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By Declan Taylor - IT WAS two years ago this week that Carl Froch and George Groves clashed for the first time on a highly charged and controversial night in Manchester. Meanwhile, down south in the London suburb of Harlesden, another 12 stone man was being slowly enveloped by ever-worsening depression.
The Olympic gold medal, secured five years earlier in Beijing, was still displayed proudly in the family home but the promising career of the gifted, silky southpaw had stagnated.
A defeat against Groves was the only blot on a tenure which had already gleaned British and European super-middleweight titles and left him, it seemed, only a few fights away from a shot at the world crown.
But for James DeGale, it already felt like time to give up. The money earned to that point had been invested wisely, in property mainly, and his name alone, he thought, would be enough to earn a few grand a month as a personal trainer. He was ready to turn his back on a sport with which he had fallen out of love.
Only a few months earlier he had flown to Quebec for an eight rounder. In a function room at the Hilton Lac Leamy, he stopped Sebastien Demers inside two. He did not enjoy it. Boxing, he said, had become nothing more than a job and he wanted out. Watching Froch and Groves capture the imagination of the British public did not help one bit. [Click Here To Read More]
The Olympic gold medal, secured five years earlier in Beijing, was still displayed proudly in the family home but the promising career of the gifted, silky southpaw had stagnated.
A defeat against Groves was the only blot on a tenure which had already gleaned British and European super-middleweight titles and left him, it seemed, only a few fights away from a shot at the world crown.
But for James DeGale, it already felt like time to give up. The money earned to that point had been invested wisely, in property mainly, and his name alone, he thought, would be enough to earn a few grand a month as a personal trainer. He was ready to turn his back on a sport with which he had fallen out of love.
Only a few months earlier he had flown to Quebec for an eight rounder. In a function room at the Hilton Lac Leamy, he stopped Sebastien Demers inside two. He did not enjoy it. Boxing, he said, had become nothing more than a job and he wanted out. Watching Froch and Groves capture the imagination of the British public did not help one bit. [Click Here To Read More]
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