Watson lets her fists do all the talking in Hatton’s kingdom
Boxing legend says his views on female fighters have changed since admitting first woman to his stable, writes Simon Briggs
On the wall of the Energie gym near Manchester, a nine-foot Ricky Hatton raises his gloves in celebration, surrounded by posters from those classic showdowns against Kostya Tszyu, Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jnr. Closer to ground level, the real Hatton – now grey-haired and weatherbeaten – bobs around a boxing ring with pads on his hands, taking an apprentice through a series of combination punches.
This pupil’s style might look reminiscent of the young Hatton – nimble, balanced, always pushing forward. But it turns out that we are talking about a different division, and even a different gender. For Chloe Watson – a 23-year-old flyweight from nearby Birkenhead – is the first woman to join Hatton’s stable.
“I wasn’t a fan of ladies’ boxing at first,” explains Hatton, as we crowd into a trophy room overlooked by a framed photo of Muhammad Ali opening this very gym. “I didn’t like seeing women hitting each other with blood across their faces. I’m a little bit of a softie when it comes to s--- like that. When it started in the 1980s, I wouldn’t say that ladies’ boxing was a joke, but maybe it was a novelty. Now it’s the real deal. I’ve warmed to it because of ladies like Chloe. If it’s a passion that these girls have, they deserve as much a chance to succeed as the men.”
Watson gazes attentively at Hatton, who has become her mentor as well as her coach. She radiates such poise and calm that she could almost be a yogi. Or perhaps a novice taking holy orders.
Her weekday life sounds as ascetic as anything you might find at a mountain retreat. Along with her half-dozen stablemates – who are all male – Watson does ring work and sparring on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are devoted to “finisher” sessions on the S-drive (a specialised treadmill) or rowing machine.
“When I was an amateur, people always used to say to me that I was like a little Ricky Hatton,” says Watson, in her thick Scouse accent. “So, it’s funny that I ended up here. I was in Australia during Covid, and thinking about turning professional – but I wasn’t 100 per cent sure. And then when I got home, I came up to Hyde [in March 2021] and everything became clear. With Ricky, you don’t really have to speak much about stuff because he gets it straightaway. He’s been there and done it.”
Watson clearly prefers actions to words. She is quiet for most of our interview, watching Hatton rattle away so relentlessly that you fear he might run out of oxygen. Her own interjections – like her punches – are short and to the point, accompanied by a direct and penetrating stare.
One of Watson’s key assets is her
‘I didn’t like seeing women hitting each other with blood across their faces. I’m a bit of a softie with s--- like that’
level-headedness: to adapt Mike Tyson’s dictum, she sticks to her plan, even after she gets hit in the face. Hatton cites last month’s televised meeting with Argentina’s Romina Sosa as an example.
“They were doing the ring announcement,” he says, “and then practically as I was putting Chloe’s gumshield in, the official went, ‘It’s four rounds now, not six’. Some people’s heads would have fallen off at that point, but she coped with it brilliantly.” Watson shrugs. “I just went in there and did what I had to do. You have to, don’tcha?”
Life sounds very simple for Watson – a woman who has been throwing punches for as long as she can remember. The earliest ones were directed at her twin brother, Curtis. “I was beating him up,” she recalls. “My dad wanted him to learn to defend himself, so when we were about five, he took us to a kick-boxing gym.” Whether this plan worked is debatable. Chloe remained the more belligerent sibling, while Curtis soon turned to football instead (he now works in construction). Her next piece of luck arrived when she arrived at Weatherhead High School in Wallasey, which happened to have produced future light-middleweight world champion Natasha Jonas. On hearing of her commitment to the sport, the school staff asked Jonas – who was then preparing for the London Olympics – to come in and meet her.
“It was great to hear about the path she was on,” recalls Watson. “She had to face hurdles that don’t exist now, but I saw them when I was growing up, and it fuelled me. When I was 10, 11, I was really starting to think about competing, because I’d seen all the lads that I was sparring with get bouts. My coach at the time sat me down and said ‘Female boxing isn’t really a thing’, and that was hard to hear. But I still knew that I wanted to do this – and then that year female boxing came to the Olympics.
