It took a minimum of 47 stitches to shut Tyson Fury up and fix his eye after his meeting with Otto Wallin unexpectedly turned into a brawl last September. It was supposed to be so easy.

He was not happy that night in the Las Vegas ring as I asked him about the cut and the hard fight; Wallin, unbeaten and untested, was not hired to push Fury, he was hired to look good losing. Fury had lived in a gym for two years, become dependent on it to get through the day and not vanish into any more unforgiving nights. There were weary signs from the big lad that night, signs that he needed a break.

However, a few weeks later he was wearing a full ornamental thobe and jogging to the ring in Saudi Arabia for his wrestling debut. The cut had healed, he had been at an intensive wrestling camp; he was proficient in all things excessive long before his debut and he never disappointed in the wondrous frolic. He was surely made for the leotard caper.

A few weeks after that, just last weekend, he was sitting opposite Deontay Wilder, both relaxing and relaxed in a pair of leather thrones and Fury was heaping praise on the man he finally fights in Las Vegas on 22 February. Tyson Fury’s life moves fast, make no mistake.

Somewhere in the middle of the globetrotting, signing for the fight and setting up a seven-week camp in Las Vegas, he parted ways with Ben Davison, the young trainer who made him smile again, fall in love with boxing again and more importantly, helped him shift ten-stone of blubber. They remain friends, everybody is desperate to say, but that is one of the most misleading and deathless claims in a sport of incessant trickery.

Fury is now working with Jovan Sugarhill Steward, a part of the Detroit fighting dynasty and the man left to fly the glorious colours of the Kronk gym. There are no guides to the new alliance, but former cop Steward, like his uncle Manny, appears to want Fury to be less available. “You have to control the camp,” Manny would repeat. He learned his lesson the hard way through a life in a sport where the lethal whisperers always seem to find a fighter’s ear at the wrong time. Jovan, at 48, was witness to a lot of the rights and the wrongs on nights with fighters when he was part of Manny’s corner team.

The rematch with Wilder for the WBC title was first scheduled for last May, then it vanished behind a dubious wall of claims and deceptions and excuses; both men agreed fights, both men had easy fights lasting a total of about eight minutes. The rematch was still bubbling. Their drawn first fight in December 2018 was inspiring, just what heavyweight boxing needed.

Away from the ring they circled and made bold claims and then they each had another fight. This time Wilder was getting easily outpointed – there is an argument that he lost the first six rounds – until one punch knocked out Luis Ortiz in round seven. It was possibly the first proper punch he landed. He was once again accused of having no boxing skills, no natural ability, just the power. It is a dangerously flawed assessment, ignoring the fundamentals of the sport and instead concentrating on the occasional tangling of Wilder’s long levers.

Fury had fought a few weeks earlier in the Wallin bloodbath, which was either perfect preparation for another long night against Wilder, or an alarmingly difficult fight against an unproven kid. The rematch was still there, but attention in the heavyweight game switched to the Anthony Joshua and Andy Ruiz immediate rematch. The 22 February fight, a date mentioned first in June, was still on the negotiating table and far from being a done deal.

Last Saturday they were polite, complimentary and shook hands. “This is just pantomime, the real stuff is on 22 Feb – he’s getting knocked out and the big dosser knows it,” said Fury. Wilder was the first man smiling. The pair just seem relived that the rematch is definitely happening. It’s a great fight, you see.

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