The Mail on Sunday

Do we really need a boxer to lose an eye to keep us entertaine­d?

- CHIEF SPORTS WRITER Oliver oliver.holt@mailonsund­ay.co.uk Holt

WHEN Daniel Dubois took another stiff jab to his grotesquel­y swollen left eye in the 10th round of his heavy weight fight against Joe Joyce at Church House in London last Saturday night and sank down on one knee, some current and ex-boxers lectured him on what fighting spirit should mean. When he allowed himself to be counted out, social media’ s keyboard warriors emerged like snipers in the ruins of his ambitions to tell Dubois he was a quitter.

It is strange how rigid and unforgivin­g our definition­s of sporting bravery can be when we are sitting at a desk, holding a microphone, lounging on a sofa, standing in a pub or prowling a touch line. We are skilled and trenchant in telling athletes exactly what courage is. We are not quite as good at helping them with the consequenc­es of that bravery.

The idea of player welfare is all the rage in the Premier League at the moment but, when David Luiz was felled in a sickening collision that fractured the skull of Raul Jimenez last week, Arsenal swathed the Brazilian’s head in bandages that soon became stained with his blood and, to general dismay, sent him back out there.

MI KEL ARTETA, t he Arsenal manager, should have substitute­d him straight away, but that is not t he way macho men’s sport is wired. We still allow bravery to supersede safety. We expect bravery to triumph over danger. So much for all the concern about the lasting impact of head injuries on footballer­s. Luiz and his family will just have to pick up the tab another day.

I have witnessed bravery every time I have seen a man or a woman climb through the ropes into a boxing ring. It is impossible to be at a fight and not feel the menace of violent intent. But there is one time I remember bravery in the ring more vividly than any other. Because of what happened that night. And because of what happened when the caravan moved on and the bravery brought a heavy price to pay.

It was 20 years ago this month when I sat at ringside at the Sheffield Arena to see Paul Ingle defend his featherwei­ght world title against the South African Mbulelo Botile. Ingle was outboxed for 10 rounds of the fight, just as Dubois was. By the 11th, both his eyes were swollen and i t was obvious he was desperatel­y tired. He was brave and he fought on. That was when Botile clubbed him to the canvas the first time.

Ingle was brave. Somehow he got up and made it to the bell and to his corner. He was brave and came out for the 12th even though he must have known he had close to zero chance of winning. He lasted a few more seconds before a brutal left hook from Botile sent him to the canvas again. And this time, he did not get back up. He was carried out of the ring on a stretcher.

‘He fought there to the very edge of exhaustion,’ said the television c o mmentator a s the doctors gathered around Ingle. ‘He gave it absolutely everything.’ And so he did. Later that night, it was reported that Ingle had developed a blood clot on his brain and had had an emergency operation to remove it. His career was over. He pulled through but his life as he had known it was over, too.

Bravery sometimes has a price. In Ingle’s case, it came in at about £25,000. That was what they raised at a benefit evening for him seven years later. Around that time, a colleague of mine went to Yorkshire to interview him. ‘Today,’ he reported, ‘seven years after his last fight, he weighs 17st, lives with his mother i n Scarboroug­h, cannot work, cannot drive and relies on £56-aweek disability pension. His fiancee left him as they tried to cope with injuries inflicted in the ring.’

On Saturday night, as the abuse rained down on Dubois, some current and ex-fighters said they could never have done what Dubois had done. Carl Frampton was one of those who said they would have had to carry him out. Just as they carried out Ingle. They have walked that walk so they are entitled to talk that talk but I wonder if they considered the realities of what fighting on might have meant.

A career over at 23? Probably? It was later discovered that Dubois had fractured the orbital socket around his left eye and had a bleed on his retina. Another three rounds and the damage might have been irreparabl­e. He could have lost the eye. Or at least the sight in it. Easily. And then what? A life in the shadows? A life with people saying he was once a contender. A life with people talking about the loss of his career but noting: ‘Damn, he was brave.’

ONE boxing journalist called his defeat ‘a tame surrender’ and invoked the ghosts of brain-damaged fighters who have gone before. The reality, of course, is that Du bois was astonishin­gly brave against Joyce. To fight on for as long as he did, outboxed by a more experience­d man, taking punishment round after round, in agonising pain from a broken eye socket, unable to see the punches coming, in mental as well as physical pain — that takes more guts than I can imagine.

It’s enough for me, anyway. I didn’t need him to lose an eye to admire him. And when guts and bravery weren’t enough any more, Dubois did the smart thing. He stopped. He had the bravery to stop. He had the intelligen­ce to know that if he carried on, he could lose everything. But if he took the defeat, he would fight another day. This way, t here will be more opportunit­ies for him to prove his bravery. The other way is where darkness lies.

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 ??  ?? PAIN GAME: Dubois’ left eye is horribly swollen
PAIN GAME: Dubois’ left eye is horribly swollen

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