This Sunday will see a DAZN boxing card being broadcast from the York Hall in east London.
The card will be the second of the weekend—there is another card the night before—and is headlined by a match between James Osborne, 8-1 (1), and Liam Forrest, 3-0-1 (0).
If you have not been yet to the York Hall in Bethnal Green, then you have so far missed out on arguably the UK’s most-famous boxing arena.
It was also the site of the second card I ever attended when I went there in April 2003 to watch Craig Docherty stop Dean Pithie in eight rounds to win the Commonwealth super-featherweight title (the first professional bout I ever went to was a year earlier in Liverpool, when Tony Dodson upset Brian Barbosa over eight rounds).
I’ve been back multiple times to the York Hall over the years and it has been memorable every time.
It was a warm Saturday evening, and the atmosphere became gradually, intensively febrile as the hours ticked by.
There were a flock of eastern European fighters on the card that night and, towards the end, one of them lost to a UK fighter. It was possibly the last fight of the evening and as the defeated fighter looked down at the floor, disappointment in his face, a sole British man walked to the edge of the ring, looked up at him, and started dropping slurs, swear words, and insults at the top of his voice.
Then, there was a rumble. Me and the man sat next to me turned in our seats and saw, a few rows behind us, around fifteen men with Slavic features get to their feet and, as one, walk towards the sole UK man who had insulted the fighter in the ring.
“I think it’s time,” said my neighbour, “for us to get out of here.”
Years later, I had come to live in London and heard one day that middleweight contender Edison Miranda had agreed to appear at the York Hall against Joey Vegas. Miranda’s star may have dimmed towards the end of his 37-13 (32) career, but in 2009 he was two fights removed from a stoppage in four to Arthur Abraham, six fights removed from a stoppage loss in a war against Kelly Pavlik, and seven fights removed from a decision win over Allan Green. He would fight Andre Ward in his next bout and the following year would see him travel to Canada to take on IBF champion Lucian Bute.
Miranda was not the biggest star in the world, but he was one of the biggest to ever come to the York Hall. As one of the people involved in the fight later whispered to me, “It’s cost a fortune to bring him here.”
Vegas, 11-4-1 (4) at the time, stood little chance, yet he stayed on his feet against Miranda for five rounds.
I do not know how, because I have never seen—apart from David Price lifting David Ingleby off his feet with one punch in his debut—a fighter generate as much power as he did. Miranda’s blows had all the cadence of a wooden baseball bat being hit against a thick, stiff pillow.
Miranda looked tired that night. Not tired in the weariness that comes after a long day, but from a drawn-out, hard life. He looked a little slow and he mauled at Vegas, but then in the fifth he clubbed at his opponent until that man realised that trying not to get stopped was as futile as trying to hold back the tide.
There were other nights in the ring for Miranda as he aged. But he was never really the A-side of any event, merely a strong and hardy presence bought in to bolster a card. But that evening at the York Hall, he shone a little.
My friend Zoe, 4-3 (1), fought recently in Gibraltar for the Commonwealth title, losing a decision over ten rounds against Oriance Lungu, 4-0 (0). She tells me that she will be fighting again soon, which I am much looking forwards to.
I met Zoe when I was writing my first book, Death of a Boxer. I was keen to write about a small-hall show and from the perspective of a woman lacing on the gloves. I was in London and my original interviewee had dropped out, so I looked at who was fighting that weekend and saw a card at the York Hall. I sent Zoe a quick message and she replied immediately, telling me I was welcome to join her as she got ready.
I was with Zoe all day and when she walked to the ring, I went with her and her team. She won that fight, naturally on points, and then we sat a little in the seats afterwards so she could cheer on her friend Dean Gardner.
Zoe asked me if I had enjoyed walking to the ring with her.
Pete Carvill
“I did,” I replied.
“I bet you’ve not done that before!” she said.
“Well, actually…” I pulled out my phone. “I have this.”
A few weeks before, my friend Muhammad Anthony Yigit had been fighting in Poland on the undercard of Usyk-Dubois I. I had been in the changing room, watching my friend as he got ready to go out when someone put their head around the door and advised us that it was time to go.
Anthony looked at me. “You will,” he asked, “be doing the ringwalk with me, no?”