. ∗ ∗ ∗

When the Door Closes Most Sheffield boxers train in the run-down structures of former schools, spartan church halls or abandoned retail units. For many toiling in such premises, an amateur career is not an end in itself but a necessary step on the path to turning professional. However, professionalism is often

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just a means to escape a poor situation or to supplement meagre dayjob earnings until age or failing health decree otherwise. Few training night and day will make big monies from boxing, thus like all sports when ability succumbs to age, a career transition ensues. But what use is boxing ability away from the ring? The Sheffield tradition was that nightclub or pub doors provided work for both aspiring and retired boxers; such establishments welcomed the muscle of renowned fighters to deter troublemakers and deny entry to undesirables. Since the early 2000s, however, the ‘bouncing’ business has become far more controlled; it is no longer de rigueur to hire a ‘big bloke who can punch’ to man the door and keep a ‘good house’. Now known as ‘security’, such individuals must be trained and licensed and contracted to a recognised (licensed) company or agency. The customary attire is a dark suit jacket or waistcoat with shirt and tie in the summer, a long black coat in the winter. A regulation luminous armband bearing the man’s (or, increasingly, woman’s) name, licence number and image are compulsory.18 The industry is now more regulated and—it could be argued—more trustworthy than ever before. Other aspects, however, have not changed; it still helps if a doorman is large and menacing or, if not, adept at unarmed combat. Those who look the least threatening must by definition be the ones possessing the most considerable martial skills. Following the 2005 change in the UK’s licensing laws to allow 24-hour pub opening, the days (or rather the nights) of the traditional nightclub— entry to which required an admission fee—were numbered. In addition, pub-owning companies such as Punch Taverns and Enterprise Inns would have one believe that the pub trade is in decline. Some of it undeniably is; between 2010 and 2015, some 46 Sheffield pubs closed for good. Pubs generally close for one reason: a lack of customers. Those that fall by the wayside are usually suburban or estate pubs where the alcoholconsuming demographic has changed, either due to the availability of cheap supermarket products consumed at home, or for cultural reasons, such as the concentrated presence of a large number of teetotal members of the Muslim faith. The latter perhaps explains why nine of the 46 failed Sheffield pubs were in the Darnall district. Another explanation might be the decline of Saturday and Sunday amateur football in Sheffield as costs of buying equipment and hiring facilities escalated and young men found other ways to fill their free time. Traditionally, many teams were based at pubs near where many of their players lived.19

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Along with a number of enterprising private pub owners, the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) has been partially responsible for one of Sheffield’s great modern-day leisure activity successes. Officially recognised by CAMRA for several consecutive years as the ‘Real Ale Capital of Britain’, Sheffield can attract a new breed of visitor—the ‘beer tourist’— who arrives from far and wide to sample the city’s extensive range of welcoming pubs and British-made cask-conditioned beers. The privately owned Kelham Island Tavern was twice voted by CAMRA members as Britain’s best pub, also gaining the ‘Best in Yorkshire’ accolade seven times and the ‘Best in Sheffield’ award on no less than 14 occasions.20 The second major Sheffield success in this sector of the leisure industry is the increase in the number of city-centre bars and restaurants since the new millennium. The publicans’ trade magazine Morning Advertiser noted that although nationally the number of pubs in the UK had declined in 2015 by 2.6%, there was a simultaneous rise of 2.9% in licensed premises, mostly driven by the expansion of restaurants, café bars and wine bars. The report listed Sheffield in the top ten ‘growth towns’ in this area. By day, such premises serve good quality food to workers and shoppers; by night, they attract the cocktails and out-till-the-earlyhours set. Almost all employ licensed doormen. There are thus more than enough opportunities for the professional boxer to supplement his income in this way, albeit it is unknown to the authors how many do so.21 Providing security can extend beyond the pub door. In a trade where pay is low and hours unsocial, work is often sought elsewhere. What American sociologist Jack Katz termed the ‘art of intimidation’ is a flexible skill (Katz 1988). For some whose main task is as a city-centre doorman, a change of scenery can be both welcome and relaxing. One café bar bouncer known to the authors earned extra monies standing guard at the annual world snooker championships at Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. Snooker, perhaps the most passive of sports, is not known for its penchant to attract unruly crowds. This individual looked forward to the additional pay for little additional stress. Others spoken with and about in the course of researching this book tell of various avenues the well-muscled man might pursue. Some carry heavy items as part of their daily work in the building industry. Others may offer personal protection to the rich and famous, or escort debt collectors as they go about their sometimes dangerous business. A few can make a decent income from opening their own gyms offering paying customers the skills and moves they learned in boxing training. These tasks remind the astute that a disciplined life and

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an ability to talk with people are far more profitable than being the unruly individual who doormen are paid to eject.

Regeneration and Redemption Despite its industrial job losses and community upheaval since the 1980s and its transition to the retail and leisure sector, Sheffield is still a manufacturing city: over 12% of the working population is involved in making things.22 The profile of the city’s manufacturing sector has, however, changed vastly over this period, reflecting advances in both traditional manufacture and ‘cutting-edge’ digital and electronic technologies. For example, the Advanced Manufacturing Research Centre (AMRC), which opened in 2004 on a site once occupied by the Orgreave Coking Plant, was the result of collaboration between engineers at the University of Sheffield and the aerospace giant Boeing. The site also houses Britain’s primary nuclear power research centre. In 2019, the luxury sports car and motor racing giant McLaren opened a purpose-built production facility at an adjacent location. Not all change is high-tech. The city centre is today host to the Cultural Industries Quarter,23 a Digital Campus and a Science Park, each established to promote innovation and research in traditional or novel forms of manufacture, design and art. Such facilities provide thousands of jobs. That said, at times Sheffield lacks the skilled labour capable of filling all such posts. According to City Council research, in the mid-2000s some 20% of the city’s residents had no formal qualifications. The number of 16-year-olds gaining five GCSE passes was 8% below the national average. Immigrant labour, both in skilled and low-paid employment, is thus often required. Sheffield’s population has grown continuously since 2001 after a period of decline: the 2014 population was some 49,000 higher than at the turn of the century. Much of the increase was due to the arrival of young people from abroad: students from the Far East and economic migrants, many of them from former Soviet Bloc countries after the opening up of the European Union (EU). How Britain’s departure from the EU affects the city’s population and its number of migrant workers remains to be seen. How such changes came about is worth recalling. Sheffield began the recovery from the 1980s denudation of its core industries through both local and central Government initiatives. The council had a history of high

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spending on municipal projects dating back to the 1920s but was unprepared for the economic devastation of the early 1980s. With so many private sector companies either closing down or leaving Sheffield, the council became the largest employer in the region. The 21,000 public sector workers numbered some five times more than the largest private employer in the city, Midland Bank (later HSBC). The council decided to spend its way out of trouble: if market forces could not sustain the city’s economy, then the council’s only option—it believed—was to step in. This was at odds with the ideology of the Tory Government, which embarked on a programme of regenerating British cities using private investment. In 1981 the council set up the Department for Employment and Economic Development (DEED), which focused on developing cultural and media industries in disused cutlery workshops and industrial premises around the city centre. However, the council’s stand-off with successive Tory Governments scared off private investors. Around the same time, central Government made an example of what it considered rogue councils—of which Sheffield was one of the chief culprits—by introducing ‘rate capping’, thereby restricting the amount such authorities could raise from local taxes. In March 1985, Sheffield City Council passed a budget of £249 million, some £31 million over the Government-set ‘cap’ and refused to set a rate24 for the financial year. Sheffield joined Liverpool and ten London boroughs in taking such action to force central Government to intervene to fund its public services. After applications to the High Court by Sheffield and Greenwich for a judicial review were rejected, 20 of Sheffield’s Labour councillors voted with their Liberal and Conservative counterparts to set a rate within the cap limit. The ‘rate-capping rebellion’ had failed. When further household and business rate reductions were imposed in 1987 the council was forced to seek help from central Government. The climbdown resulted the following year in the formation of the Sheffield Development Corporation (SDC). At the start of the decade, the Government had set up a series of Urban Development Corporations (UDCs), whose boards consisted of representatives of the private sector and both central and local authorities. Granted special planning powers, such UDCs had the authority to remove control of infrastructure and economic investment from local councils. Sheffield resisted their imposition until the events described above. The SDC was thus established to take charge of the regeneration of some 2,000 acres of former

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industrial land in the East End that the council could not fund from its own resources. The council resented ceding its planning powers, so in response—and perhaps in desperation—handed over land formerly occupied by Hadfield’s steelworks to Tory-supporting multi-millionaire property developer Paul Sykes’ company British Land for the construction of the Meadowhall shopping complex, which opened in 1990. This was—and remains—a symbolic structure. Standing on a site of a company that 80 years earlier employed some 13,000, this cathedral of consumption employed in its 280 shops, other outlets and ancillary activities more women than men in non-unionised, often poorly paid positions. In place of skilled and unionised steelworkers were security guards, retail staff and cleaners, many on ‘zero-hours’ contracts.25 The new mall— which attracts 30 million visitors annually—decimated retail trade in the city centre, from which it still has not recovered. The council feared such a negative impact but did not possess the resources to simultaneously upgrade the city centre. By its 1997 expiry, the SDC had demolished disused factories, constructed business units and major access roads and even built a small airport. Two years before the SDC was formed, the City Council created the Sheffield Economic Regeneration Committee (SERC), which ostensibly worked with the private sector but was essentially a council-run committee. SERC was the body that made the successful bid for the World Student Games. The 1990 appointment of John Major as Tory leader and Prime Minister brought a mutually conciliatory attitude from both central and local Governments: SERC thus obtained £233 million Government money and £7 million from the private sector to fund the construction of the city-wide Supertram network, which began operating in 1994.26 Nonetheless, the 1990s heralded an era of tripartite cooperation involving Sheffield City Council, central Government and private business, a policy that was essential to the council’s desire to reduce unemployment and compensate for the financial failure of some of its own projects. Such partnerships were able to attract EU funding to develop the city’s—and the South Yorkshire region’s—infrastructure. There were jobs but many were unlike any before in the city’s history. Those who funded and managed the projects did not always have local accents.

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Sheffield One and Sichuan The service sector provided a lifeline for Sheffield in the new millennium. The Labour Government, which came to power in May 1997, oversaw the creation in 2001 of an Urban Regeneration Company (URC) named Sheffield One, its name signifying a concentration on renewing the moribund city centre (the S1 postcode) (Sheffield One 2001). This body—independent of the City Council—was the successor to the UDC, but its terms of reference were tweaked to enforce consultation with private sector economists, designers, transport advisers and local community representatives. Supported by private, EU and Government funding, the project resulted in the building of the Millennium Gallery27 and the Winter Garden,28 the upgrading of the Peace Gardens, Tudor Square and Barker’s Pool, the refurbishment of the City Hall and the establishment of a pedestrianised ‘gateway’ from the Midland Station into the city centre. An examination of Sheffield City Council’s income and spending for the financial year 2007–2008 gives an indication of the sums involved in such infrastructure projects and what might be termed ‘essential services’. By far, the largest expense (£485 million) went on education, with social services (£240 million) the next highest figure. The sectors covering highways and transport, leisure and culture and planning and economic development amounted to £140 million combined. To pay for all this, the council relied on Government grants (including EU-allocated monies) of £864 million. Council Tax brought in £182 million and council house rents a further £113 million, paltry figures when compared with the level of external funding. Meanwhile, other schemes planned for the 2000s did not get off the ground. A retail development in conjunction with London and Parisbased property developer Hammerson—to be named Sevenstones, the largest such venture in the city centre’s history—was proposed in the middle of the decade. Progress was arrested by the 2007–2008 global financial crisis and the subsequent recession before being abandoned in 2014. Instead, the City Council approved a simplified version. Work began in 2016 with the demolition of the concrete eyesore former Grosvenor House Hotel,29 empty since 2010 in anticipation of the illfated Sevenstones development. The Charter Square Retail Quarter on the site was to provide a new headquarters for HSBC as well as shops, restaurants and bars. In the same period, Sheffield planners approved the construction of numerous privately funded apartment blocks in the city

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centre, Shalesmoor and Kelham Island districts, bringing with them an influx of new residents and the attendant establishments in which they could spend their disposable income. Kelham Island became such a desirable place to live that in January 2019 the Daily Telegraph described the area as ‘the new hipster capital of the North’, pointing out its ‘restaurant that serves foraged food to diners seated inside a repurposed shipping container, a vinyl record shop, an independent brewery, and far too many cocktail bars to consider counting’. Just a few years previously this had been Sheffield’s red light district.

