Following the tragic death of Ricky Hatton on Sunday morning, the staff at BoxingScene convened to share their thoughts on the popular and charismatic former two-weight world champion from England.
Matt Christie: Ricky Hatton was a tremendous fighter, one who briefly toyed with the pound-for-pound rankings, whose style was exciting and somewhat different to what we had become accustomed to on this side of the pond. But most of all he’ll likely be remembered for his incredible appeal. And that appeal was not manufactured, it was real, because he was so relatable to the masses. No other British fighter in my lifetime generated such widespread respect and affection. When he beat Kostya Tszyu, in the early hours of the morning to accommodate international TV audiences, it felt like the entire nation was awake and willing him on. In person, he was humble, funny, and kind-hearted, and thus, everybody adored him - there can be no greater compliment in this world.
Lucas Ketelle: Hatton was always an interesting figure for me. He was one of the only European fighters to come to the U.S. who seemed inherently cool and to have an intrigue. You wanted to see him fight based on his fanbase and the authenticity of his character. My lasting memory is probably one most wouldn’t include. It was Hatton’s comeback. Hatton returned against Vyacheslav Senchenko. The fight was thought to set the stage for a huge fight between Hatton and Paulie Malignaggi. Malignaggi had stopped Senchenko earlier that year to win the WBA welterweight title. Hatton had previously beaten Malignaggi. When “Blue Moon”, Hatton’s theme song, came on, it felt like old times. Hatton didn’t look the same, but was winning the bout. Then it happened. Senchenko caught Hatton in the eighth round with a body shot that stopped him. So why is this my lasting memory of Hatton? Even in defeat the crowd loved Hatton and felt gutted that he lost, and the class he showed in defeat was more memorable than many of his wins.
Hatton might have been unconventional, but that was his charm. He reached the highest level of the sport doing it his way. The term “People’s Champ” is often overused, but in Hatton’s case, he truly was that.
Jake Donovan: I was one of the few U.S. writers who had a working relationship with Ricky predating his emerging onto the contender stage. Every time we spoke from June 2005 onward, he’d always identify me publicly and in private - as “the only Yank who believed I would beat Kostya Tszyu.” Meant a lot to me that he never lost sight of who he was, so few athletes who achieved his level of fame remain THAT grounded. I quickly came to realize that my connection with Ricky wasn’t unique - he was who he was with EVERYONE in his world (not unlike Johnny Tapia, another all time favorite of mine who passed way too soon). What he meant to the sport and those around him extended far beyond the ring. Needless to say, his sudden loss - especially amidst a loaded boxing weekend, sandwiched between performances from all-time greats - hits hard. He will be forever cherished, and forever missed.
Kieran Mulvaney: Like anyone else who was fortunate enough to be there, I will always remember Mayweather-Hatton fight week in Las Vegas. How many other fighters, from any country, could draw that many fans to travel thousands of miles? And the fans just kept on singing, even after Ricky had been beaten.
But I'll also remember him hosting a few of us for breakfast before his fight with Jose Luis Castillo. Castillo had fought on the same card as Hatton’s win over Juan Urango, and Hatton regaled us with the story of how his mother, drunk, had bumped into Castillo - figuratively and literally - outside the casino afterward. Using a combination of sign language and slowly-spoken English, she was able to convey that Hatron was her son, to which Castillo beamed kindly, until she explained that, “My baby” - and here Hatton explained she was miming the motion of rocking a baby in her arms - “is going to fuck you right up.” Everybody of course cracked up, not just at the story but at Hatton’s wonderfully deadpan delivery.
And that's why so many people loved him: not just because of his honest, blue-collar, all-action fighting style, but because of his approachable, unaffected, and funny personality outside the ring. He will be deeply missed.
Declan Warrington: When he announced his comeback in 2012 there was considerable cause for concern. That concern grew when Vyacheslav Senchenko was announced as his opponent.
But, come that November – it was as dark and wet as everyone has come to recognise his home city of Manchester to be – Manchester had transformed into a great fight city; the sense of the occasion and its gravity could be felt throughout the city and in the air. That feeling had intensified by fight night, and been complemented by a sense of nostalgia for all concerned.
Hatton struggled to hide his decline from the opening bell that night. His performance and form worsened as the rounds unfolded, and if he hadn’t been stopped he would have lost on the scorecards if the judging had been fair. But the atmosphere that night remains the most powerful and evocative I’ve ever encountered – their awareness of his struggles and vulnerability meant that Hatton’s crowd was both with him and invested in him more than ever. The silence that came over the Manchester Arena when he hit the canvas was among the eeriest I’ve encountered; the collective sense of dread and then despair that followed the 10 count starting and him being counted unlike any I’ve known. It was, perhaps, memorable for mostly the wrong reasons. But that’s the other side of the reality of boxing – the cruelty, the heartache, and the despair.
Ryan Songalia: One thing you could always count on with Ricky Hatton: He was bringing an army with him. He transformed every city he fought in into Manchester, a city which loved him about as much as any other fighter had been loved by their hometown.
When Hatton first popped up on ShoBox cards in the early 2000s, I was skeptical. I admit that I didn’t get his popularity early on, or understand what the significance of his “Blue Moon” entrances were, but he made me a believer on one night, in 2005, against Kostya Tszyu. Tszyu was one of the top five rated boxers in the world at that time, the recognized junior welterweight champion, and Hatton just mauled him. There was a moment in the ninth round that always sticks out to me, when a tiring Tszyu resorted to low blows to slow his opponent down. After the referee gave Tszyu a warning, Hatton calmly walked back in and buried the loudest low blow I’d ever heard. Tszyu was more or less done from that point, and Hatton showed he wouldn’t be bullied. He won the championship when Tszyu remained on his stool, and, for at least one night, Hatton was great.
