Thousands are expected to pack the streets of Greater Manchester, as Ricky Hatton has bloomed and made his final drive through the city for which he fought. The 18 -mile march starts at 09:45 of the Cheshire Cheese Pub in HydeOne of Hatton’s old ghost where the pints once flowed as freely as his left hook.
The route goes through places connected to his life and career-the gyms, bars and roads that formed the ‘hitman’ of a working class in a world champion that brought Manchester into the spotlight. It all ends at Manchester -Cathedralwhere a private memorial service for family and close friends will be held.
Ricky Hatton was never the polished superstar type. He was not made for velvet ropes or tributes to soft focus. He was Manchester to the bone-fresh, working class, loyal. And four days before his death at 46, he said what was most important to him, he wants to be remembered as “one of the boys.”
The man we knew as The hit was found dead at his home in Manchester on Sunday, September 14. The shock ripped through British box and further. He spent decades throwing brackets that made arenas tremble, but it was no longer belts or headlines he wanted. It belonged – to be loved like Frank Bruno, worshiped by his own city, and accepted by fans who saw themselves in him.
“I was a man of the people”
Hatton laid it bare. “I’m so proud when people ‘our franc’ and ‘our ricky’ say, ‘he said. “I’m not saying we were the best, but we were probably the two loved. I was a man of the people, a Jack-the-Lad, the boy-door door, who couldn’t give two s **** and said that.
He added, “I’d rather be Ricky Hatton than the greatest of all time, but make everyone think I’m ad *** head.” For a fighter who packed 22,000 in the men’s arena and 30,000 in Las Vegas, it says it all. People remember me as a Helluva fighter, but also as one of the boys. “
Fame never changed the child from the estate
Hatton told Barker that his life remained near his roots, even after glory. “Life has changed for me and my children and my family at the moment I beat Kostya Tszyu. But I don’t think I changed too much. Even today, the gym I was driving, and the house I have, are all just ten minutes from the board of council.
‘Even with all the nice things I have achieved through box, I’m still going from my local and playing darts on a Monday night and playing football for the veterinarians on a Sunday afternoon. My friends are still the same friends I went to school with, no late newcomers, always the same friends. ‘
That stubborn loyalty – to pubs, to friends, to Manchester City, in the same old streets – was who felt fans. He was a hero who could walk into any bar and not have to buy a pint. Children who have never seen him still stop him for photos because they have seen the cuts and experienced the reality.
Fight his own shadows, help others with theirs
Hatton didn’t hide that life after boxing hurt. The losses to Mayweather and Pacquiao left scars, and depression followed. But he refused to stay down. He got help. Then he used his pain to help others.
“I didn’t want to tell my friends or my family, I didn’t want to worry them, so I kept it,” he told Barker. “I went into the gym or the bar and was the life and soul of the party, even more than normal, because I tried to compensate too much for what was going on in me.
“Nobody knew it, and it was very difficult. I thought I could sort it out myself, but I couldn’t. The best thing I did was when I realized that I could hit him or him, I can do it or do it, but I can’t sort it out myself and I had to talk to someone, and that’s the best thing I did.
“You feel that you can talk better to a stranger than with your family or friends. You don’t go to the boys – and I have good friends – but you don’t feel that way. I fell out with my mom and dad and separated with my missus and I didn’t want to worry the rest of the family. So you hold it in and hold it in and it’s the festivals gone. ‘
After getting help, Hatton used his experience to help others. “Some of my boxers tell me that they paid off their mortgage loans and thanked me – that’s what it’s all about,” he said. Letters showed up from people who heard his story and found hope. It gave him purpose: “It makes me feel good that I helped others.”
A fighter we never left behind
Hatton did not want statues or holiness. He wanted to be the boy from the street who raised it, but never looked down on anyone. It is rare in box – or anywhere. And maybe that’s why the news of his death cuts so deeply.
He lived cruel nights, public defeats, private fights, and still found the power to say a bullied child to stop his chin for a few days before he left us. If it is not greatness, what is it?
Rest easily, Ricky. You were one of us – and you will always be one of the boys.
Check out the full interview:
Last updated on 10/10/2025
