The Times - UK (2020-10-14)

(Antfer) #1
Knives Down social enterprise, set up last year
to provide boxing training for those living in
communities affected by knife crime.
Chamberlain says Brixton has changed
since he was a boy, but if his past sounds
traumatic to outsiders, he is not about
to fuel casual stereotypes.
“When I was young I loved
reading,” he says. “In reception I
was already on chapter books.
Self-development books are
good but you need something
to take you away from reality
from time to time. It takes
the pressure off and a lot of
pressure is unnecessary.”
He “dumbed himself
down” to fit in at school and
recounts his past as fact
rather than misery memoir.
“The best time of day was the
free school meal,” he says. “We’d
have a syrup sandwich for breakfast.
We never had a pound for mufti day.

Sport


‘America broke me, I’d cry every day.


Going to jail would have been easier’


My cousin had just passed his GCSEs when he
got stabbed in the heart in Kennington. It was
gang-related. It was a very sad time for my family
and they didn’t want me to go down the same
route. You start to become a product of your
environment, you see them hanging around, it’s
inevitable.” The “them” were the older men with
their cars and money, who got him to work as a
drug mule when he was 12. “You don’t want to see
your mum struggling and think, ‘What the hell
can I do?’ Nobody was going to give me a job. You
ask the older guys and they say, ‘Here’s some stuff
to sell.’ Then when it’s time to get paid they say, ‘I
got you next week.’ It just felt normal. You don’t
understand because it’s all you have known.”
Chamberlain’s mother wanted him to be a
chemical engineer, but took him to a gym to
steer him away from further tragedy. Like many
before him he was seduced by the “sweaty gym,
the sweaty gloves and the sweaty bag”,
marvelling at the spectacle of 60-year-old men
“hitting the shit out of each other” for fun.
The first act of his boxing career was
dramatic. He sparred with an amateur Anthony
Joshua and then Deontay Wilder, the soon-to-
be WBC heavyweight world champion, in
Alabama. “He hit me with one uppercut and I
thought I was back in London.” He made his pro
debut in 2015, told his uncle to shove his
dislocated shoulder back into its socket during a
pulsating win over Wadi Camacho the following
year, and then came that night at the O2 in 2018
against Okolie, who has since won the British,
Commonwealth and European titles.
The fight ended badly, with Chamberlain losing
a unanimous decision after fracturing his knee in
the opening round. In despair he flew to New

York to escape. In his absence his uncle helped
himself to his money. “My mum found out
because he refused to send a receipt. I had all
these people around me and I am the sort of
person who wants to help out. I’m the type of
person that’s easy to exploit. I made a lot of
money and people change when they see the
spotlight. They weren’t there when I was working
my arse off, but when they asked for money it
became an argument. Now I have people around
me who are in it for my interests.”
Chamberlain is good company. I recall
some lines he wrote that I had seen in a
previous interview. “Hell is a
perception,” he said. “I’m not talking
about the physical and all you can see.
I’m talking about something much more
detrimental and lingering. The hell in your
mind.” This has been a hellish year for
many. We talk about Black Lives Matter
and Breonna Taylor, shot dead by
policemen in the US in March, and how
social media can be a pernicious force.
He believes he will be world champion.
Boxing, he says, is like a maths equation and
then he comes up with another rhetorical
question. “Can you remain committed to the
process without being emotionally attached to
the results?” It is emotional, though. After all
the blood, sweat and tears, and despite the bleak
pictures in the phone and memory, he is an
uplifting figure. “People say, ‘Why me?’ ” he says.
“I say, ‘Why not me?’ ”
6 Isaac Chamberlain fights on November 14, free-
to-air on Channel 5

Isaac Chamberlain dealt with


depression and loneliness in


his boxing absence – but


tells Rick Broadbent he


will be world champion


I

n a café on a corner by Brixton tube station
a boxer finds a picture on his phone. It
shows Isaac Chamberlain, the cruiserweight,
alone in a flea-bitten Miami hostel. It is a
colour photograph but looks grey. He talks
of loneliness, depression and isolation, themes
that cross corridors and oceans. Shorn of his
career for 22 months he delivers a story for the
time of lockdown. If he can perfectly articulate
the “mental toll of hope”, the good news is he
never lost it.
After almost two years out Chamberlain, 26,
returned to boxing in August when he beat
Antony Woolery. A second appearance last
month lasted 50 seconds. Boxing is awash with
hard-luck tales and comeback trails but
Chamberlain’s life is remarkable even for a sport
peopled by Runyonesque rogues and snake-oil
salesmen. A summary highlights the resilience:
the teenage cousin stabbed through the heart;
the grown men who made a 12-year-old run
drugs; the high of a top-of-the-bill slot at the O2
arena when 23; the ensuing defeat by Lawrence
Okolie; the uncle who fleeced him for £10,000;
the American dream; the American nightmare;
the picture on the phone.

“It was $15 a night,” he says softly of the hostel
near his Miami camp. When the money ran out
he slept in the gym. “I thought America would
be great for me but it was lonely. I sacrificed
Christmas, saw people opening their presents on
Snapchat, thinking I’m here by myself with all
this bullshit. But I think the problem today is
people think they deserve more than they work
for. Everything is instant gratification and that’s
why I’m grateful for everything I went through.
It broke me. There were days — I’ve never told
anyone this — when I was crying every day,
every night. It felt like jail, but I think jail would
have been easier because you can make friends
there. But I got through it.”
Half a year in America was a sad, staccato
experience. Fights were cancelled. Trainers let
him down. A promoter was jailed. Then came
the pandemic. Now he has a deal with Mick
Hennessy and says he can trust the people
around him. When he came home from the
United States this year he had become so used
to living inside his own head that he was taken
aback when people recognised him again. “I
kept talking to them because I’d gone days
without saying a word,” he says. “I thought,
‘What’s wrong with me?’ but this is an
obsession. I’m on a treadmill and it never stops.”
He has a lot of ground to make up after almost
two years out but he fights again on November
14 with a view to a championship bout before
Christmas. “I’m not with Matchroom now,” he
says. “I’m not going to be like everyone else.” He
says he wants to be a good person as well as a
boxer and is an advocate for the Gloves Up


You don’t want to see your


mum struggling and think,


‘What the hell can I do?’ Nobody


was going to give me a job



America was lonely. I sacrificed


Christmas, saw people


opening presents on Snapchat,


thinking I’m here by myself


Chamberlain, who made his professional debut in 2015, spent almost two years away from the ring
after his victory over Luke Watkins in 2018, below, but now has his eyes on a championship bout

TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER MARC ASPLAND

585 1GM Wednesday October 14 2020 | the times

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