Bruno and me | Sport | The Guardian The Observer Bruno and me Kevin Mitchell spent months with Frank Bruno as they worked on his powerful autobiography. Here he reveals how the fighter was changed by his struggles with mental illness - and how candid he was about the torments of his life Sunday 6 November 2005 07.13 EST First published on Sunday 6 November 2005 07.13 EST Share on Messenger Close Frank Bruno smiled and laughter filled the room. 'I'm all talk sometimes,' he said. 'Not always, Frank,' I said. 'Sometimes I can't get a word out of you.' What are you like, I thought. What is it like to be Frank Bruno. He smiled and laughed some more, his head dropping to his knees as that boom-box basso-profundo bounced off the walls. Frank loves to laugh. We were sitting in a quiet corner of a health farm in Hertfordshire on the most pleasant of late summer afternoons.

The sun leaked near-horizontally through the French doors, spilling across the fine old snooker table and over the rich carpet that snaked through the Edwardian pile owned by Frank's friend and host these past few months, Stephen Purdew. Tea cups tinkled in the drawing room next door and pink-faced women trying to wish their fat away padded through the hallways swathed in white towelling, on their way to the supple fingers of the waiting masseurs. We seemed a long way from trouble and pain. The smile slipped from Frank's face and he turned, professionally, towards the tape recorder again to get down the details of his life, from grim to hilarious. It was one of our final sessions. We had met first at his house in Stondon Massey, Essex, the previous Christmas and, in helping him with his autobiography, I came to know a good deal better a very public figure I had only ever known superficially. The Bruno other journalists and I used to know was a packaged commodity, a product of the boxing business. From 1982 until 1996, he had performed for us, quipping his way from the Albert Hall to the MGM Grand.

We recycled his jokes, he made his millions and we were all happy. Except, as the world would learn, Frank wasn't as happy as he or we thought. The pressures of the fight game are not dissimilar to those that actors experience. Boxers are often shy and insecure - like many actors - and they learn how to pretend in public. They have to conquer their own doubts before they can beat an opponent, or please an audience. And they have to banish all thoughts of inadequacy. Frank had to be kidded he was a world-beater. Those guiding him in the early days - his manager Terry Lawless and Mickey Duff, the promoter - told him to trust nobody outside the team. They knew best. They told him what to say, how to dress - and how to fight. He was a quick learner. Even in defeat, Frank continued to believe. And he improved. He grew more cynical, too. But only rarely did the mask slip. He became a consummate actor. Frank, by nature a loner, earned his living in the most exposed and unforgiving environment.

He had to shake off his fear and put his self-esteem on the line in a 20ft by 20ft harshly lit ring, watched by thousands of strangers. He did not just have to fight for his life and his living; the commercial imperatives of his business dictated that he had to be a gregarious and lovable ticket-seller; a character, a personality. After a while, this he did with alacrity and a certain charming gaucheness. So, that was the Bruno of the public imagination. From the outside looking in, his life seemed perfect. In 1995, at the fourth time of asking, he won the world heavyweight title. Loved for losing, he was now being rousingly cheered as a winner, the very acme of male triumph and physical perfection. He was the most cherished athlete in the country. He had money, an adoring wife who had known him when he had nothing and three adorable children. They lived in a mansion in the Essex countryside. And Frank was heavyweight champion of the world, joining a distinguished lineage that stretched back over a century and more.

This is what he had striven for since he left the building sites of south London as a teenager: respect. He hadn't been dreaming. He was on top of the world. In March 1996, however, Mike Tyson, in the second of their fights, reintroduced Bruno to the old doubts of his youth, blowing him away in three rounds. The title Frank had held for a mere six months was ripped from his grasp and, because he had damaged his right eye a third time, he was forced to retire. Now, he had nothing. No career. No title. No reason to get up in the morning. His self-esteem collapsed. The media were surprisingly kind to Frank in defeat, which confused him. He appreciated their charity, but soon tired of it. Privately, he knew it was over. After the second Tyson fight, his trainer and close friend, George Francis, retired too. As they sat in his hotel room in Las Vegas afterwards, George asked Frank what he was going to do now. 'Don't know, George,' he said. 'Go home and count the chandeliers.' But the house at Stondon Massey was no longer paradise.

He and Laura, his wife and by now his manager, argued. He became sullen and sharp. In 1998, he was persuaded to see a psychiatrist. They told him he was a manic depressive. This predisposed him to wild mood swings, not the image at all that he had cultivated so expertly during his career. Frank, who had been told what to do since he was sent away to reform school at 11, didn't want to listen. He stopped taking his medicine. 'I'm a man,' he would tell me years later. 'I thought I could handle it by myself. I know now I was wrong.' He stayed out late. He met new friends. His marriage collapsed. Francis committed suicide. Frank's behaviour went from odd to seriously disturbed. He is still not sure how much money he has given away to strangers over the past five years. He bought them cars. He bought their drugs. He snorted cocaine and smoked skunk. He had been a dope smoker since he was 12, but this was the heavy end of the jungle. He slept in the woods of his many acres. He was starting to lose his mind.

