Boxing has always lived on the edge — a sport of breathtaking highs and brutal lows. One night, you’re on top of the world; a few years later, you’re wondering who you are without the gloves.
The idea for this piece actually came from a conversation I had with a friend. We were talking about life after boxing — how some fighters seem to transition smoothly while others lose their way. I mentioned that Kell Brook had battled addiction, alcohol issues and even been through rehab, and my mate looked stunned. He had no idea. He just thought Brook had retired quietly.
That reaction said everything about boxing’s biggest unspoken truth: once the lights go out, too many fighters disappear into silence.
When the Bell Stops Ringing
Ricky Hatton, Kell Brook, Tyson Fury — all world champions, all national heroes, all proof that even the most successful fighters can be hit hard by life after the ring.
Hatton’s struggles with depression and drink were well documented. Brook has faced his own battles, and Fury, for all his triumphs, has spoken openly about the darkest days of his mental health. Each of them reached the top of the sport — and yet, when they stepped away, the emptiness was overwhelming.
Because boxing doesn’t just give you purpose — it becomes your purpose. It dictates your routine, your relationships, even your sense of identity. And when that disappears, it leaves a hole no amount of fame or money can fill.
For some fighters, that silence is deafening.
The Other Side of the Story
Of course, there are examples of boxers who’ve made the transition work. Tony Bellew has built a strong career in punditry and film. Carl Froch has turned commentary into an art form. Jamie Moore reinvented himself as one of the best trainers in Britain.
But here’s the thing — for every Bellew, Froch or Moore, there are three Hattons, Brooks or Furys who’ve faced real struggles when the spotlight faded. That imbalance says everything about where the sport still falls short.
Boxing celebrates the warrior spirit, but it rarely supports the person once the war is over.
A Culture That Still Sees Asking for Help as Weakness
Part of the problem lies in the culture itself. Boxing remains a male-dominated sport, and there’s still a stigma around asking for help. Fighters are raised to be hard, to never show weakness, to “tough it out.”
But mental health doesn’t work like that.
Admitting you’re struggling shouldn’t be seen as failure — it should be seen as courage. Yet too often, it’s only when something goes wrong that the conversation begins. And by then, the damage is already done.
We’ve got charities like the Ringside Charitable Trust doing incredible work to help retired fighters in need, and movements like the Boxing Fighters’ Union pushing for better welfare. But the system still relies too heavily on individual goodwill. What’s missing is industry-wide responsibility.
Boxing Needs a Plan — Not Just Sympathy
Football and rugby have formal aftercare programmes — coaching badges, media training, mentoring networks. Boxing? It’s still the Wild West once the gloves come off.
Imagine if promoters, broadcasters, and governing bodies actually came together to build structured transition schemes for retiring fighters. Imagine if Sky, DAZN, and TNT Sports offered proper punditry apprenticeships. Imagine if fighters were guided towards coaching, commentary, or management before they hang up the gloves.
The talent and passion are there — what’s missing is the pathway.
Why We Still Love It
Even with all that said, we keep loving this sport because it’s real. The bravery, the vulnerability, the hope — it’s all laid bare in the ring. Boxing is life in fast-forward: struggle, sacrifice, success, and heartbreak.
But loving it means holding it accountable too. If we can cheer fighters when they rise, we should also be there when they fall.
Final Bell
This isn’t about pity. It’s about protection. It’s about making sure that the people who give everything to boxing don’t end up lost when it stops giving back.
Because for every story of redemption, there’s another of despair — and until the sport starts treating its fighters like people, not products, boxing’s highs and lows will always come at too heavy a cost.
What do you think boxing can do better to support its fighters after retirement? Share your thoughts below or join the discussion at CMBoxing.co.uk — where we cover the real stories behind the sport: the hope, the heartbreak, and everything in between.