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Stephen Richards

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“Examining the background of anyone can bring skeletons to our attention; a blot on the landscape can mar all what pleases the eye. This is how Malcolm Price was perceived by those who would stand back in fear of what he was all about, yet nothing could be further from the truth!”

“Malcolm Price embodies all that is Welsh, aside from the green valleys and male voice choirs. The will to win against insurmountable odds is a penchant of the Welsh, put this with a propensity to never say ‘die’ and that is what makes the Welsh so durable.”

“Call Malcolm Price (Pricey) a ‘chancer’ and you would be wrong. Pricey has, with premeditated determination, won his battles and hung his gloves up; his story is no less dramatic or tantalising than that of his Welsh ancestors.”

“Barbarianism and finesse cannot be rolled into one, Pricey defeats this theory. The barbarianism born from his fight to make it in life, his finesse brought about by his sensitivity that was deprived of him when he was a child.”

“Gradually, the physical cruelty and punishment beatings started and it got worse. He’d be on his knees to try to teach me how to fight, so my father made out. Whack! His hand would slap in to my face with the full force might of a 6ft 4in 18st man!”

“I remember, I walked in to the house expecting to be consoled by my father, but he yelled, ‘What, you fucking lost!’ At this stage I was still only a kid, if I lost then I was given a good kicking by him. He would suddenly turn in to King Kong and proceeded to paint the walls seven colours of shite with me!”

“If I lost a bout then I soon learned not to go home straight afterwards, I would give him time to go to the bar first. Event though I’d go to all of that trouble to escape his ranting and raving, my father would come home steaming drunk, drag me out of bed whilst I was still half asleep and beat the living shit out of me!”

“My aspirations never lay with boxing, but that’s the way I was pushed. I was still a choirboy when I started boxing because I remember I went to choir practice every Wednesday night. I missed some Wednesday nights if I was boxing and then when I missed it I’d have to tell the choirmaster why. I had a battle between the choir and boxing. When my voice inevitably broke, boxing won.”

“One lesson I learned from all of this, and that was a hard one, for all of the good I did people, it was never remembered. I was the one doing jail, not them. Apart from a small circle of close loyal friends, I was and am on my own.”