FIGHT PREPARATION typically focuses on two fighters jumping through the ropes, attempting to knock each other out.

How the fight came about, the personalities of the fighters, their careers and their predictions all play a part in the weeks, days and hours leading up to the first bell. But sometimes a storyline comes along that steps into the middle of it all and has its own punch that gets the spotlight.

On Friday evening [September 27] Charlie Edwards will face European bantamweight champion Thomas Essomba at York Hall, live on Channel 5. Edwards, a former WBC flyweight world champion, is the older brother of Sunlit, a former IBF flyweight world champion. Essomba v Edwards is a unique twist though, as in addition to his own boxing career, Sunlit has immersed himself in the managerial side of the sport, and one of his clients is… Thomas Essomba.

Although the thought of his brother in the opposing corner has left him a little rattled, Charlie Edwards has focused on the game and seems fully focused on his second fight with novel coach Stephen Smith.

“It’s a novel belt for me, it’s part of my heritage and my trophy cabinet at home,” he says.

“That’s the belt I really want and want to put in. Although my brother is in the visiting corner and he’s actually choosing Thomas’ side in this fight.”

Edwards spoke on Zoom just weeks before his 21st birthday^saint fight knowing full well that his brother is a talking point in the supporting cast of two leading men. The 31-year-old spoke at length, moving between the European title fight and Sunlit’s place in all of this.

“We all know we’ve had some minor disagreements in the past, but I thought they were covered up,” he says.

Charlie admitted he wanted the fight personally. It wasn’t presented to him as an option, for example, after his points win over Georges Ory in April. However, Sunlit was pushing for the Essomba fight, which led to some back-and-forth, but the truth is Charlie wanted to face the EBU champion in his first fight after a 10-month layoff.

“All my attention is on Thomas,” says the challenger.

“Sunlit won’t bother me, he won’t shake me up. All I do is go to bed thinking about Thomas and wake up thinking about Thomas. In fact, I’ll probably end up missing him. So it’s all systems go in my favor. I’m ultra-professional, I always have been.”

However, Sunlit’s raw emotions on the other side haven’t gone completely unnoticed by his brother. Whatever those feelings are, Charlie knows that these are all business and special circumstances that are unlikely to repeat themselves in the future.

“He took his management career very seriously. Clearly, there was no wasted effort,” Charlie says of Sunlit.

“I’m grateful because it brings more eyes to this fight, which is what I need. Especially after all the inaction and politics behind the scenes that keep me inactive. I’ve put in a lot of strenuous work, grind and consistency over the past few years.

“I’m really looking forward to this fight because I feel like I’m entering the peak years of my career. I feel like my strength has skyrocketed. I’ve settled in [being] man, I gained a lot more weight than that.”

Edwards enters the fight with former two-time super featherweight world title challenger Stephen ‘Swifty’ Smith in his corner, and Edwards also gives the Liverpudlian plenty of credit in this novel phase of his career.

“He was the lithe I needed in my darkest days, giving me back my life and my confidence,” Edwards says of Smith.

“We all know his boxing brain is unmatched. His IQ in the boxing ring is top notch.

“The way he sees things, the way he explains them, and most of all, the energy that flows between us. We can be there doing 12 to 20 rounds in the gym. The entire time in the gym, I feel like I’ve been there for five minutes.

“That’s why I know he’s the guy for me. When you’re locked in and focused, the energy that’s being given just takes me to the next level. The knowledge that he puts into me and what he sees [in] My strengths and how I can employ them to the best of my ability.

“I’ve been working on a lot of other things that will come to fruition and shine on fight night. Now I’m forceful in the bantamweight division. Now I’m hitting. My feet are in the right place. I can only talk so much, but I have to walk and show it on fight night.

“It’s going to be a great performance, but also a terrifying performance.”

It would be difficult to imagine the mess in heavyweight boxing that we left behind so many years ago.

