WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGED
IT is seven months since we left Josh Warrington neck deep in a cold, tranquil lake, practising breathing techniques and repairing the bulletproof mindset that Mauricio Lara had punched holes in.
We find him, once again, lost in thought. This time, however, he is wrestling with an issue most of us have faced.
Doner or seekh? Naan or pitta? Hot sauce or mild?
It was 10.30pm on a Saturday night and at the very moment Kid Galahad and Kiko Martínez were fighting for his old featherweight title, Warrington found himself staring at the board in a Leeds kebab shop.
The thought of two of his past victims contesting a belt he never lost in the ring hadn’t driven Warrington to a day on the drink. He didn’t end the night swaying around a taxi rank reminding everybody within earshot that he used to be a champion.
He had managed to get himself into a fight earlier in the evening though.
A raft of late withdrawals left his manager, Steve Wood, with tickets sold but a threadbare small hall show, so Warrington volunteered himself back into action on the circuit that made him. Decked
