MICHAEL WATSON is running late for unspecified reasons. It seems churlish to ask what the problem was, though if I am any judge of the tiny note of exasperation in the tone of his carer, Lennard, perhaps Michael’s precision-shaved chin took longer to perfect than usual. Whatever, the shave is impeccable.
Or was it just that, in truth, Michael doesn’t like giving interviews? However good he is at being warm and friendly (he has a wonderful deep, rumbling laugh), it is easy to see that talking about himself to a stranger is not exactly his idea of fun. But his autobiography, out in paperback, needs promoting so here he is, 40, boyishly handsome, dutifully extracted from his Chingford home and pouring tea in a hotel in Islington.
“Very shy, yes,” he says. “For me to get involved with boxing — a lot of people found that strange. I was quiet, nicely brought up, well dressed, level headed. I never got into fights when I was younger, I’m not a violent person. Sweet and polite, yes. One day I was bullied in the streets. That’s why I got involved in it, self-defence.”
His book is a calm and measured account of his life, notably so given the phenomenal levels of pain, frustration, boredom and isolation he has endured since what he calls his “accident” on September 21, 1991. A former taxi driver from Islington, he was poised to become the WBO world super-middleweight champion when he took a punch from Chris Eubank that caused bleeding in his brain. Swift treatment would have ensured a full recovery, but an unforgivable delay in treating Michael left him practically dead — he had stopped breathing by the time he arrived at hospital. Doctors gave him little chance of survival, and believed that if he lived he would at best be “fantastically disturbed”.
He was unconscious for 40 days, and emerging from his baby-like state took years of rehabilitation in which, he says, he “crawled my way back to health”. He did not make a sound until the following May when a physiotherapist was bending one of his legs and, in agony, he screamed out her name. A visit from Muhammad Ali was another milestone — he raised his hand high enough to give his idol a high five. He had to learn to speak, to learn to do everything again, and he still has the piece of paper which gives him instructions on how to make breakfast: “Collect milk and bread from the fridge, then put milk on the table.”
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Ironically, his determination to achieve the impossible — to talk and walk again — has brought him the iconic status denied him as a boxer. Then, he was known as the People’s Champion (an improvement on his local paper’s description of him as a young fighter who was a Mummy’s boy and liked housework — the headline was “Smooth Mover with a Hoover”) but now that title has taken on a greater dimension, particularly following his remarkable achievement two years ago in walking the London Marathon over six days. What more impressive champion can the people have than a supreme athlete who has pulled himself back from the dead?
He loves this role and enjoys the ripple of warmth that greets him in public. I can see that the recognition validates him and if you regard yourself as a performer, that matters. When I ask what boxing meant to him he replies quietly. “I’m such a perfectionist,” he says. “I’m so natural. The first time I put on a pair of gloves everything just came up. I was meant to be a fighter, I can do things no man could do. The speed of my punches, my accuracy, how I defend, everything just built in. I was slippery, [I had an] an effective style, I’m an artist. I loved the artistry, the entertainment.”
This is quite a speech for Michael who in interviews tends to favour one-liners (and his quips are as fast as his punches). And he isn’t finished.
“I just loved to show my performance, my talents. It’s good to know you’re fully equipped, you’ve got a gift, and I wanted to express that, show people I’m the best. I certainly did that in the ring — people said there was no middleweight like me. I’m the only man who beat Nigel Benn. Have you seen that fight? The best fight this country has ever had, shown all over the world.”
So it was boxing that gave him a strong sense of identity for the simple reason that he was supremely talented at it. How then did he feel when it was taken away from him? “I had to move on,” he concedes. “Let bygones be bygones, it’s done. There’s a lot more for me to live for, I can give people an injection of inspiration.”
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His recovery has been unprecedented and the key factor was not his phenomenal fitness but what he calls the spiritual dimension, in particular his ability to think positively when faced by unyielding logic. Psychologists will tell you that all world-class sportsmen and women (and doubtless professionals from other areas in equivalent positions) share this attribute — a sense of self-belief that is so strong that they repeatedly visualise themselves winning. It is significant that as Michael talks about his recovery, and everything else that has happened since, he uses the language of the elite sportsman. This is the extraordinary mark of someone who has the instinct, and perhaps the compulsion, to continue to drive himself beyond normal limits long after his career is over.
“It’s all in the mind,” he says of the marathon. “You’ve got to know what you can do — tunnel vision, work on the positive rather than the negative. If you understand your potential — I knew I had the fighting spirit intact and then it’s down to preparation, pushing yourself to the limits. I don’t look at situations — I look through situations, through the process, look for the finish. I saw myself crossing the line, and when I did it I really did feel whole, I felt complete.”
Whole and complete are important words for Michael because although he goes to the gym and gets on the bikes, and he has recently put on boxing gloves for some sparring he calls “comical”, his remaining physical difficulties — his left side is partly paralysed — are considerable and limiting.
“My potential now is to give people the input they need to inspire them, give them the drive to move on in life. What I can do, they can do far better if they believe they can do it.”
To this end he is building up a portfolio of causes which give him a sense of purpose. At the gym he advises teenagers, kids who perhaps like him might discover themselves through having a focus. He is a patron of the Teenage Cancer Trust because he believes that young people need role models, and in any context his recovery is inspirational. He is also involved with the London Olympic and Paralympic bid.
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Throughout his book he expresses his strong Christian faith, and says this is behind his recovery. “Everything happens for a purpose. Since I had this accident I’ve been committed to God and I’ve been changed for the better as a person. I meet wonderful people, my life is elevated each and every day.”
His ability to help other people is what he was meant to do, he insists, and whether or not this is a defence mechanism doesn’t matter. Had he won the world championship he could have been led astray by bad company, he believes. “Money can be very corrupt when it comes. But my life is fresh and clean now, I like being redirected for the better — it’s why I’m here, it’s all in the mind. The mind will never change. I’m still the same person as before. I’m so much more at peace. What a blessing a punch can be, eh?” And he rumbles with laughter.
This is Michael the showman, though he will admit that there are tough days too, days when he is not so much angry as fed up, irritable. But he recognises that life is easier if you have goals, so he takes on tasks that create them and makes sense of his life that way. Again he talks of how he “looks through” situations. “If I know I’ve got things ahead of me I can look through the situation I’m in to get to what’s ahead of me.”
Several times he has asked, lightly, if the interview has finished, and gently muttered “no mercy” when I’ve asked him another question. When we do finish he shouts “Hurraaaay!” Ordeal over, Michael, time for lunch with Lennard. And doubtless as they eat there will be amiable chats with people who recognise this remarkable and courageous character. He will enjoy that.