In just two days in January 1998, I wrote two separate but amusing stories in Daily Telegraph (the newspaper used to publish an article every day, which is crazy) which now read like a comedy. They were deadly solemn then.

In the first one I wrote about how Don King had returned to the Recent York courthouse, cornered, in trouble, in danger, and then somehow found a way to freedom. That was Don’s special trick.

In the second article, published the very next day, I wrote about WBO heavyweight champion Herb Hide and his planned fight in June in Las Vegas with Roy Jones. As I said, pure comedy.

King’s compromise was insane, and nothing that was discussed—none of what I wrote—ever happened.

King was in court delayed in 1997, trying to settle a dispute with Frans Botha and his manager, Sterling McPherson. It was the kind of ugliness that ruined almost every heavyweight relationship at the time. King was asked to produce potentially damaging documents, which could have been costly. Instead, the survivalist made a compromise, a deal that would get him out of trouble and out of court. It was always said about King that the moment a contract was signed, negotiations began. He found a rabbit in a hat in a Manhattan courthouse.

King promised Botha a chance to fight Evander Holyfield for the IBF heavyweight title in early August. Botha, it seems, accepted. However, at the same time, King was also negotiating and offering Lennox Lewis and Henry Akinwande the same fight. King kept his options open and juggled like a champ. At the same time, the IBF ordered Holyfield to defend his title against Vaughn Bean. I had to cover this soap opera every day.

“He [King] he called me on Christmas Day,” confirmed Kellie Maloney, Lewis’ manager at the time. Lewis and Maloney chose to ignore the offer and fought Shannon Briggs in Atlantic City in March 1998. The Lewis-Briggs fight is one of the biggest losses in heavyweight boxing. It’s brutal, extraordinary.

Bean’s dilemma was perhaps best summed up by McPherson, who was Frank Warren’s American partner at the time. Warren and King had a spectacular falling out in September 1997. By then, meanness was everywhere, a backdrop to almost every argument that happened.

“I know the only fight Holyfield can take is [to avoid being stripped] Bean’s fight,” McPherson said. “And I also know there’s no hotel or casino in the world that would pay enough money for a fight.” He was absolutely right, and the same stupidity still exists.

The next day the carnival continued and I talked about the Hide-Jones fight in Las Vegas in June. Hide was meeting with Warren to work out a deal; a week later John Fashanu was in Hide’s game and they took an alternate route. As I said, it was the everyday comedy of the heavyweight business.

Jones, I wrote with conviction, had been eyeing Michael Moorer, but Moorer had lost to Holyfield. Jones had turned his attention to Hide. Jones had followed fellow former middleweights Iran Barkley and James Toney into the heavyweight division. Barkley briefly held the magnificent World Boxing Board heavyweight title, and Toney was scheduled to fight Larry Holmes on January 21, less than three weeks after my column.

All this nonsense was treated as if it were true.

Finally, it happened. And I wrote every crazy detail, twist, turn, blow, and non-event. Some of it is in the modern book

So there was no Holmes and Toney, Akinwande and Holyfield, or Holyfield and Lewis in 1998, but there was Bean against Holyfield. It wasn’t a substantial spectacle. Jones never moved up to heavyweight and fought 12 more times at featherlight heavyweight, and eventually moved up and beat John Ruiz for the WBA heavyweight title in Las Vegas in 2003. That was the same year that Toney, who had never fought in 1998, stopped Holyfield.

Akinwande and Holyfield were close to fighting in the summer of 1998 at Madison Square Garden in front of an estimated 15,000 empty seats. But about 48 hours before the first bell, Akinwande was discovered to have hepatitis B, and the fight was canceled. That was a relief. King, by the way, had been out of Recent York all week—he was somewhere in court fighting the charges. The man is Teflon.

And Botha, who was once at the center of all this turmoil? Well, in 1998 he fought and won twice, and Holyfield was nowhere to be seen. Huge Frans, who was a nice guy, had defeated Stan Johnson and Dave Cherry in a combined 185 seconds in their 1998 fights. Cherry and Johnson had a combined nine wins and 50 losses; in January 1999, Botha was stopped by Mike Tyson in January in Las Vegas. Their fight, riddled with fouls, ended in the fifth round.

