Before I get into this properly, I need to start with a quick apology.
Mark Kaylor passed away on 16 November. It’s now the 21st, and normally with a story like this you’d want something up straight away. But this one deserved more than a quick reaction.
Kaylor wasn’t just a former British champion.
For a whole generation, he was a part of the fabric of British boxing.
And when figures like that go, you take your time and you get the words right.
Before I get into this properly, I need to start with a quick apology.
Mark Kaylor passed away on 16 November. It’s now the 21st, and normally with a story like this you’d want something up straight away. But this one deserved more than a quick reaction.
Kaylor wasn’t just a former British champion.
For a whole generation, he was a part of the fabric of British boxing.
And when figures like that go, you take your time and you get the words right.
Who he was — and why people cared
Mark Kaylor came from an era of British boxing that simply doesn’t exist anymore.
West Ham ABC. Hard gyms. Tough sparring.
A time before high-tech camps and sponsorship deals.
He won the ABA title in 1980, boxed at the Moscow Olympics, then turned pro later that same year and went straight into a proper East End fighting career. Not manufactured. Not polished. Not pretty.
Just honest.
And that honesty is what made fans latch onto him.
He punched like a middleweight was supposed to punch — 34 stoppages in 40 wins.
He wore his heart on his sleeve.
He could be fiery.
He could be flawed.
And he fought with the same raw emotion he carried in real life.
The kind of fighter you don’t forget.
The rivalry that defined him: Kaylor vs Christie
Let’s not pretend.
If you say “Mark Kaylor” to anyone who lived through 80s British boxing, their brain goes straight to one thing:
The Errol Christie fight.
And I’m going to be very honest here —
before writing this tribute, I went back and watched the fight again.
I shouldn’t admit this in a tribute piece, but I completely forgot how much I loved that era of boxing until I sat down and watched it.
Even knowing the result…
Even knowing who got stopped…
Even knowing the controversy around the buildup…
I still found myself leaning forward, fully engrossed, thinking:
“Christie might actually win this.”
Then Kaylor would rally.
Then Christie would fire back.
Then Kaylor would bulldoze forward again.
It was like watching a Hollywood fight scene with no script and no stunt doubles.
Two men who genuinely didn’t like each other fighting with a level of fire you just don’t see in today’s era.
The build-up — real hatred, not the promo-package kind
The rivalry wasn’t PR-driven.
It wasn’t hyped by advisers, YouTubers, or promo clips.
There was actual tension.
Actual dislike.
Actual history.
The press conference brawl alone told you everything — this wasn’t a handshake rivalry.
This was two men who planned to sort everything out with their fists and didn’t care who was watching.
And that’s the uncomfortable, messy beauty of old-school domestic boxing.
The fight — and why it still hits harder than modern grudge matches
Watching it again, I think I finally understood why people from that era still talk about it with such emotion.
Modern boxing tries to manufacture this sort of energy.
It scripts confrontations.
It encourages trash talk.
But when the bell rings?
Most of the time the fight doesn’t match the hype.
Kaylor vs Christie did.
Every second of it.
Two fighters, no backing down.
Knockdowns traded.
Momentum swinging.
Crowd losing their minds.
Christie’s skill versus Kaylor’s brute force.
Real animosity turning into real action.
It wasn’t just a fight.
It was a release.
A purge.
The kind of contest where you feel the tension drain from the arena when it’s finally over.
And here’s the sad truth:
we don’t get many fights like that anymore.
Not because fans have changed.
Not because fighters can’t fight.
But because boxing today is too sanitised, too managed, too PR-obsessed.
Kaylor and Christie left everything in the ring because they meant it.
Modern boxing often feels like a performance where someone forgot to write the third act.
The finish
Kaylor’s eighth-round stoppage was brutal, dramatic, and honestly still hard to watch —
but it’s the perfect symbol of why that fight still stands tall today.
It was the moment where everything Kaylor was —
power, grit, stubbornness, heart, temper —
all came together.
It’s the kind of moment that cements a legacy.
The man after the gloves came off
This is the part a lot of people don’t know, because Kaylor never shoved himself into the media spotlight the way modern fighters do.
After boxing, he didn’t chase the camera.
He didn’t chase validation.
He didn’t chase fame.
He lived his life quietly.
But he stayed involved in the sport the way real fighters often do — at gym level, helping the next generation, sharing knowledge, giving back to the communities he came from.
People who trained under him described a man who mellowed with age.
Still tough.
Still direct.
But thoughtful.
A man who reflected on his rivalry with Christie openly and honestly, understanding the heat of youth and the mistakes he made.
There’s a dignity in that you don’t often see from former fighters.
Why his passing matters
Kaylor wasn’t a global superstar.
He was never a multi-belt world champion.
But legacy isn’t decided by how many belts you had — it’s decided by the people who still talk about you 40 years later.
The reaction across the boxing community says everything:
Old-school fans remembering nights at Wembley.
Boxers mentioning him with respect.
Clubs posting tributes.
People sharing old stories.
Because men like Kaylor built modern British boxing.
Brick by brick.
Fight by fight.
Night by night.
You don’t forget fighters like that.
Not if you love the sport.
Final word
Rest in peace, Mark.
You gave us nights we’ll never forget.
You fought with honesty, fire and authenticity — three things the sport could use a lot more of today.
And if you’re reading this and you’ve got a memory of Kaylor — maybe the Christie fight, maybe a small-hall night, maybe you met him years later — share it.
Help keep his story alive.
For more opinion pieces, tributes, and real boxing conversations that don’t follow the mainstream script, come join me at CMBoxing