On the same night that heavyweight Joe Joyce was being encouraged to clear his throat ahead of delivering a retirement speech he had not even written, there was a reminder, in Dubai, of what awaits a boxer when they attempt to negotiate the next phase of a fighting life. 

While in Manchester the “Juggernaut” was busy losing a 10-round decision against Filip Hrgovic, Scotland’s Hannah Rankin ditched the boxing gloves altogether to fight for the BKFC women's featherweight title in the “shopping capital of the Middle East”. BKFC, of course, means Bare Knuckle Fighting Club, and to win their featherweight title Rankin would need to beat Jessica Borga, whose background was in mixed martial arts, with her bare hands. 

Ahead of the fight Rankin, a former WBA super-welterweight champion in boxing, told The Herald: “I couldn’t do these things if I wasn’t a little bit nuts.

“You’ve got to believe in the craziness and trust the fact that you’re going out there trying to do something that most people think is insane.”

In the end, the only thing more insane than the decision to do it was how Rankin’s BKFC title shot would conclude. In many of the videos it was tagged accordingly: INSANE KNOCKOUT IN BKFC; BOXING CHAMPION KNOCKED OUT COLD BY INSANE PUNCH; BORGA WINS TITLE WITH INSANE ONE-PUNCH KO. 

However it was sold online, the video and the result were always the same. Every time you watched the grisly clip Rankin would end the fight on her back, her body limp, in round one. It was ugly the first time and it only got uglier thereafter, with the repeats difficult to avoid on account of the knockout going viral and polluting timelines. Soon enough, it became somewhat degrading, both the image itself and just the idea; that of Rankin making a living this way and, even worse, potentially going out this way. 

She did it, and will perhaps continue to do it, with the best of intentions, though it remains jarring to see a former professional boxer enter the world of bare knuckle. Rankin, especially, was once a boxing champion who could also be found in the woodwind section of an orchestra, or giving concerts to residents in care homes. She was unique, in other words. She spoke well whenever asked to do interviews or provide punditry and she was for a time one of British boxing’s go-to poster girls. “The Classical Warrior,” was how she was known and in 2019 the accomplished bassoonist told BBC Radio Scotland: “Music is something I can fall back on at any time in my career and my life.”

Maybe she will. Maybe, at 34, there is still time for Rankin to do that and maybe her only goal now is to make the most of her athleticism while she has both the energy and wherewithal to do so. However, given what Rankin has already achieved and what she has to offer, the sight of her being knocked out cold in a bare knuckle fight off the back of two losses in boxing (to Ema Kozin and Naomi Mannes) and just one previous bare knuckle fight (a win) is a stark reminder of how difficult it is for a fighter to let go. Even the ones like Rankin, who have intelligence and other strings to her bow, are not impervious to the pull of the fighting arena and the noise of the crowd. It grabs her, the Classic Warrior, in much the same way it grabs all the other warriors who want to maximise the earning potential of their fists and their fearlessness. 

There are so many options now, too. If it’s not bare knuckle boxing, they might choose to get involved with the Misfits and teach one of those pesky influencers and YouTubers a lesson over six two-minute rounds. There are also other disciplines far removed from boxing, like mixed martial arts, or Dana White’s Power Slap, which, of all of the dark alleys mentioned, is perhaps the clearest indicator yet of where we are heading. 

That, much like bare knuckle boxing, is a “sport” designed and packaged for the social-media age and thrives only on social media, where attention spans are short, the scroll is endless, and decorum is non-existent. It features two people taking turns to slap each other and White’s company prides itself on being “the world’s premier slap fighting organization”. It is, to put it another way, a shortcut to CTE, one that manages to acknowledge the public’s inherent hunger for violence only to then do something cheap and tacky with it, thus undermining the real stuff.

At least with boxing there used to be a sense, or just a delusion, that it was an artform, a science. Whatever your overall view of it, most will accept that it requires extreme levels of courage and skill and that these two things will be tested repeatedly over the course of 12 rounds. Not only that, it requires, on the part of its audience, a certain depth of knowledge and patience just to understand the subtleties and the ebb and flow of a fight, not to mention everything outside the central conceit: Boxer A punches Boxer B and Boxer B punches Boxer A. 

With these various offshoots, however, we are seeing an attempt to minimise what it takes to both box and appreciate boxing and are fed something dirtier; something easier to consume but tougher to purge. If the single aim is to go viral, not just in boxing but generally, it is only inevitable that our heroes will start to look and sound different and so too will press conferences and fights. Now we are more likely to see desperation cranked to eleven and the quality reduced to zero, for only at zero can you guarantee the attention and understanding of the idle masses. This we have seen not only in boxing but in other sports, including football (soccer), where the creation of a so-called “Baller League” has tried to address and exploit the rise of streamers and influencers in the sport, as well as the apparent inability of youngsters to concentrate on 90-minute matches without checking their phone, switching tabs, or falling asleep. 

As for boxing, a sport more dangerous than fun, one wonders what the future holds for fighters, like Rankin, who are approaching the end. With medium-sized UK shows now few and far between, and with everything now revolving around Riyadh Season, it is reasonable to expect British boxers to start looking elsewhere when opportunities dry up and their reflexes start to slow. It is then that desperation becomes almost a scent, an aphrodisiac for those who are alert to such things. It is then, when the phone goes silent, the sound you hear in its place is not classical music. Instead, it is something noisier, more immediate, and unintelligible. It is the sound of bone on bone. It is the sound of dignity saying goodbye. It is the sound of the insane.