14th Oct 2012 6:39pm | By Jahn Vannisselroy
Just because a sportsperson was once great, doesn’t mean they won’t throw it all away
As you read this, British boxer Ricky Hatton will be sweating bucketloads.
This profuse perspiration will be the result of frantically pounding a bag, hundreds of sit-ups and sparring a range of fighters who resemble Vyacheslav Senchenko, his opponent for his November 24 comeback fight in front of 20,000 fans at Manchester’s MEN Arena.
Hatton, 34, retired after a brutal second round knock-out against Manny Pacquiao changed his nickname from the Hitman to the Sitman in 2009 and has been fighting his own demons rather than in the ring ever since.
He’s told of having suicidal thoughts and been open about his battle with drugs after he was busted hoovering up rock-star lines of Colombia’s finest by a News Of The World sting.
To his credit, Hatton’s cleaned himself up and is ready to rumble.
However, an absence of three years and such a rough trot means the risk that going around again could tarnish, rather than polish, his reputation is real – as these other stars who tried to rise from the ashes found out the hard way.
Much to sports fans’ bemusement, the man once known as The Thorpedo decided he’d quite fancy competing at the London 2012 Olympics, despite retiring in 2006.
So, last year, he headed to a secret base in Switzerland to lose the 20kg that he’d gained and work towards his
goal of swimming faster than he had at his peak.
There was no overconfidence on Thorpe’s part, however: “The most realistic outcome of this is that I will most likely fail,” he predicted.
He was spot on, finishing well outside the pace in both the Australian 100m and 200m trials and leaving many wondering why he bothered announcing his plans in the first place.
It’s not unlikely Thorpe’s ability to foresee the outcome of his races led to his well-paying job as a pundit alongside Gary Lineker on BBC’s Olympics coverage a couple of months ago. Tragically, he hasn't given up yet.
During the Eighties and early Ninties, the man known as Hogan was New Zealand’s finest batsman, a swashbuckling number three with an arsenal of innovative shots and a big-match temperament.
He retired in 1995, 392 runs shy of 20,000 first-class runs – nothing to be ashamed of, by any stretch. However, last year, Crowe, aged 49, decided he’d try to return to first-class cricket – 14 years since he’d played a serious match – and get those runs.
He suffered the indignity of playing for Cornwall reserves in Auckland in the hope of getting picked for the club’s premier division side.
After some decent performances, and with his name no doubt helping, he got the call-up. But it was over as quick as it started.
After pushing the ball to covers off his third ball he tore a thigh muscle while taking a casual single. He then conceded the comeback was kaput.
The former world number one and pin-up of tennis had an extremely bad year in 1990. He’d lost a house, a marriage, knocked-up a 17-year-old he met at a wet T-shirt competition and some of his investments went belly-up.
Bjorn then decided that after 11 years away from tennis, he’d hit the courts again – with a wooden racquet, no less.
In the age of graphite, wielding wood was akin to bringing a knife to a gunfight and, for the unfit Swede, everything went disastrously.
When he walked away from the game at age 26, only John McEnroe had his number. But on his return in 1991, at Monte Carlo, the man so cool he was nicknamed the ‘Ice Man’, was humiliated by Jordi Arrese, a journeyman Spaniard, in straight sets.
In another eight tournament attempts in 1992 and three the following year, Borg was ousted in the first round. And then he did the decent thing, put his wooden racquet in the fire (probably) and retired.