Thousands are expected to gather in the streets of Greater Manchester as Ricky Hatton makes his final journey through the city he fought for, bred for and made proud. The 18-mile parade will begin at 9:45 a.m. from Cheshire Cheese Pub in Hydeone of Hatton’s old haunts where the pints flowed as freely as his left hook.

The route will pass through places associated with his life and career – the gyms, bars and roads that shaped ‘The Killer’ from a working-class kid into a world champion who brought Manchester into the boxing spotlight. Everything ends there Manchester Cathedralwhere a private memorial service will be held for family and close friends.

Ricky Hatton has never been the type of polished star. It was not created for velvet ropes or soft honors. He was Manchester to the core – cheeky, working class, loyal. Four days before his death at the age of 46, he said that what was most important to him was that he wanted people to remember him as “one of the boys.”

The man we knew killer He was found dead at his home in Manchester on Sunday 14 September. The shock shook British boxing and beyond. He spent decades throwing hooks that made arenas shake, but what he craved wasn’t more belts or headlines. It was belonging — to be loved like Frank Bruno, adored by his city, accepted by fans who saw themselves in him.

“I was a man of the people”

Speaking to former world champion Darren Parker in what became his final interview, Hatton made it clear. “I’m very proud when people say ‘our Frank’ and ‘our Ricky,'” he said. “I’m not saying we were the best but we were probably the most likable. I was a man of the people, a boy next door, who couldn’t give a two**** and told it like it was. The best thing I came out of my retirement was the love I got from the fans.”

He added: “I’d rather be Ricky Hatton than the greatest of all time, but make everyone think I’m an advertising person.” For a fighter who packed 22,000 people at the MEN Arena and 30,000 in Las Vegas, that says it all. People remember me as a great fighter, but also as one of the boys.

Fame never changed the child of the estate

Hatton told Parker that his life remained close to its roots even after Glory. “Life changed for me, my children and my family the moment I beat Kostya Tszyu. But I don’t think I’ve changed much. Even today, the gym I run and the house I own are only 10 minutes from the council estate I grew up in. I haven’t moved outside a 10-mile radius.”

“Even with all the good things I’ve achieved through boxing, I still go to my neighborhood and play darts on a Monday night and play football for the vets on a Sunday afternoon. My mates now are still the same mates I went to school with, no late newcomers, always the same mates.”

It was this stubborn loyalty to pubs, to friends, to Manchester City, to the old streets themselves, that the fans felt. He was a hero who could walk into any pub without having to buy a pint. Children who did not see him fight live still prevented him from taking pictures because they saw the clips and felt the truth.

He fights his shadows, and helps others in theirs

Hatton made no secret of that life after the travails of boxing. Losses to Mayweather and Pacquiao left scars and depression followed. But he refused to stay down. He got help. Then he used his pain to help others.

“I didn’t want to tell my colleagues or my family, and I didn’t want to worry them, so I kept it private,” he told Parker. “I went to the gym or the bar and I was the life and life of the party, even more so than usual because I was trying to overcompensate for what was going on inside me.

“No one knew and it was very difficult. I thought I could solve it myself but I couldn’t. The best thing I did was when I realized I could get over him or her, I could do this or do that, but I couldn’t figure it out myself and I needed to talk to someone and that’s the best thing I did.”

“You feel you can talk to a stranger better than your family or friends. You don’t go to boys—and I have good company—but you don’t feel it. I’ve had a quarrel with my mother and father and parted with my mistress and I didn’t want to worry the rest of the family. So keep it, keep it, and it’ll get worse.”

After receiving help, Hatton used his experience to help others. “Some boxers have told me they’ve paid off their mortgage and thanked me – that’s all I care about,” he said. Letters arrived from people who heard his story and found hope. This gave him a goal: “It makes me feel good that I helped others.”

The fighter who never left us behind

Hutton did not want statues or sainthood. He wanted to be the street kid who made it big but never looked down on anyone. This is rare in boxing – or anywhere else. Perhaps this is the reason behind the profound news of his death.

He had lived through brutal nights, public defeats, and private battles, and he still found the strength to ask a bullied kid to keep his chin up just days before he left us. If that’s not greatness, what is?

Take it easy, Ricky. You were one of us, and you will always be one of the boys.

Watch the full interview: