Boxing

Thursday

The Spectator

Barometer | 9 June 2016

Boxing brains Muhammad Ali died aged 74, after more than 30 years with Parkinson’s Disease. How many boxers suffer brain damage? — A 1969 study by A.H. Roberts examined 250 retired boxers and found 17% had lesions of the nervous system. Many had started out in the 1930s, when a professional boxing career could involve over 300 bouts; it’s fewer than 20 now. — However, brain examinations are now much more sensitive. A 2012 study by the University of Gothenburg of 30 Swedish boxers found that 80% had protein changes indicating brain damage. Hideously white? A BBC memo revealed it was seeking an ‘ethnically diverse’ presenter with a ‘northern accent’.

Thursday

Simon Barnes

The brain-damage game

In the course of a queasy hour in Harley Street 30 years ago I learned a great deal about the brain — what Woody Allen called ‘my second favourite organ’ — and altered the course of my life in sports writing. Dr Peter Harvey concluded: ‘Boxing is a contest in which the winner seems often to be the one who produces more brain damage on his opponent than he himself sustains.’ Last weekend, after a boxing match for the British middleweight title, Nick Blackwell was in an induced coma with bleeding to the brain. Things would have been a good deal worse if his opponent, Chris Eubank Jnr, had not

The Spectator

Portrait of the week | 31 March 2016

Home The Indian company Tata decided to sell its entire steel business in Britain, putting more than 15,000 jobs in jeopardy. The buy-to-let business was squashed by the Prudential Regulation Authority imposing more stringent borrowing criteria in parallel with an increase in stamp duty from this month. The Bank of England’s Financial Policy Committee said that ‘the most significant’ domestic risks to financial stability were connected to the referendum on EU membership. The French utility company EDF agreed to take on part of its Chinese partner’s financial risks from cost overruns in building the Hinkley Point nuclear power station. BHS, the department store chain, attempted to secure its future in

Thursday

James Walton

Losing the plot | 31 December 2015

On the face of it, ITV’s Peter & Wendy sounded like a perfect family offering for Boxing Day: an adaptation of J.M. Barrie’s novel, with a framing story about how much Peter Pan can still mean to children today. In fact, though, the programme suffered from one serious flaw for any Boxing Day entertainment — if you were slightly drunk, slightly hungover or both, it was almost impossible to understand. Then again, I suspect that even the most weirdly sober of viewers might have struggled with a drama that never seemed to know the difference between the intriguingly suggestive and the utterly baffling. The opening sequence played to one of

Thursday

Rose George

Lover and fighter

I don’t like boxing. If I ever get into a boxing ring, I’ll be in the corner with the governor of California, Edmund ‘Pat’ Brown, who in 1963 called for ‘the abolition of this barbaric spectacle’ because another man had just been beaten to death in the ring. That man was Davey Moore, who had defended boxing before it killed him on the grounds that no one stopped the Indianapolis 500 when racing drivers get killed. But another dead man is the focus of this book: our hero is the captivating, frustrating, brutal Emile Griffith, who we meet at the age of 22, ‘happy and beautiful’, and who one year

Thursday

Marcus Berkmann

Anyone for ice tennis?

Scholarship for its own sake has rather gone out of fashion, although I’m sure Spectator readers would be the last people to worry about that. But what of scholarship for barely any sake at all? A book like this, the result of enormously diligent library ferreting, doesn’t have any pressing reason to exist, but I am glad it does. Its pointlessness is its pleasure. Edward Brooke-Hitching has subtitled his work ‘The Most Dangerous & Bizarre Sports in History’, but what actually characterises these 90 pastimes is that no one plays them any more, usually for good reasons. Some of them were simply too cruel. Sports such as eel-pulling, pig-sticking, cat-headbutting

Monday

Rod Liddle

A reliable obesity survey? Fat chance

More excellent news for Team UK. Apparently we are now the second fattest people in Europe – and are rapidly catching up on the humongous, goulash-obsessed Hungarians, who currently hold the coveted number one spot. However – the news gets better. The survey was undertaken before Christmas Day: the morbidly obese Magyars tend to eat low-cal fish for their seasonal dinner, whereas we consume vast amounts of turkey, potatoes roasted in goose fat, steamed puddings, brandy butter, orange or mint flavoured Matchmakers and Terry’s Chocolate Orange (counts as one of your five a day, I think). So we may well have caught up already. On the other hand, much of

Thursday

Jeremy Clarke

Forgive us our Christmases as we forgive those who Christmas against us

After lunch on Christmas Day my father always stood at the sink in his apron and yellow Marigolds and did the washing-up. Rolling up his shirtsleeves the gentleman’s way, as he claimed it was, with two turns maximum to just below the elbow, he couldn’t wait to get started. I can see him now, paper hat, suds up his arms. However, the underlying and perhaps most pressing reason for his doing the washing-up all afternoon was that he was a furtive drinker. When my father courted my mother, he led her to believe that he was a non-smoking, teetotalling Christian believer, when in truth he was the exact opposite of

Thursday

Dan Jones

When boxing ruled the world

The early 1970s was a good time for heavyweight boxing. Indeed, it was probably the last truly great age for the sport. Flamboyant fighters contested brutal matches in exotic locations, from the Philippines to the Caribbean. The world watched open-mouthed. The marketing slogans attached to some of those fights remain instantly recognisable: who has not heard of the Rumble in the Jungle or the Thrilla in Manila? During these years boxing, and particularly American heavyweight boxing, was the most prominent and glamorous sport on the planet. Boxing in the early Seventies was also culturally important in a way that it is not any more. The sport was briefly about more

Wednesday

Fraser Nelson

Charles Saatchi’s letter to Taki – I’m a cage fighter. Still want to insult me?

We’re putting the new Spectator to press this morning, and we have an interesting reader’s letter from Charles Saatchi. It’s addressed to Taki, as opposed to the editor, and takes issue with his disobliging references last week. He has this to say: ‘Dear Ms Taki [sic], Although the Spectator is a lovely read, I always skip your column, I’m afraid. I am simply not interested in your social life.  I know that you delight in telling readers that your friends of Prussian nobility find you hilariously entertaining company at their swanky Europoncy parties. But it was very hapless of you to spring to Nigella’s defence last week, as she always found you toe-curlingly vile, and

Thursday

Wynn Wheldon

Deserter, wifebeater, great poet: the shame and glory of Vernon Scannell

Vernon Scannell was a thief, a liar, a deserter, a bigamist, a fraud, an alcoholic, a woman-beater and a coward. Plenty of material for a biography, then, especially given that he was also a novelist, a critic, a memoirist, a boxer, a teacher, a broadcaster, a loyal friend, a passionate lover and ‘a fun grandfather’. Most of all, he was a poet. Walking Wounded was the title of a Scannell poem and collection published in 1965, and James Andrew Taylor is right to use it as the title for this biography. Beaten viciously by a thug of a father, uncomforted by an unloving mother, by the time he was 19