"Ricky Hatton used to look like a ghost-faced urchin as he slipped into an old hat factory on the edge of Stockport. It was easy then to imagine him in a past life, stealing through Victorian Manchester as a gaunt fingersmith, his nimble hands relieving rich men of their excessive wealth. But the gory marks on his face always brought us back to the jolting present and his bruising reality as a young and aspiring boxer."
"The friendly young man turned into the ferocious Hitman, as he was nicknamed, while he tore into sparring partners or hammered home withering punches into a body protector which could not stop his trainer, Billy Graham, telling me how it felt like he was being murdered by Hatton. You hold your breath as you get knocked back, Graham said as he described the full force of being hit by Hatton."
"He didn't care that his gaunt and sickly face was mottled with dark blue bruises and crimson nicks which had yet to scab over and start to heal. Basic wear and tear, he said with a little grin, and my skin's abnormal. When I go out into the sun, no matter how long I spend outside, I stay deathly pale. I change colour in the ring. I mark up and I cut."
Ricky Hatton trained in a converted hat factory boxing gym in Stockport, appearing gaunt, pale, and marked with fresh bruises and cuts. At 24 he pursued boxing with urgent intensity, treating facial damage as routine while explaining an unusual pallor. Observers imagined him as a nimble fingersmith in Victorian Manchester, but the gory marks rooted attention in his present reality as an aspiring fighter. Between the ropes his demeanor shifted from friendly to ferocious, delivering punishing blows that left trainers and sparring partners staggered. His impact in close-up revealed both the physical toll of boxing and its visceral, alarming drama.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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