Ricky Hatton: The People’s Champion Goes Home
by Tommy Kennedy IV

They buried Ricky Hatton yesterday and Manchester stood still. The rain came down steady, the kind that soaks you to the bone and still feels holy. From Hattersley to the Etihad, blue flags hung from windows, people lined the streets, and you could taste the pride in the air.

He was ours.
Ricky wasn’t just a boxer. He was Manchester in gloves, tough and humble, full of heart and humour. The lad you’d meet down the pub, pint in hand, cracking a joke one minute and talking life the next. He once said, “The fans don’t just support me because of how I fight, they support me because of who I am.” And he meant every word.

Born in Hattersley, he climbed from estate gyms to the bright lights of Las Vegas. Every step, he carried the voices of his people with him. Every punch came from that place of graft, that place where nothing is handed to you. When the belts were gone and the noise faded, he faced his hardest fight, the one inside.

He spoke honest about depression, about the darkness that creeps in when the crowds have gone. “This will be the toughest fight of my life,” he said, and he fought that one too, just like always. That kind of honesty made him more than a champion. It made him real.

The streets were packed this week. Fighters, fans, legends and old mates stood side by side. Tyson Fury, Amir Khan, Frank Warren, and thousands of locals turned out. They followed the cortege past his gym, the AO Arena, the old pubs where his laughter still hangs in the air. No glitz, no show. Just love.

Frank Warren said Ricky inspired a generation not just with his fists but with his heart. He showed that you can fall, you can hurt, and still stand tall again. That’s the fight that matters.

So here’s to Ricky Hatton. The lad who made Manchester proud, who carried his city into every ring and never forgot where he came from. The bell has rung now, the lights have dimmed, but the roar of that crowd still lives on.

Rest easy, Champ.
You gave us nights we’ll never forget and courage we’ll never lose.

The People’s Champion
He fell and he rose,
blood on his gloves,
fire in his soul.

He laughed like a mate,
fought like a soldier,
and loved like a son of Manchester.

Now the gloves hang silent,
but his spirit still swings.
The People’s Champion,
forever in the ring.


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