Ricky Hatton died as a champion… a champion for mental health - Christa Ackroyd

I have watched him spar and watched him ringside.

I also saw how much his fans still loved him in the early days of his retirement, when, unable to turn his back on the sport that brought him so much, he became a trainer.

His supporters worshipped him then as much as when he lived and boxed for them donning his fringed cowboy shorts and fought for titles and a place in boxing history.

I have also watched his heartbreaking television documentary and thought he seemed to be coping. Just. And of course we don’t really know yet what has happened and why.

But his honesty about mental health was so powerful while his tears spoke volumes as he talked about letting people down when he lost his crown and with it his famous zest and enthusiasm for life.

It was as though his three losses after forty plus wins cancelled out all he had achieved, in his mind at least, as though his heart was broken as he lay on the canvas.

But I thought he would come through his toughest fight of all with the voices inside his head which branded him a failure, when oh my goodness he was far from that.

I am not here to speculate, to talk about how he died.

He died a champion in my eyes, a champion for mental health.

He spoke about the darkness that overwhelmed him, the demons that drove him to drink and drugs and his pledge that he would live for his family, a family like so many others have been, now in mourning for a life so full, on the face of it so lucky, yet ended too soon.

I absolutely detest the phrase nothing to come back for when someone dies.

When someone dies young either by taking their own life or through the abuse of substances they turned to as a crutch, I am always reminded that each day is always worth living.

If you can just get to the next it could be a better one. For some it seems impossible.

But this week I want to thank Ricky not just for his hours of entertainment in the ring, there was never an atmosphere like it when he fought, not for his meteoric rise from council house kid to working class hero, but for his honesty about the demons that took over his head. It will and did make a difference.

That will be his legacy as much as the belts he wore around his waist and the power of the punches that won them.

This week I attended the funeral of James Whale. On my way home after a six hour drive I welcomed the Baton of Hope to a celebration of life and those who have lost theirs at the newly opened Bradford Live.

I write this not for a pat on the back, but even though all I wanted to do after hours in the road was curl up in bed I knew I had to be there. And I am so glad I was.

In and around Yorkshire parents, friends and loved ones who had lost those they cared for in their battle to find peace carried a tall baton. A baton of hope.

Organised by former Look North and Sky presenter Mike Mcarthy whose son ended his own life it was a powerful message that if we can talk we can hope.

Through his loss, and the loss of so many others him, like Ricky Hatton has and will continue to open the dialogue on suicide and mental health. And that can only be the most positive thing to come from so many tragic losses.

I will never forget the day my father took the phone call to tell me my beloved Uncle Keith had lost the battle with his dark thoughts and ended his life.

He was in his forties and had suffered from depression for many years.

Outwardly he was handsome and gregarious, the best uncle anyone could have. Inside he was in hell.

Several times he had tried to leave us. Several times he had been admitted for treatment at the institution in Menston that is now luxury apartments. But we lost him and that day my father cried for the first and last time I ever saw.

We rarely spoke of it again. Now that conversation is open and beginning to hit home.

And Ricky the Hitman Hatton has played his part in that conversation.

I watched the documentary again after news of his death.

I was struck as I was the first time about the comment he made about struggling alone for so long. “I am not going to go to my mates and say I am crying every day. I want to kill myself. You just don’t do it." But we should.

Boxing is the toughest of sports. But it can break the heart of champions. It broke Ricky’s heart. I don’t want to know the details as to how he died.

That is for his poor family, but I want them to know this: if his conversation about his suffering means others open up to talk as he did, he will have achieved more than just titles and adoration inside and outside the ring.

RIP Ricky Hatton. Thankyou for sharing the highs and the lows of your life. The world legend is over used.

The word legacy is overplayed. But you will live on in the hearts of those who saw you fight and those who listened to your story, a winner until the end .