Andy Straughn

Andrew McDonald “Andy” Straughn was a British cruiserweight who arrived from a high-class amateur background and became a two-time holder of the British cruiserweight title during the division’s formative years. Born in Barbados on 25 December 1959 and later based in Hitchin, Hertfordshire, he stood around 6ft 1in, boxed orthodox, and carried the shape of a light heavyweight who had grown into the professional weight rather than a natural bruiser who had always lived there. His best work had an amateur’s cleanliness to it, a busy jab, straight punches thrown without waste, and the habit of winning rounds by doing the basics properly while the other man tried to force something dramatic. That steadiness was forged long before he earned a purse. As an amateur, he boxed out of Hitchin Youth ABC, won three consecutive national ABA light heavyweight titles from 1979 to 1981, and represented Great Britain at the 1980 Moscow Olympics, where he was stopped by the referee in his opening bout against the Soviet boxer David Kvachadze. Those details matter because they explain the professional Straughn, a boxer who understood the tempo of long fights, who did not lose his head when a bout got tight, and who was prepared to travel for the right opportunity.

He turned professional on 7 June 1982 and began on small bills in London and the Midlands, learning the trade against seasoned men who were not there to make it easy. His debut was at the Bloomsbury Centre, where he outpointed Joe Jackson over six, and within the same month, he was back out again, winning another six-rounder against Winston Burnett at Hornsey Town Hall. That pattern, frequent outings and steady rounds, ran through his first year. He won in Marylebone, in Coventry, at the National Sporting Club in Piccadilly, and in Stevenage, taking points wins and picking up the sort of professional habits an amateur champion still has to learn, how to judge a round when the crowd is noisy, how to stay composed when a man tries to spoil, how to look after yourself in the late minutes when the legs begin to feel heavy. A draw with Ian Lazarus in Coventry in June 1983 was the first hint that he would not simply walk through the paid game on pedigree alone, but he responded as you would expect of a three-time ABA champion, by tightening up and going back to winning. By the end of 1983, he had established a solid base at cruiserweight and, more importantly, had done so without fuss, which is often how British titles are won: by being reliable, fit, and hard to outwork.

The first real change of scenery came in 1984, when Straughn travelled to the United States and quickly found that America did not grant favours to visiting boxers. In Detroit, he suffered his first professional defeats, losing on points to Arthel Lawhorn and then to Tim Bullock, both fights staged at the Cobo Arena. Those were not romantic defeats; they were practical lessons. A British cruiserweight used to controlling the pace in small halls suddenly has to deal with opponents who are physically strong, confident in the clinch, and not inclined to give away rounds just because the visitor looks tidy. Straughn came home and did what good professionals do after their first losses: he rebuilt without pretending the defeats never happened. Between late 1984 and 1986, he put together a strong domestic run, beating John Joseph in Gateshead, Tom Collins in Halifax, Roosevelt Green in Shoreditch, and picking up further wins in London, Huddersfield, and Edmonton. The results were not all flashy, but the consistency mattered, because by then, cruiserweight in Britain was starting to develop a proper domestic ladder, and the men who got title fights were the men who kept winning when nobody was applauding.

His first British title opportunity came in October 1986 when the belt, vacated by Sammy Reeson, was there for the taking. Straughn met Tee Jay at the Stevenage Leisure Centre and won on points to become British cruiserweight champion. It was a significant win, not merely because of the belt, but because Tee Jay was a serious operator with top-level amateur credentials, and a man who could box as well as fight. Straughn’s performance suggested a champion who could control a twelve-round contest, keep his shape, and do enough clean work to satisfy officials even when the exchanges were tight. His reign, however, was short, and the British cruiserweight title in those years rarely stayed put for long. In February 1987, he made his first defence against Roy Smith at Alfreton and lost on points, the belt gone almost as quickly as it had arrived. That could have been the moment he drifted into the category of “former champion” who lives on the memory of one good night. Instead, he stayed in the centre of the domestic argument. In March 1987, he fought Glenn McCrory in an eliminator and was stopped in the tenth round with a cut eye, a grim ending against a man who was already beginning to look like the division’s standard bearer. It is the sort of stoppage that tells you a fight has been hard and competitive for a long time before the damage finally forces a decision, and it also placed Straughn in the uncomfortable but respectable position of being close to the best without quite being the man who stays there.

When McCrory vacated the British title later in 1988, Straughn found himself back where British boxing often places its most reliable professionals, in a rematch for a vacant belt, again against Tee Jay. This time it was staged at the Rivermead Leisure Centre in Reading in November 1988, and again Straughn got the decision, becoming a two-time British cruiserweight champion. Two title wins over the same opponent are not an accident; they are a pattern, and they speak to Straughn’s ability to keep fights under control, to bank rounds, and to deny a rival the sort of clear moments that swing a close contest. Yet his second reign followed the same harsh rhythm as the first. In May 1989, he defended against Johnny Nelson at the Supertent in Finsbury Park and was stopped in the eighth round. Nelson was the kind of challenger who would not let a champion coast. He was physically strong, stubborn, and prepared to take risks late, and Straughn, for all his competence, could be made vulnerable once the pace lifted and the exchanges became more forceful. The defeat did not erase the achievement of becoming a two-time British champion, but it did underline how exacting the domestic level had become, even in a division that was still building its identity. Britain’s best cruiserweights by then were not merely men who could box; they were men who could sustain pressure, handle bad spells, and finish strong.

Straughn’s last professional fight came in March 1990, and it was a reminder that he never quite stopped reaching for the next step. He challenged Derek Angol for the Commonwealth cruiserweight title at the Royal Albert Hall and was stopped in the eighth round. It was a tough ending in a prestigious venue, and it closed a professional record of 27 bouts, 18 wins, 7 losses and 2 draws, with 10 wins by knockout. The numbers make him look like something he was not, a man who simply alternated wins and losses without direction. In truth, his career was shaped by the kind of matchmaking that sorts out a division. He was trusted with title fights, he was matched with the men who mattered, and when he won the British belt, he did it twice, not in soft circumstances but against an opponent with genuine quality. His peak years were the mid to late 1980s, when British cruiserweight boxing was finding its champions and measuring them against each other with very little padding in between. Straughn’s reputation in that mix was as a fit, educated, orthodox cruiserweight who could box to a plan, take a punch, and win tight fights on points when the other man expected his title challenge to be settled by one burst of aggression. Retirement, in his case, leaves a clear legacy rather than a misty one. He did not become a long-reigning champion, but he was one of the men who made the British cruiserweight title a real domestic prize.