By Steve Bunce
THE debate about Ryan Garcia’s mind continues and there seems to be no end in sight. Meanwhile, away from the millions of dollars and neon lights, many other boxers struggle with mental health. Garcia is just one example of those who suffer from mental illness.
Anthony Phythian was hurt, don’t get me wrong. He had been banned from every football club in the country. He was homeless, violent, addicted and spiraling down a dark hole. He had ballooned to nearly 20 stone and was ready at a moment’s notice to fight anyone and anything on the pitch, in the street, in the pub, in the car park. Anywhere.
In Bolton last week, Phythian was ringside to watch his friend Macaulay McGowan in a fight that would define his life. McGowan had his demons. It was a tough fight, not one for the easily squeamish. At around 2am, Phythian sent me a photo of McGowan hugging his buddy at ringside.
The message is simple and meaningful: “That’s the bottom line.” He’s a healthy fighter, surrounded by someone who loves him. He’s right, and poor Garcia could use some of that care.
When Phythian was 35, he was refused a boxing license by the British Boxing Board of Control. “I had no amateur experience and had only fought a few times in the ring. I knew I had to fight some amateur fights to achieve my dream,” Phythian told me in Bolton. His boxing life was over, his shameful legacy gone.
There are iconic images of the rampaging Phythian, wearing a white swimsuit, on the pitch. He was accused of attacking a police horse and more. Those were the days that were lost in his life. “I needed to change, I had to do it.” He started losing weight, started thinking about becoming a professional boxer and not one of the most notorious hooligans in the country.
He had entered two amateur contests before Covid-19. He lost the first, won the second, and applied again. His goal was 10 contests, and he knew that would be enough for the Council. Thankfully, he was accepted, he was a professional boxer. It was a new life – it was his salvation.
“I got my first banning order in Bolton; it was 2008,” he told me. “When I was boxing here as a professional, my manager, Kieran Farrell, said to me, ‘You’re fighting in a football stadium.’ I had to say to him: ‘This isn’t the first time.'”
There is no mincing words with Phythian and his story is in the details and not necessarily the facts and figures. His first fight was at Bowlers in the summer of 2021, and he was paired with Ryan Hibbert. On paper, it made sense.
“I remember the locker room was packed,” Phythian said. “Guys I’ve watched for years and I know; [Ant] Crolla came, Joe Gallagher was there. I had sold 200 tickets and then I came out – I could hear my name and all the lights were shining. That’s amazing.” He’s a professional.
Just being there that night, wearing gloves, a licensed boxer, surrounded by Manchester’s boxing nobility, was an achievement. It was progress; seven stone lighter and a good citizen. It was the epitome of boxing. Phythian was 37 that night and had fought off punch after punch. There would be another punch – he was stopped in the first round.
“It was tough, very tough, but I was living the dream and I had to fight again,” he said. He did and won his next four fights. Phil Martin, the great Moss Side boxing saviour, often spoke about how small changes, improvements in a fighter, were the real measure of personal change. I think Phythian and Martin will work together.
Phythian got involved with a boxing class called Cleaner and Dryer. The club, which was formed after a friend committed suicide. Depression, addiction, death – it’s a common trinity, don’t imagine it’s rare. Cleaner and Dryer never had boxers in the Haringey Box Cup last Sunday, but they may have some potential members in the five-ring.
The sessions are free, and support mental health and addiction through boxing. It’s not about words, it’s about actions. That may have been Phythian’s motto in his previous life: now it’s his motto in his new one.
Last week in Bolton – he was there with his teenage son – the only thing that bothered him was paying for parking on his phone. He seemed at ease, his time in the ring clearly part of the process.
That winning streak ended at Bowlers. He suffered back-to-back defeats, the last of which came in November. That was it, boxing was over. He was 40 when he had his last dance, as he put it. “I had recovered from drink, drugs and suicidal thoughts – I was nearly 20 stone; I had been in big trouble and then I became a professional boxer. It was a dream,” Phythian said late on Friday night. He was right, by the way.
He’s done boxing now and is driving a delivery truck on and off construction sites. He did what he had to do in the ring, and it worked. Phythian also knows that all the darkest places are still out there somewhere. Garcia hopes to realize the same thing; he could probably do a few anonymous sessions at the Cleaner and Dryer. He’d be among good people.
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