Eastern Promise Kelham Island caters mainly for private tenants but many other developments were aimed at the city’s vast student population, a significant portion of whom were well-off Chinese or South-East Asian, a demographic that tended to spurn the hitherto accepted manner of student living—i.e. several people sharing an (often old) converted residential house—in favour of fully furnished, single-occupancy dwellings with en-suite bathrooms, Wi-Fi connection and on-site laundry, leisure and security facilities.30 China thus had an increasing role to play in the regeneration of Sheffield. In 2016, the City Council announced a 60-year development contract with the Chinese property company Sichuan Guodong Construction Group that would—they claimed—bring to Sheffield some £220 million in its first three years. The biggest of its kind outside London, the investment would initially fund ‘four or five’ projects, in the words of council leader Julie Dore. Councillor Leigh Bramall perhaps optimistically predicted that it would create ‘hundreds, if not thousands’ of local jobs. A project titled ‘Grey to Green’ got underway in 2016, designed to make the West Bar-Castlegate-WaingateHaymarket areas more attractive by introducing pedestrianised access and planting thousands of trees and plants. The demolition of Castle Market to enable archaeological excavation of the former site of Sheffield Castle also took place, and by the end of 2018 independent traders and arts and cultural concerns began to move back to a once downbeat part of the city. A separate Chinese-funded project was already underway at the junction of Bramall Lane and St Mary’s Gate on the edge of the city centre to create a 20-storey complex comprising shops, food and drink outlets, student flats and office space, situated to take advantage of its proximity to

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Sheffield’s large Chinese and South-East Asian community based around London Road. With the economic uncertainty surrounding the UK’s exit from the EU, Chinese collaboration was one area where Sheffield was ahead of the game.

Tremors and Aftershock Sheffield’s electoral returns in the 2016 EU Referendum mirrored the country as a whole, with a 51/49 split in favour of leaving the European Union. The majority ‘leavers’ included many older, working-class, traditionally Labour voters who, according to research by the political study website https://policynetwork.org/, had become disillusioned by social and economic change and ignored by the British political establishment, not least around concerns over immigration to Britain from the EU. As the ‘Brexit’ negotiations dragged on into late 2019, and with Parliament mired in a stalemate brought about by a series of inconclusive votes, Conservative Prime Minister Boris Johnson called a General Election that he hoped would give him a decisive mandate to leave the EU on his party’s terms. Perhaps fatigued by the Brexit impasse, the UK electorate backed Johnson emphatically. Turning what was effectively a ‘hung’ Parliament into an 80-seat majority, the Tories took control of more than 20 constituencies previously considered Labour strongholds. Labour retained all five Sheffield constituencies—perhaps surprisingly in the case of Sheffield Hallam31 —with reduced majorities, but lost the adjacent Penistone and Stocksbridge and Don Valley seats to the Tories.32 Don Valley, once the centre of the South Yorkshire coalfield,33 had previously returned a Labour MP at every election since 1922. Thus, even in communities of dreadful indices of poverty and deprivation where street parties were held when Margaret Thatcher died and Boris Johnson was abused when he visited following severe floods in 2019, the people chose to be governed by a party controlled by the Eton and Oxbridge-educated establishment rather than by Labour. With the Brexit Party again taking a sizeable chunk of Labour support (but gaining no seats in Parliament), it was clear that the EU dilemma remained at the forefront of British politics. For several months before and after the December 2019 General Election, it often seemed that Brexit was the only news story and nothing would relegate it until the UK’s departure from the EU was finalised.

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However, the COVID-19 pandemic that began to spread in early 2020 sent Brexit tumbling in importance. The full effect of the pandemic is yet to be realised, but with the economy in decline, unemployment at its highest level for years and most forms of public entertainment suspended, the fate of boxers and boxing barely merited a mention. Sheffield’s many boxing clubs closed their doors, shows were cancelled and training at home became the norm. What happens next nobody really knows.34

Notes 1. Quoted in Grosvenor and Beilby (1927). 2. Edinburgh, Stockholm and Rotterdam expressed an interest in hosting the Games but did not bid. 3. The numbers employed in engineering and steel production in Sheffield declined from 82,000 in 1971 to 40,000 in 1986. 4. In 1978, the national average unemployment rate stood at 6%. 5. Sheffield’s hostility towards Thatcher was manifested in physical form in April 1983 when she arrived to make a speech at the Cutlers’ Hall. Some 2,000 demonstrators threw eggs and flour at her cavalcade. There were 13 arrests and a police horse was injured when it collided with a car. 6. Sheffield’s timing in hosting the Games was unfortunate. The £147 million of National Lottery money made available for the 2002 Manchester Commonwealth Games was not an option in 1991, a cruel irony considering this amount equalled the final cost of Sheffield’s hosting of the World Student Games. 7. Ennis-Hill won the world heptathlon title in 2009 and 2011 and the European title in 2010, before winning Olympic gold in 2012 and regaining the world title in 2015. The following year she won silver in the Olympic heptathlon, after which she retired. She did much of her training at the EIS. 8. Similar schemes have been tried at various times and locations. Perhaps the best known was at Rahway State Prison (now East Jersey State Prison), New Jersey, USA, in the late 1970s and early 1980s where professional contests took place inside the prison. 9. Many football and rugby clubs from the elite to the lower levels donated money or provisions to food banks but few, if any, were reported to have opened their doors to the needy and vulnerable in the way that boxing clubs did. 10. One of these instances was the fatal stabbing of an 85-year-old man by his 83-year-old wife in a domestic incident that was nothing to do with gangs or drugs.

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11. See Clarke (2017) and D’Arcy (2018). The 2017 report stated that the gross hourly pay for Sheffield residents was £11.03, which was £1.15 below the national average. The 2018 report found that Sheffield (23%) was below only Nottingham (24%) in its percentage of employees in low pay. The Resolution Foundation is an independent economic ‘think tank’ established in 2005 with the aim of improving the standard of living of low- and middle-income families. 12. Figures published in June 2020 by the Office for National Statistics showed that a deprived area of Sheffield—the Crabtree and Fir Vale district—suffered the highest number of deaths (66) from the COVID-19 virus of any UK district in the three months to May. The figure was almost twice that of the next highest area, Church End in the London borough of Brent. The Sheffield figures are skewed somewhat by an unusually large number of care homes in Crabtree and FirVale. 13. Quoted in Price (2008). 14. Chartism was a national protest movement for political reform in Britain that campaigned from 1838 to 1857. Taking its name from the ‘People’s Charter’ of 1838, Chartism preferred constitutional methods to achieve its aims. However, some supporters became involved in violence to further their cause. Sheffield Chartist leader Samuel Holberry was arrested after arms and explosives were found at his home and later convicted of ‘riot and sedition’. Sentenced to four years’ imprisonment with hard labour, Holberry died of consumption (tuberculosis) in York Prison in June 1842, aged 27. 15. See Volume One. 16. Sheffield-born Socialist G. H. B. ‘Bert’ Ward (1876–1957) founded the Sheffield Clarion Ramblers in 1900. The club campaigned for public access to privately owned areas of the Peak District. In 1907, its members participated in an illegal mass trespass of moorland at Bleaklow. Ethel Haythornthwaite (1894–1986), the daughter of wealthy Sheffield industrialist Thomas W. Ward, campaigned against the development of countryside to the south-west of Sheffield and helped acquire land around the city that became its ‘green belt’. Appointed to the Government’s National Parks Committee, she was instrumental in the 1951 creation of the Peak District National Park, Britain’s first such entity. 17. See Volume One and Price (2008). 18. Licensing was introduced as a result of the Private Security Industry Act 2001, which sought to regulate both individuals and companies working in the trade. 19. For example, in the 1990s the Norfolk Park and adjacent Arbourthorne districts were home to a number of pubs from which Sunday football teams were run. None of these premises remain in their former guise. These included the Fellbrigg, the Vulcan, the Captive Queen, the Jervis

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Lum, the Travellers and the Horse and Lion. Two are now Christian religious centres, one a Chinese restaurant and two convenience stores. The sixth was demolished in 2006. In 2014 the New York Times mentioned the Kelham Island Tavern and its near neighbour the Fat Cat in its list of ‘50 places to visit’ in the UK. How the COVID-19 pandemic affects the long-term viability of many such concerns is yet to be established. In 1995 the corresponding figure was 19.8%. The Cultural Industries Quarter lies between Sheffield city centre and the main railway station. It includes the Red Tape Central music recording studios, the Showroom Cinema, art workshops and galleries and film, television, graphic design, dance and theatre studios. The precursor of the current Council Tax system, ‘rates’ enabled local councils to raise revenue by applying a ‘rateable value’ to every property based on the estimated annual rent each could actually or theoretically accrue. A council’s annual budget would then be divided by the total rateable value to produce the proportion of the rateable value that each householder or business would have to pay. This process was known as ‘setting a rate’. A zero-hour contract is a type of contract between an employer and a worker, wherein the employer is not obliged to provide any minimum working hours, whilst the worker is not obliged to accept any work offered. The Supertram network covers 18 miles (29 km) on three main lines, which reach a total of 48 roadside stations. A ‘tram-train’ extension to Rotherham opened in 2018. Opened in 2001, the Millennium Gallery is an art gallery and museum complex with halls for both permanent and rotating exhibitions. In 2011, it was the 15th-most-visited free attraction in the country. Opened by Queen Elizabeth II in 2003, the Winter Garden is one of the largest temperate glasshouses in the UK and the largest urban glasshouse in Europe. Opened in 1966 for the football World Cup (some matches were staged in Sheffield), the 15-storey Grosvenor House Hotel was one of the city’s two four-star hotels, the other being the Hallam Tower Hotel, Broomhill, which opened in 1965. The Hallam Tower stood empty between its closure in 2004 and demolition in 2018. According to the Higher Education Statistics Agency (HESA) statistics for 2016/2017, Sheffield Hallam University was the 11th-largest university in Britain with 30,815 students, whilst the University of Sheffield was 14th with 28,715. The overall total of 59,530 (some 10% of the city’s population) placed Sheffield behind London, Manchester, Cardiff, Glasgow and Nottingham in terms of total student numbers.

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31. Labour’s Jared O’Mara took the Sheffield Hallam constituency from former Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg (Liberal Democrat) at the 2017 General Election. Two years later, O’Mara was suspended by the Labour Party following the publication of offensive comments he made on-line several years earlier. He then sat as an independent MP until resigning his seat in September 2019. 32. Labour’s fall in vote share in these constituencies was: Don Valley, 17.8%; Penistone and Stocksbridge, 12.5%; Sheffield South East, 12.4%; Sheffield Brightside and Hillsborough, 10.8%; Sheffield Heeley, 9.7%; Sheffield Central, 4.2%; Sheffield Hallam, 3.7%. 33. In the early twentieth century the South Yorkshire coalfield employed over 100,000 people in 80 collieries. In the early 1980s, there were still some 50,000 working in the remaining 30 collieries. The last South Yorkshire coalmine, Hatfield Main, closed in 2015. 34. British professional boxing returned in mid-July 2020, with fights taking place in a sterile environment in a television studio with just a few officials, journalists, pundits and technicians present. Promoter Frank Warren admitted that the event lost money but added: ‘It’s important the sport remains relevant and is seen.’

