ALMOST 20 years ago, a colleague and I took shelter underneath a boxing ring in a Glasgow hotel, covered in broken glass from the riot escalating around us and filled with the unspoken dread that an already-nightmarish evening had much worse in store.

On all sides, we were surrounded by drunken thugs hitting each other with chairs, tables, tumblers, bottles, and anything else that came to hand. Above our heads, a brave little bantamweight called Jim Murray was fighting for his life on the canvas.

He had collapsed near the end of the 12th and final round of a bruising contest with Drew Docherty for the British championship and it became clear, in an instant, that something was seriously wrong. Murray, it turned out, had a blood clot on the brain.

Paramedics were unable to get to him straight away as a result of the mayhem. Their supply of oxygen had also gone missing. Murray, just 25, was declared clinically dead in the city's Southern General Hospital 24 hours later.

In the years since, many present that awful night have wondered whether things would have been different had Murray been given more immediate treatment. The temptation to point the finger at all manner of individuals - not to mention boxing, itself - was overwhelming.

Yet, on reflection, the one thing from that whole, dreadful episode that shines through is the way Murray's parents, Kenny and Margaret, reacted to the loss of their son. Mr Murray made a point of blaming no-one. He made it clear Docherty, a fine and humble man, would always be welcome in his home in Newmains, Lanarkshire, and helped him make the decision to continue with his career.

The Murrays would not entertain the idea of boxing being banned. The sport, for all its dangers, had made their boy the man he was; a man to be proud of. The family of Philip Hughes find themselves in a similar situation following the death of the Australian test cricketer, struck on the neck by a ball whilst at the wicket on Tuesday. Already, the debate on the issue of improved safety measures in sport is raging.

Part of the appeal of sport at any level, though, is pushing the body beyond its means, testing whether the opponent will break physically or psychologically before you do. The element of risk - danger, even - is part of the buzz and a cornerstone of building character.

Cricket, as his family has testified, was the centre of Hughes's world. Sport's simple ability to change, improve and, sometimes, even save lives is proven fact.

Some activities are, clearly, more dangerous than others but the benefits will always outweigh the negatives even if your little angel decides they fancy taking up rockclimbing in Glencoe or bullfighting in Andalucia.

It is hard to accept in a risk-averse society, but sport, by its very nature, brings with it the possibility of injury. No helmet or headguard can eliminate that.

Our existence, as a whole, is unpredictable and fragile. Wrapping people up in cotton wool, though, merely reduces their opportunities to experience its rawness and its beauty.