Raging Blancmange is feasting on opponents

In the middle of the debate stands the wondrous figure of Butterbean himself and this most agreeable soul clearly doesn't give a monkey's what's said about him.

"Oh, I love the critics giving me a hard time. As long as they can spell Butterbean, I don't care. Anyway London, come and judge me for yourself at Wembley on 16 June," booms the master salesman.

His promoters, Jonathan Feld and Ben Stone, who insist no Brit, save Lewis or Naz, could fill the Conference Centre like he's doing, sell you his credibility. Look, he's better than he's given credit for, they say. A novelty, yes, but a joke, no. He can punch, no question, and with just one defeat in 66 fights, has ko'd 46 opponents, including the decent journeyman Lou Monaco.

Hmm. They don't mention that two victories over some character called Harry Funmaker probably gives a more reliable indication of the quality of his opponents.

And when the promoters try to convince you that Butterbean doesn't look too flabby, it's a futile quest since at that moment the great man is posing for a shot alongside a skinny reporter from The Sun and it looks for all the world like a mountain of ice cream standing next to the spoon.

Of course, Butterbean is fantastically blubbery; that's always been the attraction.

It's like his old trainer, Murray Sutherland, once said: "Americans love him because 90 per cent of them are overweight.

"If some fat guy is sitting at home eating a hot dog, drinking beer and two skinny featherweights come on TV, he can't relate to them."

Butterbean reckons they relate to him, though, because he was once one of them.

As Alabama factory worker Eric Esch, he was working on an assembly line making floors for mobile homes when his workmates clubbed together for his fifty dollar entry fee for TV's Toughman, a competition made for Ordinary Joes to knock each other stupid.

At about 30 stone, he had to shed pounds quickly to make the weight limit so dieted on butterbeans for a fortnight. No wonder he, er, blew away all comers.

Turning pro afterwards, he was soon such a cult box office figure that he became a regular undercard attraction on major pay-per-view shows.

The formula was simple. Give him his four rounds and an opponent not equipped to slip his elephantine charges, nor his non-stop punching flurries, then just watch the fun. Once, he even floored his adversary and the ref simultaneously.

Only ever over four rounds, though. Butterbean insists he could handle the longer distances and his last fight was his first ever over eight rounds.

Naturally, he finished it in two, his preferred painless route to making a mint. He will only say that he earns more from one fight than he did in five years on the factory floor, so we can assume he's made a million dollars.

Good luck to him. He seems a lovely bloke who takes his fighting seriously but, endearingly, doesn't take himself too seriously.

"Those who say I'm no boxer aren't wrong. I'm a fighter, a brawler, but I get the job done - like that guy Rahman.

"He's not a proper boxer either but he did a job on Lewis."

He likes his hype. Who's this bloke "Audrey Harrison", he chuckles. Lewis? Tyson? He'd fight them tomorrow but they were too scared. Great stuff.

It doesn't really matter if he believes this old tosh because he inhabits a different world, one where boxing becomes almost indistinguishable from the sort of massively popular, manufactured entertainment which televised wrestling throws up. It's like the WWF with gloves.

In his time, Butterbean has ko'd a wrestler in a WWF production, been involved in talks for bouts with Dennis Rodman, the basketball nutter, and Marty McSorley, the ice hockey nutter, and this week in London, will arm wrestle the British champ.

His latest pet project? A projected scrap with Larry Holmes. Just what the sport was crying out for - Mr Bean against a 51-year-old has-been.

Still, there's no point in getting too uppity about old Butterbean. After all, how can traditionalists moan about his presence harming the credibility of a heavyweight division so routinely disfigured by ear-biting, mismatches, scandalous decisions and assorted other sleaze. What credibility?

At least Butterbean has no pretensions, only giving his fans what they want - a rumbustious, old-fashioned punch-up.

"The critics can call me whatever they want but the only thing that could upset me is if people didn't have a good time watching me in the ring," he says.

"And, you know, boxing looks as if it might be fun. I must try it some day."