The greatest jockey of his generation would have made a fine boxer writes Gareth A Davies
After the best part of a day and a half in the company of Sir Anthony McCoy last week at the William Hill St Leger at Doncaster, I was left in no doubt that this was a fighting man, whose record-setting achievements as a jockey may well have been replicated in other fields, had he so chosen.
The man from Moneyglass, Co Antrim, does, indeed, love the fighting arts, and revealed an unending desire to discuss the mechanics and IQ of Anthony Joshua, the skills of Tyson Fury and just how much – more than once – he would have loved to have put leather on his hands in sporting combat.
It is worth recalling that McCoy was the champion jockey a record 20 times, from 1995 until his retirement in 2015. In the fight world I inhabit as a profession, that makes McCoy an undisputed champion, a pound-for-pound No1 who retains the world title year after year, in different environments, finding a way to win through thin and thinner.
He lost a few races, mind, and that even came up in conversation. It still rankles, too.
“That part of your ego, being a winner, never goes away, never dies,” McCoy told me, offering tips on the races at Doncaster as an ambassador for the St Leger sponsor, while barely able to mask the fact that his comeback in the “Race For Cancer Trials” charity race at the Curragh last Sunday was never far from his mind.
At the age of 45, he needed to drop his weight by 4lb, was concerned his hair would be too long, and you could feel the rising anticipation and nerves as he prepared for a comeback appearance that had the juices flowing. Charity race? Bah! No, this was competition time.
McCoy did indeed roll back the years – a vintage front-running ride on Quizical brought victory over, among others, his great friend and longtime rival Ruby Walsh. After his retirement four years earlier, he had said he would never ride in a race again. But the lure was there.
McCoy reminds me of so many professional fighters I have known, interviewed and travelled the world with: resilient, with an unshakeable self-belief, and an enduring steel to the bones. Ability is one thing, but those other qualities are what create legends. Like boxers, the 5ft 10in McCoy has always had to make the weight – 10st – the same, as Ricky Hatton in his pomp, Amir Khan and others. Moreover, like boxing, riding horses at maximum speeds over jumps is inherently dangerous.
But, in racing terms, McCoy was the equivalent of the Ukrainian Vasyl Lomachenko, an elite fighter, whose skills and, particularly, his physical IQ, remain unmatched. I did not know this until McCoy told me, but he broke virtually every bone in his body, apart from his femurs. He even took my hand and put it on his breast bone, which is misshapen and smashed inwards.
As an example of his toughness, McCoy recalled the day – on New Year’s Eve in 2012 at Taunton – when he broke seven ribs and punctured a lung after his mount, Laudatory, unseated him and then landed on top of him. McCoy explained to me how, as medics rushed to his aid, he had refused to be carried on a stretcher to the ambulance.
“I’ve never been in so much pain, but there was no way I was going to let any of my rivals see me carried away,” he told me with those steely eyes. It was that creation of an aura of invincibility – the refusal to buckle – that made him the finest of his era, and arguably the greatest ever.
I remain convinced that McCoy would have made a fine professional fighter. Little doubt he would have been the type that needed to be pinned, unconscious, to the canvas in order to be halted.
Against anyone? Even giants like Joshua? Yes. He gave me a steely look that told me he would have happily fought heavyweights – including Joshua – for a few million pounds. And unfortunately, Sir Anthony meant it.