Dillian Whyte wins raw boxing fairytale against Joseph Parker to stand on the verge of the heavyweight promised land

Whyte won the fight in a life he was meant to lose when he beat Parker, the punching Mormon preacher, and is now within touching distance of the fights that truly matter

There was a raw boxing fairy tale on Saturday night at the O2 involving a man in a fight to change his life forever, a sold-out crowd, a final 30 seconds of utter horror and what looked like the cruellest twist before the final bell of salvation.

Dillian Whyte is the new hero of British heavyweight boxing, an unlikely candidate for affection, a slugger from the vicious streets, blood-stained, shot and descending fast before boxing saved him and, ten years later, delivered him for electric baptism at the O2 on Saturday night. It’s not an urban tale, it’s real.

Whyte won the fight in a life he was meant to lose when he beat Joseph Parker, the punching Mormon preacher, on points in a brawl that left the pair stumbling, near exhaustion and still swinging when the final bell tolled. There were moments when they fought each other to a standstill, or swinging crazily, stumbled, sweat flying from punches, and looked like two created images in a cartoon version of the latest lunatic Rocky sequel.

In the last of 12 draining rounds, Whyte’s legs, body and desire took a final battering from Parker’s fists and the big lad from Brixton rocked, staggered and toppled over; the clock, stuck with something like 34-seconds remaining in the final round, then becomes a fighter’s greatest opponent. Whyte looked doomed, his mission just a bit short, a crowd with hearts broken pulled their hands to their faces to block out the end they dreaded. It is the historic finger-mask of the sickened.

Whyte somehow found two feet, his feet, had his gloves wiped by the referee and fell about the ring, part delirious, but still upright to hear that chime of glory. Whyte took the decision, too wide in my opinion, but he deserved his win. Parker had not done enough, his place at the heavyweight banquet of vulgar riches is now vacant and he will have an uneasy flight back to New Zealand.

The steamy summer night had started with touts meeting punters off the train at the O2 in a desperate hunt for “any spare tickets” for the boxing. Whyte was fighting for nothing in front of 200 bored spectators less than four years ago. Some might say being the attraction at a sold-out O2 was redemption enough, but not Whyte: “I always believed, always knew, man,” he said in the drained euphoria of a post-fight room, part relief and part jubilation.

Whyte is now on a sequence of three big wins - he was the underdog in each - in nine months and could and should be closer than ever to a rematch with Anthony Joshua, and this time the world title would be the bounty; the trinkets form a nice bed for the cash that would transform his life a final time. Joshua stopped Whyte in 2015, the result keeps Big Dillian awake at night.

Whyte was not always brilliant, but he was always courageous and committed to a fight he could so easily have lost. In other fights Parker has used his chin as part of his defence, leaving it exposed knowing it can hold most shots, knowing if he lunges wide his chin will take care of the counter; Whyte dropped him twice, the first in the second round was a messy combination of a head butt and a scraping left, the second time, deep in round nine, was a perfect left hook that retired forever Parker’s once granite chin as a weapon.

It was, as expected, a messy, dirty fight at times, part of Whyte’s plan was to avoid being a static target for Parker’s jab and that meant using a few of boxing’s dark arts. Parker had his throat dragged along the top rope several times, he was crushed backwards over the ropes under Whyte’s bulk and had to take shoulders, butts, forearms and elbows in most rounds. Parker never moaned, Whyte was somehow not malicious in his relentless fouling and the pair just got on with slugging away.

It wasn't always pretty, but it was captivating (Getty)

Parker had the speed, the brains inside the ring, but was often reluctant to let his hands loose on Whyte’s advancing mass and that meant Whyte could get close and let the punches and body parts fly. It was not pretty, was never going to be pretty, but it was, even as their energies drained and they moved like men stuck in sucking syrup, gripping.

Parker looked vulnerable in most rounds and then in the last two rounds Whyte looked like he was a stiff breeze away from oblivion, a gentle tap shy of utter collapse, and with just seconds left he was down. I’m not sure there is a more pathetic picture in sport than a truly exhausted fighter, just seconds away from victory, going down in the last round. There is nothing but pity left in those witness to the boxer’s fall, his heart seemingly crushed and the slowest clock in the world is now an orb of nightmares.

Whyte hauled his bulk up in slow-motion, an exhausted pound of flesh at a time and it was simply breathtaking stuff, heroic in the oldest of old ways. Whyte claimed he was fine. Well, he would say that.

Whyte was left clinging on (Getty)

Whyte is not quite in the promised land, the place where the riches from just one fight can change your life forever, but he is very, very close and must surely be one the most deserving of fighting pilgrims. He is certainly one of the nicest men in our business.