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No place like home for Manchester's Hatton

Wallace Matthews

10:39 PM EDT, May 24, 2008

MANCHESTER, England

Oh, yes, you can go home again, especially if you bring along your own referee.

Ricky Hatton, the world's most famous Mancunian now that David Beckham has relocated to L.A., made his return to the ring Saturday night before 55,000 of his neighbors and one very special friend, Howard Foster of Doncaster, a town about 50 miles east of Manchester. Foster was chosen to share the ring with Hatton and his hand-picked foe, Juan Lazcano.

Nine and one-half rounds into Hatton's comeback fight against Lazcano -- Hatton had been knocked out, thoroughly and ignominiously, by Floyd Mayweather Jr. last December in Las Vegas -- Foster suddenly became the most important person in City of Manchester Stadium. More important than either of the fighters, more important than Oscar De La Hoya, in attendance in his capacity as co-promoter, more important even than Mike Tyson, another attendee.

At that key point in the scheduled 12-round fight, with Hatton stumbling forward drunkenly, arms outstretched, like a 140-pound Frankenstein monster courtesy of three left hooks on the chops from Lezcano, a 10-1 underdog and a fighter who had not fought in 15 months, Foster decided the time was right for a timeout.

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At least, for Hatton. So it was at that point in the fight, which Hatton was winning handily but now appeared on the verge of losing, that Foster chose to send both fighters to neutral corners, then lead Hatton back to his corner -- so that his shoelace could be retied.

By the time the simple task was accomplished -- slowly and with much attention to detail by his cornermen -- nearly 90 seconds elapsed. By the time Foster waved the two fighters back together, Hatton had regathered his faculties and resumed where he had left off in the ninth round. Pummeling Lazcano, who at that point seemed resigned to submit to the remainder of his beating. Hatton had to settle for a clear-cut but still rather tainted decision victory.

Truthfully, it would serve no one's purpose for Hatton to get beaten. He is one of the few legitimate draws left in boxing, even if he has to bring half the town with him to the United States whenever he fights there. He is engaging and entertaining and wholesome. Still, a boxer is not supposed to get help in there, even if he is fighting in his own backyard.

"I'm glad to get that first one out of the way," Hatton said. "I was never more nervous before a fight in all my life."

And with good reason. It is not easy to please 55,000 people, most of whom you know on a first-name basis, many of whom live rough, hardscrabble lives in this rough, hardscrabble town and have to do a lot of scrimping, saving and doing-without to afford tickets that went for an average of 250 British pounds, which at the current exchange rate is nearly $500 (U.S.).

But still, they came, suffering through a cold, windy night, squirming through a deadly dull undercard, including a dreadful 12-rounder in which Hatton's younger brother, Matthew, lost a decision. Until the Ricky Hatton fight started, the most entertaining moment of the night came when Paulie Malignaggi, a Brooklyn-born junior welterweight who apparently has a deal to be Hatton's next opponent in November, needed to have his 12-inch hair extensions forcibly removed from his head between rounds of his fight against Lovemore N'Dou, since they kept wriggling out of their rubber bands and falling in front of his eyes.

"Complete disaster," said Malignaggi, who nevertheless went on to win a highly unpopular split decision. "Never again."

But once the fight started, it was all about 55,000 people letting Hatton know they had gotten over his loss to Mayweather -- and Hatton trying to convince himself of the same thing.

All through the fight, a bass drum thumped in rhythm as they chanted his name and jeered his opponent. All was going well until the eighth round, when Lazcano wobbled Hatton with a left hook, and the 10th, when he appeared ready to drop him until that magical shoelace came untied.

Saturday night, that boxing shoe became the equivalent of Dorothy's ruby red slippers, the ones she clicks together while repeating: "There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

The next time Hatton sees "The Wizard of Oz," he will understand exactly what she was talking about.