A drizzly midweek afternoon in central Belfast is not the time to seek out interesting new sporting and cultural experiences. As a general rule, life trundles on and excitement is something that happens elsewhere. But last Wednesday - and all of last week - was different. The world amateur boxing championships were in town. It may not seem like an awful lot now, but a few years down the line we may look back at this event and realise it marked a significant break from what had gone before and a genuine new beginning.
Expectations, it has to be said, were not particularly high. Despite a late publicity surge the advance PR offensive was decidedly low-key. Part of this failure to connect with the wider sporting public can be attributed to the fact the words "international sporting event" and "Belfast" have not appeared regularly in the same sentence over the years. In such a strange and novel environment first impressions count for a lot and in this the Odyssey Complex, down along the converted docks of the River Lagan, did not disappoint. Even when it was only quarter full in the early part of last Wednesday afternoon, it served as an impressive and wholly appropriate venue for an event of such magnitude. The sight of the two rings operating in tandem at the centre of the expansive but intimate arena was genuinely impressive. It was immediately clear the boxing public of the city and beyond had made an immediate connection with the championships. They had recognised the significance of the occasion and had turned up in significant numbers, both to look and to learn. Knowledgable knots of men were dotted all over the Odyssey engrossed by the spectacle and taking meticulous notes of the results in the various divisions.
For many it must have seemed like a vindication of all the years of selflessness and sacrifice as they helped prepare generations of honest boxing men for competitions in far-flung corners of the world. Now, for one week only, it was right on their doorstep to be savoured and enjoyed. This was pay-back time.
And right in the middle of all of this was the boxing itself. Even to this and many other untrained eyes, it was clear something special had come to town. Reared on a meagre diet of tawdry professional contests, it was a relief and a pleasure to watch boxers for whom artistry triumphs over hyperbole and for whom personal satisfaction has a greater currency than dollars and pounds.
No team fed off this more successfully than the Irish. The atmosphere was totally transformed whenever one of them came out to box and the fact that six of the team made the quarter-finals was testimony to the confidence and inspiration they drew from this welcoming environment.
Just after two o'clock last Wednesday, welterweight James Moore, the inspirational and irrepressible heart of the Irish team, came out to box in his third contest of the week. His Italian opponent, Lenord Bundu, looked an imposing and compact character and appeared to have an edge in terms of physique and power. He could not have reckoned, though, on the intelligent way in which Moore approached the contest. Obviously loath to take Bundu on in a toe-to-toe battle, Moore boxed clever, picking off scores and moving quickly to avoid any counter-attacks.
The home crowd gathered behind the ring were obviously well-disposed towards him from the outset. But as Moore clearly outthought his opponent throughout the four rounds of the contest, they warmed to him even further. When the tumultuous climax arrived every Moore punch was being greeted with full-throated acclaim and his 19-16 win was rapturously received.
Moore went on to win his quarter-final on countback to secure a bronze medal before losing to the highly-rated American Anthony Thompson. The net effect was Ireland had demonstrated forcibly they could compete at this highest of levels and their contribution to the world championships went far beyond efficient organisation and the provision of a fantastic, state-of-the-art venue.
Elsewhere, of course, the Cubans stamped their personalities and pedigree all over the championships. Lightweight Mario Kindelan strolled to a gold medal in his division and was voted best boxer. In Martinez Diogenes Luna, boxing at light welterweight, he found a willing and able accomplice. Seemingly intent on throwing five punches where two or three would have been enough for ordinary mortals Luna, too, blitzed his way to gold.
Cuba won seven golds in all and dazzled everyone with their unstoppable pursuit of amateur excellence. The fact none is likely to turn professional and will continue to be nurtured by a sporting culture and a government which truly values this kind of sporting achievement lent their achievements an added frisson. The Cubans, then, made the most impact but there is little about the entire week the championships were in town that will be forgotten. It had always been said that in the Odyssey Belfast now had a world-quality sporting facility of which it could be proud. But the effortless way it staged such a prestigious top-tier international event provided living, breathing proof of that. The benefits of having such a complex within walking distance of the city centre rather than dropped into a green field site miles from anywhere will not have been lost on anyone who was there.
But beyond all of that there was the an old-fashioned, unashamed, feel-good factor. There is a long distance still to be travelled but seven wonderful days at the Odyssey suggested there really is a way out of the sporting backwater.
