War and Peace

by Ricky Hatton

  Some fighters have health issues after long careers. My first boxing fight was when I was ten or eleven and my last was when I was thirty-four. When you see what happened to Muhammad Ali, the obvious one, it’s heartbreaking. But if everyone had the attitude, ‘Oh, what if something could go wrong? Damage could happen to me down the line’, then boxing would cease to exist. It’s the risk all of us take when we put our boxing gloves on.

  I’ve seen what happened to Muhammad Ali in person. A lot of high-profile boxers have visited my gym – I’ve been very fortunate that way. Durán, Evander Holyfield, Lennox Lewis, David Haye and many others; but shortly after Pacquiao, Muhammad Ali’s people asked me if I would speak at Old Trafford because Muhammad was doing an appearance there, at a dinner. ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Of course I would.’ ‘How much would you want paying?’ they asked. I said, ‘Want paying? To go and speak in front of one of the greatest men who has ever lived? Please don’t insult me. It would be an honour to speak in front of him.’ I was happy enough just to meet him and have the chance to speak in front of him. His people said they would like to show their gratitude in some way, that they’d heard I’d opened a gym and Muhammad would come and make an appearance. My jaw hit the floor faster than my head had hit the canvas against Manny Pacquiao: ‘It would be great for him to come to the gym, providing he was okay and healthy enough to do it. If he wakes in the morning and for whatever reason can’t do it, then he should not come,’ I said. Muhammad Ali doesn’t come to England much any more, let alone to Hyde. When he came to the gym – what that did for the community and the area, will go down in Hyde history. Word got out, the streets were cornered off, the police were out in force to hold people back as others clambered up the lamp posts and onto the roofs of houses to get a look – and I don’t blame them. It was something else: Muhammad Ali in Hyde, incredible. He didn’t speak much, he was clearly very poorly, but he could communicate with his movements and eye contact – and he could flick a jab at you.

  He arrived at the gym in a wheelchair but when he got to the entrance he said something, asked them to stop, stood up and started walking. I asked, ‘What did Muhammad say there?’ He’d said, ‘Get me out of this wheelchair. I’m not getting pushed in Ricky Hatton’s gym.’ It was an amazing experience, if tinged with sadness throughout. It certainly put things into context for me. You think of things that might be going wrong in your life and everything that has happened, and then you see a man like Muhammad Ali in a wheelchair, struggling to walk and to talk, then you see things in a different light. It made me feel differently about my own circumstances.

  People close to me said, ‘You’re depressed? Look at Muhammad and see what you’ve got to be depressed about.’ They were right – but I don’t think the people who said I shouldn’t make a comeback were. I made that comeback and whether you thought I was right or wrong to do it, I made it. How many fighters come back time after time after time? The one thing with me is when I realized I didn’t have it any more I could look back and say, ‘You know what, that’ll do for me.’ It’s not like I need reminding any more.

  Health-wise no one has a crystal ball; we can’t look into the future. No one knows what’s coming down the line because I have had a lot of hard fights and my defence was not my best attribute. I don’t recall my nose ever being badly broken during one particular fight, although I know it’s been swollen after some of them. The damage to it was probably just an accumulation of punches. It’s bled and my eyes have been puffy the next day, but now one nostril is more blocked than the other. I said I’d get it sorted when I retired but I haven’t got round to it yet. Even though I’ve had a lot of hard fights, was involved in a lot of wars and had the brutal Pacquiao knockout, when people speak to me I don’t think I come across as a stereotypical boxer. I can be sensible, I talk very well, I’m knowledgeable about the sport and I don’t slur my words, and if you didn’t know me and spoke to me on a regular basis, I’d like to think you would say, ‘Wow, I didn’t know he was a boxer.’

  I am grateful for what boxing has done for me. Granted I worked hard at it, but when I think that Jen and my children have the house we have now, with a swimming pool and a lovely garden to play in, I feel I’m giving my kids a life that not many people can dream of and I won’t move from there now.

