Thank You Ricky Hatton: Manchester’s beloved ‘Hitman’ was my champion and yours too

“Don’t worry, Ricky. We’ve even got a Man City fan filming the interview for you!”

“He better be. If he was a United fan I wouldn’t be doing the f**king interview.”

A genuine threat? Dry Mancunian wit? Considering the friends Ricky Hatton had across the Red-Blue divide, not least Stretford End hero Wayne Rooney; I assumed the latter. But that did not prevent an internal pleading that my colleague, said City fan, would not reveal I was in fact a Manchester United supporter.

The mischievous Blue thankfully chose not to test the conviction of Ricky’s words. Thus, for the second time, I interviewed a man who had been a childhood idol of mine. On Sunday, it came to light that said hero, Manchester’s own Ricky ‘Hitman’ Hatton, had passed away at the age of 46.

Hatton was easy to idolise. It was a time when Joe Calzaghe was British boxing’s statesman and Amir Khan its future. When Danny Williams' Mike Tyson-conquering heroics and Audley Harrison’s Olympic gold medal failed to fill the void of a post-Lennox Lewis heavyweight world. Hatton shone like a beacon. The everyman doing extraordinary things. 

You will read endless obituaries and accounts over the coming days. The impossible job against Kostya Tszyu and the body shot that felled Jose Luis Castillo like a tree. The Carlos Maussa KO and the gritty welterweight war with Luis Collazo. Sixty-thousand at the Etihad for Juan Lazcano, one last career-defining performance against Paulie Malignaggi. Tens of thousands following Ricky to Las Vegas just for a weigh-in when destiny called against Floyd Mayweather. The Greek tragedy against Manny Pacquiao. The heartbreaking comeback against Vyacheslav Senchenko. 

Those accounts will be given by men who were closer. Firsthand from the men who took Hatton’s punches on those nights. I will leave such an endeavour for those illustrious few. Because, like them, I likely would not be where I am in my career without Ricky Hatton.

Hatton was on the cover of the first issue of industry bible The Ring that I ever purchased. Roaring out into the early Manchester morning having just beasted Tszyu to achieve immortality. The moment my boxing fandom moved from passion to obsession. 

‘The Hitman’ was the first fighter I ever tried to interview. The sheer, unending popularity of the legend would see that wait go on for nearly 18 years. When I did finally cross paths with the incomparable two-weight world champion, it was worth the wait.

You often find what you are looking for when you stop looking. As a jobbing student journalist I came close-but-no-cigar to a Hatton interview. Then life took me down a few different paths before I landed my current gig. Sandwich Artist. Shelf Stacker. Sports Shops. Then, finally, a journalistic career that put me in front of everyone from Eric Cantona to ‘Nature Boy’ Ric Flair. But there was a reason Ricky Hatton was the first celebrity I ever tried to interview. Wherefore art thou, ‘Hitman’?

Then, standing in the corner of a Jack Catterall public workout in that unassuming way that made him a man of the people, was Hatton.

I interviewed Ricky that day alongside his son Campbell. The pride evident in working alongside his son, who retired from the sport earlier this year. I had a generous and wide-ranging chat with two generations of Hatton before the elder took his progeny on the pads. At the National Football Museum in the shadow of the Manchester Arena, one wondered if Ricky could still hear the roar.

That surfeit of roar may be why we lost Ricky. We’ll never know for sure. But when you are taking more fans to a weigh-in than most fighters can tempt to a lifetime of arenas, the fall from the heady peak of fame hits harder than for most. Hatton never quite replaced the feeling of being the people’s champion.

It’s why he came back for Senchenko in 2012 and was scheduled to stage an horrendous, ill-advised professional comeback later this year. Ricky did not need a prize ring at the age of 46, he needed support.

In the ring, at least, Ricky got one last fairytale. Where else but the Manchester Arena? In 2022 he squared off with one of his personal heroes, Mexican icon Marco Antonio Barrera. The eight-round exhibition was unscored but Hatton was in rip-roaring shape. The old band beat out the tune of “Walking in a Hatton Wonderland…” once again. 

It is a credit to the Hall of Famer that his recent tattoos did more to separate the scene from Hatton’s pomp than his physique or performance. Squint enough to let the new ink boil into soft-focus and you could be forgiven for thinking ‘The Pride of Hyde’ was back.

Hatton became a measuring stick for how I judged my own achievements. The fact I interviewed him twice remains a source of immense pride. The name Ricky Hatton will forever be the first I rattle off when a curious cabbie or probing friend-of-a-friend asks what I do for a living. I interview boxers. F**king amazing ones like Ricky Hatton.

Sharing a quick word here and there with him at various fight functions never stopped being surreal. Nodding terms with a boxing god. Hatton will have had similar, pocket-sized rapports with thousands of boxing figures big and small. But the fact he had the time and care to maintain them all speaks of a man who never stopped being the people’s champion.

It is simplistic to hope or wish Ricky had realised that he held that indelible title for so many. That, despite other boxing superstars emerging in his stead, the song was right all along. There really was only one Ricky Hatton. 

Without him I would not be sat here. His generosity never waned, risked though it was by my clandestine United allegiance. But when Ricky’s Blues gave my beleaguered Reds a chasing on Sunday afternoon, I could not help but smile. If anyone deserved one last derby win, it was our ‘Hitman’. 

As I watched Erling Haaland beat down on goal for what felt like the 100th time, I took in the background. The Etihad Stadium. I’d sat there as a boy watching Hatton risk it all to give his fans a dramatic night under the lights against Lazcano. 

I’d watched the British great back at his cathedral, Manchester Arena, as a man. One who was there in a professional capacity and of course I honoured that duty. But when the one and only Ricky ‘Hitman’ Hatton emerged from the wings in front of his people one last time, under my breath I was singing. Inaudible under the throng of thousands matching my words. “Walking along, singing a song. Walking in a Hatton Wonderland.” And what a walk it was. 

If you or somebody you know is suffering with mental health problems, please do not hesitate to reach out. The Samaritans https://www.samaritans.org/ and Mind https://www.mind.org.uk/ are just two of the services available.