References All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing. (2015). Boxing: The Right Hook— A Report by the All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing. All Party Parliamentary Group for Boxing. Clarke, S. (2017). Forging Ahead or Falling Behind? Devolution and the Future of Living Standards in the Sheffield City Region. Resolution Foundation. D’Arcy, C. (2018). Low Pay Britain 2018. Resolution Foundation. Grosvenor, C., & Beilby, C. (1927). The First Lady Wharncliffe and Her Family 1779–1856 (vol. 1). W. Heinemann. Katz, J. (1988). Seductions of Crime: Moral and Sensual Attractions in Doing Evil. Basic Books. Price, D. (2008). Sheffield Troublemakers: Rebels and Radicals in Sheffield History. Philimore. Sheffield City Council. (2004). Closing the Gap: A Framework for Neighbourhood Renewal. Sheffield City Council. Sheffield One. (2001). City Centre Masterplan. Sheffield One. South Yorkshire Police. (2017). Sheffield City Knife Crime Strategy 2018/21. South Yorkshire Police.

CHAPTER 8

The Final Round

This image used with permission of [Police Budget Edition: Famous Fights Past and Present, Vol.4, No.43, 1902] (out of copyright). ‘The dexterous use of the fist is a truly British exercise; and the sturdy English have been as much renowned for their boxing as their beef; neither

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4_8

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of which are suited to the watery stomachs and weak sinews of their enemies the French’.—Boxing: A British Exercise, 1772.1 ‘The inhabitants [of Sheffield] generally are possessed of less energy, less public spirit, less honour, less hospitality and more selfishness than the inhabitants of any town in the kingdom’.—Leeds Mercury, 1843.

Boxing is a simple task burdened with complex expectations. The rules of the fight game are relatively easy to learn; practice hones the required techniques. Training is ever facilitated by advances in technologies, nutrition and medicine, but boxing is essentially a combination of process, endurance and the overcoming—or tolerance—of fear and hurt. From this, an elite emerges because, for reasons difficult to explain and prove, those who attain the top level must love the physical routines and repetitions that got them there. They must also either enjoy or endure the pain such a practice brings better than most human beings could possibly do. So, what experiences in the pre-ring life propelled an individual to go through with this voluntary acceptance of pain? Who seeks out such a lifestyle? And what does Sheffield reveal about boxing to an inquisitor? The boxers this research presents do not reveal an archetype in either manner or background. There are some similarities, but at least as many differences. The boxers were working class but not destitute, smart but not bookish, streetwise but not from the criminal underworld. Decades ago, these men usually hailed from the terraced streets of the East End or the inner city; in modern times, they were more likely to be products of Sheffield’s myriad council estates. Some had difficult starts in life. Most had parents that cared well for them and encouraged them: the fathers or mothers of Naseem Hamed, Ryan Rhodes, Kell Brook, Kid Galahad and others actively sought out the boxing gym for their child. What jobs those who worked and boxed had before or accompanying boxing were labour-intensive and unskilled or semi-skilled. Religion was a big part of the lives of some, but such beliefs—or indeed a lack of them—could not be said to be a careerdefining force in the success of Sheffield’s boxers. They were drawn from different ethnicities: white British, Caribbean and Arabic backgrounds. They were various shapes and sizes. The bragging and sneering that one fighter in particular manifested was more than countered by the politeness and humility of others. In their post-boxing lives more than might be considered usual suffered from mental illness. Prison or poverty awaited some, others gained wisdom and founded businesses, whilst some

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plodded along in jobs they were perhaps always destined to do. Their career trajectories did not present a shared narrative; they were ‘regular lads’ in that their pre-boxing circumstances were no different from those of thousands of others. Common denominators are not easy to find. So why has the city in the past three decades produced so many able fighters after decades of relative obscurity? Was there anything in their lives that provided a predictive profile that they would be champion boxers? If there was, it had to be a combination of innate ability and learned dedication that separates the good and the great from the rest. Our research informed us that the best Sheffield boxers took up the sport of their own volition and that they possessed the required motivation and self-awareness. Few who entered the boxing gyms of Sheffield made monies enough to never have to work again. There are thus other questions to consider. How many young men in this city sought to make a name for themselves by donning boxing gloves but left the ring battered and bruised? How many spent years training but their mediocrity as fighters merely delayed their taking up the same type of manual employment as their contemporaries who never boxed? In the absence of employment in boxing gyms what remains for the retired fighter? How many leave the fight game carrying a grudge about monies they believed they were denied? What counter-activity beyond boxing is there for those who might exhibit a personality that seeks the routines and pain that boxing brings?

Doxa and Capital When asking ‘What “makes” for a champion?’ our search for answers can take inspiration from studies of an athletic genre that is as obsessive and individualistic as boxing: ballet. A study of ballet dancers by sociologists Steven Wainwright, Clare Williams and Bryan Turner (Wainwright et al. 2006), drawing on the work of Pierre Bourdieu and Loïc Wacquant (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), explored how the individual dancers invested in their bodies, whilst also examining the social world of the ballet school in which they practised. The authors explained how both bodily and social capital were initially absent in the individual before being acquired in pursuit of a ballet education, primarily entailed by the teaching of a cluster of techniques to those individuals. The crucial concept was habitus, which allowed dancers to be what Bourdieu termed ‘the fish in water’, i.e. acquiring the ability to reproduce acts consistent with the

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task at hand without consciousness of its constitution, like fish in water. In a sporting or dance sense, this might be termed ‘muscle memory’, i.e. performing to the maximum without thinking about it because the process has been practised so many times. Wainwright and colleagues recognised that whilst each individual habitus is different, all were the legacies of collective histories. This habitus is evident in boxing and for our study equates to the cultural approval of consenting men punching each other and the widespread view that the boxing gym can be educational in so many ways, and implicitly the producer of better citizens. Achievement, be it in ballet or boxing, is thus not wholly down to an individual’s innate physical or mental abilities, it is attained from a bodily state consisting of posture, gait and composure, which the individual has to learn. Respectively, how to dance and how to fight—and more importantly how to perform under highly specific conditions—are crucial criteria. The ballet researchers argue that the habitus they speak of has three components: individual, institutional and choreographic. In boxing, at the individual level the body is undoubtedly the most important; weight divisions decide whom an individual will fight. Ballet is not categorised by such demarcations, even if weight is an obsession of the dancer. Body type might also decide the style of fighting and what might best be termed ring strengths and weaknesses, attributes that largely rely on the institution (i.e. the gym) that nurtures ability. The institution would argue that it schools innate talent—or should that be innate ambition? Just as famous ballet schools such as Mariinsky and Bolshoi are recognised by their style of dance, some boxing gyms can be correlated with styles (or choreographies) of fighting, and whilst an individual boxer carries physical capital, the same protagonist relies upon the embedded cultural capital of the gym elders. The stoic acceptance of pain, toil, training regimes and exhaustion suggests that the individual, the troupe (i.e. the cornermen) and the choreography work in harmony. The style a boxer adopts (like that of the ballerina) can thus be synonymous with a gym’s (or ballet school’s) philosophies and principles. What the ballet studies did not ask—but we do so as to frame the issues—is whether the many world-renowned Russian ballet schools earned such a reputation because of some inherent indigenous physical ability of those who entered their doors, or whether sociocultural factors pushed a few Russian (and other) nationals to the extremes that enabled them to become great ballet performers. For our purpose, we can argue

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that these dispositions are in a large part cultural; Sheffielders admire the physicality of both the industrial grafter and the elite boxer. There is thus cultural appreciation of men who fight, those who train them and indeed for the very structure that is the boxing gym in which they train. Talent, be it in ballet or boxing, boils down to a simple fact: an individual must be motivated enough to walk through the door of either the ballet school or the boxing gym. This obvious act has implications as to who succeeds and who doesn’t, but the entrance is thus complicated by what we can term ‘the match’. Individuals can be made or ruined by entering the ‘wrong’ establishment. Some ballet schools and boxing gyms focus on body shape and ‘character’ and may well decide what is worth working with (or not) very quickly. Others might believe all enthusiasts are worth encouraging and no one should be turned away. The complex and difficult-to-answer question here is whether the institutional habitus takes primacy over the choreographic; is the school or gym more important to achieving success than the individual’s motivation or the teacher of that individual? We must also ask what constitutes social capital and how are such features mediated? In boxing at least, we believe these issues are best answered in biographies of the fighters, aware at the same time that in their telling such truths are partial and contestable and no two life stories ever produce the same outcomes. We can thus introduce notions of chance and serendipity. The ballet authors draw on sociologist Anthony Giddens’ notion of ‘fateful moments’ (Giddens 1991, pp. 128–132) (others might use the term ‘epiphanies’ or ‘turning point experiences’) to talk of episodes that change life trajectories and self-identity. This is important in many ways, not least the recognition of the processes of selfreflection, which is integral to the practices of both boxing and ballet. The boxer challenges himself—implicitly his ‘doxa’ (Bourdieu and Eagleton 1992)—as he is challenged daily by his trainer and periodically by ring opponents. When body condition is destiny and physical ability future income, an individual develops character, charisma and craft in the pursuit of physical perfection. Age and injury always have to be pondered and force both the ballet dancer and the boxer to ever-assess who they are and what they are seeking. The ‘thrill of the presence’, i.e. entering the arena to an adoring, admiring public, describes the performance pinnacle of the ballet dancer as much as it does the boxer. As the great prima ballerina Margot Fonteyn stated, ‘the stuff of life’ is new roles. For the boxer, ‘the stuff of life’ is the one-on-one contest that years of training

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have prepared him for. The fateful moments are the fight decisions that bring the pursuit of further stuff of life or the introspection that forces retirement. Bearing these possible outcomes in mind is it any wonder that many boxers do not transition into retirement easily?

Brute Force or Ignorance? Boxers are solitary individuals who exist by denying themselves what others might consume to excess, putting their health on the line in pursuit of an income and a status. The appeal of this lifestyle was summed up by British poet, author and one-time boxer Vernon Scannell, who argued: What boxing can do – and here it is like art – is give a man a chance to behave above and beyond his normal capacity. He may be stupid, vain, ignorant and brutish, but in the exercise of his art he becomes the embodiment of transcendental courage, strength and chivalry.2

To whom do such assets matter, who values them and why? The techniques and skills boxing requires hold a collateral outside the ring. The muscle and movement the boxer acquires can be used on the street, which raises the issue of legitimate and illegitimate violence. This begs the fundamental questions as to what precisely are the lessons boxing is meant to impart, and is boxing able teach an individual any more than he is otherwise capable of learning? Some who are educated in boxing use it well and live comfortable lives. Is the fight game a springboard for imbuing morality and citizenship in the wayward? Those immersed in the industry are better located then the authors to provide perspectives on such issues. The men who teach boxing spoken with for this book all admit that the gym attempts to show individuals how to live a better life. Such an ambition however is often soured by a realisation that the world beyond the gym is not a fair one, as Brendan Ingle stated to Gary Armstrong in 2015 when summarising his pedagogic philosophy: Control the senses and you control emotions. Train the body to control the mind. Develop a sixth sense – call it anticipation, instinct; that’s what boxing can bring to an individual. But remember beyond these skills it’s a bloody business full of double-dealers, low-lifes and those who would prostitute themselves for a few bob… it’s no different to life in general.

