A moment that changed me: a brutal attack ended my dreams of being a boxer – but I found a new passion

At 16 I had my whole life planned out. I was a budding amateur boxer with bags of passion and talent. I was going to be a star. My dad was my coach. Our mission was to win the national youth championships, then conquer the Olympics, before turning professional and working together to capture a world title. But, in one night, this dream of ours was taken away.

It was a Friday evening. Teenagers stood around the park chatting and drinking. I was taking a night off from training to ride my BMX. I remember rolling towards the grind rail, sliding down and landing well enough to earn a cheer from my mates.

As I rolled around the back of the main ramp, I began to cycle hard, building up speed, but mid-jump I caught sight of something in the sky whistling its way right towards the spot where I was heading. Before I could react, a beer bottle had exploded in front of me, showering me in shards of broken glass. I hit the concrete hard and lay there bleeding.

Next thing I knew, my mates were screaming obscenities from across the skate park, but louder than that was the sound of pounding footsteps. I turned just in time to see the first fist strike my face. I couldn’t tell you how many times I got hit during the six-on-one beat-down. But it was a lot. I remember thinking: “What have I done to deserve this?” and “Why isn’t anybody helping me out?”

Then things went from bad to worse. One lad used his knee to pin down my right arm. He splayed my hand on the ground and held it there. Then he shouted at his mate to stamp on it. His friend obliged, repeatedly.

Suddenly, as if by magic, it stopped. Groups of kids from across the park had come together to form a human shield – an example of real courage and solidarity for which I’ll be forever grateful. I staggered home with the help of my friends.

It wasn’t until the following morning, when I looked in the bathroom mirror, that I realised my sporting dreams were over. My face looked like one big bruise. There was massive swelling around my eyes, a deep cut on the ridge of my nose and teeth marks on my chest. What’s more, I soon learned that my right hand was permanently damaged. I was overwhelmed with despair.

Six years later, my counsellor set up a meeting with the lad who engineered the foot stomping. He told me that cocaine had had a big part to play that night, as had jealousy and toxic masculinity. You see, the local newspaper had run a feature about me representing Buxton Amateur Boxing Club at their annual show. These lads had seen it and decided to bring me down a peg or two. Well, they succeeded. I never boxed competitively again after the incident in the park – it killed my appetite for the sport.

My dad was my rock. At the time, we were living in poverty in rural Derbyshire. He was single-handedly raising my three brothers, two sisters and me. As challenging as that sounds, Dad dropped everything to give me the support I needed. Ultimately, he advised me to focus on my education.

Though boxing had been my main obsession, followed closely by BMX-ing, I was also involved in theatre, having played several bit parts in school plays (usually, the small funny guy) and a couple of larger roles with Chapel Players, the local amateur dramatics club.

Dad and I still loved boxing and we would often spend evenings watching reruns of old shows. I remember being absolutely in awe of Muhammad Ali: he was so funny, eccentric and theatrical. He was a performer too, so the idea of switching to the theatre never felt daunting to me – I’d still be dancing under those lights in rooms full of people, only this time nobody would be trying to punch me in the face.

So, I swapped punchbags and skipping ropes for scripts and rehearsal rooms, and I relished the thrill of performing in front of a live audience. Theatre soon became my biggest passion and it has remained this way through college, university (where I graduated with a first-class honours degree in theatre studies) and into the world of work.

Now, looking back on my 10 years in the arts, I wonder whether being assaulted in that park all those years ago was meant to be, because being involved in theatre has enabled me to do so much that sport couldn’t.

For instance, at the core of my work as a producer and an artist, I have been helping young people from low-income backgrounds to access the arts – whether through creating work experience opportunities, mentoring, or producing the work of artists whose voices are underrepresented.

Not only that, but the sport has found its way back to me. I’m currently touring a stage adaptation of my debut children’s book, Alfie’s First Fight. The story revolves around a child boxer being raised by his dad, who fights for his family and triumphs against all the odds. It’s amazing to think that I can provide children with inspiring stories that draw on my own experiences.

Sometimes life throws you a curveball. Your dreams can disappear. Your ambitions can slip through your fingers. But I’ve learned that it’s how we respond that counts. In the face of adversity, you must never give up – you must forge new paths, dream new dreams and find what makes you happy.

Oliver Sykes’ production of Alfie’s First Fight is touring nationally until October