Free Will and Risk Assessment

I haven't watched it yet, partly because I'm afraid to, but ITV ran a documentary on Monday commemorating the live TV tragedy which was the Nigel Benn-Gerald McClellan boxing match, which resulted in serious brain damage being suffered by the American fighter.

I have never wished to apologise for my enthusiasm for the noble art of self-defence but this bout, like the Eubank-Watson tragedy before it, leaves me with a profound sense of discomfort and a feeling of disjunction between love of the sport and its hideous consequences.  Indeed, the Benn-McClellan bout would have ranked as an all-time great bout without its sequelae - epic excitement served with epic horror.

For those who never saw the bout, Nigel Benn was, in the early 1990s, Britain's most exciting pugilist.  A never-say-die slugger, he was not as slick as Michael Watson, as strong as Chris Eubank nor a defensive genius like Herol Graham, but he was gutsy, aggressive, a pull-up-your-chair and wait-for-the-bell fighter.  Benn live on TV made for an enjoyable evening.

But there was a feeling this time that Benn was showing signs of wear and tear, and McClellan was the new man on the block.  A hard-hitting man who matched Benn for aggression, he had recently dethroned Julian Jackson, WBC Middleweight champ and possibly the hardest-hitting fighter of all time.  Benn was a huge underdog; one British sports writer said he was going to hide in his cupboard until told McClellan had returned to the USA.  Few rated Nigel's chances of upsetting his challenger.

When fight night came, and the opening bell rang, McClellan fired his big guns and knocked Benn clean out of the ring.  Benn was pushed back in with the benefit of a long count, and McClellan resumed the attack.

But Benn weathered the storm and came back, matching McClellan blow for blow, until the tired American returned to the corner at the end of the 9th round, blinking hard.

Blinking hard.  It didn't look right.  His corner didn't seem to notice, nor the ref, nor the ringside doctor, nor the ITV commentators.  But it looked bad to me, and I screamed at the TV for the referee to stop the fight.

It didn't work, of course.  Gerald came out for the tenth and the fight was stopped shortly after.  By this time he was suffering a brain haemorrhage which ultimately left him blind, deaf and paralysed.

He added the sorry roll-call of boxing's victims, McClellan and Watson, Rod Douglas and Young Ali and Goult and Anifowoshe and little Johnny Owen, suffering in oblivion under the hoots and catcalls of a Hispanic mob.  How can this be allowed?

Whether we like it or not, people are going to engage in activities which threaten life and limb.  Whether it's collapsing scrums in rugby, motorbike or car racing accidents, heading footballs or binge drinking or unsafe sex, all activities carry risk.  In boxing the risks are more obvious and more acute, but maybe this militates against selecting boxing for banishment and outlawry.  For no boxer can enter the ring ignorant of the dangers he may face.  The same cannot be said for people engaging in football or cricket or promiscuity.  Those are risks which can be ignored or of which we are collectively ignorant.

The only argument for outlawing dangerous sports or other activities is to protect the participants.  An important part of this is allowing people to consent to participate with the full facts in mind.  No sportsman has the risks more in mind than the boxer

The more dangerous the sport, then, the less need to ban them.  And this is the sophistry which leads me to defend the pugilist's right to practice his art.