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Sheffield promoter and manager Dennis Hobson carries a similar bittersweet take on the boxing business, arguing when interviewed by Armstrong in 2016: ‘It’s an industry wall to wall with dishonesty and dishonourable people, all because of money, the root of all evil. But it fascinates people and many a young lad thinks he’s got what it takes’. Most leave the ring with their senses intact but perhaps with damaged pride. Some will suffer the delayed effects of being punched frequently and succumb to the condition known as ‘punch-drunkenness’. This causes consternation in many outside the fight game. But as author, poet and museum curator Gerald Early argues from an American perspective, prohibition would not prevent the creation of the boxer. For Early, the production line of men willing to endanger their lives in the ring will continue to roll because society produces them and has need of boxing to manage them. He reasons: And what are we to do with these men who know how to do nothing but fight? I suppose we can continue to lock them in our jails and in our ghettos, out of sight and untouched by our regard. That, in the end, is precisely what those who wish to ban boxing really want to do; not to safeguard the lives of the men who must do this work but simply to sweep one excessively distasteful and inexplicable sin of bourgeois culture under the rug. Second, those who wish to ban boxing know that they will simply condemn those men to surer deaths by not legally recognizing the sport. Boxing banned will simply become what it was in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century England, a very popular underground, totally unregulated sport (Early 1989, p. 154).

Amidst the psychoses is sensuality. The celebrity audience that the top fights attract—be it from Royalty in previous centuries to the Hollywood ‘A-Listers’ of current time—proves that boxing is a must-have ticket.3 Celebrities seeking to be associated with the fusion of ghetto braggadocio and designer beauty make for a fascinating spectacle. We can wonder why two of the highest-earning male athletes in history, Mike Tyson and Floyd Mayweather Junior, are lauded despite living seemingly dysfunctional personal lives. Is their masculinity something to aspire to or is it just plain fascinating to those who live by comparison an epicene life? Is there anything more macho than a man standing over another of similar physicality he has just knocked out? Sports Illustrated photographer Neil Leifer’s picture of Muhammad Ali roaring like a lion over its dead prey as he looks down on a prone Sonny Liston is one of the most iconic images

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in human history, not just in sporting history. The movement, speed and power elite boxers evidence are fascinating to many. We also hang on their every word; their articulacy occasionally astonishes an onlooker, who for complex reasons does not always expect such masculinity to be accompanied by intelligence and an ability with metaphors. Ali was the master of self-expression; Jack Johnson was a fine orator; George Foreman and Lennox Lewis are always thoughtful and considered; Lewis and the Klitschko brothers are accomplished chess players.

Sense and Sensuality Are women attracted to or repulsed by the masculine figure of the boxer? Joyce Carol Oates reasons that women are for the boxer the prize— usually self-proffered (Oates 1992). Gerald Early argues that women to the boxer exist in a status that is both totem and taboo, so that the ultimate prize must be attained by denying its existence (Early 1989, p. 156). Put simply, the physical intimacy the boxer might seek as a reward for winning is often sublimated in the weeks leading up to the determining contest. The build-up is monastic, the victory sensual. An anecdote told by American heavyweight Chuck Wepner is both revealing and amusing. Before he fought Ali in March 1975, Wepner promised his wife he would win and looked forward to breaking his self-imposed sexual fast later that night. As Wepner explained: The day of the fight, I gave my wife a very sexy blue negligee. And I told her, ‘I want you to wear this tonight, because after the fight you’ll be sleeping with the heavyweight champion of the world’. And when the fight was over … I went back to the hotel. I was pretty much exhausted. And my wife was in the room, waiting for me, wearing the negligee. And she said to me, ‘Okay bigshot. Do I go to the champ’s room or does he come to see me?’4

Such realities hold immense appeal to contemporary life. What Oates terms ‘a madness sanctioned by tradition and custom’ carries a Janusfaced capability in being simultaneously both repulsive and fascinating. The fight has no utilitarian value, but its enactment provides us with individuals we envy, adore or despise. As Oates argues, the boxer can flaunt the superiority of his genes in a display that manifests Darwinian themes of

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self-preservation and reproduction and which sees the capitalists capitalise on celebrations of instinct (Oates 1992). This appeal can be sanitised and marketed to the corporate middle classes. The rise of ‘designer’ boxing gyms and white-collar boxing has produced a fight-club-meets-night-club scenario. When in May 2017 Kell Brook defended his IBF world welterweight title at Sheffield United FC’s Bramall Lane Stadium the difference in spectator demographics between a football crowd and a boxing crowd was conspicuous. Whereas football supporters tend to dress functionally, many of those—male and female— attending the boxing contest in the same arena were attired as though entering a film awards ceremony. A sell-out football crowd sees the streets for a radius of a mile or so from the stadium clogged with parked cars; a driver with knowledge of the area could have parked within 100 metres of the venue when the gates opened on a similarly sold-out fight night. Instead, fleets of taxis ferried spectators to the environs of the stadium. Few football fans arrive at Bramall Lane by this mode of transport. Such circumstances emphasised the apparent contrasting make-up of football crowds and major championship fight crowds. The former are generally local and parochial (in Sheffield’s case at least); the latter draw from a much wider geographical area and, arguably, a more affluent section of society. Boxing currently attracts a level of live spectating interest unmatched since before the Second World War. At the peak, a handful of fighters receive sums unimaginable to the big names of previous decades. Boxing clearly is not dying, as some predicted, it is just carving an ever deeper niche for itself. Referring to the much smaller viewing figures on subscription television channels compared with the pre-satellite TV numbers that used to watch on the BBC and ITV , Simon Block, general secretary of the BBBC, said in 2005: ‘Sky has taken a national sport in 1995 and turned it into a minority sport ten years later’. The wealth boxing generates is thus increasingly held in fewer and fewer pairs of hands. This is what sports journalist Kevin Mitchell argued was ‘its acceptable form, as living theatre’, in which ‘violence hypnotises its audience as it simultaneously gives its participants the dubious thrill of gambling with their own mortality for sometimes considerable sums of money’ (Mitchell 2011, p. XVIII). For those who cannot attain such opulence, boxing is a small-hall, low-paid sport frequented by sometimes dubious characters, as well as by dedicated and committed volunteers and aficionados of the fight game. This form of the sport is not on the radar of mainstream entertainment.

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Attending such shows therefore has an illicit, retrogressive feeling. Elsewhere, boxing is practised by the Oxbridge elite but the sport’s extremes rarely merge. Surrounding it all there is an ever-present lobby of medics and moralists demanding that boxing be banned for health or ethical reasons. They argue that boxing can ruin lives. It can, but it can also save lives; in a world riven by inequalities it will always offer redemption. It has always been so. Witness the huge crowds at Thistleton Gap in 1811 and Worcester racecourse in 1824 (see Volume One). Royalty and aristocrats—the celebrities of their day—attended prize-fights, supported fighters financially and placed large bets on the outcome. Meanwhile, public schools and the armed forces encouraged boxing within their ranks whilst simultaneously frowning upon the fighting proclivities of the lower classes. In the late eighteenth century, The Times led a campaign to have boxing abolished. Letter writers in newspapers today advocate the same. The fight game has changed a lot in the last 250 years. It has also changed very little.

Notes 1. Quoted in Ferguson (1823). 2. Quoted in Green and Svinth (2003), p. 211. 3. Celebrities attending boxing events is not a recent phenomenon. London featherweight Sammy McCarthy, who fought between 1951 and 1957, recalled seeing film stars at weigh-ins: ‘I can see now Jean Simmons, John Mills, Stewart Granger and all the actors and actresses being there.’ (Daley 2014). 4. Quoted in Hauser (1991), p. 302.

References Bourdieu, P., & Eagleton, T. (1992). Doxa and Common Life. New Left Review, 191, 111–121. Bourdieu, P., & Wacquant, L. (1992). An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. University of Chicago Press. Daley, A. (2014). Fighting Men of London: Voices from Inside the Ropes. Pitch Publishing. Early, G. (1989). Tuxedo Junction. The Ecco Press. Available at: https://archive. org/details/tuxedojunctiones00earl/page/n7/mode/2up. Ferguson, J. (1823). The British Essayists. With Prefaces Biographical, Historical, and Critical. J. Richardson & Co., G. Offor, T. Tegg, W. Sharpe &

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Son, Robinson & Co., G. Walker, J. Evans & Sons, R. Dobson, J. Jones, J. Johnson, J. Carfrae, J, Sutherland, R. Griffin. Foucault, M. (1979). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Polity. Green, T. A., & Svinth, J. R. (2003). Martial Arts in the Modern World. Praeger. Hauser, T. (1991). Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times. Robson Books. Mitchell, K. (2011). War, Baby: The Glamour of Violence. Yellow Jersey Press. Oates, J. C. (1992, February 23). Rape And The Boxing Ring, Newsweek. Available at: https://www.newsweek.com/rape-and-boxing-ring-200652. Wainwright, S., Williams, C., & Turner, B. (2006). Varieties of Habitus and the Embodiment of Ballet. Qualitative Research, 6, 535.

Appendix

Scores of newspapers and websites were accessed in the making of this volume. In particular, hundreds of editions of the newspapers The Times, the Sheffield Green ‘Un and the Sheffield Star—too many to catalogue individually—proved invaluable sources of historical reports, quotations and facts. Additionally, this book could not have been written without the unique statistical boxing data available on the website http://boxrec. com/, which, although not infallible, is an archival wonder. Hopefully, our research can help correct the (very few) errors and omissions we came across. The following list of sources used is inevitably not exhaustive, but gives some indication of the depth of inquiry necessary to produce a piece of work that we trust is a fairly comprehensive chronicle of the history of boxing in Sheffield. Newspapers, Magazines and Periodicals Bolton News Boston Investigator Boxing News Daily Evening Bulletin Daily Mail Daily Mirror Daily Telegraph Galveston Daily News © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4

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Guardian Independent Independent on Sunday Irish Times Leeds Mercury Morning Advertiser Morning Oregonian New Orleans Daily Picayune New York Times Newcastle Evening Chronicle Sheffield Star Sheffield Telegraph Sports Illustrated Sunday Times The Cosmopolitan The Ring The Times Websites http://ainsworthsports.com/ http://bleacherreport.com/ http://boxrec.com/ http://cdnc.ucr.edu/ http://ejmas.com/ http://fightnetwork.com/ http://inglegym.com/ http://lottery.merseyworld.com/ http://martialarts.about.com/ http://nytimes.com/ http://oreald.com/ http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/ http://senya13.blogspot.co.uk/ http://silkyjones.blog.co.uk/ http://thefightscene.co.uk/ http://www.abae.co.uk/ http://www.bbc.co.uk/ http://www.bl.uk/ http://www.bloodyelbow.com/ http://www.boxing.com/ http://www.boxinghistory.org.uk/

APPENDIX

http://www.boxing-news.com/ http://www.boxingnews24.com/ http://www.boxingnewsonline.net/ http://www.boxingtonight.co.uk/ http://www.boxnews.com.ua/ http://www.boxraw.com/ http://www.british-history.ac.uk/ http://www.burngreavemail.co.uk/ http://www.champsuk.com/ http://www.chrishobbs.com/ http://www.chroniclelive.co.uk/ http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/ http://www.dailypost.co.uk/ http://www.dennishobson.com/ http://www.ebfboxing.co.uk/ https://www.englandboxing.org/ http://www.fightsrec.com/ http://www.independent.co.uk/ http://www.islingtongazette.co.uk/ http://www.livefight.com/ http://www.lovemytown.co.uk/ http://www.measuringworth.com/ http://www.mirror.co.uk/ http://www.picturesheffield.com/ http://www.pmprice.freeserve.co.uk/ http://www.sheffieldforum.co.uk/ http://www.sheffieldhistory.co.uk/ http://www.telegraph.co.uk/ http://www.televisionheaven.co.uk/ http://www.theguardian.com/ http://www.thekingmaker.me/ http://www.thestar.co.uk/ http://www.totleyhistorygroup.org.uk/ http://www.warriorboxing.com/ http://www.welcometosheffield.co.uk/ https://ballardfitness.com/ https://bmaba.org.uk/ https://boxingscience.co.uk/ https://cityofsanctuary.org/

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https://en.wikipedia.org/ https://femalecoachingnetwork.com/ https://policynetwork.org/ https://sheffield.camra.org.uk/ https://sluggerotoole.com/ https://twitter.com/ https://wearencs.com/ https://www.aiba.org/ https://www.borderlinepersonalitydisorder.org/ https://www.boxercise.co.uk/ https://www.boxingnewsonline.net/ https://www.citymetric.com/ https://www.espn.co.uk/ https://www.gov.uk/ https://www.hesa.ac.uk/ https://www.irishtimes.com/ https://www.itv.com/ https://www.nomisweb.co.uk/ https://www.ringtv.com/ https://www.rugbyworld.com/ https://www.sanctuary-housing.co.uk/ https://www.secondsout.com/ https://www.sheffield.gov.uk/ https://www.socialenterprise.org.uk/ https://www.sportengland.org/ https://www.voice-online.co.uk/ https://www.worldboxingnews.net/ https://www.wsc.co.uk/ https://www.youtube.com/ Broadcast Media BBC Look North Sheffield Live TV BBC Radio 4 documentary Forged in Sheffield Wise Guys Podcast Productions interview with John Keeton, available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kwMIWEcUYo.

