RICKY HATTON’S ring moniker was “The Hitman.” It was one he earned by way of his explosiveness in the ring while in his fighting prime — this to the point where he is arguably the greatest front foot pressure fighter to ever come out of these islands.

The fans loved and revered him, both for the excitement he provided in the ring and the way he conducted himself outside it. Just one of the lads who happened to become a world champion, is how he was portrayed and how he will be remembered now that he is gone.

Found dead at his home early on the morning of Sunday September 14, Hatton was a tormented and troubled man. He had spoken openly more than once about his struggles with addiction and depression. 

He had endured a very public falling out with his longtime professional trainer Billy Graham, which saw them face one another in court, and he had also become estranged from his parents. Relationships came and relationships went, and by the time he died he was living alone in Hyde, Greater Manchester.

Boxing gave Ricky Hatton everything a working-class kid could ever dream of — money, fame, adulation, glory — while life in retirement from the ring proved to be his toughest opponent. Noticeable was the fact that the gym he owned and ran near his home was empty of the great and the good of the sport in recent times. Also noticeable was his non-appearance at major boxing events, where many former champions and stars of the sport gather together as a matter of course.

The impression was that of a man who had retreated into himself. Yes, he was scheduled to return to the ring in an exhibition bout in Dubai in December, and indeed had been booked on a flight to Dubai the very next day, Monday, after he was found dead. But looking at the recent footage of him in the gym training for it, you could not help but feel sad. At age 46 he appeared way out of shape, nothing like his former self, as he hit the heavy bag.

Ricky Hatton was a vessel when in his boxing pomp, into which the hopes and dreams of his army of working-class fans were poured. That some 20,000 of them made the pilgrimage to Las Vegas in 2007 to witness his epic fight against Floyd Mayweather Jr says it all. Stamped on their faces, watching the footage back today, is the unbounded joy of the disciples of some holy cause. Because for them, Ricky Hatton was a god among men. 

They took over Vegas for the entire week, turning it into a corner of England. “There’s only one Ricky Hatton! One Ricky Hatton! Walking along, singing a song — walking in a Hatton wonderland!” The Hatton anthem boomed out wherever and whenever Ricky appeared. No man of flesh and blood could be unmoved at being so revered by so many. And no man could fail to be placed at risk as a result of it.

Ricky became imbued with the notion that he owed his fans, that their loyalty and support had to be repaid by providing them with victories and outstanding performances. This is why his defeats to the aforementioned Mayweather Jr in 2007, followed by him being brutally knocked out by Manny Pacquiao in 2009, were so hard for him to take. His fans loved him regardless of those two defeats, but Ricky remained stricken with the idea that he had let them down.

Reports emerged of his life spiralling into the abyss of alcohol and drug use after the Pacquiao fight. Then came the infamous picture of him in the Sun newspaper taking cocaine in a hotel room. This will be the same Sun newspaper that has extended itself in carrying articles in its pages in tribute to Ricky in the wake of his death this past week.

Life after boxing lacked the meaning and sense of identity Ricky was accustomed to. A former world champion is a wonderful thing to be, but also a very dangerous thing too. Success, they say, has many parents, while failure is an orphan. Ricky, like Icarus the character from Greek mythology, flew so high that he touched the sun. The only direction from there is down, and down Ricky Hatton surely came.

His son Campbell embarked on his own professional boxing career, which you felt briefly provided Ricky with a new lease of life and purpose. But Campbell Hatton, to nobody’s shame, is not his dad and his career frittered out after a couple of losses. 

And so Ricky decided to make another comeback and return to the place where he only ever felt comfortable and alive. This is the meaning of the ring for so many fighters, many of whom only realise it after hanging up the gloves. Middle age and acceptance of physical decline is a challenge for most. But for a former world champion fighter who sold out arenas and stadiums from Manchester to London, Las Vegas and back again, said challenge takes on an entirely different dimension.

Ricky Hatton goes down in British boxing history as one of the best to ever do it. He became a working-class hero and in that role always did his best to please. Ricky mixed with the fans, happily immersing himself in the pub-and-grub culture associated with the British working class. Looking back, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that Ricky’s laughter and bonhomie when among his own lapsed into the tears of a clown when alone again.

We are, all of us, fighting something at any given point. For Ricky Hatton, the fight is now over.

Richard John Hatton (1978-2025)