IT stunned the boxing world. But in truth, it went far beyond our ever-declining boxing bubble. When the incredibly sad news broke on September 14th that Ricky Hatton had passed away at the young age of 46, it seemed the nation mourned the loss of a sporting hero.
A national hero. A working-class hero. The outpouring of grief was universal. It was genuine and heartfelt. Hatton was that type of person. Even in death, Hatton crossed over into the mainstream.
Hatton fought his demons long before ‘retirement’ and a life away from the bright lights. Like many, he found defeat and the solitude of his own thoughts a constant battle. Those two defeats to Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao hit him hard.
The immense wave of support from the masses made him, and in some ways, broke him. The weight of expectation was too much for him when Mayweather and Pacquiao inflicted those two painful defeats on his resume. Hatton felt he had let everyone down. He hadn’t, of course, but in his mind, he had.
A family feud cut deep. But open wounds were seemingly closed as broken relationships were repaired. Hatton appeared to have found the closure he so badly needed when a comeback in 2012 against Vyacheslav Senchenko ended in defeat in front of his ever-cheering Manchester faithful.
An exhibition 10 years later against the brilliant Mexican Marco Antonio Barrera at that very same Manchester Arena seemed further to cement that Hatton could finally move on. “Bearing in mind what I’ve been through and the fact I’m 44 years of age to do that with my friend and hero Marco Antonio Barrera is up there with the rest of it,” Hatton said at the time. “I’ve got a real sense of achievement with what I’ve done here.”
It was a night of nostalgia. His mother, father, and many more of the Hatton family were all seated together in harmony at ringside. It looked like the perfect swansong. But behind closed doors, and when the bright lights are replaced by empty rooms and the black dog on your shoulder, you never quite know where someone really is in their thoughts. The silence can be deafening.
Ricky Hatton leaves behind a lasting legacy inside the ring that might never be replicated again. In camp, Hatton lived the life. Outside of it, he lived life. A lifestyle that undoubtedly shortened his peak. But at his peak, Ricky Hatton was a vastly underrated fighter.
The incredible night he beat Kostya Tszyu proved that. A night where that WBU bauble, which had served him so well, was replaced by a belt and a victory that legitimised his entire career. That was Hatton at his absolute best. A career peak, and more than arguably, he was never that good again. Inside and outside of the ring, the decline slowly started to set in from that point on.
The pilgrimage that was those famous Las Vegas trips will never be forgotten. They will go down in boxing folklore. The numbers that invaded the Vegas strip will be forever disputed. But legend has it that over 30,000 fans made the long trip for the Mayweather fight in 2007.
They all sang with passion and force. They drank. It was one big party. But they believed, and even in defeat, Hatton was their hero. An appeal that others could only dream of.
Hatton was an extremely difficult act to follow. An impossible one, even. But Hatton set the pace and almost single-handedly reignited the Manchester boxing scene. The former world champion and fellow Mancunian Anthony Crolla had his own memorable nights in Hatton’s old stomping ground. Crolla did better than most in carrying on what Hatton started.
“Ricky was a childhood hero,” Crolla told Boxing News. “I knew of him from very early on. The first fight I actually went to was his very first title fight, the Central Area title fight against Tommy Peacock in 1999. I was there to watch him on his biggest nights in Manchester. But unfortunately, I didn’t get to watch him in Vegas; I couldn’t afford to go at the time.”
Crolla understands the importance of Ricky Hatton on Manchester’s boxing circuit. In many ways, they followed him. “Every young fighter in and around the Manchester scene dreamed of having a career like Ricky’s,” Crolla relayed to me.
“Everyone started getting the crazy long shorts, just to be like Ricky Hatton. Everyone tried to turn into a body puncher like Ricky. They even thought that if Ricky could blow up in weight and come back down, then so could they. Ricky Hatton really put Manchester boxing on the map in a huge way.”
For Crolla and the whole boxing fraternity, Hatton might be gone, but he will never be forgotten. The legacy of Hatton will never die. “My lasting memory of Ricky Hatton was that he paved the way for so many of us,” Crolla says. “There will never be another one like him. There will only ever be one Ricky Hatton.”
The way the Ricky Hatton story ended was tragic, incredibly premature, and a life was ended when it had so much more to give. Hopefully, Hatton has now found peace, which so often alluded him in his later years.
But the story doesn’t have to end. Or the memories. What he gave us will never be forgotten. Always remembered. Not just as a fighter, but for the humble man of the people that he truly was. There were flaws. There were demons. His life, however, was so much more than that.
Hatton was once asked how he wanted to be remembered, and he replied, “A world champion that was one of us.” He most certainly was that. And then some.
