Alec Harvey's name may not ring a bell, because his annual moment of fame is fleeting indeed. Harvey is the master jeweller employed by the R&A to inscribe the name of the winner of the British Open Championship on the Claret Jug, and once a year on a Sunday afternoon in July he turns up in the living-rooms of television viewers around the world as he painstakingly performs his expert handy work.

As a rule, Harvey's touch is so deft that he can have the new champion's name on the trophy before he leaves the scorer's cabin. On occasion, when the winner has a lead he deems safe, Harvey has even been known to jump the gun a bit: at St Andrews last year he had Tiger Woods' name on the jug before Eldrick had finished putting out on the last, and one can't help but wonder how close he came to actually etching Jean Van de Velde's name at Carnoustie the year before.

One couldn't help but think of Alec Harvey in light of certain developments in New York a week and a half ago. While the "Sugar Ray Robinson Trophy" might not enjoy the cachet or the history of the Claret Jug, it was every bit as expensive: a handsome, 125lb sculpture commissioned by promoter Don King from Tiffany & Co, it was created to be awarded to the winner of the exercise modestly known as the Middleweight World Championship Series.

With an eye toward unifying the 160lb title for the first time since Marvellous Marvin Hagler ruled the middleweight world 14 years earlier, King had gathered the three principal claimants - World Boxing Association (WBA) champion William Joppy, World Boxing Council title-holder Keith Holmes and International Boxing Federation champ Bernard Hopkins - along with Felix Trinidad, the undefeated Puerto Rican who began the series the holder of the WBA's 154lb light-middleweight title, under his promotional umbrella for a knockout tournament to produce an undisputed champion.

That the winner was supposed to be Trinidad, the centerpiece of King's promotional empire, there can be little doubt. All three fights were set in Madison Square Garden, to take advantage of the popular boxer's avid Puerto Rican fan base. Once Hopkins disposed of Holmes and Trinidad stopped Joppy, the stage was set for a grand finale originally scheduled for September 15th.

The terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centre had pushed the fight back two weeks, but the Garden was sold out, with over 19,000 on hand, when Trinidad, a 3-1 favourite, finally met Hopkins a week ago Saturday.

In a stunning upset, Hopkins thoroughly dominated Trinidad to claim all three belts, but when he (and King) materialised at the post-fight press conference in the wee hours of Sunday morning, Sugar Ray Robinson had gone missing.

It might be noted at this point that the trophy in question had proudly been displayed at every press conference before and after the previous two bouts, and at another that took place at the Garden Theatre three days before the September 29th finale.

Moreover, it wasn't something you'd likely just stick in a corner and forget about. At 125 lb, the likeness of the great Sugar Ray Robinson wasn't life-sized, but it was bigger than at least six boxers who fought on that evening's undercard.

King explained to bleary-eyed reporters that the trophy had been locked away for safekeeping in a Garden storeroom and that the employee charged with the duty had gone home for the night and taken the key with him.

He promised to present Hopkins with the trophy the next day.

"It was locked in the Garden's Box Office and the alarms had been set," confirmed MSG official Eric Gelfand. "The post-fight press conference went off so late we couldn't get it out."

"If Trinidad had won, they would've had it here," grumbled Hopkins.

The next day came and went, but still no trophy. Finally, on Monday afternoon at a luncheon at Gallagher's Steak House in Manhattan, one of King's minions showed up and gave the statue to Hopkins.

By the time it was handed over to the new champion, the name plaque on the trophy had obviously been altered and re-engraved with Hopkins' name.

"You could tell by the scratches on it that they changed the nameplate," said Hopkins. "They told everyone that the trophy was locked in an office and no one had the keys to get it out. But the real reason was they were so sure Trinidad was going to win that they already had his name engraved on the plate." Enter Gelfand with an amended story.

"The truth is, the plaque originally was mistakenly engraved by the sculptor to Don King," went Gelfand's latest explanation.

That remains the official alibi, although it seems highly dubious.

Not even the dumbest craftsman in Tiffany history is likely to have supposed that Don King was the middleweight champion of the world.

Put it this way: Alec Harvey wouldn't have made that mistake.

"My gut feeling," said Hopkins, "tells me Felix Trinidad's name was on that trophy."