The policemen stretched a blue line of bulging bellies, nightsticks and guns across the canvas to keep Mike Tyson and Lennox Lewis in separate worlds before the first bell to their fight in 2002.

As the fat blue line negotiated the ropes and snaked away from the ring, the bell sounded and all the fight bled out of Tyson, who was finished as a boxer, to leave behind a man seemingly willing to die rather than quit; the massacre was over in round eight and now the pair are firm friends. Tyson and Lewis never really hated each other, not real hate.

Jake La Motta and Sugar Ray Robinson had a violent rivalry, trading punches for six glorious fights and leaving behind in the ring stunning memories that made their reputations. “I fought Sugar Ray so many times it’s a wonder I didn’t get diabetes,” La Motta joked during his painful stand-up routine, which I last saw him do ten years ago in New York when he was a sprightly 85. Robinson won five of the six, was not big on praise but still the pair never hated each other.

Last Saturday in Cardiff there was a genuine fight of hate, fouls and no smiles, cuddles or respect at the end when Liam Williams retained his British light-middleweight title against Gary Corcoran. It is unusual in the boxing game for two men or women to hurt each other, cut each other and even drop each other, and then not embrace. It happens, I’ve seen it, but rarely at a high level.

Williams sold over a thousand tickets to his fans in the Rhondda Valley and the new Ice Arena on the edge of Cardiff Bay was a lively venue by the time the pair made their entrances. Corcoran, a traveller boy from north London, had also sold hundreds and it added to a fight that was always going to be a bit feisty.

The nastiness had started after a misunderstanding, a comment by Corcoran, which he later told me he regretted making, about a habit that Williams has of blinking. It was an unnecessary remark by a usually reticent boxer, thankfully retracted but understandably interpreted as a personal insult. The truth is that social media allows all sorts of cowards and fakes to make outlandish claims, but most proper fighters thankfully stick to something mundane along the lines of: “I’m gonna knock you out.” Corcoran crossed the line, Williams rightly lost his mind over the comment; six weeks later they got in the ring in front of a sold-out crowd of just under 5,000 and it was vicious and filthy.

It finally came to a confused and bloody end in round eleven after Corcoran had been heavily dropped, somehow beat the count and was falling all over the ring on legs that had no resistance left. Terry O’Connor, the referee, lunged between the pair at the same time as Peter Stanley, Corcoran’s trainer, climbed the ring steps with a white towel. It was a gruesome finale, the only way a fight between two unbeaten men should end.

Corcoran with his bloody left eye, cut in round four (Getty)

Corcoran was bleeding from a cut above his left eye, a wound inflicted by a casual butt in round four that had survived several inspections by the blood-stained referee, a heavyweight in his day, and the ringside doctor. Williams was also cut above his right eye and his nose was weeping from a graze. They both had foreheads and brows that were smashed with dark bruising and testimony to their efforts to butt each other into oblivion. Corcoran had also lost a point in round eight for holding and hitting. If the fight had been over six rounds at the Edgbaston Ballroom, a venue where O’Connor has served as the third man, the pair would have been thrown out and suffered a reduction in wages.

Big Terry, the ref, had stopped the action after less than 20 seconds in round one to warn the pair about fouls. He held a fighter’s glove in his hands as he delivered a short lecture and the malevolent pair glared at each other from about 12-inches, their chests pumping. At ringside, twelve or so feet from the boxers, it was possible to sense the hatred, the venom and the often out of control anger. I knew the pre-fight pushing and shouting had been genuine but the rawness in the ring was a shock. It was also a relief as real grudge fights are rare in modern boxing.

They touched gloves reluctantly at the end after three or more attempts, but there was no peace as they each left the ring. “That is my worst performance and I still knocked him out,” replied Williams when asked about a rematch. It was the final word, the only way to end the night.

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