When I was in my early 20’s, Prince Naseem Hamed was that dude. Along with Roy Jones and a handful of others, he was among the first fighters of the hip hop generation, a rakish, reckless, unconventional southpaw puncher from Sheffield, England with a swagger and style all his own.
Even before he made his American television debut, whispers were spreading from across the pond. A VHS tape was passed around on the trading circuit, grainy videos of this skinny Yemeni kid blasting fools, flipping into and around the ring while doing his best Jones’ impression inside it once the bell rang. He took Roy’s unorthodoxy to new, absurd levels. Hamed was never on the right foot, never once approached a textbook stance, did almost everything technically wrong all the time.
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