Katie Taylor boxing debut: As a father to daughters and grandad to three girls, seeing a woman’s face bloodied turns my stomach

THERE is no point in me pussyfooting around.

I have always disliked women’s professional boxing and often found it distasteful.

No doubt militant feminists will now lump me alongside Donald Trump and accuse me of being a sexist and a misogynist.

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In 50-odd years as a boxing writer I have probably seen as much blood as a veteran A&E nurse without coming over faint.

You could not afford to be squeamish covering many of the most brutal battles of all time.

The clashes between Ali-Frazier in Manila, Hagler-Hearns and Benn-McClellan are just three examples of unadulterated savagery.

My first experience of watching women fighting was more than 20 years ago in America, when Don King featured Christy Martin on Mike Tyson’s undercards.

Martin, known as the Coalminer’s Daughter, could certainly fight like a man and punch almost as hard.

The problem was her opponents appeared far more suited to ballet than boxing. Seeing Martin unmercifully beating up those girls, usually ending with their faces smeared with blood, left me sick to my stomach and put me off for ever.

This ambivalence to women earning a living in the ring is probably because I have daughters and three granddaughters.

But also because I am the product of a generation when women were regarded as the weaker sex.

When I was growing up in East London we were taught to open doors for them and to help them carry their shopping home.

If any of us had the temerity to swear in front of a woman we were inviting a swift punch from irate husbands or boyfriends.

Women’s boxing has been with us for nearly two decades yet has never taken off in this country.

Only seven females are licensed by the British Boxing Board Of Control and most contests have been confined to the anonymity of the small halls.