Scott Harrison & Benny Lynch.

[KerPlunk]

Interesting wee piece from that rabid Hun Tom English in today's SoS.......

Tale of two tragedies that are worlds apart
TOM ENGLISH (tenglish@scotlandonsunday.com)

COMPARISONS continue to be drawn between the tortured life of Scott Harrison and that of his hero, Benny Lynch, who, in a game full of the saddest cases sport has seen, knew more torment than any of them. Lynch was an irredeemable alcoholic whose prime fighting years were destroyed by his addiction. He died a pauper at 33.

Harrison, who is said to have a portrait of Lynch hanging in his house, suffers from a similar affliction. His boozing has already contributed to his loss of reputation and few bookmakers will you give you generous odds on a successful resumption of his career.

So, yes, all the mentions of Lynch in connection with Harrison were understandable, but they didn't point out the huge difference in the stories of their decline. Lynch was a victim of the most pathetic kind. Used and abused and spat out by fraudsters in his midst.

Whatever you might call Harrison, you can't call him a victim, left to deal with life on his own. He's had the help that Lynch never had and he's turned it away, time after time.

At the end of his excellent book, Benny: The Life and Times of a Fighting Legend, John Burrowes analyses Lynch's last bout against the Romanian Aurel Toma.

Lynch was gone by then. He was 25 years old but drink had eroded him to a frightening extent . Yet still there were people around him who wanted their pound of flesh. Some friends had buggered off and left him. New guys were on the scene come the end.

"He [Lynch] was semi-comatose when they came for him that Saturday," writes Burrowes of the preamble to the Toma fight. "'C'mon. Benny old son,' they said. 'You'll be all right. A wee coffee, a wee walk, then a wee sleep and you'll be wanting to take on the Brown Bomber.' Then they left for Central Station and the night train to London. And Annie [Lynch's wife] cried herself to sleep."

The weight agreement for the fight was 8st 10lbs; Lynch was 9st 5lbs. The heaviest he'd ever been. From somewhere, Johnny McMillan, his trainer/manager, found a doctor to pass him fit for the fight and in the dressing room he gave Lynch a half bottle of something, wrapped in a towel. It was downed in no time.

Lynch had double vision the whole night, said Burrowes. A lamb to the slaughter. "Christ, Johnny, there's two of them out there," he complained. "Which one is he?"

"You just hit the right one, wee man."

"Aye. But which one's Toma?"

"Aw, Christ, Benny. Hit the man on the right, ya daft wee bastard."

Brilliant champion of the world to daft wee bastard. Some fall. In the fifth round Lynch was put out of his misery and was knocked out. They carried him out of the ring amid abusive chants and he never fought again. You'd say it was a mercy but there was none of that in those days. That was October 3, 1938. Eight hard-drinking years later, he was dead.

Lynch's story would make you weep. For, surrounded by conmen and cheats and with a weakness for liquor that scrambled his senses, he'd no chance. Harrison's story makes you angry because he's had all the chances in the world. He's been given breaks by supporters, promoters, managers, by the courts, by boxing's Board of Control.

The medical people have been telling him the score for an awfully long time now but he doesn't listen. He did the penitent thing a few weeks back but those were just words to buy him time. Like Frank Warren said on Friday, he's out of it now.

He'll always be grouped with tragic Benny, but at least recognise the difference.

[Johnny Vegas]

isn't there a film coming out soon about benny lynch?sure robert caryle has something to do with it