Unforgettable Hatton revived boxing spectacle for army of fans

Extraordinary in his fleeting prime, the 'Hitman' brought fresh vigour to British boxing with a career that attracted much adoration along with the demons of fame

- Donald McRae

Ricky Hatton used to look like a ghost-faced urchin as he slipped into an old hat factory on the edge of Stockport. It was easy then to imagine him in a past life, stealing through Victorian Manchester as a gaunt fingersmith, his nimble hands relieving rich men of their excessive wealth. But the gory marks on his face always brought us back to the jolting present and his bruising reality as a young and aspiring boxer.

In 2003, when I interviewed him for the first of many times in that converted factory turned into a boxing gym, Hatton was 24 years old. The troubles of the future lay deep in the unknown because everything he did then burned with an immediacy and urgency. He didn't care that his gaunt and sickly face was mottled with bruises and crimson nicks which had yet to scab over and start to heal. "Basic wear and tear," he said with a little grin, "and my skin's abnormal". "When I go out into the sun, no matter how long I spend outside, I stay deathly pale. I change colour in the ring. I mark up and I cut."

Hatton also changed his character between the ropes. The friendly young man turned into the ferocious "Hitman", as he was nicknamed, while he tore into sparring partners or hammered home withering punches into a body protector which could not stop his trainer, Billy Graham, telling me how it felt like he was being "murdered" by Hatton.

"You hold your breath as you get knocked back," Graham said as he described being hit by Hatton. "You try to move away. He nails you with another and another. You're still holding your breath. It's like having your head held under water."