It was one big party for champ Hibbert

Lloyd Hibbert… never took the game too seriously

LLOYD Hibbert, the boxing champ who was pure poetry while punching in the ring, could’ve been king of Europe. Then he got high.

Lloyd Hibbert, one of Birmingham’s best, could’ve been a world title contender. Then he got high. As it was, he was good enough to become the light-middleweight champ of Britain and Commonwealth. That was despite a training regime that revolved around wine, women and song... and cannabis.

He was blessed with talent to burn and, like the orange embers of the “joints” he tugged on, burned it quickly and without caution. Lloyd, one of the true playboys of 1980s boxing, never let the game interfere with his love of “weed”.

He certainly didn’t let it interfere with his party lifestyle. Hibbert was boxing’s herbal-enhanced equivalent of George Best. And few partied like Lloyd – a succession of trainers, prematurely aged by the star’s antics, will testify to that.

They were frequently sent to scour Birmingham suburbs for the boxer after he’d gone AWOL to indulge in yet another bender. His chaotic lifestyle was an open secret back in the day. To insiders, his cannabis secret wasn’t a secret at all. But it’s taken over 35 years for the general public to weed all about it.

Now 64, Lloyd resides in a council maisonette in Sheldon. The grandfather is dogged by arthritis and has nothing to show, financially, for his 23 pro bouts. He possesses no clippings or pictures from his illustrious career, he rarely attends shows. He doesn’t care. There’s laid-back and there’s Lloyd Hibbert. The herb probably helped.

“Regrets? Not really,” he shrugged. “I could’ve been a bit more dedicated, but that’s hindsight. It was wine, women and song, I’m afraid to say. There were a lot of women, but no celebrity women. “I could’ve done with some more money, but if I’d got it, I would’ve spent it – I threw money around like confetti.

“It was different in my day. Back then, you couldn’t fight for a world title unless you’d got a European title. Now it’s down to the promoter.

“Fighters today earn a lot more money, but good luck to them. They’re the ones taking the risks, they’re the ones doing the hard work.

“Back then, there was only Mickey Duff. If you wanted anything in the game, you had to give him a piece and I didn’t want anyone to have a piece of me.

“I smoked cannabis a fair old bit, but not for two or three weeks before a fight. Mind you, it was one of the first things I did afterwards.

 “I’d smoke a lot after big fights. I don’t think it was hazardous. I’d go missing now and again, disappear for a week or two, party, drink and go with women. I was just having fun. It was a long, long time ago.”

 His memory of those times are hazy – and that has nothing to do with punches taken. When you’re champ, recreational “fun” takes a backseat to the rigours of training. That lesson was never taken on board by Lloyd.

He reached the top on natural talent alone, but, without gym graft, razor sharp reflexes blunt quickly. Teachers pointed Lloyd to boxing after the boy indulged in a series of school scraps and his promise soon surfaced at Sheldon Heath ABC.

He won national schoolboy honours and reached the junior ABA finals. At 19, he joined the professional ranks with larger-than-life fight figure Nobby Nobbs. Others – in fact, all of them – trained harder, but they lacked Lloyd’s God-given gifts.

He peeled off 13 straight wins and in 1983 was pitted against future world champ Lloyd Honeyghan. Hibbert was outpointed in the British title eliminator and still harbours a degree of ill will towards the victor.

The others, he stressed, were simply earning a crust, like himself. “I think he was a horrible, nasty person – he spat at me and called me a mongrel, but in a boxing match, the geezer was good.

“All the other geezers were nice and shook your hand. They were just trying to make a living.”

Nick Wilshire, a Bristol prospect with tanned, surfer looks, was the recipient of the Brummie’s full repertoire when they met for the British and Commonwealth title on March 11, 1987.

 Under the Royal Albert Hall’s lights, Lloyd bamboozled his opponent, gaining a lopsided points decision. On that night, it all gelled. On that   night, he was the world beater he should’ve been.

“I knew he’d be right in front of me,” said Lloyd, who never married despite a steady stream of eye candy on his arm. “Boxing wise, he wasn’t a clever geezer.”

The gleaming Lonsdale Belt round his waist didn’t curb the new champ’s hedonistic lifestyle. Backslappers wanted to buy him a drink and the offers were eagerly accepted by their compliant, thirsty sporting hero. But, at just 28, Lloyd was drinking and drawing on herbal cigarettes in the last chance saloon.

His career – a career that should’ve shone at its brightest – would be over after just one more fight, And it was an ignominious departure.

 Lloyd and his team agreed to put his Commonwealth belt on the line against world-class and dangerous Aussie Troy Waters Down Under. Waters and his fighting family were rugged outback inhabitants. They carved a hillbilly existence, their corrugated iron home echoing to the sound of fearsome dogs.

While Waters gave barbies a wide berth as he prepared for the big fight, Lloyd indulged in Birmingham binge after Birmingham binge. It was not a case of not training enough, it was a case of not training at all. On August 16, 1987, at a casino in Hobart, Waters chewed up and spat out the champ in four rounds.

 “I was going there for the money,” Lloyd admitted. “I owed people money. If I did three weeks training for that fight, that was it.

“You could hit him, but if you’re not fit, you are going to get hit and I was nowhere near fit.

“I wasn’t bothered, I didn’t care and that was the truth. I had three weeks’ training – there was only going to be one winner.

“Australia was OK. I met a few people out there, had a few drinks afterwards and had a good look around. I wanted to stay a bit longer, but the others wanted to come home.

“There were quarrels over money, differences of opinion and I just thought, I don’t need this any more, there are more important things to do.

“A mate was starting a building firm and I joined him. It was great – six weeks’ work, six weeks’ holiday... Thailand, Laos, Cambodia.”

 As he approaches bus pass age, Lloyd has jettisoned life in the fast lane for a more sedate existence. He added: “What do I do? Bit of telly, bit of cooking...”

The glory days are over, but Hibbert can truly say he lived the high life.