The Seedy Gangland World of 1970s Unlicensed Boxing

Nutting. Biting. Gouging. Kicking. There was all sorts of villainy going down in an unlicensed boxing match in the 1970s.

Not to mention beaucoup London villains at ringside. Promoted by the back alley likes of Joey Pyle, Nosher Powell, Alex Steene and Frank Warren, bouts were held at rowdy venues and packed out with shark faced hoods marinated in cheap cologne.

But what exactly is "unlicensed" boxing? It isn't bareknuckle fighting and it isn't illegal. It denotes contests, and fighters, not licensed by the British Boxing Board of Control. 

Events are staged with gloves, referees, trainers and doctors, but not under the strict conditions and criteria of fights sanctioned by the British Boxing Board of Control. Hence the nutting, biting, gouging and kicking. Ouch.

In lieu of social media, fights were promoted by word of mouth and tickets sold in smoke filled pubs. Moreover, you weren't paying an arm and a leg for a seat like the Royal Albert Hall or Wembley Stadium. 

For a short time in the 1970s, it seemed like the white working class had reclaimed the noble art of fisticuffs from the fat cat promoters and club blazers of the British Boxing Board of Control.

And the white working class had their own white working class champions. Human dildos and monkey brawlers like Cliff Fields, Lennie "the Guv'nor" McLean, Roy "Pretty Boy" Shaw, "Mad" Gypsy Bradshaw and Man Mountain York.

It was a steroid pumped pantomime. And because some of the competitors were mob enforcers, with dodgy mates and plenty of form, the tabloids began to cover the fights in muckraking detail.

But how many of these "guv'nors" and "unofficial heavyweight champions" could honestly square up to a licensed pro-fighter in a bout? Not many of them had a sporting chance. 

Most fought in unlicensed matches because they were unable to meet the strict criteria of the British Boxing Board of Control medical (too old) or just wholly unsuitable (too fffing criminal.)

Licensed or otherwise, don't believe the Mixed Martial Arts balderdash about boxing being dead and buried. It might be going to seed, but gnarly blokes still fight for the title of "Guv'nor" and unlicensed bouts are still riotous events. 

And though it lacks the gaudy spectacle of its Seventies heyday, and its Guy Ritchie cast of East End thugs, the scene boxes on. If it didn't, grown men would be out fighting on the streets or in dingy underground car parks. And nobody wants to see that kind of villainy, right?