Collective action marks first time the sport has voluntarily refused to race in modern history

WATCHING an old black and white film of a young Cassius Clay entering the ring at Wembley Stadium on June 18 1963 to face Henry Cooper in front of 55,000 fans is like watching footage of the first moon landing, it’s that special.
There was a joy and innocence about Clay back then. It was the year before he schooled the fearsome Sonny Liston over eight legendary rounds in Miami to claim the heavyweight title at just 22, before defiantly announcing his rebirth as Muhammad Ali, follower of Elijah Muhammad, leader of the Nation of Islam.
By the time he climbed through the ropes to face Cooper — sporting a red satin gown with the words “Cassius Clay the Greatest” emblazoned across the back, and with a crown perched on top of his head — Clay had been fighting as a professional for three years. And in that time he’d already made waves with his uncommon bombast and a style of fighting that seemed to straddle the line between ballet and performance art.

In recently published book Baddest Man, Mark Kriegel revisits the Faustian pact at the heart of Mike Tyson’s rise and the emotional fallout that followed, writes JOHN WIGHT

As we mark the anniversaries of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, JOHN WIGHT reflects on the enormity of the US decision to drop the atom bombs

From humble beginnings to becoming the undisputed super lightweight champion of the world, Josh Taylor’s career was marked by fire, ferocity, and national pride, writes JOHN WIGHT

Mary Kom’s fists made history in the boxing world. Malak Mesleh’s never got the chance. One story ends in glory, the other in grief — but both highlight the defiance of women who dare to fight, writes JOHN WIGHT