For boxing fans, this is one that's been a while in coming.
Andy Lee was scheduled to defend his WBO Middleweight Championship crown against Billy Joe Saunders in a monstrous showdown in Limerick in August, only for injury to scupper their plans. Another injury saw the rescheduled bout postponed, but this time it's all systems go; tomorrow, the pair go toe-to-toe in Manchester with the belt on the line.
Before that, though, it was time for Andy to face an equally daunting challenge; to sit across the table from our resident boxing nut, Colm O'Regan. On the agenda? Winning a world title, the crushing weight of defeat, Conor McGregor, sex, health risks and more...

Colm O'Regan: So… what’s it like getting punched in the face for your job, then?
Andy Lee: You know what, you get kind of conditioned to it! It’s not a nice thing to say, but you really don’t feel it. You’re in there, in the mix, you’re throwing, he’s throwing… It’s a weird thing, because you know that it hurts, but you genuinely don’t feel it when there’s so much adrenaline flowing. It might be a punch that could knock out a man on the street, but because you’re training every day, you’re used to taking those punches…gosh, this really doesn’t sound great. Look, the aim of the game is to not get hit!
When you emerged on the scene, that was your M.O.; a rangy southpaw boxing at distance. You’re now a down-in-the-trenches banger. What changed?
Adam Booth, basically. His coaching style puts an emphasis on sitting a lot lower, almost squatting down, and bringing the power from your legs and your hips.
How is it working with him?
He’s got a lot of experience in these kind of fights – major events – and he has a lot of knowledge. He’s very intelligent, very switched on. He doesn’t do things by the book, simply following what’s always been done, but finds things that make sense to him. He used to lecture in physiology, so he knows the human body, and he knows boxing. To me, he’s one of the best coaches in the world, but he hasn’t worked with that many different boxers. That’s probably one of the keys to his success, but also the reason why he’s not more recognised.
Let’s talk about Billy Joe…
He’s a good fighter. He’s undefeated, and he’s coming with serious intentions to win, so we’ll have to deal with him.
Another southpaw, too.
I don’t mind that. There’s an array of punches that you can throw against a southpaw that wouldn’t work against an orthodox fighter. If I’m honest, I think it’s easier fighting another southpaw. You’re looking at him in front of you, and it’s almost like you’re looking at yourself; it can be easier to identify threats.
It’s a unique fight, too – the first ever title fight between a pair of travellers. Is that important for a community that battles negative portrayal so much?
I don’t really talk about it much. I’ve never hidden it, but it’s not how I identify myself. I’m a boxer, and that’s me. I’m not one to champion any causes. But I always try to represent myself and my community well, and be a positive role model for younger people of all walks of life.
How does the tag of role model sit with you?
You don’t ask for it, but it’s fine. Everyone needs role models, and I don’t mind the responsibility; it’s not a big deal, because it’s easy to be nice. But then I’m very fortunate that people see me when I fight, but outside of the ring I’m not in the papers every day, I don’t live my life in the spotlight. There’s not too much interest in me outside the ring.
There’s another Irish fighter living his life under the microscope right now. What do you make of Conor McGregor?
I like him, I think he’s great. He’s done brilliantly, where he’s created this whole thing around him. Look at what’s gone on in this country; everyone is talking about UFC, everyone knows about it, and it’s purely because of what he’s done.
You’re not tempted to take a leaf out of his book, as far as self-promotion is concerned?
No, because I’m not like that. I think it has to be natural, and it has to be organic. I don’t really know Conor, but I think his personality would be like that anyway, no matter what he was doing. If I tried to do it, it would not only come across as conceited, but also contrived.
What do you make of MMA in general?
MMA is the new thing that’s come along, and people are getting into it – here, mainly because of Conor McGregor – but it’s a fad. It panders to this audience that demand instant gratification. It’s a five second YouTube clip, or a six-second Vine. You don’t have to invest in it; you can watch two guys just get in there, get into it, and see an immediate payoff. And that’s fine. But boxing has a history that can’t be replaced, and there’s an artistry to boxing. That’s what separates the two.
So bring us back to when you won your title, fighting Matt Korobov. Five rounds done, how do you think it’s going?
Well I know I’m behind, but I also know that I’m gaining on him with every round. The first round I lost; the second round I thought I might have got but the judges were always going to favour him. That’s how boxing works; everything is geared for him to win. Everything is in his favour. They had me losing every round, but I could see the look in his eye, and he didn’t want to engage with me anymore. I hurt him in the third with a left hand that really rocked him, and from then on I knew I had him. It was only a matter of time. Then we exchanged in the sixth, and I caught him.

We’ve discussed what getting punched feels like; what’s it like to land a knockout shot?
It’s the weirdest thing, because you just know. If you watch that knockout again, you’ll see me hit him, disappear out of the frame, and then come back in to finish him. It’s been the same in other fights too, such as the John Jackson fight, and it’s this: when you land that punch that knocks someone out, you know it even before they’ve gone. Before they’re anywhere near the ground, you just know. So when I hit Korobov, I was walking away to celebrate. He hadn’t even gone down! It’s almost a subconscious thing.
