‘15 YEARS AGO I WAS A THIEF... NOW I’M A CHAMPION’
Bare knuckle boxer reveals how he turned his life around thanks to sport
“I F YOU need a p*** you’ll have to do it in the drain outside.” Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong place, but from what I can see, the drain isn’t so much a drain but a small indent alongside the wall.
In this dark and tiny gym below Pontllanfraith Ex-Serviceman’s Club, there’s no air conditioning, no stateof-the-art facilities, the outside is crumbling and in need of a lick of paint, while used cars from the showroom opposite litter the car park.
Archie, a Stafford bull terrier, and another regular here, peers out behind a couple of gym bags to give me the once over.
To an outsider, such rustic surroundings arguably fit in with the stereotypes that surround bare knuckle boxing.
BKB, the company aiming to bring bare knuckle boxing to the mainstream, held its first event at a barn in Bangor, with fighters going at it in a ring made of hay bales.
But, as Sean “the Outlaw” George explains, things have come a long way since then, with the sport now set to follow MMA in banging on the door of the mainstream.
George, who is the current British lightweight champion, is set to take on Tyler Goodjohn in a fight for the BKB world featherweight title at the Indigo Arena at London’s O2, the latest in a series of notable venues to be taken in by the sport’s growth.
Indeed, George’s own trainer is none other than Vince Cleverly, the father and coach of two-time lightheavyweight champion Nathan, one of Welsh boxing’s biggest names.
Nevertheless, all the household names in the world can’t alter the reality of what goes on in the ring come fight night. This is a sport where each blow is very much bone on bone, sparking the potential for near catastrophic injury.
Referees and paramedics are regularly kept busy during bouts, and it’s not uncommon for fighters to leave with gaping gashes, broken limbs, fractured collarbones and stomachturning eye injuries.
“People think it’s safer than boxing,” George says. “But when it comes to bare knuckle, there’s more facial damage, whereas with boxing it’s more internal so you can’t see what’s going on.
“One good shot in bare knuckle and you could get knocked out and not get back up. Whereas boxing, you get knocked down and you might get damaged inside, but the adrenaline gets you back on your feet and you carry on until that final bell comes.
“Don’t get me wrong, I do get nervous. It’s natural to be a little nervous because one shot can kill you. One shot can leave you as a vegetable.”
So far, a fighter hasn’t yet died in the ring at one of these events, which while not illegal are not regulated by an official watchdog.
Having worked his way to being one of the most respected names in the sport, it’s safe to say the 37-yearold, who by day works for a construction company in Worcester, has had his own fair share of battle wounds.
“I’ve ended up in hospital a few times,” he says calmly. “I’ve had a fractured eye socket, broken nose, concussion three or four times, I’ve even had to have a brain scan.”
To watch George train is an unnerving experience in itself. Eyes focused, there’s no holding back whatsoever. “We don’t normally spar without gloves because he has actually caught me a couple of times,” his trainer Vince explains.
It immediately begs the question, what on earth would possess anyone to do this? “I saw it on the internet,” George says. “My mate was doing it, fighting bare knuckle in a boxing ring on a football field and I thought ‘that’s a bit of me’.
“I’ve always been involved in some form of martial arts, like Thai boxing, MMA and all that, but at the time I’d retired for a bit.
“That’s when I came across bare knuckle. My goal was to keep chipping away and to keep fighting and fighting, and along with the injuries I’ve had, keep saving and saving. My goal was to get a house. Save a deposit and buy a house, and that’s what I’ve just done now.
“This next fight now takes care of Christmas. Come Christmas then when I get my wages from work, that’s mine then to save and look forward to the new year.”
George’s hometown of Abertillery is rapidly becoming the next hotbed for MMA fighters, with the town’s own Jack Shore recently breaking through to the bright lights of UFC.
Shore himself recently described the place as a “fighting town”, and George is arguably just another case in point. “I could’ve taken that route [to UFC],” he recalls. “It was about 15 or however many years ago now.
“I remember I had a fall-out with this kid when I was about 17, 18.
“It never came to one-on-one, so two of them jumped out of the car one day. I knew it was coming. I had a weapon and my little brother with me. Next thing I know they’re coming down the road – six or seven of them.
“I’m on my own and did my best against two of them. I ran away then and they went to my house looking for me. One of them got in my dad’s face and threatened to burn the house down.
“That’s when I started Muay Thai. I was doing it alongside MMA, so I was a dangerous fighter.
“I’ve done three semi-pro MMAs and I got an offer then, eight days’ notice, to fight the British champion in Muay Thai. I won that and was British champion. My next step was to go pro with MMA. But I came to a crossroads in my life and I f***** up. I was into drugs and that.
“I’d got civilised with work and training, work and training. I had a routine, but then I started on the pills and the partying and I drifted away from fighting for many years.”
Staying away from fighting saw George’s life spiral out of control, and culminated in him being sent to prison aged 26 for attempting to rob a local post office. It proved a massive turning point. “I had a three-and-a-half year sentence,” he recalls.
“Fifteen years ago I was the robber, I was the thief, I was the druggy. But now I’m a champion. A family man. A working man. It’s something to be proud of.
“What I’ve got now, I’ve worked really hard for and I appreciate it.
“It’s been a rollercoaster ride, but it’s made me who I am. I don’t go out any more. I just go to work, train and spend time with my family. “It’s put balance back into my life.” George freely admits that he had to hit rock bottom before turning his life around, and candidly tells me another one of his lowest ever moments, where he tried to take his own life, shortly before his stint in jail.
The incident was witnessed by future hero Shore and his father during a gym session that summed up the chaotic direction his life was taking. “I was actually training alongside Jack’s father at the time,” he recalls. “At the time Jack was just a little fat kid that used to tag along! But he saw me at one of my lowest moments.”
The more I learn about his story, the clearer his reasoning for doing what he does becomes. After losing his way in life, he’s a man who now has a purpose, and is part of a community that looks after its own.
“My daily regime is get up at 3 in the morning, leave mine, make it to the gym here at 4, train until 5. I have a quick bird bath, and then I drive to Worcester, which is 75 miles away.” Wait. Bird bath? “I’ve got to bring a fountain bottle full of warm water and my mate who trains me in the morning stands on the step and he just pours it all over me and I go off to work then because I couldn’t really go to work like this could I? I work all day then, which is eight ot 10 hours before jumping in the car about 5.30. I come all the way home and I’m back in the gym where I meet Vince.”
Vince has been his coach and mentor for nearly two years.
“Vince just started waltzing into the gym training the younger boys, and I was afraid of him,” he adds.
“I didn’t really want to come in and train like that. I just wanted to come into the gym after work and do my couple of rounds. Then one day, he said ‘ come on the pads’ and we’ve been together ever since. This is our fifth fight together now.”
Having the right people around him has been a huge catalyst in his efforts to turn his life around, but it quickly becomes clear that nothing is as important to George as his family, including his two daughters, Ayla and Avie, whose names are written on each hand when he tapes up for each fight.
“They’re my everything and they’re the reason I do this. Whenever I feel hurt in the ring, I’ve their names strapped on to my hands, I take one look at that and off we go again.
For George, the brutality of the ring is, in many ways, almost a safe haven from the outside world, but at 37, he may well have to look at starting a new chapter.
Trainer Vince, who’s now 64, tells me that this fight could well be his last. “It’s certainly my last one,” he adds. George disagrees: “If I carry on, he has to too.”
What happens next is anyone’s guess. But it seems that, despite everything that has come before, the biggest challenge could be yet to come.