Index

A Abraham, Arthur, 302 Abraham, Seth, 103 Adams, Nicola, 317, 319, 320, 329, 337 Agogo, Anthony, 317 Akinwande, Henry, 88, 91, 155 Alexander, Devon, 121, 129, 130 Alfadli, Anwar, 323 Alicea, Daniel, 101 Ali, Kash, 323 Ali, Muhammad, 5, 7, 51, 75, 97, 99, 102, 115, 116, 165, 210, 212, 237, 266, 302, 318, 365, 366 Allan, Alec, 118, 119, 158 Allen, Carl, 180 Álvarez, Lázaro Jorge, 294 Álvarez, Saul ‘Canelo’, 135, 176, 178 Ambomo, Serge, 324–326 Amin, Idi, 60, 79 Ancliff, James, 204

Anderson, Brian, 16, 40, 47, 57, 66, 75, 79, 114, 116, 165–168, 170, 171 Andrade, Demetrius, 291 Andries, Dennis, 88 Aouissi, Patrice, 88 Arum, Bob, 3, 109, 234 Ashley, Crawford, 146, 196 Ashton, John, 70, 71, 81 Asipeli, Sione, 89 Astaire, Jarvis, 22, 79 Atkins, Sue, 319 Aurino, Pietro, 89 Awad, Abdul-Bari. See Galahad, Kid Awad, Barry. See Galahad, Kid Ayers, Michael, 175

B Badillo, Jose, 117, 155 Baer, Max, 37 Bailey, Randall, 129 Baker, Mark, 146

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Bell and G. Armstrong, A Social History of Sheffield Boxing, Volume II, Palgrave Studies in Urban Anthropology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-63553-4

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INDEX

Balderstone, Chris, 217, 227 Barrera, Marco Antonio, 110–112, 117, 159, 212, 213 Barrett, Mike, 22, 57, 79 Bartleman, Walter, 224 Basso, Nat, 27, 77 Bays, Ric, 160 Bean, J.P., 170 Bean, Sean, 128 Beard, Ricky, 96 Beattie, Geoffrey, 71, 97, 157, 181, 182 Belcastro, Vincenzo, 96, 99, 109 Bellew, Tony, 273, 277 Benítez, Wilfred, 63 Bennett, Pete, 35 Benn, Nigel, 66, 67, 69, 70, 75, 85, 155, 172, 267 Bentt, Michael, 78 Berto, Andre, 135 Biney, Bob, 38, 165 Biney, Lionel, 231 Bisping, Michael, 303 Bizier, Kevin, 134 Blair MP, Tony, 78, 314 Block, Simon, 59, 367 Blomfield MP, Paul, 327 Blundell, Lee, 177 Blunkett MP, David, 32, 78 Bodell, Jack, 79 Booth, Adam, 189, 237, 276 Booth, Jason, 204 Booth, Ken, 34 Booth, Tony, 88 Borges, Michel, 293 Bostan, Junaid, 285 Boston, Charlie, 62 Bosworth, Alan, 119 Bott, Markus, 86 Boucher, Donovan, 140 Bourdieu, Pierre, 6, 361, 363 Bower, Edward, 292

Bowe, Riddick, 78 Bower, Mike, 335 Bradley, Lonnie, 177 Bradley, Nigel, 195, 225 Bradley, the Very Reverend Peter, 49 Bradley, Timothy, 121 Bradley, Tom, 194, 195, 225 Bramall, Leigh, 352 Brearley, Harry, 268, 293 Brewer, Charles, 73, 211, 262 Brewster, Darwin, 167 Bristol, Kenny, 55, 171 Broadhead, Julian. See Bean, J.P. Bromley, Joe, 172, 224 Brook, Kell aborted fight vs Devon Alexander, 129, 130 amateur boxing career, 125, 134, 183 arrival at the Ingle gym, aged nine, 123 bickering with Amir Khan, 127, 134–136, 138, 139 contract with Frank Warren and return to the Ingle gym, 125 conviction for assault, 123 departure from the Ingle gym, 124 depression after defeat to Errol Spence Junior, 137 early life, 123 enlistment of sports scientist and nutritionist, 131 fight vs Aleksei Stoda, 125 fight vs Álvaro Robles, 130 fight vs Barrie Jones (British title fight), 125 fight vs Errol Spence Junior (world title fight), 137 fight vs Frankie Gavin (world title fight), 133 fight vs Gennady Golovkin (world title fight), 136

INDEX

fight vs Hector Saldivia, 129 fight vs Jo Jo Dan (world title fight), 133 fight vs Karl David, 125 fight vs Kevin Bizier (world title fight), 134 fight vs Kevin McIntyre (British title fight), 126 fight vs Lovemore N’dou, 127 fight vs Luis Galarza, 127 fight vs Mark DeLuca, 139 fight vs Matthew Hatton, 127 fight vs Michael Jennings (British title fight), 126 fight vs Michael Lomax (British title fight), 126 fight vs Michael Zerafa, 139 fight vs Philip Kotey, 126 fight vs Rafał Jackiewicz, 127 fight vs Shawn Porter (world title fight), 130, 134 fight vs Stuart Elwell (British title fight), 126 fight vs Vyacheslav Senchenko, 130 first fight vs Carson Jones, 129 first professional fight vs Peter Buckley, 125 second fight vs Carson Jones, 129 stabbing in Tenerife, 131 stabbing outside the Cactus Club, 125 successful appeal against conviction for assault, 126 unusual physical strength, 124 winner of 2009 ‘Young Boxer of the Year’, 126 Brook, Lindsey, 131, 134 Brooks, George, 269, 270, 293 Brook, Terry, 124 Browne, Lucas, 189 Brown, Peter, 85 Bruno, Frank, 81, 86, 157, 262, 269

377

Bryan, Del, 175 Buatsi, Joshua, 318 Buckley, Peter, 125, 158 Bugner, Joe, 22, 79, 81 Bulloch, Ian, 85 Bull, Stefy, 185 Bunce, Steve, 70, 73, 75, 81, 95, 106, 111, 112, 154, 302, 319 Bunclarke, Jimmy, 181 Bungu, Vuyani, 109, 110 Burke, Tony, 167 Burkinshaw, Ross, 40, 78, 179 Burns, Ricky, 186 Burstin, Frankie, 98 Butler, Frank, 224

C Caborn MP, Richard, 32, 314, 316 Cabrera, Juan, 101, 105 Caine, Mick, 36 Calvert, Billy, 116, 231 Calvo, Manuel, 112, 114 Calzaghe, Joe, 5, 75, 92, 155 Cameron, Liam, 321, 322 Cameron MP, David, 209, 227 Campbell, Luke, 317, 337 Cancan, Ren, 320 Canizales, Orlando, 117 Cantatore, Vincenzo, 90 Cantwell, Micky, 275 Capriano, Mike, 55 Carnall, Harry, 231, 233 Carnera, Primo, 37 Carpentier, Georges, 37 Carr, Cornelius, 72, 267, 292 Carrier, Larry, 87 Carroll, Andy, 136 Casey, Ryan, 126 Casimero, John Riel, 285 Castro, Armando, 97 Castro, Vincent Hugo, 121

378

INDEX

Chaloner, Alma. See Ingle, Alma Chichocki, Mark, 233, 257 Chisora, Dereck, 204, 272, 273, 277 Christian, Chris, 55 Christie, Errol, 57, 59–61, 66, 75, 170 Chudinov, Fedor, 137 Clay, Cassius. See Ali, Muhammad Clay, Hunter, 55 Clayton, Walter, 34, 35, 79, 255 Clegg, Mike, 311 Close, Brian, 217 Cloud, Tavoris, 152, 263 Coburn, Chester, 165, 224 Coe, Sebastian, 14 Colclough, Tony, 195 Coldwell, Dave, 16, 49, 114, 125, 177, 178, 189, 222, 235, 273, 321 Collins, Steve, 27, 142 Collins, Terry, 27 Collins, Tom, 88, 195 Compton, Denis, 217 Compton, Leslie, 217 Cook, James, 66, 191 Cooper, Henry, 22, 115 Cooper, Peter, 55 Coranson, Fred, 55 Corbett, James J., 16 Cordova, Victor, 61, 63, 80 Corfield, George, 116 Corley, DeMarcus, 120 Cotto, Miguel, 120 Couch, Jane, 319 Cowan, Mick, 29, 35, 53 Coyle, Jamie, 178 Crocker, Lee, 174 Crolla, Anthony, 186 Crookes, Ron, 36 Cruz, Freddie, 99 Cruz, Steve, 61 Cumbes, Jim, 217

Cunningham MP, Jack, 315 Curran, Terry, 232 Curry, Don, 131 Cuthbert, Johnny, 116 D D’Amato, Cus, 257, 292 Dan, Jo Jo, 133, 159 David, Karl, 125 Davie, Art, 301 Davison, John, 100 Dawes, John, 292 Deeney, Troy, 136 DeGale, James, 329 De La Hoya, Oscar, 89, 130, 155, 159, 234 de León, Carlos, 85 DeLisle, Jason, 149 DeLuca, Mark, 139 Dempsey, Jack, 37 Denny, Damien, 140 Denton, Reagan, 16, 208, 209 Devine, Chris, 79 Diamante, David, 272 Dickens, James ‘Jazza’, 205 Din, Waleed, 322, 323 Dirrell, Andre, 302 Dixon, Eli, 190 Dodson, Adrian, 141 Dore, Julie, 352 Dos Santos, Adeilson, 205 Douglas, J.W.H.T., 217 Douglas, Mary, 7 Downes, Terry, 22 Draper, Roger, 315 Duff, Gary, 35 Duff, Mickey, 3, 22, 56, 69, 70, 79 Dundee, Angelo, 7 Dunne, Bernard, 180 Dunn, Zac, 321 Dunstan, Terry, 197, 233, 267 Durán, Roberto, 5, 55, 61, 262, 266

