Hatton has to hustle for his shot at El Terrible

Ricky Hatton had to

do some sly hustling

on this infamous

Strip to fulfil his end

of the bargain, but if

the midsummer night’s

dream fight had been lost in

Las Vegas it would not have

been the Hitman’s fault.

Hatton’s performance in recapturing

the IBF light welterweight

title, with a points win over Juan

Urango here in the early hours of

yesterday, fell some way short of

the pre-eminent pound-for-pound

boxer which he hopes to be

acknowledged as before he retires.

But there was no question that he

deserved the victory which elevates

him to the elite company of

three-time world champions.

Read more:

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• Witter by a knockout

• Valuev: Kneesy does it for Nikolai

• Morrison digs deep to dethrone Daws

• Pictures: Hatton's defeat of Urango

• War of words: Witter unimpressed by Hatton win

However, on the same bill Jose

Luis Castillo came so close to blowing

the $5million fortune he and

Hatton expect to share this June

that he had to be carried through

his build-up fight by some of the

most cynical refereeing this

hard-bitten town has seen.

Castillo, whom they call El

Terrible, was terrible all right.

Maybe it’s all those wars against

Mayweather and Corrales. Perhaps

it’s his constant starvation struggles

to make the unnatural weights

at which he has won his titles.

Whatever the reason, this

33-year-old Mexican national hero

was a burned-out husk of his

murderous old self as he gasped

and lumbered through his bout

with Canadian-based Cameroon

novice Hermann Ngoudjo.

The split decision the judges

bestowed upon Castillo was an

injustice escalated into a travesty

by referee Robert Byrd’s failure to

deduct a solitary point as Ngoudjo

suffered more low blows than

Simon Cowell has inflicted on the

dozen most preposterous of all the

X Factor contestants put together.

Castillo, in his desperation, might

even have been disqualified.

This was not an evening in Paris

Las Vegas which the gentlemen of

the Nevada State Athletic Commission

will remember with pride.

Tony Weeks, the official for

Hatton’s challenge for Colombian

Urango’s IBF belt, allowed

Manchester’s favourite son to

clinch more often than a pair of

tango dancers.

But at least for the first few

rounds Hatton boxed with snap,

crackle and pop to prove to

America that there is more to him

than just a brawler from the Moss

Side of the tracks.

Actually, when it came to

analysing his performance, Hatton

did not say ‘pop’. He said ‘Pep’,

comparing himself to the late,

great Willie boy. On Hatton’s latest form, Master Pep may well be

turning in his grave.

But unlike

Castillo, the Hitman did more than

enough to win even as he seized up

in the later rounds, although not by

the over-generous 10-point margin

which will go into the record books.

After Hatton was caught in the

fifth by the most crunching of all

Urango’s body punches, some of

the steam went out of him. The

amount of time he kept his right

arm down by his side suggested he

had broken that hand or sustained

serious rib damage.

When he denied any injury — he

was protecting himself — he had to

be asked again if his bingeing

between fights had drained some

of his stamina. No, he said, he had

more in the tank than when he held

on to win the world welterweight

title last May.

Then he added:

‘Sometimes you just have to take

the shot, survive the moment and

keep moving towards the future.’

Since the future is golden — if not

exactly as enticing as it might have

been had Castillo not looked to be

on his last legs — who can blame

him? Especially when, no matter

how he boxes, his honesty and

his loyalty to the blokes from home

are two qualities which never

desert him.

Hatton-Castillo may now not look

quite like the super-fight of

everyone’s anticipation, but HBO

television — with the support of

Sky in Britain — agreed to go

ahead and bankroll the project

after El Terrible swore he would

not be as awful again.

Bob Arum, his promoter, held a

hand with three raised fingers

before the exhausted Castillo’s face

in the dressing room. ‘Three

months,’ said Arum.

‘Three full

months in camp this time. No

cutting corners before Ricky.’

The Mexican nodded in acceptance,

having been told that no

fewer than 6,000 of his countrymen

will make the cross-border pilgrimage

to Sin City in June hoping to

see him wear the world crown.

