Like any name given to a newborn, the name Campbell would have started its life on a shortlist, deliberated over, and measured against other contenders before then being assigned to the child. They at that point would have said: “Yes, he looks like a Campbell. It suits him.”

In that, there was at least an element of choice. It was Campbell they chose but it could have been any other name. Each would have gone through the same vetting process and led to someone eventually saying: “Yes, he looks like a _________. It suits him.”

As for Hatton, the boy’s surname, over this the boy’s father had no say. It was the one identity tag on the newborn’s chest that could not be removed, or erased, and would travel with him throughout the hospital, the early days of life, childhood, adulthood, and finally into old age. It would be the name they stuck on all official forms, the name they printed on licences and certificates, and the name he passed on to children of his own if deciding that was his aim. It would also be the name you would find on his gravestone when that branch of the Hatton tree one day snapped off. 

With this name, of course, came certain perks and guarantees. Associated with popularity, success, and fame, it was the surname of the boy’s father, Ricky, who was a well-known world champion boxer whose success was never just his own. Implicit in Ricky’s success, at both super lightweight and welterweight, was a fast-track ticket for any offspring he might later produce and a clear pathway for them to continue his legacy, if they so wished. As their father’s child, this boy, or girl, would have a potential career mapped out and they would be able to call upon favours by virtue of simply carrying with them the family name Hatton. 

It had a power, that name – particularly in British boxing. It used to be plastered on posters in the Manchester area and then, on fight night, tens of thousands of fans would descend on the Manchester Arena to watch Hatton perform. They would chant his name. They would tell the world there was only one of them. Only one Ricky Hatton. 

While that was at least true, there were of course Hattons before Ricky and there would be other Hattons after Ricky. There was even at the time a brother, Matthew, who also had a boxing career of his own, albeit one playing out in the sizeable shadow of Ricky’s popularity and success. 

Matthew, in fact, would get an early taste of what Ricky’s son Campbell would encounter during his own career. There was, it seemed, an acceptance from the outset that Matthew would never match his older brother’s achievements, but an acceptance, too, that his brother’s achievements would open certain doors for Matthew, as well as bring to his own door a fanbase he would have perhaps struggled to accrue had his name not been Hatton. 

In 2024, with Matthew his former trainer, Campbell Hatton is being forced to make peace with the terms of the same head-scratching deal. Helped on the one hand, but hindered on the other, Campbell turned professional in 2021 at the age of just 20 and was immediately thrust beneath a spotlight far too bright for both his porcelain skin and innocent eyes. It was a spotlight reserved for and indeed associated with a Hatton, but just not this one – not one so young. Even Ricky, for example, was never subjected to that kind of scrutiny at such a tender age. He, after all, was a relative unknown at that stage in his career – someone with the freedom to build, learn and grow without the ball and chain of a famous surname. He had to work harder than Campbell to make it, of that there is no question, but he enjoyed the freedom of a novelist writing their first book – writing it not for the world but for themselves, laden by no deadline, pressure, or the public’s expectation. 

Campbell Hatton, in stark contrast, has been trying to create something in the past three years without first learning how to write more than just his name. Aged 23, he is 14-2 (5), and on Saturday lost for the second time to the same man – James Flint. It was, given the context, a deflating kind of defeat – the harshest of reality checks. To lose once to Flint had been bad, and at the time viewed as a setback, but to lose twice to the same opponent is often the clearest indication of a boxer’s ceiling. 

In this case, too, Campbell Hatton had lost not to a world champion, or someone who holds even a major domestic title. He had instead lost to a man in Flint who, although extremely capable, had previously fallen short in a central area title fight. 

“If the guy [Hatton] was 29 or 30, you’d say, ‘That’s your lot,’” said Eddie Hearn, the fight’s promoter. “But when you’re enjoying what you do… I think right now Campbell Hatton’s level is area and English title level – that’s no disgrace, a lot of fighters don’t even reach that level. But obviously, with our stable, and where we are looking to take fighters, we don’t really work with and continuously back – after back-to-back defeats – area title and English level fighters.

“Campbell is a little bit different,” Hearn continued. “One, because he’s a really good kid. Two, because he works his nuts off. Three, because he’s given us back-to-back brilliant fights and he’s still young. So, Campbell has got to look at himself and say, ‘If that’s my level, am I happy to continue?’ And if he’s happy to continue, he should absolutely continue. Whether that’s to go and get a few more fights on small hall shows without the pressure – he ends up being co-main event tonight in front of like 8,000, it’s not easy.”

In addition to pressure being a natural byproduct of the Hatton surname, Campbell Hatton also learns on the job at a time when it is no longer acceptable to be mediocre or just fine. The world, as it has always been, is full of mediocre people and they remain the majority, yet there are increasing platforms to fuel the delusion that we are something more than mediocre. Now, mediocre people either genuinely think they are special or try to convince others they are special, and do so with such obstinance and conviction some even believe them. 

In boxing, it is clearly not enough to just be enough. In fact, with our domestic scene in danger of dying out completely on account of everything now being outsourced to Riyadh Season, there is a very real concern that there will no longer even be a place for boxers whose skills or personality cannot take them into the warm embrace of Turki Alalshikh. In other words, if, as a boxer, your ambition extends no further than an area title, or, at best, a British title, what are you even doing here? 

“Another close one for the lad last night,” wrote Ricky Hatton on social media the day after his son’s defeat. “Everyone has their view. I thought he lost the first fight by the narrowest of margins, [but] thought he won the second fight last night by the narrowest of margins. But one thing for certain is that they were both great, close fights that could’ve probably gone either way. 

“As for my son, chin up, son. Have a rest. Have a think. Don’t think you’ll ever know how much I love you and how proud we all are of you. No father could be more blessed and I feel proud that every day I get the chance to say to people, ‘That’s my boy.’ Love, Dad.”

It is easy in all this to lose sight of the personal element – something demonstrated rather poignantly by the father’s public display of affection. At 23 Campbell Hatton, his son, still has a lot of growing to do, as both a boxer and a man, and his reputation and mental state should not be dictated by how valuable he is to a promoter in the boxing arena, the world’s most abusive playground. He should instead be allowed to grow at his own rate and take his own path. 

He should also be celebrated for what he is rather than castigated for what he is not. He is not Ricky Hatton – this we all realise – but to so much as attempt to emulate what his father did in the ring is an achievement in itself; something not all sons of famous fighters would have the courage to try. What is more, when we think of sons of famous fighters – particularly in Great Britain – we tend to these days think of boxers whose surname has been blackened by failed drugs tests or ones whose single-minded pursuit of fame and wealth has them appearing only half-human. These men promoters back and these men we, as fans, celebrate, and make famous. We, like them, see success as the be-all and end-all and we forgive their transgressions and flaws as human beings because they tell you they are special, not mediocre. We then reward them with attention and money. We create a game in which they feel normal and can flourish. 

In this game, it is true, they stand to make more money than Campbell Hatton, and they will doubtless achieve far more in the ring. But if there’s one thing we can say for Campbell Hatton it is this – he has never blackened his family name and his dad will never be anything other than proud.