INDEX

E Early, Gerald, 365, 366 Eastwood, Barney, 60, 62, 65, 67, 70, 80, 167 Edwards, Charlie, 280, 285, 287, 322 Edwards, Sunny, 280, 284, 285, 322, 329 Edwards, Terry, 317 Ellis, Jimmy, 167 El Maachi, Yassine, 122 El Mousaoui, Ahmed, 122 Elphinstone, Eleasha. See Hamed, Eleasha Elwell, Stuart, 126 English, Bryan, 314 Ennis-Hill, Jessica, 159, 337 Epifantsev, Yuri, 177 Essomba, Thomas, 322, 324 Etches, Adam, 139 Etzioni, Amitai, 209, 226 Eubank, Chris, 66, 71, 75, 80, 92, 98, 155, 224, 266 Evans, Fred, 317

F Facey, Andrew, 183, 225 Farnsworth, Steve, 79 Fazeldin, Muheeb, 323 Fearn, Spencer, 276 Ferguson, Sir Alex, 311 Ferguson-Prayogg, Lance, 327 Fertitta, Frank, 301 Fertitta, Lorenzo, 301, 303 Fewkes, John, 139 Fincher, David, 327 Finnegan, Chris, 28 Fitzsimmons, Bob, 16 Fletcher, Penny. See Port, Neil Flexen, Darren, 100 Fonteyn, Margot, 363 Ford, Terry, 72

379

Foreman, George, 5, 366 Frampton, Carl, 204, 207, 303, 326 Francis, Dean, 73, 199 Francis, Julius, 191 Francis, Roy, 98, 140 Francis, Simon, 275 Frank, Tommy, 258, 322 Frazier, Joe, 5 Froch, Carl, 5, 127, 148, 237, 283, 302, 329 Fry, C.B., 217 Fury, Tyson, 80, 189, 204 Futch, Eddie, 267

G Galahad, Kid, 189, 203, 226, 254, 323, 360 Galarza, Luis, 127 Gashi, Elton. See Montana, Tony Gashi, Senad, 273 Gasser, Mark, 225 Gassiev, Murat, 303 Gavin, Frankie, 122, 133, 220, 317 Gaydarbekov, Gaydarbek, 136 Gent, Lou, 86, 191 Giddens, Anthony, 363 Gill, Jordan, 321, 322 Gillott, Ray, 38, 143 Girard, Christophe, 89 Girard, René, 25 Gladwell, Malcolm, 157 Goldberg, Howard, 155 Golovkin, Gennady, 136, 137 Golovkin, Max, 136 González, Julio César, 149, 150, 160 Gore, Frank, 311 Gove MP, Michael, 344 Gracie, Rorion, 301 Graham, Herol ‘Bomber’ admission to hospital with bowel illness, 74

380

INDEX

admission to psychiatric unit, 73, 75 buyout of contract by Barney Eastwood, 60 comeback fight vs Terry Ford, 72 death of partner Karen Neville, 74 development of the ‘Ingle style’, 183 dislike of training, 62 early life, 50 elusiveness in the ring, 115 fall-out with Barney Eastwood, 65 fight vs Ayub Kalule (European title fight), 5 fight vs Charles Brewer (world title fight), 73 fight vs Charlie Boston, 62 fight vs Chris Christian (British and Commonwealth title fight), 55 fight vs Clement Tshinza (European title fight), 181 fight vs Craig Joseph, 72 fight vs Curtis Marsh, 53 fight vs Frank Grant (British title fight), 71 fight vs Fred Coranson, 55 fight vs Germain Le Maitre (European title fight), 56 fight vs Hunter Clay (Commonwealth title fight), 55 fight vs Irving Hines, 59 fight vs Ismail Negron, 69 fight vs James Cook (British title fight), 66 fight vs Jimmy Price (British title fight), 59 fight vs John Ashton (British title fight), 70 fight vs Johnny Melfah (British title fight), 67 fight vs Jose Seys, 59

fight vs Julian Jackson (world title fight), 174 fight vs Kenny Bristol (Commonwealth title fight), 55 fight vs Lindell Holmes, 57 fight vs Mark Kaylor (European title fight), 61 fight vs Mike McCallum (world title fight), 68 fight vs Noel ‘Prince’ Rodney, 54 fight vs Pat Thomas (British title fight), 71 fight vs Roberto Ruiz, 60 fight vs Rod Douglas (British title fight), 68 fight vs Sanderline Williams, 59 fight vs Steve Cruz, 61 fight vs Vinny Pazienza, 73 first fight vs Sumbu Kalambay (European title fight), 71 first professional fight vs Vivian Waite, 53 first retirement from boxing, 74 impact on Sheffield boxing, 51 influence of Muhammad Ali, 51 junior amateur boxing career, 52 meeting Brendan Ingle, 51 mental illness, 73 move to middleweight, 29 move to Sheffield, 5, 50, 52 partnership in jewellery business, 65 peacemaker in Mark Kaylor/Errol Christie brawl, 60, 66 perceived bias of ABA, 26, 52 problems in personal life, 64 reconciliation with Brendan Ingle, 65 retinal damage and second retirement, 116 second fight vs Sumbu Kalambay (European title fight), 74

INDEX

senior amateur boxing career, 167 split from Brendan Ingle, 51 split from Tony McKenna and Mick Cowan, 35 tribute dinner, 74 turning professional, 53, 66 winner of 1980 ‘Young Boxer of the Year’, 55 Graham, Hubert, 51 Graham, Nathan, 122 Graham, Nina, 73 Grant, Frank, 71 Grant, Otis, 177 Gray, Henry, 143 Green, Eddie, 39 Gregory, Sam, 340 Gridley, Ray, 336 Griffin, Paul, 204 Groves, George, 5, 137, 237, 276, 303, 312 Guerrero, Rafael, 99 Gummer, Tommy, 34 Gutteridge, Reg, 86, 98, 99 Gutz, Billy, 58

H Hagland, Ronnie, 266, 292 Hagler, ‘Marvelous’ Marvin, 5, 58, 61, 62, 78, 80, 156, 157, 262 Hall, Henry, 27, 57, 116, 321 Halliday, Dr Fred, 93 Hamed, Ciara, 94 Hamed, Eleasha, 157 Hamed, Nabeel, 108 Hamed, Naseem, 95, 105, 108 apocryphal story of beating up three bigger boys, 94 appointment of Emanuel Steward and Oscar Suárez as trainers, 108 boxing style, 50, 95, 203

381

bragging, 116 conviction for dangerous driving, 114 demographic of Hamed supporters, 116, 117 early life, 93 elaborate ring entries, 95, 98 fall-out with Johnny Nelson., 113 fight vs Armando Castro, 97 fight vs Augie Sanchez (world title fight), 109, 110 fight vs César Soto (world title fight), 109 fight vs Daniel Alicea (world title fight), 101 fight vs Freddie Cruz, 99 fight vs John Miceli, 97 fight vs Juan Cabrera (world title fight), 101, 105 fight vs Kevin Kelley (world title fight), 101, 115, 177 fight vs Manuel Calvo, 112 fight vs Marco Antonio Barrera (world title fight), 110, 117, 159 fight vs Miguel Matthews, 98 fight vs Paul Ingle (world title fight), 108 fight vs Said Lawal (world title fight), 101 fight vs Sergio Liendo, 98 fight vs Steve Robinson (world title fight), 88, 99, 100, 116, 174 fight vs Tom ‘Boom Boom’ Johnson (world title fight), 101 fight vs Vincenzo Belcastro (European title fight), 96, 99 fight vs Vuyani Bungu (world title fight), 109, 110 fight vs Wayne McCullough (world title fight), 106, 110

382

INDEX

fight vs Wilfredo Vázquez (world title fight), 106 first professional fight vs Ricky Beard, 96 induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, 49, 116 influence of brothers, 95, 105, 108 junior amateur career, 49, 104, 107, 156, 158 marriage to Eleasha Elphinstone, 157 opening of gymnasium, 114 perceived bias of ABA, 29 ring antics, 100 self-confidence, 203 signing of first professional contract at the Houses of Parliament, 96 split from Brandan Ingle, 29 strengthening of Islamic faith, 108 victim of racism, 95 Hamed, Riath, 106, 107, 114, 115 Hamed, Salem Ali Ahmed Kashmeem, 94 Hamilton, Darren, 221 Harding, John, 272 Hardy, Billy, 98, 117 Harrington, the Reverend Fred, 29 Harrison, Audley, 160, 329 Harris, Vivian, 121 Hartfield, Charlie, 269 Hatton, Matthew, 127 Hatton, Ricky, 5, 119, 120, 127, 150, 200, 234 Hauser, Thomas, 11 Haye, David, 189, 237, 273, 276 Hayles, Richard. See Towers, Richard Haynes MP, Frank, 96 Haythornthwaite, Ethel, 355 Hearn, Barry, 70, 85, 87, 96, 109, 140, 142, 158

Hearn, Eddie, 3, 127, 130, 133–135, 138, 158, 235, 272, 311 Hearns, Thomas, 5, 61, 157, 179 Hemsley, Ted, 217 Hennessy, Mick, 119 Hide, Herbie, 43 Higgins, President Michael, 49 Hines, Irving, 59 Hobson, Andrew, 236 Hobson, Dennis, 3, 16, 38, 135, 144, 145, 147, 150–153, 222, 230, 268, 281, 318, 322, 365 Hoey MP, Kate, 314 Hoggart, Richard, 278 Holberry, Samuel, 355 Holland, G.C., 343 Holmes, Lindell, 57 Honeyghan, Lloyd, 131 Hope, Maurice, 22 Hopkin, Steve, 52 Howard, Paul, 123 Howell MP, Denis, 327 Hoye, Rico, 149 Hudson, Jackie, 16 Hughes, Sean, 180 Hunter, Michael, 180 Hussain, Qasim, 323

I Ibrahimovic, Zlatan, 136 Ingle, Alma, 56, 64 Ingle, Brendan admission to hospital with serious illness, 47 advocate of community spirit and multi-culturalism, 30 amateur boxing career, 16, 24, 34 arrival in Sheffield, 23 as a mentor on the ‘Starting Point’ project, 32, 170

INDEX

as de facto parent, guardian, para-legal, counsellor and social worker, 33 as founder member of the Sheffield and District Ex-Boxers’ Association, 28, 29 as joint-promoter with Alma, 27 award of MBE, 47 ban from boxing, 140 dyslexia, 24 early life, 14 formation of the Ingle gym, 16, 25, 26, 29, 30, 38–40, 46, 50, 52, 53, 63, 75, 84, 99, 114, 118, 123 influence of literary works, 42 influence of religion, 30 interest in training methods, 27 love of singing, 34 marriage to Alma, 25 professional boxing career, 27 style of boxing training, 84 unorthodox methods, 32, 33, 40, 172 visits to pubs, working-men’s clubs and prisons, 44 work outside boxing, 28 Ingle, Bridget, 32 Ingle, Charles, 23 Ingle, Dominic, 49, 92, 107, 113, 128, 133, 137, 138, 158, 197, 202–206, 238, 291, 329 Ingle, John (senior), 77, 124, 176, 183, 185, 247 Ingle, Paul, 108 Ingle, Peter, 23 Ingle, Sarah, 23 Ingle, Sean, 117 Ingle, Tara, 25 Ingram, Mark, 311 Ion, Ionut Dan. See Dan, Jo Jo Irwin, Ian, 320

383

Irwin, Jon Jo, 180

J Jackiewicz, Rafał, 127 Jackson, Janet, 212 Jackson, Julian, 69, 75, 174 Jackson, Laura, 214, 216 Jackson, Michael, 101, 227 Jackson, Robert, 49 Jeffries, Jim, 3 Jeffries, Tony, 329 Jenkins, Gethin, 338 Jenman, Nicky, 321 Jennett, Professor Bryan, 69, 81 Jennings, Michael, 126 Johnson, Callum, 115 Johnson, Chris, 72 Johnson, Glen, 148–150 Johnson, Mark, 8 Johnson MP, Boris, 353 Johnson, Steve, 167 Johnson, Tom ‘Boom Boom’, 101 Jones, Barrie, 125 Jones, Bradley, 142 Jones, Carson, 127, 129 Jones, Guillermo, 89 Jones, Junior, 142 Jones Junior, Roy, 147 Jones, Mickila, 320 Jones, Paul ‘Silky’ apparent retirement and comeback fight, 141 campaign for recognition of WBO world champion status, 141 early life, 139 emigration to Canada, 139 fight vs Adrian Dodson, 141 fight vs Damien Denny, 140 fight vs Jason Matthews (Commonwealth title fight), 141

