By Don Caputo

On a frostbitten morning in Cardiff, Wales, Frank Bruno was a man infused with the spirit of a nation.

Resolute and utterly fired up beyond a mere mortal’s boundary of comprehension, a career best performance looked to be reaching a stunning crescendo as he forced his man against the ropes with a jolting stream of ramrod lefts. The punch, his most potent weapon, cut through the icy air in the outdoor arena and found its mark with the accuracy and force of a homing missile.

‘Keep pumping the jab, everything comes off the jab,’ the cerebral fighter reminded himself. Disciplined adherence to that fundamental fistic rule, he was discovering, has a habit of paying off. Thudding right hands swiftly followed, and we held our breaths in anticipation and exuberance as ‘Big Frank’ moved in to close the show against his fellow countrymen and bitter rival. With a furious barrage of punches, a decade of hurt was being washed clean away.

Two failed world title attempts, both of which left him crushed physically and mentally, were about to be wiped from his memory bank and replaced with the joyous image of his hand being raised in the most significant British battle in the heavyweight division since 1971, when Henry Cooper and Joe Bugner punched it out for domestic supremacy.

Surely he sensed how close he was. For the briefest of moments, the storybook ending that Britain’s most beloved sportsmen so thoroughly deserved looked within clutching distance. Then, without even the faintest hint of warning, the lights dimmed and he found himself in a lonesome and familiar darkness. A darkness that refused to subside until after his dream became, agonizingly, reduced to rubble once more.

Lennox Lewis, giving us a somewhat early indication of his eventual and undeniable greatness, produced a left hook that contained pure, hellacious dynamite. The blow caught poor Frank completely unawares, and temporarily destroyed the link that exists between brain and body. His muscular frame slumped on impact and wobbled fatefully. A few moments later, the fight was over.

For Lewis, victory was snatched from the jaws of defeat. Once again for Bruno, defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory.

On December 10, at the ExCel Arena in London, the latest ‘Battle of Britain’ is scheduled to take place between Olympic Gold Medallist Audley ‘A-Force’ Harrison (19-0 14KO’s) and ‘Brixton Bomber’ Danny Williams (33-4 28 KO’s).

With no title at stake, it is set to be a strictly territorial affair – a fight for the right to call himself the best in the land.

Williams, an affable, blue collar sort, has harboured a deep routed and conspicuous resentment against Harrison – who he has labelled a ‘celebrity boxer’ – for a good few years now, and with such hostile feelings apparently being mutual, fireworks are expected when the pair finally meet in the ring. But who will have the Great British public in his corner when the opening bell chimes?

It is fair to say that Harrison has not done a very good job of enamouring himself to the (literally) millions of fans he brought back with him from Sydney. Marching to his own beat every step of the way since embarking on a career in the professional ranks, many in the business are of the condemning opinion that his Olympic triumph laid seed to a hubris that has resulted in him going from hero-to-zero in the eyes of the general public.

Never was his lack of popularity on these shores more evident than when the BBC unceremoniously dumped him at the end of their existing contract, and then promptly turned its back on boxing altogether after the scathing experience of being bombarded with vitriolic criticism every time Harrison graced the screen. Looking on the bright side though, at least now he can proclaim that he was the sole reason the BBC ended its short-lived liaison with the sport – something to tell the grandkids, eh?

No, Danny Williams is most definitely the Frank Bruno in this scenario. He, like Frank, is modest, jovial and innocuous. Harrison, on the other hand, is outspoken almost to a fault and has put more than a few backs up with his fierce independent streak. He is the master of his destiny, no one else. To some small minded people that, unfortunately, makes him a narcissist.

Williams, a lovable loser (remind you of anyone?) who was so breathtakingly brave against Vitali Klitscko in his one and only title fight, is the man who I suspect the average Briton will be rooting for on fight-night. I suppose the logical question should be then, will the support of a nation give him an advantage?

Put it this way; if public affection won boxing matches, Frank Bruno would have whipped Tyson, Holyfield and Lewis on the same night. It’s nice to be cheered though.