  My house is called The Heartbreak, mainly because I was an Elvis fan (though it could be called The Heartbreak now for different reasons). I was in Vegas, looking through the tacky memorabilia shops, and saw a house sign that read ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ so I bought it and stuck it on the side of my place. We started calling the house The Heartbreak and that’s what it became known as. When I moved to the house we’re in now, which is one I had my eye on for a while, I had it officially registered as The Heartbreak.

  It’s a decent-sized house at the end of a road, next to a farm and with a field behind it. The field is on a slope, so when it rained all the water used to run off that field into the garden. The back garden was like a marsh, boggy with trees and bushes everywhere, so we cut everything back and sorted the drainage out; now the water runs down to a stream where I keep my carp. I love my carp and we have a natural spring and a nice garden for Campbell to play in. I feel very privileged when I sit in the garden and look at the house, the garden, the pond with my fish in and a bridge going over it, and a treehouse in the back for Campbell and Millie. It is a lovely area for them.

  It’s a nice family house, but we extended it, and re-bricked it so that we made it just how we wanted it. In my games room, I keep all of my memorabilia. However, when I look around, at my belts and my achievements, I think the highlight of all of them might have been my MBE, which I was awarded in 2007.

  From an early age, when I was winning schoolboy trophies, I knew that I was pretty decent at boxing and I thought I could do well; but going to Buckingham Palace, and receiving my MBE from Prince Charles – it’s beyond the realms of fantasy. I’m still the boy from the council estate, you see. In all of my years I have probably not moved further than a six-mile radius from where I was born. We had a couple of years where my dad had a pub in Marple, but apart from that it was always Hattersley, Hyde, and Gee Cross. When I started doing well for myself I never wanted to move, I just bided my time to get a house in the area close to my mates, close to my family and close to the pub. I’m happy in Hyde.

  Five years after the Senchenko fight I will be eligible to be voted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. Like the MBE, that is another accomplishment that would be above and beyond my dreams of what might happen in boxing. A worldwide of panel of experts makes the decision, but I would be delighted to get in and have a plaque on the walls in Canastota in upstate New York. That would go alongside the best achievements of my life. But that’s not my decision and everyone will have an opinion. Some will think I should be in there, some will say I shouldn’t. That’s what makes boxing great, because it’s open to interpretation.

  Alongside my MBE and belts, I’ve got my memorabilia framed and hung on the walls. There are the gloves and wraps from the Kostya Tszyu fight; a frame with my amateur certificates in; my bronze medal from Cuba. I always kept the gloves I fought in and got my opponents to sign them. There’s a great picture of me and Kostya the day after our fight – the size of his jaw is incredible – and that is the fight I will always be remembered for, so that means a great deal to me.

  I think that was my best win. That said, when you beat someone like him in the manner that I did, I think that, even though it was my best night in some ways, it was the worst thing that could have happened to me because you just think, ‘Fuck it, I’ve gone through Kostya Tszyu. I’ll go through anyone.’ You forget the subtleties where you come in: jab first, move your head, change the angles. After that, part of me thought, ‘I’ll just steamroll everyone here. No one’s going to be stronger than me.’ That’s how my fighting went. Everyone saw him as a punching machine and when I went through him and he stayed on his stool at the end of the figh
t, I think my style changed because of that success. Things were never the same after that fight, that’s for sure.

  I’d like to think I’m the People’s Champion again. I hope I am. When I’m asked what my greatest achievement was, it wasn’t a particular fight, punch, title, victory or night – it was the fanbase I had, and how they loved me. That’s one of the reasons why making a comeback was so important. I was always known as the People’s Champion – laugh-a-minute, goes to the match to watch City, has a pint, has a game of darts, doesn’t have a bad word to say about anyone – and I think that’s why I was liked. Then, when I had all of my troubles, I lost my most important title, and things went so badly for me. I’ve admitted to taking drugs, I’ve admitted to drinking too much, and hopefully that is a story we can move on from now. It’s a part of my life I’d like to move on from. It did become a proper problem for me, with people saying I was an alcoholic, but if that’s the case, why is my drinking on track now? There are reasons I did what I did. I have triggers that have set me off and there’s stuff I’ve done I’m not proud of, and things I don’t want to go back to.

