It is currently 3:10AM on Sunday the 9th December 2007. It is not un-ordinary for me to be sitting here at this time on a Sunday morning, but today I am here for a specific reason. I am waiting for a fight. And no that doesn't mean I am listening to the Polish three apartments away and the local YMCA boys five houses down going at the beers and the inevitable confrontation. NO the fight is Hatton and Mayweather. I have paid my Sky Box Office fee, willingly, and have watched all the pre-game buildup during the week with considerable interest. Now we are on the verge of the moment, Hatton stands on the precipice of glory and we – millions like me are stood right behind him.

Not that I could really profess a great interest in boxing. It all seemed a little too violent as a child – a little too personal. My one occasion in the ring at the local cub scout hall started enthusiastically but quickly lost its appeal after some kid from the same street landed two corkers flush on my nose. The next time he landed I took a dive backwards into the corner of the ring – which was a chair with a bit of string tied to it serving as one quarter of the boundary and ropes. I refused to continue.

I did as a young man return to the fighting arts with Tae Kwon Do where you spar with your legs as much your fists and was a lot less in your face. Although still rubbish at this – I was much better at the opponent-less ritualistic patterns than fighting, it was much more agreeable as much for the art. Although getting tagged on the scrotum by an upswinging foot is a lot more painful that a glove on the nose, I can tell you.

So it is, that in the main I have occasionally watched fighting bouts on TV. Most of the famous ones occurred while I was a kid, so all I heard were the muffled sounds of commentary from the front room – mostly, as I would learn the next day, marvelling at another quick despatch at the great paws of Frank Bruno and the fleet footed Barry McGuigane. I did watch later fights of both these but it was to see the brave McGuigane lose in a very hot open air arena and Bruno to the terror of Tyson. At other times I remember listening to Jim Watt or John Conti's brief tenure as champion on the radio. But that was it.

During my adult years I have watched quite a few Sky Box Office showings – and do you know I can only guess they were for Lennox Lewis or Naseem Hamed bouts - so distant are they in my mind. I cannot tell you now who against or even who won. But do recall that Lewis seemed to come back harder the more he got hit and the highlight reels showed a dazzling Hamed but he seldom sparkled on the big stage.

What I do recall is that on these occasions a group of my peers from the local village would pile round my house after falling out of the local pub - me being the only one prepared to pay the Sky Box Office asking price and having the biggest TV, and a well stocked fridge. Of course we always underestimated the timezone difference in those early days of Sky Box Office and the fight never actually started when the show started and we would sit through an endless stream of warm-up bouts. By the time the main event actually started, half the bodies in my living room would have drifted home, the rest would be fast asleep on the sofa or the floor. Usually having drank the fridge dry.

On this occasion I am here alone, and this is the first Sky Box Office Boxing offering I have purchased in about seven years that I can recall.

Ricky Hatton was first groomed by the BBC, I think, back when it was about the only station regularly showing boxing. I could be wrong. As a young boxer Hatton was stunning. He would go to the body and hit these people so hard many of his knockouts were from blows to the ribs. Hatton for me personifies the heart of British. Forget right now about the divided UK, what makes Hatton really appealing is that we can see a bit of ourselves in him. Irrespective of Scots, Welsh, Irish or English he has heart, fights the fights we dreamed of as children and repress as adults. If he loses he will go down in a blaze of fightng glory I have no doubt, punching to the end. If he wins I will be punching the air, probably with tears streaming down my cheeks and fumbling for my collection of Rocky DVD's. Which I will probably still be watching post dawn's chorus. I have butterflies thinking about the fight now – how weird is that!

Mayweather on the other hand is completely different. Technically the better boxer – so I have read – he was bred to fight and it is as instinctive to him as is breathing. He seems very, very fast and very fit. If Hatton does win it will have to be brute strength and desire as much as technique. What I don't get about Mayweather and all the bad mouthing boxers since Ali, is how one dimensional they seem – totally confused and messed up personally. You hope it is all part of the show because if Mayweather wins what will he have at the end apart from one more win? Will it be more than Hatton if Hatton loses?

It is now 3:40. Time to quickly post this. Go Hatton – in the words of a great screen character: 'Win!'