The lights over the ring are flickering

Is this the end of Olympic boxing?

Plus ça change

As one or two might know, HM Vineyards wisely passed me over twice as I sought Her Majesty’s Commission. The path to those rejections largely involved me being a Private and briefly a local, acting, and unwise Lance-Corporal. Somewhere during the relatively long rejection process, I had to box.

In truth, boxing is too strong a word, implying as it does a degree of finesse organised and taught by a chap called Queensbury. No, this had a different technical name - “Milling”- and unlike boxing, one was forbidden to;

• pause in attacking the opponent

• to aim at any part of the opponent other than the head

• to evade or block the opponent’s punches.

The guidance notes for instructors state: "No ducking, parrying or other boxing defence moves are allowed."

On the one official, organised and supervised milling I participated in, there was some discussion about who would be paired with the POX, a derivation of Potential Officer Candidate. A relatively small chap was selected, with a very broad Norfolk accent and who was shorter by six inches and lighter by at least a stone. Looking up at me as the gloves went on, he said: ”I’ll try to make it quick, then it won’t be so bad.” I would have laughed, but in less time than it took me to type that sentence, or indeed the time for me to form a sneering reply, I had a badly broken nose and a black eye, and I suspect a note on my sheet suggesting life in the Royal Corps of Flower Arrangers might be the career path de choix.

My opponent Andy was a very good guy and, before the Army, had already been an ABA middleweight champion, met a girl, been slung over, got pissed and run away to join the Royal Anglians - only because he had never read about La Légion étrangère. He later became an Army boxing champion, was tough as nails, and was an outstanding soldier, and I sadly lost touch when I left. He probably became a very good-looking RSM, his face unmarked by the travails of life and the ring.

I fear this is not the fate of all boxers, and the management of the sport has been exposed by recent shenanigans in Paris as deeply tainted. Certainly, this is one of the smallest boxing squads we have ever sent to an Olympics (six in total), partly due to the politics between the IOC and IBA. This discredited latter organisation has initiated the storm over Ladies’ boxing.

Doubtless, you are familiar with some elements of the tale surrounding the two female boxers in the female competition who may or may not be eligible to box as women.