Reportedly Ricky Hatton wanted to fight on because he could not bear to exit the sport flat on his back after suffering the blurring the fists of Manny Pacquiao. He did not want to exit the sport a loser.
As arguments to continue go, it always was a pretty spurious one. No-one calls Muhammad Ali a loser on account of the fact that he was beaten by Trevor Berbick in the Bahamas the last time he laced on gloves.
No-one calls Sugar Ray Robinson a loser for his decision loss to Joey Archer in 1951. Or Joe Louis for his crushing defeat to Rocky Marciano. No-one seriously claims Sugar Ray Leonard’s legacy was diminished by a comeback loss to Hector Camacho.
So if Hatton sees sense this week and makes official the decision that he has supposedly told friends that he has decided to call time on his sport after all, the Manchester 31-year-old will find himself in very good company.
There was simply no shame in losing to Pacquiao, a man whom many fellow fighters – did someone say Floyd Mayweather? – either try everything to avoid, or else are simply not of the calibre to make the match a possibility.
In an ideal world, once he regained consciousness Hatton should have used his elevated stage in front of the world’s boxing media in the MGM Grand in Las Vegas to announce that this was as far as his incredible journey would go.
We all know boxing does not work like that. It tugs at the heart strings of its’ ageing athletes like no other sport. It tempts them back and gives average Joes like Berbick and Archer tall tales on which to dine out forever.
Hatton, in the face of all available evidence, was convinced he could clamber all the way back to the top. Some close to him even whispered of a rematch with Mayweather, and for that they ought to be always ashamed.
More likely was some kind of American tune-up before a British stadium fight with Amir Khan, a man with whom Hatton had no business being an up-and-comer from a different era in the same way Joe Calzaghe rightly did not entertain Carl Froch.
Fortunately, it seems the love for the good times which arguably curtailed his career early has also served to convince him he no longer wishes to put his body through the labours of boiling down to fighting weight.
Apparently, he made the decision somewhere in the blur between a holiday in Australia and a trip to Tenerife with the lads. That tells us all about where the young multi-millionaire’s priorities now lie.
Hatton has, in a financial and global profile sense at least, achieved everything predicted of him by the likes of his first, long-time trainer Billy Graham and all those good judges who saw him cut a swathe through the amateur ranks.
If he regrets not quite crossing that final hurdle of beating the man reknowned as the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world then he should not do because he will be remembered just as fondly for the nights he gave his legions of fans.
From his storming win over Kostya Tszyu (Tszyu also never fought again) to his famous trips to Las Vegas with tens of thousands of fans in tow, Hatton won over the British public like few before him, despite his lack of terrestrial TV exposure.
In truth the cracks appeared before he was schooled by Mayweather, as his everyday excesses took their toll. He struggled desperately to eke out a split decision over the average Luis Collazo in Boston in 2006.
Early the following year, he looked one-dimensional despite easing past Juan Urango. Most damning, he was seriously rocked in the final stages of his homecoming fight against out-of-retirement Texan Juan Lazcano in May 2008.
None of this matters, because it is the great nights people will remember, as well as the personable and engaging character Hatton always was to fans, media and opponents alike.
Now head of a thriving promotional stable, Hatton has earned the right to enjoy life and let others like Amir Khan try to get even close to his accomplishments. What he wisely will not do is fight on to give others their dining-out moments.
