PAT Clinton’s fight against Isidro Perez was the first world-title contest I had been in on from the start. I was at the Evening Times in 1992, and the incomparable John Quinn was the boxing man. But, having done quite a bit of boxing as a freelance journalist before pitching up in Albion Street, I was nominated as John’s "boy" (although I always thought deputy was a far nicer title) because even he was going to need a hand on this one because Glasgow just went boxing and Clinton mad.

The small-print on the poster is a guide to where the soon-to-be-scarce tickets were to be had; not just from the Kelvin Hall, but from the St Andrew’s Sporting Club at the Forte Crest Hotel (although even now most call it The Albany, even if it has long gone), and from both Rangers and Celtic shops across the city.

Everyone wanted a Scottish world champion and were more than willing to play their part. Tickets were priced from £15 up to £100 – big money today, never mind then. But it was going to be worth it, being in attendance at a night we hadn’t witnessed since the halcyon days of Jim Watt.

From when the fight was first announced, there was a real expectation that Pat, and the show at the Kelvin Hall, was going to be a big deal.

While the majority of Pat’s work took place out at Croy, there were other visits to different gyms. He was in training for weeks, but the Times and The Herald, through Jim Reynolds, kept across everything.

Once Perez pitched up, everything went into overdrive. The WBO’s top man Ed Levine was only too pleased to talk up this fight, his expectation being that a Clinton win would see more such spectaculars in Scotland as his fledgling organisation looked to spread their reach.

By the time the fight night arrived that Wednesday, there was as much anxiety amongst the journalistic fraternity as there was within the seasoned boxing professionals.

When the main event was hailed, the atmosphere within the Kelvin Hall was electric; the noise ear-splitting. There were ashen faces in the press seats and, when Clinton took to the ring, my abiding memory was how small – a man carrying the hopes of a nation – actually looked.

But it was a big night for the wee man – and Scotland. The packed arena celebrated Clinton’s win, with folk dancing and hugging – and that was just amongst the press corps. Professionalism, tact, decorum? To hell with that. We hadn’t thrown a punch but we had won a world title. I think a party ensued . . .

It was the first of three world title fights Pat had in Glasgow, the last seeing him sharing top billing with Chris Eubank. That’s how big boxing – and Pat Clinton – was then.