  When people see me now, training my fighters, in the gym every day, I can say it was a problem at the time. Is it something that could raise its head again? I don’t want to think so – it was linked to my depression; if something sets me off, I go out and get pissed – lots of people do that. I’ve always taken things people say seriously; if you cross me I take it to heart. If people say, ‘Ricky, you’re shit, you are,’ I let it get to me. My friends say, ‘Who cares what they think? Who cares what everyone else thinks?’ But I’m not that type of man; it means a lot to me. That’s why, when I got beaten by Mayweather, the first thing I wanted to say was sorry. A lot of people find that strange but, if you know me, it’s not. I did feel sorry – I felt I’d let everyone down; being the person that I am, when people said there was no shame in it, I didn’t understand what they were talking about. Even though I was so successful, I have a bit of a defeatist attitude; if you cross me, I’m going to lash out.

  I would like people to remember me as the no-airs-and-graces lad who came from the council estate, whose career had a lot of highs, a lot of lows and a lot of speed bumps along the way, but someone who found happiness. That’s what happened. With great highs come equally deep lows, and I’ve had all of them. To be honest, I could have not been here. I could have turned into something really bad but I’m fighting my demons.

  Things would niggle me but I’ve learned now that when a problem comes along I can sit down and talk about it; I don’t keep it to myself. It’s the same with Jennifer. If I’ve got something on my mind I will go in and say it, whereas before I would go away and brood on it for days – and if you do that, it eats away at you. It doesn’t matter how hard or macho you are, sometimes you’ve got to get things off your chest, and if you don’t it can send you loopy. I thought that People’s Champion title had gone and I hope I’ve got it back in the way I returned, lost all the weight and picked a good opponent. I’m not naturally slim so I have to work at my weight, and it’s nice when people say, ‘Jesus, Rick, you’re keeping it off.’ People don’t expect that. I’m never going to be skinny, am I? But I can keep an eye on it.

  After I retired, I did Let’s Dance, a BBC show for Comic Relief. If I’m honest, I never thought I was going to win it – I’m not a dancer. I had to do a twirl, a dance and this and that; I thought, there was no way I was going to get it right, so I felt like I’d really achieved something – remembering the moves, the back roll and the routine. Having thought there’s no way I’d do it, I did it, even though the part where I was meant to fly around the studio didn’t happen because they didn’t attach the cables in time. I don’t think reality TV is for me but never say never, I’ve learnt that.

  Jennifer has been everything to me. As I was going through all my bad times and my depression, my mum and dad were nowhere to be seen; then they were a big part of me feeling the way I did. It was just Jennifer who was there. She can see that I have been poorly, she knows exactly what has happened to me, that I have been unwell; she’s put up with a lot when she could have kicked me into touch a long time ago. She’s stood by me, she’s been an absolute rock. I’m still the same fella she fell in love with all those years ago, no doubt, but through everything I think I’m quite a damaged person.

  It was horrifying seeing Jennifer so upset when I saw the tapes back of the Pacquiao and Mayweather fights like that. The cameramen zoomed in on her screaming and crying – I’d love to know who shoved the camera in her face when she was at her world’s worst. After the comeback, I definitely knew I didn’t want to put her through any more than she had already had to go through; it was not fair on her to keep seeing me like that. There’s no more pain for me or for her. Our highs and lows ultimately determine the person you become, and I’m a stronger person because I’ve had those lows. Jennifer has brought me back from the brink so many times, she’s my soul-mate. She’s seen the best and worst of – and with – me.

