But outside the ring, Ricky did not have a bad bone in his body, and he never lost the common touch. We all cried when we heard that Ricky was gone. Gone too soon, but beset by mental health issues, he was always fighting those demons, once his career was over. That’s why he made the comebacks, that’s why he was in training again for an upcoming exhibition fight. That’s what made it so emotional for so many of us who knew him, because he was open about struggling mentally, too. The inner torment was there.

Five times we travelled with Ricky to Las Vegas, drinking Guinness with him at the Irish pubs – crammed in there with his fans as well – as he twice fought the pound-for-pound kings. He created the ‘s— shirt’ competition after his fights that made us giggle. He came out in the Ricky Fatton suit to fight Juan Lazcano at Manchester City’s football stadium. He never took himself too seriously, and his ego never ran riot. In fact, I cannot recall him ever raising his voice, about anything.

There were 25,000 fans in Vegas for his night in 2007 when he fought Mayweather, and the Las Vegans have never forgotten them singing “there’s only one Ricky Hatton” and the “Hatton Wonderland”, that they drank the bars dry, and that legacy of Hatton in Sin City will always be there. Ricky had an innate instinct for storytelling, too, and would regale us with his feats, some of them after-hours tales of derring-do, that were funny and endeared him to you even more. Ricky was a giver, a people-pleaser, and a fan-pleaser in his fights.

“The lickle [little] lad…” as he called himself, was proud of his achievements, but also amazed by them. We loved Ricky, and it is why so many people offered beautiful tributes to him. Reading through so many, it just brought tears to my eyes again and again, because no one was able to stop Ricky from leaving this life, far, far too early.

I was at Ricky’s debut fight in Widnes in 1997, when he was an 18-year-old who had signed with Frank Warren, media men being told that an exciting talent was incoming. He was bright-eyed, humble and friendly. Focused too. Ricky never changed. Even a few weeks ago, talking to him about his crop of fighters, he was still an advocate of the sport that defined him in so many of our eyes.

I have so many memories of Ricky. Both during and after his career. The fight nights were the best ever, particularly in the United States, but even afterwards, I recall one day with him filming a series with DAZN, where we rewatched his Mayweather fight together, and he returned to that night, still convinced he might have had more success against Floyd had referee Joe Cortez not stepped in time and again to halt Hatton’s bulldozing fighting skills. It irked him. On that filming day, I had to wear the bodybag and Ricky folded me up with one punch.

But boy, Ricky was popular. Always will be. On a personal level, waking up in Las Vegas just hours after the Canelo vs Crawford fight here, at just before 6am local time, to the news that Ricky was gone left a very, very raw feeling. Immediately, the thoughts were for his family, his loved ones, his children and grandchildren. His parents. So many memories straight away. And many tears. Then the thoughts of being here in Las Vegas with Ricky, when the fans would party all night. Even when he lost, Ricky Hatton’s name was sung out loud along the Strip. The laughter, so much laughter.

Then going back in time, being with him in the converted gym that was once a hat factory in Hyde, where he would be pounding the body bag work with trainer Billy Graham. Training over, we would sit in Graham’s “office” at the back, a giant iguana walking past our heads on the back of a sofa we were sitting on… crammed in there with Ricky telling stories that made great copy for the fights ahead. I recall being invited up to the gym, for a visit by Muhammad Ali – yes, the Greatest – who came to Ricky’s gym to visit him. After Ali had gone, Ricky and Paul “Speaky” Speak, the ex-policeman who was his ever-present manager – were like little kids who had just unwrapped their greatest Christmas present.

Ricky, of course, was not just a great fighter, and a wonderful human being, but he became an adept raconteur, with an array of jokes. Because he wanted to give out a light, a brightness. There really was only one Ricky Hatton. Thank you for the memories, the friendship. And while Ricky Hatton’s laughter echoes everywhere, there are just so many tears in our eyes. RIP Ricky. You will never be forgotten.