THESE days Johnny Owen would never have been allowed in a ring. He had a thin skull, which would have been picked up by his MRI scan.

It is his legacy to boxing that his death in Los Angeles in 1980 helped to introduce the more stringent rules that exist for the protection of boxers today.

Johnny was known as “The Matchstick Man” and his freakishly thin frame and skeletal appearance are constantly referred to in Rick Broadbent’s fine book The Big If – The Life And Death Of Johnny Owen.

Yet it belied a true fighting heart honed within a tough but loving family in the mining town of Merthyr Tydfil, Wales. After 27 professional fights he had annexed the British, Commonwealth and European bantamweight titles. Then he challenged for the WBC crown against dangerous Mexican Lupe Pintor in the Olympic Auditorium, Los Angeles in September 1980. It was a tough ask and ended in disaster. Owen went into an early lead by pressing the far shorter champion and throwing punches in volume. But Pintor fought back and knocked him down in the 10th round. The Mexican was cut over both eyes while Owen had a badly lacerated mouth.

By the 12th (of a 15-rounder) the Welshman was struggling and floored again. On rising he tried to fight back but a right hand demolished him. He dropped to the canvas as if shot by some distant sniper and lapsed into a coma. He died in hospital almost seven weeks later.

Broadbent’s book is superb. He uses the tragic fight as a backbone to the narrative, juxtaposing the parallel lives of Owen and Pintor as they grow up on opposite sides of the world.

Owen’s childhood was hard but caring while Pintor was beaten by his father and lived rough on the streets of Mexico City. As the rounds tick by (the author cleverly uses a different print font for the description of the actual contest) he builds up a beguiling picture of both men and their differing families. Broadbent is a masterful writer and the text is rich with insight and description. Take his pen portrait of Pintor’s trainer Arturo “Cuyo” Hernandez: “Hernandez was a hard-boiled figure with a nest of lush greying hair. His yellow eyes, flecked with lines of blood, were clouded with experience and stared out from the depths of chiselled crevices. But beneath the ossified features was a warmth that sucked in his boys.”

It is a heartbreaking story. Broadbent completely captures the anguish of the family, especially Johnny’s father Dick, who never recovered from his son’s death. The last few chapters of the book are hard to read; it is a moving experience as Broadbent follows both boxers to the conclusion of their careers.

Owen’s ended in a Los Angeles hospital while Pintor fought on, engaging in one of the greatest contests I have seen (on film), against the outstanding Wilfredo Gomez. He became a two-weight champion, winning the WBC super-bantam title five years later. Inevitably, he stayed too long and in 1995, aged 40, was humiliatingly knocked out by journeyman Russell Mosley.

Eventually a fund raised enough money for a statue of Owen to be erected in Merthyr. Dick Owen invited Pintor to unveil the statue and went to meet him in Los Angeles. It was their first encounter since the tragic fight and was captured in a BBC documentary. Pintor agreed to come to Merthyr for the ceremony and finally met the Owen family. It was some sort of conclusion for them all. I saw Owen fight live three times and can attest to his ability. I spoke to him at the weigh-in for his penultimate contest against John Feeney in June 1980. He was as quiet and reserved as the book says, smiling shyly and answering questions monosyllabically. He dominated Feeney, a good fighter, for 15 rounds later that night, showing amazing stamina and grit despite his ghostly appearance. Dick Owen died in 2005. He would have been immensely proud of this book. Broadbent has written a story that really does transcend boxing, showing that ‘the hardest game’ can be an uplifting experience despite terrible tragedy. Highly recommended. Published by Macmillan. Price £16.99