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

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Once the bell rang, Minter came out aggressively, hoping to impose his will, but Hagler kept catching him with leaping right hooks. Every time Hagler caught him with a punch, Minter looked distressed. It was like he couldn’t see the punches coming. Within a minute, Hagler opened a cut under the champion’s left eye. This had been common for Minter. Most of his six previous losses had been due to severe facial cuts. Undeterred, the Brit pressed forward, although Hagler’s jerky movements and compact stance appeared to confuse him. Minter offered little movement. His head stuck out like a pelican’s. Every time they exchanged, Minter appeared to throw more punches but Hagler landed the more damaging blows. Minter was bigger and quicker, but his punches were more like slaps than real decisive hits.

The two traded blows as if in a street fight. There was no rhythm to it, just malice and anger. They’d throw scrappy punches in close, take a breather, and then go tearing into each other again. By round two, Hagler’s slashing overhand lefts and uppercuts were hurting Minter. The American’s shot selection was mesmerising. Hagler could slug or box. He could fight on the back foot or come forward, or from an orthodox (leading with his left hand) or southpaw (leading with his right hand) stance. Hagler’s ability to adapt in a fight was also legendary, so it was unsurprising that he became the aggressor to neutralise Minter’s attacks. The challenger had been winning the brawl, making the champion look amateurish, when Minter caught Hagler with a clubbing right hook. The punch stopped the American from advancing forward and momentarily buckled his knees. Minter had finally derailed Hagler’s charge and he moved in for the kill.