Читать книгу No Win Race. A Story of Belonging, Britishness and Sport онлайн

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I didn’t understand the crowd’s hostility. Indeed, the anthems and the pageantry of boxing were all a blur to me, lost in the murky setting. Wembley Arena looked little more than a school gym. The spotlights were straining to shed light on the ring. Maybe it had been our television. Either way, I had no idea how big the arena was because it looked so dark, so congested. The entire crowd seemed as if it was within spitting distance of the ring.

As I watched Minter and Hagler in the ring that night, I knew who I wanted to win. So, when my father asked me to select my favourite, my response was instant and firm.

‘Minter.’

My father was taken aback. ‘Minter? Do you know what he said?’

‘What?’

‘He said a black man can’t beat a white man. Can you really support someone who says that about us?’

I had no way of checking if it was true or false. I had no response. As far as I was concerned, Minter was English, and being English myself, I wanted him to win.

Nineteen eighty had, so far, been a fantastic year for sport. In my mind, Minter–Hagler was not at this point living up to the other sporting events I had watched. It was the first year that sports stars rivalled Batman and Superman as the heroes we all wanted to be on the school playground.