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Boxing: Fighting off the nightmares: Harry Mullan meets Ritchie Wenton, a champion coping with tragedy in the ring

Harry Mullan
Saturday 17 September 1994 23:02 BST
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FOUR months on, the pain is still raw in Ritchie Wenton's dark eyes as he talks about the fight which made him British super-bantamweight champion but cost the life of Bradley Stone. The words tumble from him in staccato bursts, as if he believes he can fast-talk the nightmare images from his mind. Fighters cope in different ways with the death or serious injury of an opponent. Some, like Barry McGuigan, are so affected by it that they agonise over continuing their career. Others, like the five-time world champion Emile Griffith, or Chris Eubank, adjust their style to score points rather than knockouts. And there are some - a very few - hard men who can brush it aside as an occupational hazard, like bad hands or scar tissue.

Wenton has coped in his own way, leaning on his Catholic faith and drawing solace from the peace of the Devon countryside where, incongruously, this street-wise, dreadlocked Scouser settled two years ago. This Wednesday, in Cardiff, the strength of his resolve will be tested when he enters the ring for his first contest since Stone died in May.

'I didn't go to the funeral,' he says. 'I didn't think it would be right. But I've talked a lot since with Donna Lawrence (Stone's fiancee) and she was such a nice person, so encouraging, that it gave me the heart to carry on. I had a phone call from Barry McGuigan, who went through the same thing himself in 1982, and I appreciated that. Terry Lawless, Bradley's manager, phoned as well, and gradually I came to realise that what happened was meant to happen. It sounds daft, but walking along the country roads in Devon, looking at the cows and chatting to the farmers, helped me to come to terms with it.

'I've been to a couple of shows since it happened, to see how I felt. The first was when Naseem Hamed won the European title. My friend Shaun Cummins was on the bill, and he got knocked down and cut. There was blood everywhere - it was horrible. But I've come to terms with it now, and I just want to go forward, be the best that I can. I don't know how I'll react until I get into the ring; there'll be a lot on my mind, but I'll try to get on with business.'

Wenton, 26, has had a bleak and unlucky life. A domestic tragedy robbed him of his mother and he was, he says, 'brought up rough' in Toxteth until he was 10, when his father, Terry, moved the family to Woolton. 'We were poor, very poor, so I appreciate little things like walks in the country and fishing. I'd never been on holiday as a kid, so it's nice to think now that I can go away now and again.'

Terry was an international flyweight, and younger brother Nigel won a string of amateur titles before launching a pro career which brought him to the edge of championship contention. With that background, Ritchie was drawn inevitably to the ring. He loved it. 'I'd have boxed every week if I could - I had 108 amateur fights. I'd get thrown in with anyone. They knew I could fight because my Dad boxed for England seven times, and Nigel had won all those titles. We all boxed on the same bill once. I have another brother, but only Nigel and me stuck with the boxing.

'When I left school I used to do a bit of roofing, a bit of painting and decorating, but nothing settled. I turned pro in 1988 when my girlfriend got pregnant, because I didn't want to bring up the baby to this type of life, no job or whatever. So I decided to get out and make something of myself. Nigel was with Barney Eastwood at the time, so I joined him too and he got me 12 straight wins. When we split up I had a couple of other managers, but they didn't work out and now Frank Warren is looking after me. There has been a lot of wasted time. I've made mistakes, but I've learned the hard way.'

Perhaps because of their boxing background, the Wenton family share close ties which helped him cope with the trauma of Stone's death. Ritchie is keen to talk about Nigel's attempt to resuscitate his flagging career, while Terry has been a constant encouragement to both brothers. 'When I got knocked down against Bradley, everybody, even my mates, said 'That's it - he's not going to come back from that', but Dad was the only one who had faith in me. He was the happiest man in the hall when I won. When I saw him get up in the ring at the end, it was marvellous. We had a little spar in the ring, me with the belt on.

'I've got to make two quick defences, so I can win that belt outright. It means everything to me. If I become the European champion I can make a few quid, but the Lonsdale Belt is the one that's most important to me. They're better than world title belts. I take it with me everywhere I go. I even sleep with it. When I go in the bedroom I lay it out on the bed and just sit looking at it. In all my life, all my dreams, the only thing I ever wanted was to be British champion, but now I've got higher goals. I want a world title.'

He moved to Devon after seeing an advert in the local paper for a house exchange. 'We went down to have a look, liked it, and got the house. Don't get me wrong: I'm Liverpool born and bred, but I love Devon. I suppose part of my heart's in Liverpool and part in Devon. I live in a little village in the middle of nowhere, but it's my life now. They're good people in Devon, and they've treated me well. When I got the title fight with Bradley, I couldn't believe it when some of the farmers recognised me and asked me about it.'

His trainer Glyn Rhodes, an ex-pro whose understated conversational style is the perfect counterpoint to Wenton's animation, interrupted: 'Farmers have got televisions, you know: farmers can read.'

'I was so excited about the chance that for weeks before the fight I'd go to sleep saying to myself 'I've got to beat him, I've got to beat him,' and I'd be throwing punches at him in my sleep and wake myself up.

''It seemed like everything was against me that night. The Board Inspector made me change my shorts and redo my bandages, there was no music for me to come out to, and when I got to the ringside I had to wait for 10 minutes or so before Bradley appeared. It wasn't him, it was his handlers. But I wasn't bothered. People said afterwards that Bradley was weak at the weight, but believe me he wasn't. He had so much strength, and he gave me the hardest fight I've had. He wanted that belt just as much as I did, and he had so much heart.

'After the fight, I had to walk past his changing room to get into mine. There were loads of people around me but I saw him sitting on his own. Dave McAuley (the former IBF flyweight champion) told me once that when you win the title everybody's after you, but when you lose it nobody wants to know. I remembered that, and when I saw him there I went in and had a chat with him. I told him 'I'm sorry there could only be one winner. Fortunately for me I got it, but you're still in the picture. You've only lost two fights out of 20.' He took it better than I would have done.

'Afterwards I drove straight back to Devon. I couldn't sleep all night. Eight o'clock in the morning I was walking the street, showing off the belt. At first everybody was laughing and joking with me, but as the morning went on their reactions seemed different. It was because they knew what I didn't, that Bradley had collapsed, and it wasn't until I went into the bank at 11 o'clock to show them the belt that I found out.

'I couldn't take it in. We'd thought of everything that can go wrong, even silly accidents like I twist my ankle getting into the ring, or slam a car door on my hand arriving for the weigh-in. But this one thing, this we hadn't gone through. This you can't prepare for.

'One thing that still annoys me was the way the papers wrote about how 'Bradley died trying to get the money for his little house'. That's exactly what I was in there for, what everybody gets in there for. I've got a five-year- old daughter, and I'd love to buy a house for her too. I'm a Catholic, and before the first bell I dropped to one knee and crossed myself. I was praying for victory, not for safety, because you never think it's going to happen in one of your fights.

'They say pain is temporary, but glory is for ever. I took a lot of pain, but I did get glory. I'll tell you exactly: I got 12 hours of glory, from 11 on the night of the fight until 11 next morning, when I heard about Bradley.'

(Photograph omitted)

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