No disrespect to Prizefighter, but the sight of an out-of-shape James “Lights Out” Toney sharing the ring with a line-up of journeymen in the heavyweight version of the tournament at London’s York Hall was a sad reminder that time waits for no athlete — even a legitmate ring legend such as Toney.

When it comes to the fighter who stood out as the most skilled, outrageous, and memorable character I ever saw train at Freddie Roach’s Wildcard Boxing Gym in LA back in the early noughties there’s no contest.

Toney wasn’t so much a fighter as a force of nature. Whenever he arrived at the gym with his entourage of true believers the atmosphere underwent an instant and palpable change.

“This is ma house!” he would shout from the ring during sparring. “James mothafuckin Lights Out Toney! Who’s next?!”

He was merciless in the way he goaded and trash talked his sparring partners, almost to the point where it was public execution and ritual humiliation combined. He was so intimidating that some fighters and trainers at the gym would avoid the place whenever he was in.

However early on it became clear to me that Toney’s abrasive and aggressive demeanour was a front designed to conceal his own fears while heightening those of sparring partners, opponents, and everybody else alike.

It was psychology not personality where Toney was concerned, just as it is when it comes to most so-called bad asses.

As far as skills went, watching Toney at work in the ring was akin to watching poetry in motion, belying his otherwise mean disposition.

His ring awareness, timing and defence were near perfect when he was in shape and on form. Even as a ballooned up heavyweight his skills remained sublime.

He was a master of the shoulder-roll defence and his in-fighting was among the best of anyone in the history of boxing.

The way he could find openings even in the tightest of spaces while up against the ropes was genius, turning a situation that for most fighters was dangerous into one that gave him an advantage.

His ability to take a shot was also uncanny. I recall seeing him take some huge shots from big heavyweights in sparring and smiling in response.

A product of Detroit’s legendary Kronk Gym, during the early to mid-1990s Toney blazed his way through the middleweights, defeating the likes of Michael Nunn and Mike McCallum on the way to becoming world champion.

He moved up to super-middleweight and again became world champion after defeating Iran Barkley in 1993. At the time the super-middleweight division was one of the strongest in the sport.

The biggest fight of Toney’s career took place in 1994, when he fought a hitherto unbeaten Roy Jones Jnr.

Having decided to give up his middleweight belt to challenge Toney for the IBF super middleweight title, Jones proceeded to school him over the distance to win by unanimous decision. Toney blamed illness and difficulty making the weight for his lacklustre performance.

Whatever the reason the defeat sent his career into a tailspin. Back-to-back losses followed against the quality of opposition he would have been expected to overcome with little or no difficulty before his defeat to Jones.

In addition his lifestyle away from the ring was, to put it politely, chaotic. He went through a very public falling out with his flamboyant manager Jackie Kallen, which resulted in him threatening to shoot her. Thereafter he almost disappeared from the sport.

He burst back onto the scene in 2003. When fighting at cruiserweight he won the IBF title in a classic contest against Vasily Jirov.

Just six months later, and unbelievably, he moved up to heavyweight to take on another ring legend in the shape of Evander Holyfield.

Most commentators thought Toney would get blown away by the much bigger and stronger man, but Toney put on a boxing clinic during which the full repertoire of his defensive and counter punching skills was rolled out on the way to stopping the former heavyweight world champion in the ninth round.

urther contests at heavyweight followed, which saw an increasingly rotund blown up middleweight sharing a ring with men significantly bigger, taller and stronger, showing glimpses of the old magic while suffering a steady decline.

Ten years on it is a travesty that Toney is still being licensed to fight. His media appearances in the run-up to Prizefighter revealed a man whose speech is so slurred he is well nigh unintelligible.

At 45 and having racked up 88 fights, he is proof that professional boxing needs to up its game when it comes to protecting fighters from themselves.

In the past few years, desperate for money, Toney has flirted with MMA, been humiliated, and fought wherever and whenever anybody has been willing to pay.

Perhaps, though, I’m being too harsh. Fond of describing himself as old school, for a man like Toney retirement from the ring likely spells retirement from life itself.