384

INDEX

fight vs Jason Rowe, 140 fight vs Ryan Rhodes (British title fight), 140, 321 fight vs Verno Phillips (world title fight), 140, 141, 233 first fight vs Johnson Tshuma (Commonwealth title fight), 141 second fight vs Johnson Tshuma (Commonwealth title fight), 141 withdrawal of world title by WBO, 140 Joseph, Craig, 72, 146 Joshua, Anthony, 5, 237, 250, 311, 317, 318, 337 Joyce, Joe, 318 Judah, Zab, 119, 120

K Kalambay, Sumbu, 63, 71, 74 Kalule, Ayub, 5, 59, 60 Karanja, Duncan, 180 Kayani, Lambsy, 78 Kaylor, Mark, 57, 60, 61, 66, 75 Keeton, John ‘Buster’, 192, 374 Kelley, Kevin, 101–104, 115, 157, 177 Kennedy, Nick, 38, 78 Kessler, Mikkel, 5, 302 Khan, Amer, 46, 124 Khan, Amir, 127, 134–139, 159, 186, 329 Khomitsky, Sergey, 178 King, Don, 3, 7, 101, 157, 234 King, Michael, 260 Kinsiona, Christian, 286 Kinsiona, Dan, 286 Kinsiona, Levi, 285 Klitschko, Vitali, 189, 190, 366 Klitschko, Wladimir, 5, 80, 189

Kotelnik, Andreas, 120 Kotey, Philip, 126 Kovács, István, 110 Kryeziu, Festim. See Schwarzkopf, Timo KSI, 310, 311 Kulpin, Nikolay, 88

L Lacey, Alan, 304, 305 Laight, Kristian, 184, 225 Lakoff, George, 8 LaMotta, Jake, 55, 79, 256, 262, 292 Langford, Tommy, 222 Lawal, Said, 101 Law, Brian, 38, 78 Lawford, Danny, 85 Lawless, Terry, 3, 60, 62, 79 Lawrence, Dr David, 304 Lax, Eddie, 225 Lax, Kevin, 193 Lazcano, Juan, 5 Lederman, Rena, 7 Lee, Billy, 36, 37 Lee, Bob, 80 Lee, Mick, 35 Leifer, Neil, 365 Le Maitre, Germain, 56 Leonard, Sugar Ray, 5, 35, 60, 62, 78, 97, 262 Leslie MP, Charlotte, 172 Levine, Harry, 3, 22 Lewis, Lennox, 81, 92, 108, 212, 262, 366 Lewis, Ron, 150 Lewis, Willard, 89 Lewsan, Steve, 77 Liendo, Sergio, 98, 156 Limond, Willie, 221 Ling, Earl, 153, 160 Liston, Sonny, 115, 237, 365

INDEX

Lockett, Gary, 177 Logan, Gary, 257 Lomax, Michael, 126 London, Brian, 266 Longden, Graham, 53 Louis, Joe, 51 Lundstram, John, 311 Lusardi, Linda, 86 Luteke, Chris, 285 Lynch, Tiffany, 320 Lynes, Colin, 120, 122

M Maccarinelli, Enzo, 90 Mack, Yusaf, 148, 159 Madden, Owney, 37 Magri, Charlie, 22, 76 Mairena, Brayan, 206 Major MP, John, 312, 314, 350 Makabu, Ilunga, 277 Makepeace, Harry, 217 Malignaggi, Paulie, 127, 130 Mallin, Harry, 320 Maloney, Frank. See Maloney, Kellie Marcantonio, Dean, 219 Markie, Peter, 47, 50, 51, 62, 64–66 Marrero, Claudio, 207 Marsh, Matthew, 180 Marsh, Neil, 325 Martin, Charles, 250, 318 Martinez, Julio Cesar, 285 Martínez, Mauricio, 180 Mason, Paul ‘Stinger’, 274, 293 Matthews, David, 267, 270 Matthews, Derry, 186 Matthews, Jason, 141, 177 Matthews, Miguel, 98 Maxwell, Max, 122 May, Rüdiger, 90 Mayweather Junior, Floyd, 5, 11, 17, 120, 134, 234, 303, 365

385

Mayweather, Roger, 120 McAuley, Dave, 326 McCallum, Mike, 60, 68, 70, 71, 75, 80, 267 McCarthy, Burt, 57 McCarthy, Sammy, 368 McCloskey, Paul, 159 McCracken, Robert, 317, 318 McCullough, Wayne, 106, 110 McDonagh, Peter, 220 McDonnell, Gavin, 273 McDonnell, Jamie, 234, 235, 273 McDonnell, Jim, 240 McGrath, Graham, 180 McGregor, Conor, 17, 303, 304 McGuigan, Barry, 5, 54, 60, 61, 63, 106, 233, 240, 326 McIntyre, Kevin, 122, 126 McIver, Mally, 185 McKart, Bronco, 140, 141 McKenna, Tony, 29, 35, 53–55 McKenzie, Clinton, 22 McKenzie, Ovill, 199 McKernan, Luke, 16 McLeod, Dr Brian, 263 McMillan, Colin, 267, 270 Mead, Margaret, 7 Meager, Lee, 200 Meale MP, Alan, 96 Meeks, Simon, 117 Melfah, Johnny, 67, 81 Merchant, Larry, 104 Metcalf, James, 325 Meyrowitz, Bob, 301 Miceli, John, 97 Middleton, Frank, 38, 78 Miles, Ted, 51 Miles, Terry, 51 Milius, John, 301 Miller, Tommy, 27, 28 Mills, Mick, 34, 75 Milton, Arthur, 217

386

INDEX

Minter, Alan, 75, 80 Mitchell, Clifton. See Reilly, Paddy Mitchell, Kevin, 186, 367 Mohammed, Shaffaq, 214 Monsieur, Yves, 86 Montana, Tony, 253 Moorcroft, David, 314 Moore, Davie, 60 Moore, Judge Robert, 126, 235, 236 Morales, Érik, 117 Moran, Michael ‘Chappie’, 292 Moreno, Angel, 285 Morris, John, 72 Morrison, Des, 76 Morua, Arturo, 120, 121 Mowat, Matt, 259 Moy, Phillip, 126 Mugabi, John, 51 Mullin, Stephen, 185 Mundraby, Fred, 205 Muriqi, Elvir, 152 Murray, Ross, 285

N Najib, Razaq, 179, 323 Najib, Uzair, 323 Nassa, Hakeem, 323 Nassa, Loua, 322, 323 Nassa, Pharys, 323 Nassa, Ramzy, 323 Nathan, Sid, 54 N’dou, Lovemore, 127 Neale, Phil, 217 Negron, Ismail, 69 Nelson, Johnny amateur boxing career, 85 arrival at the Ingle gym, 85 as television pundit, 85, 86 career-ending knee injury, 90 early life, 84 ‘exile’ from Britain, 87

fear of boxing, 86, 91 fight vs Alexander Petkovic (world title fight), 90 fight vs Alexander Vasiliev, 89 fight vs Andy Straughn (British title fight), 85 fight vs Bruce Scott (world title fight), 89 fight vs Carlos de León (world title fight), 85 fight vs Carl Thompson (world title fight), 89 fight vs Christophe Girard (world title fight), 89 fight vs Danny Lawford, 85 fight vs Dave Russell, 88 fight vs Dennis Andries (British title fight), 88 fight vs Dirk Wallyn (European title fight), 88 fight vs Franco Wanyama, 88 fight vs Henry Akinwande, 88 fight vs Ian Bulloch (British title fight), 85 fight vs James Warring (world title fight), 86 fight vs Johnny Thunder, 88 fight vs Lou Gent (British title fight), 86 fight vs Markus Bott (European title fight), 86 fight vs Nikolay Kulpin, 88 fight vs Patrice Aouissi (European title fight), 88 fight vs Pietro Aurino (world title fight), 89 fight vs Rüdiger May (world title fight), 90 fight vs Sione Asipeli (world title fight), 89 fight vs Tom Collins, 88, 195 fight vs Tony Booth, 88

INDEX

fight vs Vincenzo Cantatore (world title fight), 90 fight vs Willard Lewis (world title fight), 89 fight vs Yves Monsieur (European title fight), 86 first fight vs Adilson Rodrigues, 88 first professional fight vs Peter Brown, 85 kidnap threat, 90 moving in with Herol Graham, 44 post-career depression, 91 second fight vs Adilson Rodrigues, 88 style of boxing, 85 Nettey, Isaac, 205 Neville, Karen, 74, 81 Newbon, Gary, 97, 98 N’Jikam, Hassan N’Dam, 293 Norton, Ken, 262 Novak, Dr Richard, 304 Nunn, Michael, 68 Nutbrown, Lol, 35 O Oates, Joyce Carol, 11, 12, 366, 367 Obote, President Milton, 79 O’Brien, James, 220, 221 O’Connell, Jack, 311 O’Connor MP, T.P., 326 Olatunji, Olajide ‘JJ’. See KSI O’maison, Sam, 179, 321 O’Neill, John, 268, 293 O’Toole, Slugger, 97, 191 Owen, Courtney, 213 Owen, Robert, 209, 226 Oyebola, James, 191 P Pacquiao, Manny, 117, 304 Palahniuk, Chuck, 327

Palle, Moegens, 60 Parker, Curtis, 57 Parker, Joseph, 5 Parkes, Delroy, 52, 53, 79 Parkinson, Nick, 111 Patel, Luqmaan, 322 Patterson, Floyd, 292 Paul, Logan, 310 Pazienza, Vinny, 73 Pedroza, Eusebio, 5 Pegg, Jon, 184 Peterson, Lamont, 135 Petkovic, Alexander, 90 Phillips, Verno, 140, 141, 233 Picardi, Antonio, 98 Pickering, Esham, 179, 180 Pinsent, Matthew, 315 Piper, Nicky, 196 Pitt, Nick, 54, 105 Platts, Gus, 34, 116 Plummer, Frederico, 63, 80, 111 Popper, Karl, 24, 25 Porter, Kenny, 131 Porter, Shawn, 130, 131, 134 Port, Neil, 145, 149, 159 Potter, Matthew, 112 Potter, Thomas, 106 Povetkin, Alexander, 5 Power, Danno, 27 Powers, Colin, 34 Prado, Sergio, 205 Price, David, 273, 329, 355 Price, Jimmy, 57, 59 Price, Peter, 32, 337 Pritchard, Kevin, 256 Pritchett, Tony, 64 Puiu, Victor Lupo, 122 Pulis, Tony, 311 Pyatt, Chris, 167 Q Quigg, Scott, 204, 303

