When contemplating attending a boxing match, I did not consider the shame and fear in the eyes of the defeated. Had I done so I would not have gone.
Of course I know that I dislike violence but I imagined that I’d be more of the mind that boxing provides opportunity and discipline for young men that would otherwise be forced into careers as rat-catchers and rent boys. But as I watched an undercard bout at the MGM Grand before Ricky Hatton and Manny Pacquiao took to the ring I saw in the eyes of the lad on the ropes an identifiable dread.
The emotion that I’d feel if I found myself in a glittery, over-lit cavern, swirling moths lost in the abyss, greased and sweating whilst highly calibrated blows lanced my consciousness? Dread. A dread that would be exacerbated further if, through the headache being pummelled in from without, I glanced down to see I was wearing awful satin trunks.
Boxer shorts – the type of pants that bear that name are bad enough but at least they’re comparatively succinct next to those gleaming bloomers that actual boxers wear, which never cease. They begin at the ribs and merrily resolve only when they’ve transgressed the knee. Given that they’re called trunks they ought to be a little more truncated; currently they maraud across the pugilist’s form like Nazis.
Before Ricky Hatton enters, the chanting rolls down the raked seating, a tide of English din. The overtly American atmosphere of Las Vegas is temporarily rinsed away and with the belligerent “Kiss me quick – squeeze me slow” rancour of the horde I am reminded that really this place is not so different from Blackpool. “Walking in a Hatton wonderland” they sing, and their anthem is self-fulfilling for with each rendition the utopia is further augmented.
Amongst them I feel an uncommon surge of fraternity and patriotism. The people I was with were confident Americans but few would be reckless enough to challenge the sovereignty of the venue, so damn British that when, on Ricky’s arrival, the actual national anthem was played, I bloody well sang along. As much as I could because the lyrics are a bit obtuse. I get all the “noble Queen” and “send her victorious” stuff but the bit just before the first “God save our Queen”, which I just discovered is “long to reign over us”, has never breached my cognisance till now.
How many times have I been subjected, literally, to that bloody song and still the words are a mystery? I just looked them up: verse two includes the line “confound their knavish tricks” – that’s berserk. Do we really, as a nation, have to confound knavish tricks so frequently that it needed to be incorporated into our country’s theme tune? What a lot of rhubarb.
“The Dutch are planning a series of knavish tricks – only God, in conjunction with the Queen, can confound them. Stick it in the anthem.”
Nonetheless, in the highly jingoistic atmosphere of the MGM Grand I stood and sang along; I suppose because abroad one’s primal need to belong is enhanced and if boxing as a sport is one thing, it is primal. Men standing punching each other’s heads till one of their brains turns off.
Ricky Hatton is a lovely man and so it seems is Manny Pacquiao, the latter almost a statesman through his sport, and through their endeavour both men have achieved stature and dignity. For them to then become the hollering focus of a bawling, vicarious mob hate-wank is on the whole not a positive step for our spiritual evolution as a species.
I felt so sorry for Ricky as he went down, his pride temporarily undone. When I voice this most people gurgle up some cunk about the millions the fighters receive. I’m glad they’re well remunerated because in the moment where darkness closes in around the battered mind perhaps the money provides some compensation.
I don’t think I’ll go to boxing again. I’m not suggesting it be banned or that nothing positive comes from it because I know people whose lives have been positively touched by the sport. But I do think it celebrates aspects of our nature which ought be handled with caution and respect because we are ultimately animals and if we do not regard that then, oddly, our humanity is compromised.
That is why I love football – unifying, exciting, beautiful, significantly less violent (with one or two obvious exceptions) football. When football is played by the rules the only people who get hurt are the fans.
First published in The Guardian, Saturday 9th May 2009
For someone who has claimed under-education and not being well read, you’re exceptionally eloquent and gifted with the ability to write. Thank you for sharing your perspective on this experience. I concur on several levels. Peace and love.
Russell Brand is articulate! As the typical sheltered American I was not very familiar w/ your comedic work. My familiarity was limited to your part in the, “Sarah Marshell” film, and the hosting of I believe it was, “The Grammy’s”(?) I had apparently mistakenly believed your repertoire was limited to bizarre, British Raunch; and addiction jokes.
After following you on Twitter, and reading your blog you have pleasantly surprised me. I have a completely changed my opinion, and developed a new found respect for Mr. Russell Brand.
It turns out that Russell is a compassionate, articulate, intellectual comedian.
beautifuly written as always mr brand! x
you’re silly.xxx
Oh Russell…
I’m so glad you wrote this !
I myself see the boys who go to these clubs
and learn the wonders of discipline and defense
but all those wonderful things lead up to
beating eachother in the head!
Olympic Boxing is not like Stadium Boxing
that whole beat him until he’s a bloody pulp!
it hurts my heart and soul
How can we evolve if we still think it’s ok,
even in sport
to bash the shit of of eachother and WATCH AND CHEER IT
in some ways we are still Romans and Gladiators arent’ we?
all these years and so many have yet to evolve.
I know how you are about violence
and at the time couldn’t understand why you went
Now I do :)
Time…to change…
To be the change we want to see in the World
To be that change
to offer that change
to live it moment by moment in the glory that shines from it
I am there…
and you???
Watch out for little birds
don’t scare them too much…they come with a message
and if startled will forget :)
Listen to the wind, watch the Moon
and hopefully she brings you something you Need
a piece of sparkling rainbow
an offer….
will you see it?
will you hear it?
will you accept it?
only time will tell.
your words for me are like raindrops on a parched land
be well Friend
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
O reason not the need! Our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man’s life is cheap as beast’s
I’m really squeamish about boxing too, just can’t identify people hitting each other around the head as “sport”. I can’t understand the mentality of the old nans who sit in the front row eggin’ ‘em on either. I live very near the York Hall boxing thing in East London (just off Cambridge Heath Road) – but I only only go there for the gym and yoga classes….oh aye Russell I know you are mega-busy all the time, but the sooner you get Booky Wook 2 out, the better cos it is going to sell like hot cakes…
someone above asked what style of underpants Russell prefers (if not boxers)- just watch any of his blogs- he’s usually in his white (or sometimes coloured) y-fronts, so it must be y-fronts!
My husband was a proffesional boxer, and what you say is so right, as it is not just the hurt and pain both fighters go through, its the hurt that goes through the stomach of their families too, I hear you Russell. I would never ever go to watch my husband fight, and cannot understand the humour of some of these boxing wags, while smiling and cheering, surley they cant love their men just for the money!
I agree with you, I don’t even like watching it on TV.
You wax lyrical Monsieur Brand, et tu have lyrics that astound. Have to say I think ‘knavish tricks’ beats ‘girt by sea’. Not much of a boxing fan myself either although hadn’t contemplated the soul wretching eyes of the loser, I just don’t watch it. You’re very complicated! Look forward to your next twitter, keep it up – boom boom!
You can’t knock it til you try it, which is why I can safely say I’m not planning on going to see boxing again, either, even though the glistening sweat and tight, taut, sleek muscles held my interest for longer than it took for one pugilist to send another to the mat in a slow-mo arc of saliva. Unlike jumps-racing horses, boxers can perform of their own volition, and (these days, hopefully!) if they fall early they don’t risk a bullet.
Thanks for posting the whole article rather than just the link, Russ and friends. If possible, can you let us non-poms know when we can get our hands on a copy of the O2 gig? Cheers, and enjoy your porridge xx
This rings true. Boxing is a sport that appeals (even to me) to the brutal side of human nature. Good article.
You want to get into Formula One Mr Brand. Apart from no one gets punched – often! – you’d love the glam nature of the whole thing.
Have a read of my TopGear.com ramblings, it’ll catch your mind: http://sundayafternoonclub.blogs.topgear.com/category/sunday-afternoon-club/