“My schoolmates have always been supportive as well, even if I can’t really eat or go out or do all the stuff that they might be interested in. In fact, they say that I inspire them. Like when I was 13, and dieting for my first national championships, all my friendship group were coming into school with the same packed lunches as me.”
Limited to a tad under 9st by her weight division, Watson’s figure is so sylph-like that she could be a gymnast or ballerina. But when she plants her feet and swings, the impact resonates around the gym. As a decorated amateur, she arrived at Hatton’s gym in Hyde –
the smartest building in a rundown suburb some seven miles from the centre of Manchester – with an established reputation.
As Hatton explains: “I had already been thinking, ‘It’s only going to be a matter of time before a lady asks me to train them’. Then a friend from Birkenhead said, ‘We’ve got this girl’. I was excited when I saw her, because I knew at once how much more I could add to what she already had.”
For the past two years, Watson has spent weekends in Birkenhead with her parents, before reporting for training on Monday morning. She lodges a couple of minutes’ walk from the gym with the six
‘When I was 10, 11, my coach sat me down and said ‘Female boxing isn’t really a thing’, and that was hard to hear’
other members of the Hatton stable. Perhaps tactlessly, I inquire whether the lads play on gender stereotypes by expecting her to cook. Watson looks shocked at the very idea. “Definitely not. Yeah, that’s not me. No, they’ve always been quite respectful.”
It took eight months before she was ready for a professional bout, at the famous boxing mecca that is east London’s York Hall. According to Hatton: “It’s only four rounds in the amateurs, so you just shuffle in and shuffle out, but for the professionals you need to change the angles. And it’s much more physical, not just about speed of movement anymore.”
Their work must have paid off, because Watson eased past Hungary’s Judit Hachbold on her first outing, and has since gone on to win another four on points.
For sparring, Hatton brings in women from gyms in Leeds or nearby Denton. It is still trickier to recruit training partners than for any male pupil, but the options are multiplying all the time, and so are the potential matches. “When I first turned pro, I was the only female flyweight on Boxrec [the official record keepers] in Great Britain,” says Watson. “Now there are five, maybe another five in the super flyweight category. It’s exciting, because I feel like there’s an opportunity for some good domestic fights to happen eventually (only one of her first five pro opponents was British). And you know, the lads have it. So, like, why can’t the girls?”
With three live appearances on Channel 5 behind her, Watson has never needed to squeeze in a day job – as the young Hatton did when he fitted carpets in the morning. In any case, she is too busy to burn much cash, with the exception of the odd night out to celebrate a win. “When a fight’s finished, we go out and have a few drinks,” says Hatton. “Everything in moderation, they say. Of course, I used to say it myself when I was fighting, but it never happened!”
“It’s a case of ‘Do as I say, not as I did’,” adds Hatton, whose party lifestyle between fights earned him the nickname of Ricky Fatton. “Old greedy bollocks here would put three stone on. I wouldn’t change it, because it helped my fanbase, being the scallywag I was. But it takes it out of your body and your organs. If any of my fighters were going down that road, they’d get a telling off. I’d like to think that they could come to me with any problems they might have outside these four walls, because I’ve been through it all, whether it be mental health, or relationships, or managing weight.”
For the moment, it is hard to imagine Watson needing too much extra-curricular guidance. Blessed with a singular focus in life, she seems completely at peace with her vocation. If she does not say a great deal during our hour-long conversation, this is partly because Hatton (now Ricky Chatton, perhaps?) keeps talking over her. The one time she does become animated is when she mentions a video she stumbled across of her early days in Hyde.
“It was mad,” she tells Hatton excitedly, “the difference between then and now. It’s exactly what you told me at the first session, the way you wanted me to box. These days, I’m not as bouncy on my feet, I’m taking my time, I’m planting my shots, I’m feeling a lot stronger – and that was everything that we said we were gonna work on.”
So, where do they both go from here? Has Watson checked out the international competition in her division? “Not really,” she replies. “I’m just fighting when I’m told to fight …” Hatton interrupts again. “We’re making massive progress,” he says, “but we’re a little bit off the world scene at the minute, still just concentrating on improving in all areas. Besides, whoever’s world champion now might have finished by the time Chloe gets there.” He need not have worried. Whatever happens next to Chloe Watson, she is not the type to get ahead of herself.