THE KING’S DRESSING ROOM
UPON winning the heavyweight championship of the world on foreign ground, in an upset for the ages, all the new champion did was moan. “My foot is killing me,” he said as he sat topless on a changing room bench. “My foot is bloody killing me.”
Though he had successfully avoided punishment for the 36 minutes he spent in a ring, Tyson Fury was now, less than an hour after receiving confirmation his dream had come true, paying the price for all he had done. With his sock removed, and two blistered feet liberated, he shared the extent of his pain with those around him, most of whom seemed far more interested in the belts he had wrested from the grip of Wladimir Klitschko than the state of his soles. When sensing this, Fury said: “Let’s get the tunes going.”
It was after that ‘Never Too Much’ by Luther Vandross started to play from speakers in the corner of the room and Fury’s friends and family began to dance. One after another they borrowed Fury’s belts, posed for photos, and told the new champion what they thought of the fight. Fury, meanwhile, seemed