Coming back from falling behind early on – it’s basically the opposite of the Chavez Jr. fight (when Andy lost his first title bout).
That’s the bit that’s changed in my conditioning and my athleticism. In the past, I would have started fast and slowed down in the latter stages of the fight, and that’s what happened with Chavez. He was too heavy, and the ring was too small to move away. When you’re going into those situations, they do everything they can to demoralise you, and let you know you’re there to be beaten. All the little tricks are pulled out. I don’t get too deep into it; it’s in the past, and I’ve learned from it.
You were mature at that point – your first defeat must have been different…
At the time, the loss to [Brian] Vera was soul destroying. It really set me back. I had to build myself back up. You just have to trust yourself, and believe, and persevere. 
The fight that I had coming back from the Vera fight was even harder, certainly on paper. But I knew I’d overlooked Vera – I was a young guy, very cocky, and I thought that all I had to do was hit him with a couple of punches and that was it. That’s all my other fights had gone up until that point. Fair play, he’s a tough man, and he’s proven it since; he’s had some great fights.
Part of the reason you were a little green was an aborted amateur career. Was going pro when you did a tough decision?
Yeah, it was very hard. Even to leave home, and leave that familiarity behind, and guarantee of funding. They had put a package together where I could go to college and they’d pay for that; pay for a car; that sort of thing. All the little bonuses were there, and I could have stayed here and been a big fish in a small pond within amateur boxing. I had made a decision to stay amateur, and then things that they’d promised me weren’t coming through – the IABA and the Sports Council weren’t following through with some of the things I’d been promised. I remember being in a gym, thinking ‘ Do I want this for another four years?’ And then Emmanuel Stewart is still calling me, and it’s Emmanuel Stewart…
When did Manny first call you?
He called me on Christmas Day 2002. I thought it was a joke, some sort of wind up. Why would this guy be calling me? I’d beaten one of his guys in the World Junior Championships, and got in contact with me through a mutual friend. It was unbelievable – the best present I got that year, certainly!
How did you react?
I was buzzing! I told him at that point that I wanted to go to the Athens Olympics – at that point they were around 18 months away, and the qualifiers were just coming up – but that after that, I’d like to come over. I did all that, and we were in touch periodically throughout. I flew over to Detroit and spent time with him.
You ended up living in his house. What was he like?
He was just…boxing was in his blood. If you cut his hand, boxing would bleed out. It was instinctive. Not only that, but he was such a nice man, a gentleman.
When you live and breathe boxing - as he did, and as you now do - it must be hard to leave it behind when you walk in the door at home.
At takes time. When you’re training for a fight you – (slaps the table) – you have to be absorbed. As soon as you wake up, it’s all about yourself; how much did you sleep, how much did you eat yesterday, how much are you going to rest. You have to plan every step of your day, and yeah, you become completely self-obsessed. When you come out of that, after a fight, it takes a while to decompress; to unwind, let it go, and become a normal person again. A week after a fight, I might go out for a dinner with Maud; I’ll want to eat it quickly, pay immediately, and leave. I’ll almost be antsy. It does take time.
It must take an understanding missus as well.
Haha, yeah! We’ve been married since 2013, and Maud gets it.
What do you like to do to switch off?
I have a few drinks with the lads – Guinness would be my tipple. I have a good bunch of friends here in Dublin, and we’ll have our weekly Thursday night poker sessions. I mean, that’s it; you do very normal things that you haven’t done while in camp. I like to go to gigs and to the theatre with my wife.
I have to ask; sex before a fight?
You know, I don’t actually know if it really makes a difference or not. But I abstain anyway, just because I don’t want to have any doubts! A few weeks cut-off, usually. But I’m normally away for training camps anyway – I don’t see my wife until the day of, and then after, the fight itself.
Do you have an exit strategy to leave the sport?
I’m only going to have another few fights. I want to get out while I’m still young, and hopefully on top. If no-one beats me, then I might have another two or three fights, but that’s it; by this time next year, I could be winding down.
But that’s ‘if nobody beats you’…
That’s the pitfall all fighters face, and that all champions face. There’s so much money to be made from having one more fight. If you’ve had 30-odd, 40-odd fights, then what’s one more? Why not do it, and make another x amount. I’ve told myself I won’t. It would be nice to walk away and leave without having someone take my title, and without hanging around too long. Leave ‘em wanting more.
How conscious are you of the health implications?
It’s always there in the back of your mind, but… it’s like, it’s the elephant in the room. Nobody talks about it. About once a year, you might hear about a fighter getting badly hurt. It’s a risk, it’s dangerous; it’s always there. But look, everything is dangerous in a sense. If you want to be philosophical, walking down the street is dangerous!
True, but even in the last few years, if you look at the studies on American Football players…
…and the rugby, with concussions… (Sighs heavily) Look, it is what it is. I dunno. Somethings going to kill you! Why not fight?! For me, it’s worth it.
OK – tell me how it’s going to go against Billy Joe.
I think it will be a competitive fight for the first half, but later on I’ll begin to take over, and hopefully finish him inside the last three rounds. He’s a genuine contender, and a genuine challenge, so I’ll have to take him seriously.