Lennox deserves more respect

Here, he allowed us a few memories of what made him one of the great world champions.

"I learned on this difficult trip to winning the World Championship that if you lose, it doesn't mean its the end. When I fell down, I thought I'm just going to get up again, dust myself down and get back on with it."

This was one of his most underrated qualities; that iron will and determination. "There were times when I lacked confidence in myself," he revealed, but he thanked his trainer Manny Steward - "the best in the world" - for having helped him believe in himself.

Seeing Lewis today reminded you of the contrast with those great champions. Seemingly larger than life, they all had exotic nicknames - the Manassa Mauler, the Brown Bomber, Smokin' Joe, the Louisville Lip. One night after one of his 16 world title triumphs a few of us sat around desperately trying to think of one for Lewis. The best we could come up with was "interesting" but the dullest snooker player on the planet had already nicked it. In the end, we accepted defeat. It would always be his lot to be plain old Lennox Lewis.

Yet now he's retired. It felt here today that he's only now going to receive his proper due. Not with the bestowal of a silly nickname but perhaps with a title which would provide a true reflection of his achievements for British sport. Wouldn't Sir Lennox be better late than never?

The weight of his achievements - to be the only British competitor in a century to win the undisputed version of professional sport's biggest individual prize really was monumental - was never marked by the acclaim it merited.

Why? because he triumphed in the era when, seemingly, it wasn't enough just to prove yourself the best fighter around, run out of opponents to beat and retire as the best. No, you have to be a character too. You had to be quotable, outrageous, charismatic.

In public, Lewis was none of these things. "It's a great honour to have been the standard bearer for boxing," he said today and it reminded us that he did it impeccably. He did not bring the whiff of danger that Mike Tyson brought and some of his US critics never did forgive him for being more likely to dismantle an opponent than destroy one.

They tried to make him seem interesting by asking questions about his nationality and his sexuality. It didn't work. He just went on in his own calm way, being a supreme athlete. It seemed entirely typical that Lewis should end his career by thanking his mummy.

Maybe the British audience never completely fell for him. Perhaps people right to the end found it hard to totally embrace someone who had won Olympic gold for Canada, even though he was actually a true East Ender. Maybe it was the old Greg Rusedski-Tim Henman thing. Lewis never enjoyed the same affection that a nation had for, say, Frank Bruno.

But it wasn't Lewis's fault that he dominated over an era of faceless, unconvincing heavyweights. All he could do was chase the best, duck no challenges and beat what was on offer, which he did with a remarkable degree of comfort and quality over a decade.

Today, he ended his address by trumpeting: "So I say to you gentlemen, let the next era begin." Just then, it really did feel that for boxing and sport in Britain, the new era will face a huge void. So what? The fact that he's joining the pantheon with neither a nickname nor Don King in tow. That's the boxing miracle.