How bareknuckle boxer was almost beaten by his mental health issues
DAN Lerwell has been a fighter from day one, but he’s almost unnervingly frank about the day he nearly lost his biggest battle of all.
“I went out. Got drunk as a skunk. Then went up to see the kids. I gave them all a kiss. Then I walked upstairs. It was actually my daughter’s bedroom.” He tried to take his own life. He added: “My wife found me. Cut me down, and saved me. That was the worst time of my life.”
We’re sipping black coffee in what is the quietest corner of his local gym in Swansea, a sea of exercise bikes, rowing machines, weights and rippling punchbags, all under a fog of flashing lights and pumping dance music.
It’s a pretty high-octane setting, and Dan seems something of a local celebrity, every so often taking a moment to greet another passer-by, each more toned and muscly than the last.
The 35-year-old is one of the world’s best bareknuckle boxers, having picked up the world BKB middleweight title in the summer, and is preparing to take on Castleford’s Anthony Holmes at the O2 for the world super-middleweight title.
For those who follow this rapidlygrowing sport, he’s something of a familiar face, but you don’t necessarily have to be a fan of his work to recognise him.
Indeed, it wasn’t that long ago that he was plastered on papers and televisions all over the country.
Back in 2009, before embarking on a gruelling 12-week training camp, he and fellow fighter James Lilley decided, for a bit of fun, they’d hit Swansea’s Wind Street for a night out dressed in full drag.
Later that evening, they were attacked in the street by two drunken thugs, who clearly had no idea who they were dealing with. The resulting CCTV footage is now the stuff of local legend, and showed the pair leaving their attackers sparked out on the floor, with Lilley then seen walking back to pick up his handbag. The mere mention of Lilley’s name is enough to raise a laugh.
“Look, it was just a young, stupid thing,” he says. “We just dressed up as women for the night. That happened and it went quite big. I’m not a fan of dressing up as a woman, it was just a one-night thing. It was a stag do, I think. It was a pretty crazy night.”
It all blew up, with the video accumulating millions of views, at a time when the concept of viral videos was still very much in its infancy.
“We were on TV, Big Fat Quiz of the Year,” he remembers. “We got offered to go on Oprah Winfrey in America. We were on magazines, in the papers.
As it turns out, it was Lilley who helped introduce Dan to the world of bareknuckle boxing, a brutal sport where the sickening bone-on-bone hits are enough to send shivers down the spines of any onlooking civilian.
Injuries can be catastrophic, although Dan insists that he’s managed to get off reasonably lightly given he’s usually the one dishing out the punishment.
Indeed, he’s known as one of the heaviest punchers on the scene, with footage of his fights subsequently garnering millions of views online. It’s just one example of just how quickly the sport is growing, with interest and sup
port from both sides of the Atlantic.
“It’s a misunderstood sport,” he says. “If you actually come to a bareknuckle boxing show, the atmosphere is unbelievable. You get the odd idiot shouting stupid stuff and posting stupid stuff on Facebook, but nine times out of 10 it’s just pure respect. Even with the fighters.
“I’ve had five fights and won five. I fought a heavyweight named Peter Radford. I knocked him out in the first round. It just rolled on from there then. I fought for the British title, defended the British title against Ricky Melder and then fought for the world title then against Mason Shaw.
“It is a brutal sport, but I’ve been doing this all my life.”
Dan isn’t exaggerating, and paints the picture of an upbringing where fighting was commonplace.
“We used to have arranged fights in the toilets and in the yard at school when I was about nine or 10,” he tells me. “I’ve always done judo, I’ve always done boxing, I’ve always done MMA. My father was a black belt in judo, my grandfather boxed. I think fighting’s in our blood. It comes natural. Win, lose or draw. I just love a scrap.”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, his fondness for a dust-up has occasionally landed him in trouble, and it’s clear there’s no shortage of regret about his past behaviour.
“I’ve had my little outbursts. It was my own fault,” he says. “I was in prison for fighting on a night out. I’ve had numerous hours of community service. I’ve had suspended sentences, I’ve been in a lot of trouble. The last time I was in court, they told me I’d be having five years minimum. That was a deterrent.
“I did six months inside, it was a wake-up call. But I’ve grown out of it now. It’s a good thing I did.”
Dan is adamant that bareknuckle boxing, for all its violent brutality, has played a big part in helping to keep him on the straight and narrow.
However, it’s his son Theo who has probably had the biggest influence on his career, and indeed his life outside the ring.
“He’s seven now. We had a little girl, Freya, before him. When Theo was born, we didn’t really think anything was wrong. The doctor after about 14 or 15 months said he had some issues and that they had some concerns. I chucked them out the house the first time. I was just saying there was nothing wrong with him and he was just developing late.
“I apologised and bought them flowers after that because we went down and had him assessed. He’s high up on the autistic spectrum.
“I started boxing back then at a few local shows to raise money for autism before BKB, and I won four or five fights in a row. But BKB was a bigger platform to present autism awareness, and I jumped at it.
“I raise money for Fighting For Autism. It’s probably not far off five to six grand. I raise about £500-£600 every fight setting up ticket money, plus my sponsors. So that’s all I really fight for. I don’t fight for belts. The belts are a bonus. The money is a bonus.”
I get the feeling that Dan could talk for hours about his parenting journey with Theo, which has given him an impressive understanding of autism.
However, things weren’t always this way. In fact, Dan’s initial refusal to accept his son’s diagnosis took him to some dark places.
“I blamed myself every day for him having autism. I don’t know why because now I understand him I wouldn’t change him for the world.”
Looking back, Dan fully accepts his sense of guilt was irrational, but his inability to deal with things saw his mental health spiral out of control, resulting in a booze-fuelled suicide attempt five years ago.
“That was the turning point for me. I stopped drinking. I went to see a doctor for my mental health, and I did loads I thought I’d never do.
“I always knew I had something wrong with me. Even when I was a child. I was up and down, and I actually got diagnosed with bipolar, but I spoke to people about it, which I should have done a lot sooner.
“But as I’ve always said, suicide is always your last mistake. I was just lucky that my wife was there. Some people aren’t so lucky.
“It’s not unmanly to talk. Don’t feel like you can’t speak about things just because you’re a man.
“Opening up is a huge issue for men. Just being a strong, pridestricken stupid man – that’s why I didn’t get help for so long. Perhaps I wouldn’t have got into so much trouble if I’d got help beforehand.”
For Lerwell, stepping into the ring somehow helps to focus his mind on the important things in life.
“We’ve come to terms with it now,” he adds. “I just took a lot longer than my wife. She’s amazing. Absolutely amazing. She wasn’t happy I was wearing her thong for that night out, mind!”
Dan Lerwell is fighting Anthony Holmes at BKB 23 at the O2 in London today.
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