In 1999, Lewis and Holyfield met.

It was then and now, well, it’s amusing. Martin Bakole’s emotional homecoming was off the charts, Moses Itaum’s promise and shopping list is amusing, the danger of Daniel Dubois and Anthony Joshua is very real, the Frazer Clarke and Fabio Wardley rematch, Joseph Parker’s experience. And then in December Oleksandr Usyk and Tyson Fury two. Does anyone want to throw Bean, Botha or Barkley in there? Two completely different worlds. Remember, living in history is hazardous. But it’s nice to look back without rose-tinted glasses.

In the 1970s, when most kids were busy riding their bikes around the block or playing with action figures, newborn Ray Leonard Jr. was living a life most people could only dream of. He appeared in TV commercials, rubbed shoulders with major league stars, and even had a Nintendo video game officially tested and endorsed by him. And all of this happened at the age of just eight.

The son of pound-for-pound great ‘Sugar’ Ray Leonard saw so much at such a newborn age in a life filled with ups and downs. He was born in 1973; his dad was just 16 and his mom was 15. Three years later, Leonard Sr. won Olympic gold in the welterweight division in Montreal. As his dad’s star rose, the newborn boy from North Carolina’s life was about to change dramatically.

“I was an integral part of marketing, promotion and what my father wanted to become,” Leonard Jr. said. “The fact that he had my picture on his sock when he boxed got a lot of attention. It was part of the program. I got engaged early. When he came back from the Olympics, there was a picture of us both with the gold medal. That went everywhere.”

After his Olympic success, Leonard Sr. naturally entered the professional ranks with gusto, sweeping away all that came before him. After only three years in the paid ranks, he faced Roberto Duran for the first time, an infamous fight. This was the first fight Leonard Jr. did not take.

“I’ve been going to every fight so far [27 up to that point]. It was of course the first fight he lost. I blamed myself for that defeat and thought I was his talisman,” recalled the younger Leonard.

“When he didn’t win, it was a really large deal and almost increased the fame. That was when we did the 7-Up commercial. That put me on the map in the world media. It was a journey that we both went on.”

Of course, the legendary rematch ensued, with a confused and frustrated Duran forced to surrender.

“Being there for the second time for the Duran ‘No Mas’ fight, which happened to be around my birthday, was special. To see him reclaim his glory. Because I suffered when he lost to Duran the first time.”

But it was not the nightmares about his father’s enemy that caused him torment.

“We went to Hawaii [after Duran I] on vacation, and my father interrupted it because he wanted to get back to training. I was pissed off about the vacation, and it was my first time in Hawaii. But of course it was worth it. Duran II is an unreal memory and total redemption.”

Flying around the world became something Leonard Jr. got used to, but at first he didn’t see it as something that set him apart from others. As he got older, however, he began to realize the extent to which his life was not that of an average kid.

“Before I could think about it, I met the Queen of England and Nelson Mandela. I got to sit in first class and ride next to Mike Tyson after his large fights. It was amazing. It was stressful,” he recalled.

“But I didn’t really see anything out of the ordinary because that was all I knew. But then I realized my friends’ dads weren’t flying around on private jets or getting all this attention when they went to the mall. I tuned in to what was going on.

“When we started getting media attention because of our global success, we had to move out of the area. I always came back with my aunts, uncles and cousins ​​and spent time with them, but we couldn’t live there.”

At this point, the biggest challenge, as for any child, was how little he saw of his star father.

“My time with my father was when we did events. We were on TV together, and then I didn’t see him for a long time because of the sacrifices he made to be great. You have to give up something, and sometimes it’s family. I spent a lot of time alone.”

Then came the challenge of everyone knowing who he was.

