IN A WORLD of broken noses and fractured promises, those who have stumbled through the fields of uppercuts and dazes are doomed to forever carry the tariff of their brutal trade.
The cost of professional boxing is measured in scar tissue. The stories of ring wars become more slurred with each year away from the bleeding business.
In a world of broken promises and broken men, Bunny Johnson, Britain’s first black heavyweight champion, remains an enigma. At 76, Bunny, bright enough to follow a legal career after the final bell tolled on his fighting life, remains articulate, remains the fight game’s philosopher. He holds court with an old-style West Indies verbosity that would do Samuel Pepys proud.
Bunny, from Kingstanding, Birmingham, was canny enough to realise time had scattered sand in his boxing shoes and got