Arum, the veteran boxing entrepreneur

who will partner Hatton’s

promoter Dennis Hobson in the

next production, hopes that

estimate of Castillo supporters will

lure even more of the Hitman’s

fans across the Atlantic than the

3,000 who roared him on against

Urango.

The Brit pack would have been

encouraged to hear Hatton concede

that he will make a concession

to containing his weight this time,

albeit only after celebrating at last

night’s Tom Jones concert here and

taking his family on a cruise.

‘I admit I haven’t been at my very

best lately,’ said Hatton, ‘but I’m

better when I’m busy. Six months

is too long a break for me.’

On this evidence — holding on

after throwing only single punches

more and more often as the 12

rounds wore on — Hatton will

continue bulking up from 10 to 13

stone between fights at peril to his

legacy… and his health.

The size of his heart cannot be

questioned any more than the

strength of his chin, but he is

taking more blows than he needs

to — or may be good for him.

His humour is not in doubt either.

He had the Americans laughing

when he talked about how

frustrating it was ‘to keep hitting

this toughie Urango and F-all happened’

and when he predicted that

his meeting with Castillo ‘won’t be

no tickling contest’.

Less amusingly, it may not now be

his defining fight. Not unless

Castillo can rouse himself for one

last world-class effort.

However, given the expected size

of the Mexican invasion, it will take

place in the Thomas and Mack

Centre, the much larger home of

the University of Las Vegas basketball

team. That will give the

Hitman his coveted appearance on

a stage pounded by such giants as

Evander Holyfield, Mike Tyson and

Lennox Lewis.

At the very least, Ricky Hatton

deserves to have that part of his

dream come true.

Cage wars threaten noble art

Ricky Hatton’s bid to

conquer America has

not come a generation

too soon.

The biggest battle facing

boxing is not for any

world title but to attract

the attention of young

people, who are

flocking in droves to the

coarse brutality of

extreme fighting.

While Hatton regained

his world lightwelterweight

title in a

temporarily converted

ballroom here, the stars

of the Ultimate Fighting

Championship are

preparing to claw, kick and pummel each other

into pulp the weekend

after next in the

expansive — and sold out

— Mandalay Bay arena.

Come April they will be

putting on their second

gory promotion in

Britain, ironically in

Hatton’s home town of

Manchester.

When we flew into Las

Vegas last week and told

the curious taxi driver

that we had come from

London for Saturday’s

fight, he assumed we

meant the Cage Fighting

taking place on the same

night at another casino.

HBO, the cable TV

network who are

boxing’s principal

paymasters, are

allocating six of their big

fight broadcast slots this

year to these forms of

combat, which used to

be outlawed and driven

underground.

The reason? Extreme

fighting is outselling

boxing on pay-per-view,

at least two times over.

It is also challenging the

professional wrestling

spectaculars, because its

violence is real, not fake.

Not even nostalgia is

holding back the bloody

tide. U.S.A. Today, the

only national

newspaper in America,

did not print a single

sentence about

Muhammad Ali on the

day of his 65th birthday

last week.

The noble art versus the

martial arts is an ugly

contest in the eyes of

traditionalists on both

sides of the Atlantic.

We must enjoy our

Ricky, Joe and Amir

before it is too late —

and they had better

bank their dollar

fortunes as quickly as

they can.

U.S. gives Beckham a kicking

David Beckham may be

the next sportsman who

made his fame in

Manchester to be given

his chance to win the

affection of Las Vegas.

Sin City has opened

negotiations with the

Los Angeles Galaxy to

bring the first Major

League Soccer game to

be staged here, once

Becks and Posh have

arrived.

Not that he should expect a fawning

reception from the U.S.

media. Many of the

leading American

columnists have been

ridiculing his signing.

One is suggesting that

his one-dimensional,

right-footed talent

would be better

employed as a kicker in

the National Football

League — even though

he would never be in the

same class as gridiron

legend Adam Vinatieri,

who was aiming to add

to his all-time record

tally by piling up pre-

Super Bowl points for

the Indianapolis Colts

against his former team,

New England Patriots, in

yesterday’s AFC

Championship Final.

In sporting terms, faint

praise may be as good as

it gets over here for

England’s discarded

commercial icon.

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