The brief, harsh dramas that change the lives of fighters are often enacted in memorably peculiar places,” as Hugh McIlvanney once wrote. So it was for Donald Curry, when a little-known welterweight from South London via Jamaica left him in bloody tatters in the “jarringly inappropriate” setting of the Circus Maximus Showroom in Atlantic City in September 1986. Back then only Marvin Hagler was considered a better fighter than Curry, whose domineering knockout of Milton McCrory in 1985 had sent him shooting towards stardom. Then a louche polyamorist with a sonorous name reduced him to nothing.
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