Tyson Fury embarrasses himself too often to be a source of national pride

Fury was defeated by Usyk on Saturday night and then said that the judges awarded the victory to the Ukrainian out of sympathy. Photo: PA/Nick Potts

Tyson Fury has long treated the court of public opinion with magisterial disdain. “What people say, think or care about,” he said during a tumultuous week in Riyadh, “doesn’t interest me.” Except he clearly cares. This is a fighter who, when the mood strikes him, never tires of ranting on the subject, once declaring: “If you do something really good in your life, there will always be someone who will say that it is bullshit, because they just haters and envious people.”

By now, Fury's body of work, consisting of 34 straight professional wins before his shock defeat to Oleksandr Usyk, should not stand up to any argument. Yet there is an argument that his list of incivilities, which in Saudi Arabia expanded to the outrageous claim that his winner cashed in on judges' sympathy over the war in Ukraine, disqualifies him from being the object of hero worship. Or, as Clive Myrie, the BBC news presenter, once put it on air: «He can't be a prat and win Sportsman of the Year.»

Despite Fury's apparent indifference, this BBC trinket still eludes him. Instead of a frivolous battle for popularity, he now earns up to £80 million per fight, not to mention lifelong recognition in his sport. But whether such admiration will ever extend beyond boxing is a moot point. Following his latest diatribe, it appears we are in similar territory to the 2017 episode when Rory McIlroy was roundly rebuked for playing golf with Donald Trump. “Whether you respect the person in the position or not, you respect the position he occupies,” he said.
This is the crux of Fury’s dilemma: it’s easy to respect him for being became the outright heavyweight champion, but it is difficult to achieve the same respect for the man himself.

The ugly parts of Fury's past tirades have been well documented, from the insults he leveled at Usyk to his 2015 comment that a woman's «best place is in the kitchen and on her back.» When his notorious attempt to conflate homosexuality and abortion with pedophilia caused what he considered too much noise, his first reaction was to lash out at the journalist to whom he told it, pointing to his brother Shane and threatening violent retribution: “See 'big Shane.' ' there? He is 6ft 6ins tall and weighs 25 stone. He's going to completely break his [the journalist's] jaw with one straight right hand.»

We hardly need to rewind nine years to get evidence of Fury's polarizing personality. This was in full view in Riyadh even before his ridiculous suggestion that Usyk benefited from the war. For one brief moment last Thursday night, it appeared he had reined in his worst antics, assuring that he would pray for Usyk and «that we both leave the ring safely.» At a raucous press conference, his diplomacy drew a storm of polite applause.

But not even a day had passed before the boorish provocateur returned. “I’m going to get this damn spark,” he shouted at the weigh-in. “I'm going for his heart, to hell with his belts. I'm going after his damn heart. Fuck it. As a statement of intent, it was not in the league of “floating like a butterfly.”

Frank Warren, his promoter, says there is a medical basis for this, reminding anyone put off by the antics that Fury suffers from bipolar disorder. At least it gives some context to his wildly controversial statements. One minute he insists that he will be remembered as the greatest heavyweight who ever lived. The next time he pretends not to care and shrugs, saying that he can't think of anything except going home to Morecambe and counting his money.

True, these shrill turns on the handbrake make his figure attractive. But they may alienate his audience, who never know which of his alter egos will emerge next: the brooding survivor of mental illness, or the maddened «Gypsy King» who revels in calling his critics «houses»?

With him completely surrounded, this was the second version we witnessed during his strangest week in the desert. When his father John failed to stab the nearest dissident in Usyk's camp, brothers Hughie and Shane continued to reinforce his sense of omnipotence, accountable to no one. To spend any time in this courageous world is to have an experience that distorts reality. When the British Embassy hosted a reception to mark the fight, which included alcohol, which is banned elsewhere in Saudi Arabia, one of the guests was Jason Marriner, a notorious former football hooligan. The scene was like Sexy Beast on steroids.

Many of Fury's fans were invited to the event, highlighting his preferred status as «The People's Champion». He loves the label — if you're so inclined, you can put it on a black and gold T-shirt from his website for £20. There are details to support this claim, such as his love of Morecambe roast dinners and the story of Keegan's town café having a piece of caramel with his name on it when he returns.

But the sheer toxicity Fury is capable of leaves one in doubt. Yes, he could be planning one of the sport's most incredible journeys, taking him from early fights at Nottingham's leisure center and Norfolk showground to the bright neon lights of the Kingdom Arena in Riyadh. Yes, he organized a powerful second act in his life after psychological trauma so acute that he was on the verge of suicide.

Problems arise, as his attack on Usyk shows when he opens his mouth. . Too often, Fury spoke inanely and hurtfully, alienating those who might otherwise be seduced by his talents. At 35, he has the right not to care who he offends, given the enormous rewards he has earned. Likewise, he can't complain if his classless outbursts make people think he's over the line. Fury's record, at first glance, should be a source of great national pride. But it would be presumptuous of this self-proclaimed folk hero to imagine that he took his country with him.