Article by Jeff Powell on Hitman

Personally I had it at 114-113 to Hatton, an although i dont agree with somethings in this article it is an interesting read from someone elses perspective.(if its not to long a read) ;D

By Jeff Powell

The Hitman fought beyond even boxings call of duty in the early hours of sunday morning. Call him Richard the Lionheart.
Ricky Hatton went where no British fighter had ventured before, not solely by winning a world title at a second weight but by virtue of his third championship victory in consecutive wars. Give him his place of honour in the bloodly history of the hardest game.
Manchester's very local boy made all this possible by crossing the Atlantic to carry this stirring fight to America. Salute his daring. But do not call him the best pound -for -pound boxer in the world. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
If a British Fighter has claim to mythical title it is not Hatton. It is Joe Calzaghe after the savage beauty with which he put to the slaughter Jeff Lacey, the fallen darling of the U.S. ring, in march.
Hattons conquest of America was the product not so much of his primeaval instinct for battle as the decision which gives the noble art ignominious name.
There was a scandalous time when British fighters came to America only to be robbed as routinely as well-heeled tourists straying down a dark alley in Brooklyn. This time it was a native of that New York ghetto who was mugged late on a cold, rainswept night. And it was a visitor from England who dunnit.
Luis Collazo made his somewhat shorter journey to a sodden Boston wearing his WBA belt. That world welterweight title was stolen from him by the three men with the best view from ringside in this city's famous old Garden.
The one judge who ruled against Collazo by a single point might have made a genuine mistake. The two who voted 115-112 in favour of Hatton should consider themselves fortunate not to have been taken to Guantanamo Bay for questioning.
It was possible- not least for TV pundits whose networks have a vested interest in Hatton's continuing success- to argue a plausible case for this fight being as close as it was thrilling. But if either of these two warriors won it by clear margin then it had to be Collazo, whose most telling protest was lodged when he said:'If you are going to take a title off a world champion then you are supposed to do more than Hatton did against me.'
Our Rickey, still one of the lads despite becoming a star, is a uniquely British hero. Rightly so since he dethroned the great Kostya Tszyu as the world's supreme light-welterweight.
But against the comparatively unheralded Collazo he did not do enough to put victory beyond dispute, let alone to confirm his ascendancy to the 10st 7lb division or clarify a future which suddenly looks as clouded as the unseasonably wintry weather here.
This is a tough judgment on a true Brit who has just gone up a weight to win world title but as Hatton himself observes:'Boxing is not a tickling contest'. The seemingly clear path to bonanza battle with Floyd Mayweather is now strewn with urgent discussion as to whether he should go back down to 10 st and light-welterweight as quickly as possible.
There are more golden boys offering big paydays at welterweight but Hatton's new phalanx of promoters would put their man into the same ring as IBF champion Oscar de la Hoya at peril to their finances. As far as the WBC title, not even De la Hoya is showing the slightest inclination to mix it with Mexico's viciously dangerous Antonio Margarito.
Arturo Gatti- a blood and guts crowd pleaser but one looks like a shot fighter- could fit the bill. Perversely, Mayweather- for all that he is today's most accomplished technician- might fall within Hatton's compass because he has bulked up from his earlier days as a super-featherweight.
Collazo's although by his own admission not a concussive puncher, had Hatton hurt often and then out on his feet in the last of their 12 championship rounds. The champion suffered a knock-down from Hatton's first left hook of the fight- costing him a two point deficit from the first round- but Collazo's size and strengh asserted themselves and he was never in serious trouble again.
As Hatton kept coming forward like the 'little British bulldog' the champion described him as, he was continually picked off. Once Collazo had survived Hatton's opening, three round blitzkreig, he set about giving a masterclass in boxing's finer skills. It was a lesson lost on the scorers.
The controversy deepened into conspiracy theory as it became known that local officials had stepped in as late replacements when nominated officials failed to appear. Were they HBO instead of WBA judges? Some critics put that question in the context of the U.S. TV company's investment in Hatton's American adventure.
Camp Collazo cried foul and called for a rematch. Some hope. Hatton, with characteristic honesty and typical bravado, asserted that he would never duck any fight, against this or any other opponent.
He conceded not only his difficulty in coping with Collazo's style but that he had been taken aback by the strength and punching power of a natural welterweight. He needs this man again like a hole in the head.
His handlers cited some punching statistics in an attempt to justify victory but Hatton's face - swollen, blackened, covered in weals and with his eyes half-closed told a different story.
It also suggested that he cannot possibly have to many of these wars left in him. There is never an easy fight for Hatton now and the sooner he can get Mayweather, bank the mother-lode and retire to the pub, the better for his health.
Hatton is in danger of being too brave for his own good. It was by sheer guts that he kept coming forward to give himself his chance of stealing this verdict.
As a profound admirer of his courage and character, it pains me to report that I had Collazo two points ahead, even though i was probably generous to our Ricky in my evaluation of a couple of the rounds.
Hatton insisted he had edged it. Yet it was obvious that his corner had warned him he had to win the final round, which he ended in denial of how close he had come to being stopped in those last three, desperate minutes.
He was accused, also of fighting dirty and he was certainly guilty of excessive holding when in distress.
On the night when four inches of rain fell outside, he was repeatedly clinging on like a drowning man.
The travelling fans from England in company with the supportive Boston Irish, had long fallen almost silent. As the declaration of the result brought them roaring back to life, one American said:'We just got screwed in our own country.'
There was a deliciously wicked sense of irony about that compliant. Nor could it have happened to a more deserving beneficiary. Ricky Hatton earned this break the hard way down the years. But now as he reflects on how close his career came to unravelling, is the time for wise heads to rule his fighting heart