By Jim Cawkwell

Photo © Chris Cozzone/Fightwireimages.com

 

Ricky Hatton’s agenda was to secure his world light welterweight championship and prove his marquee potential to the international boxing community. However, his performance accomplished far more than that. He succeeded in exposing the moronic movements of the IBF, whose foolishness had stripped Hatton of his title in the first place, and afforded Juan Urango the chance to fight for it. At the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas, Hatton demonstrated the difference between being a champion as opposed to a “champion,” as he swept away ten of twelve rounds from the beleaguered Colombian.

 

Urango’s most significant contribution came in the form of a body assault that tore through Hatton in the fifth round and was perhaps the catalyst for the disappointment of the Englishman’s late-rounds clinching. But before being encouraged to throw single shots then hold for all he was worth throughout the majority of the final four rounds, Hatton gave American television a glimpse of the style that had been missing from his pure aggression since they began to take interest in his every move.

 

Unless you were a Stateside Hatton supporter fanatical enough to have mail-ordered his entire career on DVD, you had likely watched the last two years of Hatton’s career, and his attempted American invasion, with curiosity. You watched him and were expecting to see the fighter that British fans assured you was as much a boxer as a bruiser. During this period, none of Hatton’s victims received his hybrid of ferocity and finesse that characterized many earlier performances. Urango - now sans-championship - was the test subject.

 

Hatton bewildered Urango with an array of accurate punches from a variety of angles while keeping a constant, buzzing rhythm. And though concussive power was not evident, Hatton separated himself from comparisons to thoughtless, face-first brawlers by battering Urango then using smart footwork to do damage and disappear, making Urango seem, at times, like a spectator.

 

Furthermore, despite the infrequent, unintentional, yet disturbing head-butts that resulted from their clashing stances, not much more than the customary grazes marked Hatton’s visage as he polished off twelve rounds against one of the game’s heavy hitters. This was because Hatton was back in his element at 140-pounds: able to move his feet; launch himself into the hooks, right hands and uppercuts that kept Urango in check, before slipping off to the side, out of range of the counters Urango craved but couldn’t deliver.

 

Urango soon became his own cheerleader; sloping off to his corner after losing round- after-round, yet daring to raise his hands to the crowd as if to conjure some doubt in the minds of Hatton’s vocal supporters, and perhaps instill in the minds of the judges and ringside observers the notion that for all Hatton’s industry, he was doing nothing to move the more powerful Colombian.

 

But the judges saw the fight as it was, and when their scores were tallied, they recognized the overwhelming impact of Hatton’s dominance with totals that told of a near-shutout.

 

With that, Hatton found parity with the statistical success of his closest domestic rival, Joe Calzaghe, whose reign continues, though under the guidance of Frank Warren against lesser competition that before long will bring about a return to the criticism that Calzaghe was once forced to repel.

 

Meanwhile, as “The Guv’nor” of the light welterweight division, Hatton has his eye on a real challenge that he hopes will be his Gatti-Ward; a war for the ages to set him apart in the consciousness of boxing fans for years to come. The showdown with Jose Luis Castillo will now take place.

 

Castillo has fought many wars through the years; however, looking at him against Herman Ngoudjo makes one wonder whether he has any more. There were signs at the weigh-in that Castillo’s light welterweight debut may not be the routine assignment that many had hoped. Against the dense and defined physical structures of natural 140-pounders Hatton, Urango and Ngoudjo, Castillo looked exactly what he was: a lightweight forced to move up.

 

Lacking the physical definition of his current contemporaries led one to believe that Castillo may have taken Ngoudjo - a comparative novice of fifteen professional fights - for a soft touch on his first night’s work in almost a year.

 

Having learned much of his craft alongside Julio Cesar Chavez - who was known to hit the bottle as hard as he hit ribcages - it was easy to believe that on this occasion, Castillo, with pounds to spare, did not punish himself in training.

 

As the rounds wore on, and the true quality of Ngoudjo became apparent to all, one sensed that Castillo relied more upon the strength of his fighting instincts and the sheer strength of his will to impose them on the young Cameroonian, who appeared from behind his early, nervous jab, with combinations that sliced through Castillo’s defense and often had the Mexican taking stock of himself.

 

Though Ngoudjo held an edge in sharpness over Castillo, his exuberant disposition was altered by the many uppercuts he ate through his guard, and the characteristic hooks from both sides that Castillo uses to such great effect.

 

A hard fight though it was, it became obvious that while Ngoudjo was fighting the fight of his life, Castillo was, if not fully prepared, still very comfortable in the environment. It began to feel like a Castillo performance as he went to the body, took his fair share of punches in the process, but nonetheless wore his way through the resistance of the younger man.

 

Amid the nervousness of those who had begun to realize that Castillo was an invaluable commodity in the lucrative Hatton-Castillo war projected for later in the year, Castillo seemed content to march to the beat of his own drum. Perhaps though it was unexpected, it was a fight that resembled the kind that Castillo always relishes, in which he has to draw deep from his inner well of resolve and move forward to test his opponent’s.

 

One senses that is exactly why Hatton wants Castillo: to somehow emulate the great Latin warriors he so admires by beating one of the best of our time on his own terms.

 

The scores reflected the narrowness of the fight and the margin of which Castillo almost brought both Hatton’s and his own future plans to ruin.

 

As for Ngoudjo, it seemed ridiculous for Montreal’s Yvon Michel to put his man into a fight with Castillo, known to ruin experienced fighters. Nevertheless, in standing with Castillo - prepared to win rather than just going the distance - Ngoudjo may have bought himself another chance on the big stage.

 

Each man experienced slight turbulence en route to victory, showing certain vulnerabilities that should make their impending showdown that much more irresistible to boxing fans, who may be looking for the solace of a real fight if Floyd Mayweather, Jr. versus Oscar de la Hoya realizes its potential disappointment.

 

In the infancy of his fighting life, Hatton’s future as one of boxing’s true body-snatchers was created as he was hit by a rib shot that sent him over, feeling the hellish pain that the true weight of those punches inflict. It was then that he decided to master the punch; better to have it as an ally. However, the way he recoiled from Urango’s body attack will not have escaped Castillo’s eye.

 

Nor will Hatton be able to hide his contentment at seeing Castillo’s lack of hand-speed, and the ease with which Ngoudjo was often able to fire off his combinations and escape without serious consequences. Such examples further highlight the way in which the styles of these two fighters will dovetail into a perfect confrontation.

 

Perhaps even the greatest fight in what is shaping up as one of the best of boxing’s recent years.

 

Contact Jim Cawkwell at jimcawkwell@yahoo.co.uk