Standing a hair over 5’3 and with a lean and unspectacular physique that seemed to contradict a rare blend of athletic ability and unusual fight-ending power, Hamed began his professional career in 1992 at an age when most young men are more concerned about borrowing their father’s car on a Friday night than at focusing on a career of fighting professional, grown men in search of a major world title. Starting out as a flyweight, Hamed quickly made a name for himself scoring early-round knockouts against the usual array of suspects and punching bags. The call of his body demanded he begin the process of moving northward through the bantamweight and super bantamweight ranks shortly thereafter. Along the way Hamed punctuated his promise of sheer greatness by winning the EBU Bantamweight title and the WBC International Super Bantamweight titles. Five short-order defenses of the latter strap positioned the “Prince” for yet another move up, this time to the featherweight division and a shot against Steve Robinson for the WBO Featherweight crown. Leading handedly on all cards, Hamed accelerated and dispatched Robinson in the 8th-round, giving him his first major world championship just three years into his career.

In June 1996 the fundamental flaws that would ultimately make “Prince” Naseem Hamed a fun fighter to watch came to the forefront during the second defense of his WBO title. Dropped early by undefeated power puncher Daniel Alicea, Hamed’s self-belief kicked-in. Shifting gears on the fly, Hamed reeled his challenger in and dropped both he and the curtain in short order in dramatic fashion. I was amazed at the mindset behind Hamed’s game. Typically such rare athletic ability and blistering hand speed were the sort of things a safety-first talent such as Roy Jones JR would use in the pursuit of prizefighting’s ultimate goal; hit and not be hit. But in the case of Naz, the opposite seemed true. The uncanny athletic ability and blistering hand speed were just the sort of attributes needed and used strictly for positioning, looking to drop those big fight-ending bombs, and defense be damned; the odd angles and at-times lack of proper balance and technique often put the Prince directly into harm’s way, thus providing fans with the opportunity for the kind of drama and excitement rarely part of such a gifted fighter’s game.

The year 1999 was indeed a pivotal turning point for Naz. Gone was Brendan Ingle, the man that essentially recognized the raw material that was in the beginning just a willing seven year-old boy, molding him over the course of many years into the well tuned and cocky fighting machine that came into his own about the time he was on a roll turning back the challenge of those looking to take his WBO Featherweight championship. Ironically, the departure of Ingle serves as a milestone; it is essentially the beginning of the end for a fighter that by rights should have been getting better with each showing, maturing into the role of champion with each given experience. Instead, there was a marked departure of sorts occurring. The little points that Ingle made Naz work on and, the finite details not easily picked up by those watching from the outside were no longer a part of his game. Flawed as Naz seemed, it worked for him when Ingle was behind him.

The respected voice that over time won over that young boy and that saw him into manhood was no longer there to push him. Instead Manny Steward of The Kronk Gym, one of the greatest trainers of all time was brought in to hone Hamed’s game; reign-in the uncanny skill set and smooth out those rough defensive edges. But regardless of the caliber of Steward, or anyone else in the world for that matter, “The Prince” was incomplete without the commanding presence of Ingle to dial-in the precise combination of instructions, flawed as they may sometimes have seemed.

So unique was their chemistry, any other trainer, no matter how experienced and successful, would fail to blend with Hamed in quite that same way, and the result was less synergy. After struggling to stop a 21-0 Paul Ingle, a decent enough fighter but levels below Naz in the talent department, “The Prince” endured and ultimately muddled his way through a twelve-round foul-fest with a survival-intent Cesar Soto at the Joe Louis Arena in Detroit. Looking back, I was certain that the magic was all but gone.

The year 2001 essentially marks the end of “Prince” Naseem Hamed as a world-class fighter and as a force to be reckoned with. So thoroughly was he out-fought during those heated moments where leather was exchanged, and so adroitly out maneuvered throughout, one would have figure the Englishman to be a mere greenhorn taken to school by a wily old ring veteran as opposed to being an experienced world champion systematically stripped of his confidence and standing. For twelve rounds a boxing Barrera zigged when Hamed zagged, taking the WBO Featherweight title and effectively proving to both “The Prince” and the world that the magic had long since vanished. So thorough was the shellacking, one could be forgiven for asking aloud what was the point of a contracted rematch given that Naz seemed unable to land anything on Barrera. Looking back, Hamed must have felt the same way. Dragging his feet and ignoring the signing deadline and the subsequent extension of it on the contracted rematch, it was clear that Hamed no longer wanted to fight, or rather believed he could fight. The point was further driven home by his final ring appearance a year later, a lackluster twelve-round waltz with nondescript Manuel Calvo, cannon-fodder disguised as a gritty Spaniard journeyman.