Ricky Hatton, the former world champion whose all-action style and blue-collar charm made him one of Britain’s most beloved boxers, has died at the age of 46. Greater Manchester Police confirmed on September 14, 2025, that Hatton was found at his home in Hyde after a call from a neighbor. Officers said they are not treating the death as suspicious. No further details were released.

Known as the Hitman and the People’s Champion, Hatton fought professionally from 1997 to 2012 and then threw himself into life as a promoter, manager, and trainer. He remained a fixture ringside and in the gym, working with heavyweights and prospects alike, including Nathan Gorman, Zhanat Zhakiyanov, Irish champion Paul Upton, and Tommy Fury. He was in Tyson Fury’s corner for the first Deontay Wilder fight in 2018, a sign of the respect he commanded behind the scenes.

Only two months before his death, Hatton was talking about lacing up again. On July 6, 2025, he announced a return to professional boxing at age 46, set for December 2 in Dubai against 46-year-old Eisa Al Dah. The announcement came via a virtual face-off, as he was nursing an injury that kept him from traveling. He said he was excited and hoped the event would boost the sport’s profile in the UAE.

A champion who fought on the front foot

Hatton’s rise came out of Greater Manchester, and his style mirrored his hometown: relentless, honest, and loud. He turned pro in 1997 and tore through the domestic ranks before hitting the world stage in 2005 with a career-defining win over Kostya Tszyu in Manchester. Tszyu stayed on his stool after the 11th round, and the arena shook like a football stadium. That night put Hatton among the sport’s elite and lit the fuse for a fan movement that would follow him across oceans.

The momentum continued. Later in 2005, Hatton unified titles by beating Carlos Maussa. He briefly moved up to welterweight to edge Luis Collazo, then dropped back to light-welterweight to defeat Juan Urango. In 2007 he stopped José Luis Castillo with a body shot so brutal it became part of his highlight reel. At his peak, he was a top draw in both Britain and the United States, an everyman who sold out arenas and brought tens of thousands to Las Vegas.

The highest-profile nights ended in heartbreak. Floyd Mayweather Jr. halted Hatton in Las Vegas in December 2007, and Manny Pacquiao knocked him out in the second round in 2009. Hatton returned in 2012 for a final bout against Vyacheslav Senchenko, losing late and retiring for good. He walked away with a record widely listed at 45–3, with more than 30 knockouts, and a reputation for pressure fighting, savage body work, and lung-busting fitness.

Hatton’s connection with fans was different. He was a devoted Manchester City supporter, and his ring walks—often soundtracked by terraces anthems—made his events feel like derby days. The traveling support he took to Vegas was legendary. He wasn’t polished or distant; he was approachable, self-deprecating, and funny. That persona drew people who didn’t usually watch boxing and turned his fights into shared events.

After retiring, he stayed where he always seemed most at home: the gym. Based in Hyde, he built a camp that was part classroom, part community hub. He helped guide Zhanat Zhakiyanov to a world bantamweight title and continued to shape prospects and contenders in Britain and beyond. In December 2023, he was in the corner for Chloe Watson, who lifted the European female flyweight belt with a unanimous decision over Justine Lallemand, a reminder that he was still producing results as a trainer.

Hatton also spoke frankly about mental health and the pressures that come with fame and combat sports. He discussed depression and substance struggles in interviews and documentaries, turning difficult chapters of his life into conversations that helped other fighters and fans. In a sport that often hides pain until it spills into public view, his openness mattered.

Tributes and the legacy he leaves

As news broke, the boxing world reached for the memories that defined him. Promoter Frank Warren shared respects, as did former and current champions including Tyson Fury, Anthony Joshua, and Manny Pacquiao. Messages highlighted the same themes: ferocity in the ring, warmth outside it, and a fan base that treated him like family. British fight nights do not get many true folk heroes; Hatton was one of them.

Governing bodies, trainers, and fighters from multiple generations added their condolences, pointing to Hatton’s role in elevating British boxing’s global footprint in the 2000s. He was a bridge between eras, from small-hall grit in the late 1990s to the modern mega-shows in Las Vegas and the Middle East. Today’s UK arenas—packed, loud, and choreographed like football stands—owe something to the template his events helped set.

His family ties to the sport continue. His son, Campbell Hatton, turned professional in 2021 and has been learning under the eye of the family. His brother, Matthew, was a European champion and long-time team-mate in the gym. The Hatton name has become a mini-institution in Greater Manchester: a fighting family, a training base, a brand, and an open door for boxers looking for a shot.

Hatton had already dipped a toe back into performance with an exhibition against Marco Antonio Barrera in 2022, a nostalgic night that showed his fitness, timing, and love for the stage. The Dubai plan hinted at one more encore—part show, part challenge, part tourism for British fans who grew up watching him go to war. Whether or not he fought again, that itch to entertain said everything about the competitor he was.

Police say they are not treating his death as suspicious, and the focus has shifted to grieving and remembrance. Hyde, Manchester, and the wider boxing community will spend days swapping stories about the body shots, the songs, the trips, and the sense that Hatton’s nights out were never just fights. He punched his way into the mainstream and stayed there because people saw themselves in him—hard-working, fallible, and brave.

The timeline of his career is etched into British sporting memory: that June night against Tszyu; the Vegas singalongs; the defeats that hurt; the comebacks that followed; the gym lights that stayed on long after the cameras left. The man who made those moments leaves behind a blueprint for how to be a star without losing your roots—and a generation of fighters who learned that lesson up close.