“I looked at myself in the mirror. There was nothing on me. I just didn’t know how I was going to get through it. I knew I had to, because I’ve got three kids, but I just didn’t know how.” As Adam Smith speaks, I can see embryonic tears clinging to his eyeballs, intent not to drip beyond the dam of his lower eyelid. To be honest, I’m looking through the same tears on my side of the table.
It’s strange to hear the voice of boxing piercing through the background noise of a west London cafe, rather than the background noise of a sold-out arena. On an early autumn morning in Acton, Smith is speaking over the occasional hiss of a milk steamer and clink of cups and plates, rather than the dull thud of punches and inebriated roar of a boxing crowd. But here he is. No microphone, no headset: raw and unfiltered.
It’s no surprise that Smith knows his way around a story. During our 90-plus minutes of conversation, he reels off tale after tale from his three decades at ringside with Sky Sports, and drops legendary name after legendary name (yet never boastfully). He does so as fluidly and enthusiastically as if he were on the job, and after he reveals he studied Theatre and Dramatic Arts at university, it makes sense that he orates like a voice actor: not so much accentuating words with movements, but rather drawing those words from his mouth with motion. Now and then, he’ll raise an eyebrow to lift out one word, as if it was attached to a string, then sling it across the table with an outstretched hand.
But as Smith reaches the most compelling story of all – his own – he takes his first true pause of the day, finally needing to search for the right words. Those enthusiastically raised eyebrows are replaced by troubled, furrowed ones, as he recalls his harrowing experience with cancer over the last two years. “Yeah, I... errr... It.. It was a brutal period,” the 53-year-old finally manages. “I’m very, very lucky to be here today.”
Esta historia es de la edición September 12, 2024 de The Independent.
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