Ricky Hatton, 46, makes shock return to boxing in Dubai announcement
The 46-year-old former world champion will be stepping back into the ring against UAE fighter Eisa Al Dah in a middleweight contest in Dubai on 2 December.
The announcement was made at a boxing show promoted by Al Dah, with Hatton appearing by video link, claiming he was 'very much looking forward' to the fight, adding: 'I think it'll be a sensational evening.'
It will be Hatton's first professional fight since defeat to Vyacheslav Senchenko in 2012, although the Manchester boxer previously fought an exhibition match against Marco Antonio Barrera in 2022.
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The Guardian
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The Guardian
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Sainted recluses with 17 world titles between them and a lifetime of sacrifice. If Taylor is the tactician, Serrano is the flamethrower. This polarization is what produced lightning in the first two fights. But by Friday night, their plans of attack had changed. Serrano, seeking alternatives after two contentious decisions that didn't go her way, tried to outbox the boxer. Taylor, burned before in brawls, circled and struck, then slipped away. From round one, it was clear: this was no longer a firestorm. The fight bore more resemblance to Mayweather-Pacquiao than Ali-Frazier I. Smart. Tactical. Controlled. For some, disappointing. But why do we need chaos to believe in a woman's greatness? In other sports, I root for my team to win, ugly or not. But in women's boxing, I confess to a double standard: I want glory and a good show. I want drama, blood, something irrefutable. That fear – that if women don't entertain, the sport will vanish – lingers like smoke above the ring. But Taylor and Serrano were not performing for our approval. They were fighting to win. This, in itself, is progress. True equality in boxing is not the right to inspire. It's the right to be boring. To clinch and move. To fight safe. To win ugly. Taylor-Serrano III wasn't transcendent because it was thrilling. It was transcendent because it didn't have to be. And yet boxing remains a sport of contradictions. To protect yourself, you must risk everything. To gain glory, you court death. And still – some would deny women the choice to do so. When Amanda Serrano and more than a dozen elite fighters issued a joint call last year for 12 three-minute rounds – the same as men – they framed it not as a demand, but as a right: 'We have earned the CHOICE,' they said. The irony is that boxing is one of the only spaces in Western society where a woman can risk her life and be compensated. But even then, OnlyFans logos hover over ring posts and girls in bikinis parade cards while bloodied fighters wait for judgment. Fans call the athletes they flew across oceans to support 'autistic lesbians'. Serrano gets seven figures. Some women on the undercard get $1,500 and no health insurance – turning, more ironic still, to OnlyFans for financial security. What do we mean when we talk about choice? We fight for a woman's right to have a child – or not. But what about the right to bleed for nothing more than self-belief? What about the right to hurt for glory, not survival? Women are told their bodies are sacred, but only in service of others – children, husbands, God. In boxing, they reclaim them. Not for nurture, but for risk. Not for life, but for something more defiant. Not Madonna. Not whore. Something else. Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano did not ask for sainthood. They asked for a trilogy. They made history, then made it again, then closed the book. Now, whether Friday night becomes a watershed or a footnote is not up to them. But for those of us watching, feeling the hush before the bell, the flutter of green, orange, red and blue fabric, the rush when Taylor's glove was raised and an Irish flag drifted gently down from the upper seats – whether Catholic or atheist, Irish or Puerto Rican, man, woman, or something in between – these two ensured one thing: Watching them time after time after finally time again will do something more than impress you. It will resolve contradictions – between styles, between images of a fight, between even life and death – into a single indelible reckoning.
