The years roll by, and memories fade, some of them anyway. It was 18 years ago today when this writer had the absolute privilege of sitting ringside at a fight that, going in, everybody knew would be special. As it turned out, nobody knew how special. And in terms of memory, the war, the slugfest, the classic – call it what you want – that Jamie Moore and Matthew Macklin put on as they raged at light-middleweight/154 pounds still resonates in a powerful way today.
How could it not?
It was a hot and sweltering night inside a crammed George Carnall Leisure Centre on September 29th of 2006, and the fight had long since sold out (looking back, this epic should have played out before a much larger audience, but that fact that it did not, gave/gives those who were there a massive ‘I was there,’ claim, along with a treasured memory). Moore, the defending British champion, gave his all against challenger Macklin, who emptied himself on this night, his sheer effort nothing short of mesmerizing.
Southpaw Moore was 24-3, and Macklin was 17-1. Moore was 27 years old, Macklin 24.
Together, these two put on a fight that made sure they would be forever be placed in British boxing lore.
Macklin, trained by Billy Graham (think Ricky Hatton, who was there that night), came out, as was written at the time, “like a train that had lost control of its brakes,” and on the non-stop attack continued, and continued, and continued……. But Moore, trained by Oliver Harrison, and a touch smarter, a touch cleverer, and quite a bit more experienced than Macklin, tucked up, he fought off the ropes, he fired some sharp, draining counters. Macklin told the writer, years after the war, that he was “fighting on heart as early as round three.”
Indeed, the red-hot pace set by Macklin was suited to no place other than the depths of hell. Both men would pay as a result of the ferocious leather that was slung. At times, “Mooresy” seemed to be a punch or two way from being overwhelmed and maybe stopped. But each and every time danger came – and it paid a visit to both corners numerous times here – Moore would suck it up, maybe spin off the ropes, or turn his man in ring center, and he would regain control.
And eventually, inevitably, Macklin’s hourglass emptied, ever so slowly, ever so agonizingly, this for the fighter and for his supporters. There were two, maybe three rounds that were Round of the Year material, and right to the end, nobody knew for sure who would win. In the end, the fight reached its conclusion in violent fashion, as Moore scorched Macklin with a brutal two-punch combo upstairs, the defending champion’s final left hand leaving Macklin face-down on the canvas.
And just like that, as stricken as Macklin appeared to be, the previously rocking and rolling crowd was silenced. Deafeningly so. The sound of silence hit us all for some time. Thankfully, as we know, Matt was okay, with his career going on to see some bigger fights. In time, these two would work together; this added to the “this was a British Gatti-Ward” talk that had already begun circulating that night due to how great the action had been.
Neither Moore nor Macklin ever became world champion. It really doesn’t matter. Together, these two proud, ever so determined, gutsy, brave, and ferocious fighters put on a fight that ranks as one of the best, the greatest, ever seen inside a British ring.
No doubt, Moore KO 10 Macklin ranks firmly as THE greatest, the most exciting, and the most memorable fight this scribe ever had, and let’s say it again, the privilege of being sat right in front of!
Eighteen years on, and this fight still sends shivers down the spine.
As winner Moore said years after the fight, “I wish I’d been a fan at ringside at that fight!”