387

388

INDEX

R Rabchanka, Siarhei. See Rabchenko, Sergey Rabchenko, Sergey, 138, 178 Rabotte, Ernie, 61 Rainey, Howard, 16, 145, 264 Ramirez, Laureano, 157 Ramirez, Roberto, 160 Ramsbotham, Sir David, 171 Redgrave, Stephen, 315 Rees, Gavin, 186 Reid, Michael, 124 Reid, Pelé, 190 Reid, Robin, 327, 329 Reilly, Paddy, 191 Rhodes, Glyn, 16, 40, 72, 74, 152, 211, 222, 233, 255, 322, 324, 325 Rhodes, Ryan, 16, 41, 43, 44, 49, 50, 74, 104, 113, 140, 156, 159, 173, 179, 180, 183, 275, 276, 291, 293, 321, 360 Rickard, George ‘Tex’, 3 Riley, Corporal Liam, 160 Robinson, Jon, 155 Robinson, Steve, 88, 99, 100, 116, 174, 252 Robinson, Sugar Ray, 256 Robles, Álvaro, 130 Rodney, Noel ‘Prince’, 34, 54, 167 Rodrigues, Adilson, 88 Romero, Rebecca, 227 Ronaldo, Cristiano, 5, 311 Root, Joe, 159 Rosales, Cristofer, 285 Ross, Troy, 199 Rowe, Jason, 140 Rowland, Jason, 200 Royle, Stanley, 29 Ruddock, Alan, 128, 131 Ruiz, Andy, 311 Ruiz Morote, Iván, 205

Ruiz, Roberto, 60 Ruskin, John, 209, 342 Russell, Dave, 88 Ryan, Dave, 220 Ryan, Paul ‘Scrap Iron’, 267 S Sahlins, Marshall, 7 Saldivia, Hector, 129 Sanchez, Abel, 136 Sanchez, Augie, 109, 110 Sandiford, Ben, 327 Saunders, Billy Joe, 242, 247, 291 Savage, Colin, 160 Scannell, Vernon, 364 Scarlett, Lindon, 176 Schenk, Bert, 177 Schwarzkopf, Timo, 122 Scott, Bruce, 89, 196, 198 Scriven, Matt, 321 Searle, Kevin, 93 Senchenko, Vyacheslav, 130 Senkovs, Pavels, 204 Seys, Jose, 59 Shafiq, Atif, 323 Shaif, Abdulgalil, 93 Shaw, Eddie, 54, 63, 80 Sheedy, Sam, 321 Sheffield 1950s and 1960s boxing profile, 12, 93 1970s industrial action, 78 1970s sporting decline, 14 1980s de-industrialisation, 13 1980s rising boxing fortunes, 14 1991 World Student Games, 14, 36, 156, 158, 314, 334, 354 21st century boxing profile, 298 as a centre for 1980s popular music, 14 as a centre of technology and innovation, 264, 348

INDEX

as the training centre for the British Olympic boxing squad, 286 boxers as ‘bouncers’, 154 Britain’s ‘low pay capital’, 341 Britain’s ‘real ale capital’, 347 Britain’s first ‘City of Sanctuary’, 323 Britain’s first ‘National City of Sport’, 337 Chinese investment, 352  City On The Move’ promotional film, 13 class segregation, 13 comparison with other’boxing cities’, 298 disputes with central Government, 14, 334, 348–350 economic regeneration, 350 education provision, 144, 312 effect of ‘Thatcherism’, 13 effect of the Industrial Revolution, 341 English Institute of Sport (EIS), 198, 312, 314 immigration from Aden/Yemen, 93, 94 immigration from Eastern Europe, 353 immigration from Pakistan, 279 industrial past, 94, 299 knife crime, 208, 339 leisure industry changes, 293, 329, 347, 348 Meadowhall shopping mall, 14 National Centre for Popular Music, 14, 17 poverty and deprivation, 353 ‘rate capping’, 13, 349 relocation of the Manpower Services Commission to Sheffield, 13, 17

389

relocation of the Midland Bank headquarters to Sheffield, 17, 349 replacement of manual economy by service economy, 14 reputation as ‘the largest village in the world’, 15 reputation as an ‘outdoor city’, 15 reputation as the ‘hipster centre of the north’, 352 reputation for friendliness, 323 Sevenstones retail development, 14 Sheffield airport, 14, 17, 79 student population and accommodation, 352 Supertram, 14, 350 topography, 15, 341 tree-felling dispute, 344 unemployment rate, 335, 341 Shergold, Kristine, 320 Sherwood, John, 292, 334 Sherwood, Sheila, 334 Shinfield, Mick, 70 Sibson, Tony, 57, 66, 167 Siddique, Nadeem, 45, 185 Silva, Anderson, 303 Silverglade, Bruce, 304 Simons, G.E., 117 Singleton, Shayne, 220 Slew, Gary, 234 Smith, Brian, 281 Smith, Callum, 303 Smith, Cavann, 280 Smith, Chelsea, 280 Smith, Dalton, 286, 317 Smith, Fidel Castro. See O’Toole, Slugger Smith, Gervan, 280 Smith, Grant ‘Miffer’, 285 Smith, Martin, 33, 48 Smith MP, Chris, 313 Smith, Roy, 51

390

INDEX

Soloninkini, Mikheil, 322 Soto, César, 109 Spelman, Dec, 263 Spence Junior, Errol, 137 Spencer, Delroy, 204 Spinks, Leon, 318 Sproat MP, Iain, 312 Srikumar, Sen, 56, 61, 70, 175 Stackhouse, Ricky, 66 Standen, Jim, 217 Starie, David, 146 Sterling, Bunny, 22, 266 Stevenson, Adonis, 277 Steward, Emanuel, 108, 109, 111, 189, 262 Stewart, Dan, 27 Stoda, Aleksei, 125 Stoddart, Andrew, 217 Storey, Sarah, 227 Stracey, John H., 22 Straughn, Andy, 85 Strudwick, Ian, 191 Stuart-Wortley, Lady Caroline, 334 Stuart-Wortley MP, Charles, 334 Suárez, Oscar, 108, 109, 111 Sulaiman, Mauricio, 285 Sutton, G.W., 336 Svinth, Joseph R., 292 Swaby, Lee, 198 Sweeney, Danny, 39 Syed, Matthew, 157 Sykes, Paul, 350 Szabó, Lóránt, 177

Taylor, Mick, 165 Temple, Jim, 265 Tetteh, Joe, 76 Thatcher MP, Margaret, 78, 335, 353 Thaxton, Jon, 200 Theophane, Anthony, 186 Thickett, Sean, 38 Thomas, Pat, 54, 71, 167 Thompson, Bill, 321 Thompson, Carl, 77, 89, 224 Thorpe, Daniel, 183, 185 Thorpe, Thomas, 292 Thunder, James, 253 Timmis, Joel, 214 Tomlinson, Leslie, 260 Tommasone, Carmine, 293 Tony, Gregory, 189 Towers, Richard, 187, 221 Tressell, Robert, 24, 291 Trinidad, Félix, 89 Trizno, Arvydas, 122, 222 Tshinza, Clement, 56, 181 Tshuma, Johnson, 141 Turley, Mark, 154, 183–185 Turner, Bryan, 361 Turner, Victor, 6, 8 Turpin, Randolph, 27 Tyson, Mike, 157, 212, 292, 365

T Tagoe, Napoleon, 89 Tapia, Johnny, 117 Tarver, Antonio, 151 Taylor, Jermain, 302, 303 Taylor, Ken, 217 Taylor, Lewis, 222

V Vahey, Vernon, 35 Vahey, Vinny, 181 Vali, Asif, 322 Vann, Mickey, 58, 160 Vasiliev, Alexander, 89 Vázquez, Wilfredo, 106

U Ulyett, George, 326 Uranga, Juan, 121 Usyk, Oleksandr, 277, 303

INDEX

Vidler, Colin, 227 Volosinas, Simas, 206 Vuma, Vincent, 178

W Wacquant, Loïc, 11, 361 Wahlberg, Mark, 136 Wainwright, Steven, 361 Wainwright, Ted, 326 Waite, Vivian, 53 Wale, Josh, 204 Walker, Chris, 29, 34 Wallyn, Dirk, 88 Wanyama, Franco, 88 Ward, Andre, 127, 302 Ward, Dave, 166 Ward, G.H.B., 355 Ward, Thomas W., 355 Warnock, Neil, 218 Warren, David, 270 Warren, Frank, 3, 60, 66, 86, 104, 105, 108, 112, 117, 119, 125, 126, 134, 175, 212, 219, 234, 250, 252, 266, 267, 291, 318, 357 Warring, James, 86 Warrington, Josh, 207 Watson, Michael, 66, 69, 75, 85, 172, 267 Watson, Willie, 217 Waudby, Peter, 175, 176 Webster, Billy, 266 Weller, Joe, 310 Wells, Billy, 266 Wepner, Chuck, 366 Westgarth, Scott, 263 Wharton, Henry, 191 Wharton, Ronnie, 95, 156 Whiteson, Dr Adrian, 72 Whiting, George, 224 Whyte, Dillian, 273

391

Wilcox, the Very Reverend Doctor Pete, 345 Wild, Carl, 259 Wilder, Deontay, 247 Williams, Clare, 361 Williams, Jackson, 185 Williams, Sanderline, 59 Wilson, George, 34 Wilson, Jerome, 325 Wilson, Peter, 224 Wilson, Russell, 311 Windle, Wayne, 44 Witherspoon, Tim, 148 Witter, Junior bickering with Ricky Hatton, 119 competing in Prizefighter tournament , 122 early life, 118 fight vs Ahmed El Mousaoui, 122 fight vs Alan Bosworth (British title fight), 119 fight vs Arturo Morua (world title fight), 120 fight vs DeMarcus Corley (world title fight), 120 fight vs Devon Alexander (world title fight), 121 fight vs Frankie Gavin (British title fight), 122 fight vs Max Maxwell, 122 fight vs Timo Schwarzkopf, 122 fight vs Timothy Bradley (world title fight), 121 fight vs Victor Lupo Puiu, 122 fight vs Vincent Hugo Castro, 121 fight vs Vivian Harris (world title fight), 121 fight vs Zab Judah (world title fight), 119 first fight vs Arvydas Trizno, 122

392

INDEX

first fight vs Colin Lynes (British, European and Commonwealth title fight), 120, 122 move to the Ingle gym, 113 second fight vs Arvydas Trizno, 122 second fight vs Colin Lynes (British title fight), 120, 122 Woodford, Kevin, 26 Woodhall, Richie, 311 Woodhouse, Curtis, 179, 217, 273 Woods, Clinton addiction to gambling, 145 as manager of boxing gym, 147, 166 ‘blue-collar’ values, 153 early life, 142 enshrinement as a ‘Sheffield Legend’, 154 fighting in nightclubs, 145, 154 fight vs Antonio Tarver (world title fight), 151 fight vs Craig Joseph, 72, 146 fight vs Crawford Ashley (British, Commonwealth and European title fight), 146 fight vs David Starie (Commonwealth title fight), 146 fight vs Mark Baker (Commonwealth title fight), 146 fight vs Rico Hoye (world title fight), 149 fight vs Roy Jones Junior (world title fight), 147 fight vs Tavoris Cloud (world title fight), 152, 263 first fight vs Glen Johnson (world title fight), 148 first fight vs Jason DeLisle, 149

first fight vs Julio César González (world title fight), 149 giving up boxing, 74 influence of Neil Port, 145, 149 joining Dennis Hobson’s gym, 145 joining Hillsborough Boys’ Club, 143 junior amateur boxing career, 144 modesty, 155 moving to train with Glyn Rhodes, 152 post-retirement life, 154 second fight vs Glen Johnson (world title fight), 149 second fight vs Jason DeLisle (world title fight), 149 second fight vs Julio César González (world title fight), 150 sparring for money in London, 145 third fight vs Glen Johnson (world title fight), 149 turning professional, 145, 151 work outside boxing, 143 Woods, Heath, 143 Woods, Natalia, 153, 154 Woods, Todd, 143 Wooldridge, Ian, 319 Woosnam, Max, 217 Wozniacki, Caroline, 312 Wright, Peter, 79, 80

Y Young, Leroy, 214, 216 Yousaf, Kyle, 282, 289, 322, 323

Z Zerafa, Michael, 139 Zielonka, Manfred, 80