DAVID Price is doing the school run.
It’s a reality check he would have received whether he’d beaten Alexander Povetkin on March 31 or not. But in these quiet moments, as he sits in his car at three o’clock in the afternoon and anticipates the screams of excited children descending on exhausted parents, David Price thinks not of what’s for dinner that evening, or of what tales he might be told, but of a right cross and left hook that silenced a stadium crowd in Cardiff two weeks ago and took away all he was building towards.
He might glance in the mirror, recalling the damage Povetkin’s punches did to his eye, or he might, for the same reason, run his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Yet the emotion he feels when exploring this familiar terrain isn’t disappointment. It isn’t even pain. It’s something else altogether; something he hasn’t felt before.