ESPN Boxing

LAS VEGAS -- There were times during the week when Ricky Hatton could have been forgiven for being overwhelmed by the echoes of a tumultuous recent past.

There was, of course, the casino itself, an arena in which he had fought just one time previously, a ring in which he had suffered the only defeat of his professional career 11 months ago at the fists of Floyd Mayweather Jr.

There was the melancholy sight of his erstwhile trainer, Billy Graham, whom Hatton had dismissed after the Mayweather defeat and a tougher-than-expected comeback bout against Juan Lazcano, occupying a corner of the lobby bar day after day, a jilted partner struggling to come to terms with the end of a long relationship.

No wonder, then, that even Hatton had begun to wonder if the good times were behind him.

"Doubts started to creep into my mind," Hatton conceded after his comprehensive victory over Paulie Malignaggi had surely dispelled any such doubts completely. "'Have I had too many fights? Have I had too many wars?'"

For others, there were doubts of a different kind, doubts motivated less by the past than by a vision of the future that presaged uncertain and troubled times.

Perhaps to some extent it was Hatton's fault. Perhaps the 30,000 fans that had flooded Sin City for the Mayweather battle had set the bar so high that anything less would seem a disappointment. But the lack of atmosphere was palpable and worrying.

"It isn't just boxing," said Richard Schaefer of Golden Boy Promotions, when asked whether the failure to sell out the arena, following recent disappointing returns on significant pay-per-view bouts, was an ominous sign for the sport. "You walk through the casino and it's empty."

It was, indeed, difficult to remember when Las Vegas had been so quiet, fight week or no fight week. And if it was like this now, when boxing's most ardent fan base was supposed to be in town, what would that mean for the future?

At least one person wasn't too concerned.

"We've had lots of texts from people who say they're coming in tomorrow," said Ray Hatton, as a crowd gathered to watch his son weigh in Friday. "We're expecting 8,000 Brits on Saturday, which is incredible, really, at times like this."

It seemed optimistic. Even as his other son, Matthew, pounded out a points victory over Ben Tackie one hour before the television broadcast was to go live, there was but a smattering of fans in an arena that had already been configured to three-quarters capacity in anticipation of relatively soft ticket sales. The thought occurred that the good times had ceased to roll, that maybe we were witnessing the dawn of a new, more austere era.

But once James Kirkland stopped a game Brian Vera in the final supporting bout of the evening, it was if a signal were suddenly sent out to the British diaspora. The fans poured in, the seats filled up, the volume increased and the crowd roared in appreciation as their hero emerged to the accompaniment of Manchester music artists Liam and Noel Gallagher.

Then the bell rang, and after a cagey and close opening round, in the second Hatton landed a booming right hand to the jaw that had Paulie Malignaggi clinging on for dear life. And although Malignaggi had moments in the early rounds when it looked as if his fast hands and feet might cause the Briton some problems, Hatton progressively overwhelmed him with the kind of controlled aggression that had once been his hallmark but which, in so many recent fights, had devolved into an unsubtle, face-first technique of punching and grabbing.

It was vintage Hatton, the sort that had rarely been seen since that epic evening in Manchester when he had bullied Kostya Tszyu into surrender and retirement. When Buddy McGirt signaled to referee Kenny Bayless that Team Malignaggi had seen enough, the crowd exulted at a memorable victory and the promise that further great nights might be ahead, after all.

"I think I beat one of the nice fellows of the sport," Hatton said, "and wherever Paulie Malignaggi goes from here, I wish him all the best in his career."

Malignaggi, his face battered and his ego bruised, reciprocated the good will, fishing into his bag to present Hatton with something he had found while training in the Poconos and had instantly made him think of his future opponent -- several bottles of Blue Moon beer.

It was a classy end to an evening that had exceeded anxious expectations. The future remains uncertain, and economic clouds hover darkly over the horizon. Should they darken further, it might not be possible next time to attract even the 9,053 customers who occupied the MGM Grand Garden Arena on this occasion.

But at least for one night, it was possible to push those doubts to one side. The Ricky Hatton of the past had returned, and in doing so he had provided a reason to feel optimistic about his sport, after all.

Kieran Mulvaney covers boxing for ESPN.com and Reuters.