  From getting beat by Pacquiao, to retiring, to being in court with my best mate, Billy, to wanting to commit suicide, to finding that out about my dad and him attacking me . . . sometimes I have sat in my games room when I’ve been drunk and just lost the plot, crying and shouting at the wooden beams over my head, ‘What have I done? What have I done bloody wrong to deserve this?’ It’s been one thing after another. I’ve been trying to get myself on the straight and narrow, which I am, but just when I get over something there is something else that comes along. I’m left wondering when it will all end. I just want to be happy for a bit, now. I feel sorry for myself, and I’ll continue to do so because all I ever wanted was to work hard, be the best I can be and provide for my family – and the wealth that I’ve got I’ve shared it with my family.

  My faults and my problems are ultimately what have made me as a person. If anyone tells you life is easy, they’re liars because it isn’t. It’s very hard and we all have ups and downs, but it’s the man you turn out to be after the ups and downs that counts.

  Real life is not 50,000 fans at the City of Manchester Stadium. It’s not 25,000 fans running round Las Vegas. It’s not having world titles lifted above your head. Life’s a lot harder than that. They are just things I was fortunate to do and achieve, but real life is when it slows down, after all those highs have been and gone and real life plateaus out. Because after those highs, I would think: ‘What have I got to look forward to now? My life is going to be shit.’ But I’ve come through it, I’ve had the highs, the lows and the good times. I don’t blame anyone who’s had similar experiences going off the rails, because you think it’s going to last forever and it doesn’t; when it doesn’t you can lose the plot. The main thing is you can get yourself back on track.

  I love the musician Johnny Cash, who I’ve got a tattoo of on my left arm. He was a bad man, a rebel. He nearly lost all his family, his life turned to shit and he came good. I like his music. I like the words because they’re all very deep and he’s a bit of an inspiration to me. He nearly lost everything and everyone and turned his life around. I love ‘Walk the Line’, perhaps his biggest hit, because that’s what I’ve got to do – I’ve got to walk the line. When someone suffers with depression and you put all of the things that have happened to me into the mix, I’m still trying to be upbeat, positive and get on with life. I just want some middle ground. I’ve been generous with my money, I’ve looked after my family, my kids are going to be sorted and I’ve worked my arse off so my family is taken care of – but it feels like they’ve all shit on me. It’s sad when you think about it.

  While I’m happy, just leave me be. My family is now Jen, Millie, Campbell and our new baby Fearne, that’s it. I feel very proud of the job Jen is doing with bringing Millie and Fearne up; she is a pure mum.

  Jen’s family have been brilliant with me. Jennifer’s mum, Meg, dad, Kevin, her brother, Adam, and her sisters, Kate and Lauren, have been really good to me. Adam has a so
n, Alfie, too, and we have an open-door policy so they come over and let themselves in whenever they want. You can imagine Jen’s parents, seeing me in turmoil, in a bad way, out drinking too much and in the paper and pissed everywhere. It’s not nice to see the boyfriend of your daughter crumbling, self-destructing. With the News of the World, how difficult that was for her family as well as her. If it was in the papers that a lad had done to Millie what I had put Jen through, I would have wrung his fucking neck, I really would. ‘What’ve you been doing to my daughter?’ But they know about my depression, what I’ve been through and they’ve been patient with me and stood by me as well and I will be eternally grateful to all of them. I think they all sympathized with the situation and her family mean a great deal to me. We have family meals together, and when it’s someone’s birthday we have a big party; it’s a big occasion and we open presents together, and it’s something I’m really pleased to be included in.

  Aged twelve, Campbell came to see me training my boys one day, then he wanted me to take him on the pads and now he’s a gym regular. When I go to the gym to watch him – at the Louvolite, where I started almost a quarter of a century ago (they still have a lot of the same methods they used when I was boxing there) – and I am stood on the balcony looking over and watching him, I stand on the exact same spot where my dad used to watch me when I was Campbell’s age. I feel a bit emotional every time I go and watch him; if I had a choice I would rather he didn’t box, but it’s what he wants to do so I will support him – it’s the best sport in the world.