She stands alone in the middle of the ring, her duty all ended. Her face is creased and wet and flushed, the stresses and strains of a boxing life written on every inch of it. Kellie Harrington, double Olympic champion. Nothing left to win.
The music blares and she falls to her knees. She puts her face down on the canvas, internalising the moment for herself. All the good and all the bad of Kellie Harrington’s life course through her for a few stolen seconds while the crowd drinks it all in. Then she gets up and she dances.
She dances alone, too. She bounces around the ring like the girl she was when it all started. She lets the music carry her around, oblivious to the spinning world around her. Eventually, she is joined by her coach Zaur Antia, who grabs her in an embrace and dances his own jig. Then she falls to her knees again. Herself, alone.
Kellie Harrington stands alone, in every sense. Ireland sent 10 boxers to Paris and when the final tot-up is done, the record books will show they won five fights from 14. Harrington won four of them. She was the only fighter to make the second week. She was the only one to win more than once. When Irish boxing does its review in the coming months and weeks, Harrington’s Olympics will be the outlier. Her own thing, her own way.
She stands alone. She came out of the tunnel in a strut, her shoulders rolling inside her blue singlet, the Irish crowd bouncing along to Zombie by The Cranberries and calling her to them. She took the ring and met her Chinese opponent in the middle. Her, alone. Ready to finish it.
Within 20 seconds of the opening bell, chants of ‘Kellie! Kellie! Kellie!’ rang around the stands. She got in, she got out. She found her range and kept driving Yang, moving her around and making her miss. The first round ended with her 4-1 ahead. Cruising.
She stands alone. Irish boxers have fought at the Olympics for exactly 100 years. Since the first Irish team was sent to the 1924 Games in this city, 116 different fighters have qualified to represent Ireland in the ring. Of those, only 19 have fought at more than one Olympics. Of those, only eight have posted at least one win at multiple Games. Of those, only Harrington has won a medal at two different Olympics. And both of them are gold.
This wasn’t like the final in Tokyo. Three years ago, Harrington trailed after the opening round and somehow turned it around. Here, she took her lead and never looked back. Yang knew she’d have to find something special in the second round to stay alive. Harrington was in no mood to let her.
She stands alone. She has spoken all week about how her routine in Paris has been one of solitude and quiet. She has been eating alone, keeping herself to herself, letting the biggest, maddest show on the planet swirl around her as if it was happening in some other place at some other time.
This has been her fortnight, her competition, her fight. She dug herself a tunnel for one and followed it all the way to this place, this night, so that she could stand alone at the end of it as the greatest Olympic boxer Ireland has ever known. With the Court Philippe Chatrier shimmering green, with Tricolours and jerseys and familiar accents calling her home. Alone, among her people.
By the end of the second round, everybody knew. Three judges had her in a 20-18 lead by now and barring a knock-out, there was going to be nothing Yang could do to change things. All Harrington had to do was stay upright and she would stand alone, definitively and for all time.
She lost the final round but it didn’t matter. She won on a split decision and all anyone saw was the referee raise the hand of the blue corner. It has been a long road and a bumpy ride, but she got there.
Look at her now, standing alone in the middle of the ring, her arms aloft, her gold medals unanswerable and untouchable. Kellie Harrington, the greatest Irish Olympic boxer there has ever been.
A hero.
