The big sports story this week was, of course Audley Harrison’s return to winning ways in the ring.
Now you may think that Fifty Shades would be cock-a-hoop to see a fellow elder statesman back and strutting his stuff, at the age of 41, by winning the Prizefighter heavyweight title for the second time.
But all it really did was underline in a thick, black magic marker, how poor and shabby boxing’s heavyweight division is at the moment.
For the uninitiated and sadly uninformed, the Prizefighter series is a well-intentioned tournament, backed by Sky, to try and help the smaller professional boxing stable and boxers operating out of it.
It holds title tournaments throughout the weight divisions, and finals night is similar to cricket’s T20 finals day.
Eight boxers pair off in quarter-finals of three, three-minute rounds, with the winners going through to the semi-finals – again, three, three-minute rounds – to produce two finalists.
For the record, Harrison stopped his first opponent, Claus Bertino, in 33 seconds.
Bertino enjoys the privilege of being a household name only in his own household.
Harrison’s semi-final was a rematch with Martin Rogan, a Belfast brawler who beat Harrison over 10 rounds when they met in 2008 – with Harrison displaying a lack of willpower.
In the final he met Derric Rossy, a New Yorker roughly half the size and about as mobile as the Empire State Building.
Rossy, who looked about as fit for purpose as Christopher Biggins in boxing shorts, reached the final by virtue of two wins in which he showed his cunning technique of wearing opponents down to the point of exhaustion by draping himself over them like a collapsed hot-air balloon.
That technique clearly took a lot out of Rossy, who was softened up by one Harrison punch in the first round which probably wouldn’t have knocked his grandmother over, and collapsed to one knee in the second when Harrison gave him a nasty look.
It left Harrison holding the Prizefigher belt aloft as though it was the head of Wladimir Klitschko, and announcing that he was ready to start searching for another world title shot to the accompaniment of rolling eyes and under-breath mutterings of ‘here we go again.’
This is the same Harrison who earned the nickname Audrey after throwing a total of one punch in his ignominious three-round defeat to David Haye in November 2010, a performance so shambolic that paragon of virtue, Derek Chisora said;
“I’d never show my face again if I fought like that. It was pathetic, he disgraced himself and disgraced British heavyweights.”
The same Audley Harrison who almost single-handedly put the skids under the BBC’s boxing coverage after signing a lucrative contract with the broadcaster, and then prompting the largest switch off in television history with a series of limp performances that caused the Beeb to pull the plug on boxing.
But it is also the same Audley Harrison who raised British hopes of a professional world heavyweight champion when he won the Olympic Super-Heavyweight title in Sydney in 2000.
Of course, what didn’t help Audrey’s cause was that a quick channel-hop took me to ESPN, who were showing the Thriller in Manila, the epic deciding contest between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, which is probably the greatest fight ever seen.
Frankly, not only would Audley not have been fit to lace up either of these fighters’ gloves, he is not worthy enough to carry off the bucket they spat their water in.
Ali and Frazier were the two greatest heavyweights in a golden age of boxing at the top weight.
The Thriller in Manila was the third and deciding bout in a mini-series to decide who was the undisputed heavyweight champion. It was a fight that contained everything that makes boxing the engrossing sport it is; skill, bravery, heart and not a little brutality in 14 rounds that nobody who saw it will ever forget.
For 14 rounds Ali pounded Frazier’s face until it resembled a bashed turnip. Both Frazier’s eyes were grotesquely swollen and closed up into slits but he still bumbled onwards as though he was boxing in Braille, plodding in the only direction Smokin’ Joe knew – forward.
It was a fight that showed there was dignity and compassion in boxing back then, as Frazier’s trainer Eddie Futch surveyed the wreckage of the man in front of him and stopped him going out for the 15th round with the words;
“It’s all over. No one will forget what you did here today.”
For his part, Ali collapsed, completely spent after the verdict was announced and admitted afterwards the fight and Frazier had taken him to dark places he had never been before and will probably only ever visit once more in his life – the brink of death.
There are some great fighters around today. Floyd Mayweather may just be the best pound-for-pound fighter ever, but boxing is judged by those at the top of the food chain, the heavyweights.
The Klitschko brothers have monopolised the heavyweight division for years but for all their size and power, they would have struggled to lay a glove on Ali.
And bless him, love him, squeeze him, but as long as dear old Audley Harrison is deluded enough to think he can threaten the Brothers Grimm you are better off getting a subscription to ESPN and hope they re-run the Thriller in Manila soon.
By John May
Twitter: @maisy68
