Tyson Fury is far from de facto BBC Sports Personality of the Year

There’s nothing like a celebrity hissy fit to cheer everyone up during a fairly miserable time. A trivial, silly strop to give us all something to laugh/groan/growl about that draws attention away from news that ought probably to make us weep.

So praise be for Tyson Fury. The heavyweight champion boxer has stepped into the ring and delivered a knockout.

The self-styled “Gypsy King” has asked to be removed from consideration for the BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year award because he says he’s already the “people’s champion”. Before you sigh, roll your eyes, and then move swiftly on to more important matters, think for a minute about what Fury is saying there, in particularly that phrase “the people’s champion”.

Is he your champion? Is he your partner’s champion? Is he any of your friends’ champion?

He is certainly a fine boxer. A champion, even. He holds the WBC belt, which is generally considered the most prestigious from among the four or five governing bodies that currently award them. He also holds The Ring magazine’s title, which is arguably worth even more in terms of boxing brownie points, although there are those who would dispute that in the wake of some of the changes to its methodology.

But that still doesn’t mean he can legitimately call himself the people’s champion, particularly not when there’s another already another world champion in his sport on these shores (Anthony Joshua) who he’s yet to fight.

It would have been fine had he said “my people’s champion”, referring to his fans, of which he has many who probably think of him that way.

But he said “the people’s champion” and I’m afraid he’s not my champion any more than Boris Johnson is speaking for my priorities when he dribbles on about “the people’s priorities”.

I know plenty of Americans who similarly wince when Donald Trump uses that word to confer false legitimacy on some of the horrible things he’s said and done because they’re decent folk and he doesn’t speak for them.

Fury sits well in the company of the gruesome political twosome. In interviews, he’s indulged in ugly bouts of homophobia, sexism and antisemitism. Johnson has done the same in his columns and/or books, but claims his comments have been taken out of context. Ditto Tump with his public statements and twitterings.

It’s tiresome, and frankly depressing, to have to list examples so I’ll refer you to Google if you can bear it. They aren’t at all hard to find.

There are, of course, a couple of key differences between Fury and them. Fury has previously offered one of those limp non-apology apologies – “I’m sorry if anyone was offended by” rather than “I’m sorry, what I said was wrong” – in the wake of his comments. Doing even that is anathema to the transatlantic twins, who typically respond to the controversy and anger generated by their past and/or present outbursts by brushing them aside or even doubling down.

Oh, and they’ve won the popularity contests otherwise known as elections. Fury, who’s been up for the Beeb’s gong before, has not.

But even that doesn’t give either politician any right to speak for “the people”, any more than winning a boxing belt before cheering crowds confers upon Fury the right to, in effect, declare himself the de facto BBC Sports Personality of the Year before there’s even been a vote.

They are both of them opposed by more people than they are supported by.

Trump’s victory in 2016 was secured with a minority of the popular vote. That doesn’t delegitimise it. The American system confers the presidency on the candidate that wins enough states to carry its electoral college and he did that.

Britain’s first-past-the-post system, meanwhile, means Johnson was handed the keys to No 10 and an 80-seat majority in parliament after winning just 43.6 per cent of the people’s votes. It was the highest share achieved by any British prime minister since 1979. The Labour Party under Tony Blair won a 66-seat majority in 2005 with just 35 per cent. But it’s still a minority.

That’s the way democracy works, I guess, unless and until “the people” decide to change it. There are mechanisms available to do that. They’re not terribly easy to use and they probably shouldn’t be. But that’s not the point. The point is, winning elections doesn’t confer on you the right to speak about “the people” when you’re being a jerk even if you secure more than 50 per cent of the vote because there’s always an opposition. Unless, of course, you’re a would-be authoritarian asshole who’s trying to delegitimise the latter.

The BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year award may not be all that important in the grand scheme of things, or even in the sporting scheme of things, but it mostly seems to be appreciated by the people that win it, and their fans, otherwise the competition would have died a death a long time ago.

There’s an amusing postscript to all this. The Beeb has refused Fury’s request to withdraw him from the lists. So we can still vote for, or against him.

Personally, I’m cheering for Hollie Doyle. The jockey not only broke her own record for the number of winners ridden by a British woman in a year, while competing in a rare sport in which all-comers compete on equal terms, she rode a historic double on British Champions Day, became the first woman to notch five winners on the same card, and claimed her first victory at Royal Ascot.

Pound for pound, the diminutive rider could claim to be every bit as tough as Fury. Each time she gets on a horse she’s risking falling into a forest of hooves at 40 miles an hour. You have to be pretty tough to do that. So, a true people’s champion? Not at all. She’s better than that.

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