“That was the Hagler fight when I was most emotional. It was, of course, a fight of the times. I was a little older; I was getting all the yelling and the craziness from the kids at school. Everyone was saying Hagler was going to beat my dad to death.

“I was playing basketball in school and all the kids were yelling, ‘Hagler, Hagler.’ I came back to school right after the fight with my chest up and said, ‘Yeah, my dad did the impossible.’ I actually sat back down in the locker room for that fight, I was too nervous. Me and Mike Trainer [Leonard’s adviser] “assessed the fight in the locker room.”

Leonard Jr. is keen to point out that while having one of the most eminent surnames in America in the 1970s was by no means uncomplicated, it did come with its own set of perks.

“It’s a double-edged sword. There’s an expectation that comes with having a name that carries greatness, but also people want to come to you because they think you have a silver spoon in your mouth. And then there are people who are opportunistic because of your name. I still can’t get away from that.

“I avoided it for a long time because I wanted to create my own path, but the truth is it’s a blessing and a burden. It definitely helped me get into clubs when I was older!”

His father’s career was essentially over when Jr was 19, and there were many reasons why he didn’t pursue the career that brought his family such an embarrassment of riches. In fact, that’s the main reason he didn’t.

“I felt pressure to box from the outside, but not from my father or family. Boxing is a sport where you have to be 100 percent committed, whether you’re a champion or a journeyman,” Leonard Jr. said.

“Boxing is often for people with economic problems and it acts as a way out. From a family perspective, I love the sport, I love the training, but I didn’t have the same desire. I did amateur boxing when I was younger and I boxed with celebrities, but it wasn’t for me.”

Leonard Jr. decided to forge his own path, refusing to rest on his laurels and knowing that he had become part of a multi-million dollar family.

“When I discovered team sports like football and track and field, I quickly grew,” he said. “I think spending so much time alone when I was younger was part of my love for team sports. I thought it was a better path for me, academically as well.

“As a result, team sports felt like a family sport. I was around other people, which meant I didn’t have to be the center of attention. I really enjoyed that family atmosphere. Football was sacred to me.”

It would be fair to say that he inherited his father’s athletic talent. He plays two sports: American football and track and field, although he will soon begin to downplay this.

“I did pretty well, but it’s tough to follow in the footsteps of a guy who won an Olympic gold medal and six world titles in five different weight classes!”

It was during Leonard Jr.’s football days that his father tried to get back into the game. “I tried out for the Arizona Cardinals back then, but it didn’t go well against Hector Camacho [Leonard lost in the fifth round in his final fight]. In that last fight, I was able to run into the ring, catch him and hold him. I was there with him at the beginning and the end and I always thought how special that was. Being a part of the “Four Kings” family in sports history was just a ride that most people only dream of.

Importantly for Leonard Junior, his father’s success became the inspiration and motivation to follow the path of success he enjoys to this day.

“As a newborn African-American male, I didn’t think I could be involved in the financial world. Or have investments or anything like that. But watching my dad succeed shaped who I am today and what I do. And I’m having those conversations with my kids now. It’s about creating a financial legacy, not just a eminent legacy.

“We’ve seen so many times in boxing that their successes are fleeting, and then they’re signing autographs at Caesars Palace when they’re 75. They’re trying to make sure they have something to put in the pot.

“My dad, first and foremost, wanted to be a great boxer. But one thing he always told me, which came from Muhammad Ali, was, ‘Always sign your own checks.’

This has been with Leonard Junior since his early years.

“If you have the opportunity to become a household name and be conscious of your marketing, you should do it. We did 15 TV commercials; I had a video game named after me, Ring King, with Nintendo. That was the coolest thing when I was a kid.

“Even though we’ve had our ups and downs and tough times, it’s been a pretty chilly journey. You asked me earlier what it was like, and I’ll sum it up in one word: surreal.”

Ray Leonard Jr. is the founder and CEO of Ovationz.com, as well as an internationally acclaimed public speaker, actor, award-winning business executive, and podcast host.