Hatton fans pour on the British

Rob Miech, Las Vegas Sun

Tuesday, June 26, 2007 | 7:08 a.m.

Peter Mott kisses his wife, and 3- and 1 1/2-year-old kids, on the doorstep of his home on 30 Longlands, in Worthing, Sussex, at 3:30 a.m. last Thursday, then strolls down his driveway.

Just when he thinks his role in the British Invasion of Las Vegas has begun, to take advantage of a stellar exchange rate and see Manchester native Ricky Hatton fight, a freelance HBO camera crew asks him to do it again.

And again. And again.

Five times, Mott, 42, is asked to act. The kids love it. When he finally departs for good, they yell, "Again?"

At Gatwick Airport, he joins 15 friends for a Virgin Atlantic Airways jaunt across the pond. HBO plans to focus on Mott, Richard Moores and Ian Hart for the weekend, even wakes them up on the flight for a few words.

When their body clocks hit 24 hours, at the Crown & Anchor pub on Tropicana, word spreads among the Brits that the freelance director had not picked up a $315 tab, as promised, at Hooters.

With the dispute settled 17 hours later and the cameras back on, they're among a throng of a thousand or so of their countrymen in Ballrooms I and II at Caesars for a spirited weigh-in.

A six-piece brass band repeatedly plays "Blue Moon," the official song of the Manchester City football team, Hatton's favorite club.

It then belts out a custom version of "Winter Wonderland," to the lyrics "One Rick-y Hat-ton! There's only one Rick-y Hat-ton!" and a rousing rendition of "God Save the Queen."

A tan woman frolics about wearing only a tiny orange bikini, a few tattoos, a pair of cowboy boots and a wide grin.

Then Bernie Clifton hops by in an ostrich suit, with a St. George Cross flag draped over his back.

When Mott and his pals were very young, Clifton hosted a kids' television show on the BBC in England called "Crackerjack."

"On Fridays, at 5 to 5," Mott says. "Bernie Clifton! And 'e's in a (bleepin') ostrich! He hasn't improved!"

Blue moon rising

The Thomas & Mack Center should have been renamed the Thomas Cook & Mack Center on Saturday, since the travel agency sponsors the light-blue Manchester City jersey.

Those are everywhere, as 10,000 to 15,000 Brits are rumored to have descended on Las Vegas to watch Hatton battle Jose Luis Castillo.

Hatton has "Blue Moon" played over the Mack loudspeakers as his entourage walks into the ring.

Manchester United striker Wayne Rooney, one of the best soccer players in the world and a Hatton confidant, carries Hatton's International Boxing Federation junior lightweight title belt into the ring.

That paradox would usually perplex most of the 13,000 in the arena who appear , and sound , as if they hail from England.

Last week, the Daily Mail called it "English football's dismal tribalism." It disappoints Hatton that some fans who had tickets wouldn't come to the fight because of Rooney's role.

Man City vs. Man U.

"If you're coming over here as a Ricky Hatton fan," Hatton responds on a Web site, "you shouldn't give a (bleep) who's carrying the belt in."

Mott has missed only two of England's major international soccer matches during the past 15 years.

"It's a weird thing. Ricky's for Man City, and Rooney plays for Man U. But it's England, so it doesn't matter," Mott says. "All of England support Ricky. We don't have many who are that good at individual sports."

The crowd bellows "Roo-ney! Roo-ney!" as the footballer holds Hatton's belt high.

Hatton's father Ray, who is in the carpet business, says Ricky and Rooney get along so well because the stars are humble.

"Actually, quite shy," Ray Hatton says. "These are just normal kids. They come from normal, working-class backgrounds. Fortunately, with good luck and talent, they're both at the top of the tree.

"But, really, they stay the same. They're down-to-earth people. Ricky and Wayne are from that mold."

After his news conference Thursday at Wynn, where Rooney is holed up in a private bungalow, Hatton serenades the media.

"Blue moon," he lightly croons, "you saw me standing a-lone."

Of the entire Hatton clan, only Ricky's brother Matt, who won his undercard bout Saturday, is a fan of Manchester United.

"I've a bit more sense than Ricky," Matt says. The brothers get along "famously," he says, until derby day, when Man U and Man City play twice a season.

Ray winces a bit when Ricky sings.

"Well, I would say stick to boxing," Ray says. "Frank Sinatra or Tom Jones, he isn't."

According to Ray, Ricky and Rooney occasionally dine together, with their girlfriends, and partake in karaoke sessions.

"I love it, but I'm terrible," Ricky Hatton says. "Absolutely (expletive). But I think everybody is scared to take the mike from me, and they're scared of booing."

Ripped

At the news conference, someone cautiously asks Hatton whether there is any possibility that he will take Castillo lightly.

Hatton stares daggers at the bloke.

"Not a (bleepin') chance," he says.

Twenty-two seconds into the fight, the vast majority of the crowd roars, after Hatton tags Castillo with a combination, and breaks into another "One Rick-y Hat-ton!" chorus.

"I've never seen Ricky so ripped for a fight," Patrick Littlejohn of Scotland says.

Hatton follows through on his promise, landing a powerful left hook in Castillo's right side that sends him gasping for air on one knee in the fourth round. Game over.

The six-piece band, which had entertained thousands of its countrymen for a couple of hours halfway up the arena, breaks into "Winter Wonderland," "God Save the Queen," "Rule Brittania," "Winter Wonderland" again and, on exit, "Blue Moon."

A man with a red rose in the pocket of his pink blazer, and wearing red suede shoes, and thousands of his fellow Brits, who donned a wide variety of English national and club soccer jerseys, depart with glee.

Rooney and Hatton planned to "have a drink together" Sunday. "And in large numbers," says Hatton, who leaves Las Vegas on Thursday.

Mott believes Hatton (43-0) should be leery of moving up in weight too quickly to fight Floyd Mayweather Jr., even though that would no doubt reap millions of quid for Hatton.

As for where Hatton's next fight might be staged, Las Vegas has become his second home.

As the two Mott children say, "Again!" Las Vegas should batten down its hatches for a larger invasion.

Ray Hatton, the proud father of two boxers, marvels about the city.

"I'm afraid, really," he says, "if you don't like Vegas, then you don't like life."