In September 2003, Frank was sectioned under the Mental Health Act for 28 days at the Pathways clinic in Goodmayes Hospital in Essex. What few people know is that he very nearly didn't come out. Halfway through his incarceration, he was given an ultimatum: co-operate with staff and show signs of responding to the treatment, or be sent to a medium-security unit, where his stay could have been a few months - or indefinite. Beyond that stage lay a greater terror: maximum security for life. Frank was stunned. 'I'll do whatever you want,' he told them. And he did. Slowly, painfully, he recovered. In the end, he stayed longer than his scheduled 28 days, allowed out over a further three-and-a-half weeks on a daily basis before his final release. The man in charge of pathways is Dr Stephen Pereira. Confidentiality precludes him from discussing Bruno's case, but he explained the nature of the illness - now termed bipolar disorder - and allowed me to visit the unit, to talk to patients and staff. It was a revelation.

Frank still doesn't realise how lucky he was to have landed up in such an accommodating place, staffed by understanding experts in the management and treatment of mental illness. It is a place of empowerment and encouragement; if a patient has any chance of recovery, it will be nurtured. Had Frank's local health authority in Brentwood not been able to get him into Pathways, he would have been sent to a considerably harsher establishment and might not have dragged himself back from hell. 'How is he now?' is the first question people ask. He's fine. But he hasn't escaped his illness and might never do so completely. Confronting that reality is tough for him. He takes lithium every day, and doesn't much like it. Sometimes he says he will be able to stop taking lithium in five years or so; sometimes he concedes he might be on it for a lot longer than that. He is genuinely terrified of being taken into care again. It's what helps him keep taking the tablets. He knows, too, he has to work out nearly every day - just as he did when he was a fighter - to expend his excess energy and stabilise his mood. Frank is rebuilding his life.

He is back in the Bruno business: the odd cruise answering questions for passengers, public appearances, media work, even the occasional training stint, one with Wayne Rooney's brother, who is a promising amateur fighter. It's not so much the nature of the work (that hasn't changed a lot, and he might yet return to pantomime) that may be his saviour, as Frank's willingness to take it up again after five years in the wilderness of late-night motorway hauls between DJ-ing gigs, long, mind-numbing sessions of drug-taking, wasted days and dawns with people who cared little for him. The focus of his life is the family he lost then found again. As his sister, Joan, says, Frank's quirky sense of humour has probably saved his sanity. Even when in the depth of depression at the psychiatric unit, he was kidding the other patients. God knows what they made of him. We've had a few laughs, too. One night, weary of the 'balanced diet' of the health farm, we slipped out to Frank's favourite Thai restaurant in nearby Berkhamsted.

He is not much of a drinker, but that night he wanted to cut loose - which, for him, meant three bottles of lager. On our way out, the very nice and shy waitress (obviously taken by Frank and his jokes) bowed in the traditional way, hands clasped. Frank bowed back, as did the manager behind the counter and two customers on their way in, as well as people at the other tables. Pretty soon all of us were bowing... and there was Frank, chuckling away at having created another little wave of harmless fun. This was characteristic: everywhere he goes, he stops and chats. Only if he is feeling tetchy (when he hasn't taken his lithium) does he struggle to be his polite self. Even to irritants. One customer at the health farm, a Middle Eastern businessman, interrupted our conversation when he figured Frank looked vaguely familiar. He wasn't even sure who Frank was - but he had heard of Tyson. So he demanded that Frank give him autographed photos and promise to go to Beirut to open his hotel. Frank nodded. And he probably went. For all his courage in confronting his illness, Frank Bruno is lonely.

He is not morose about this loneliness, but he longs for affection. 'It's difficult when you're in my position,' he says. 'You don't know who to trust. You don't know if they just want you because you're famous. Or if they're going to run off to the papers. Very tough.' He has sold the house at Stondon Massey, repository of so many good times - and bad. Typically, he wouldn't tell me for how much. Estate agents estimate the house and land would be worth at least £2.5million - so he's not struggling financially. And, while he received a very good fee for his autobiography, he is not chasing money as resolutely as he did when he boxed. In fact, he had a reputation for being very tight with money. I have to say, I haven't seen evidence of it. He is the most generous of hosts. It's a rare privilege to be allowed inside someone's mind. And a huge responsibility - especially so when that mind has been battered almost into submission. When I was asked to help Frank write his book, I had to be sure of one thing.

I had to know if he felt comfortable talking about all the rotten events in his life, the events that had dragged him to the edge of insanity. I wanted to know if opening up to me would trigger a relapse, possibly irreversible. I was as familiar as most with his story. But I had to get him to tell it to me in his own way. I suspected he would hold some things back and he almost certainly has, because he wants to protect the feelings of certain people, most obviously his ex-wife. But he was hugely candid about his darkest hours. People told me about his 'new friends', the dealers and hangers-on who were his constant companions in his empty mansion in Essex and who had led this gentle and lonely man into a world of night-long excesses as mental illness slowly overpowered him. I had read about and heard evidence of his increasingly strange behaviour as he lost his grip on reality in the months leading to his being sectioned. I knew how much he was hurt by the 'Bonkers Bruno' headline in the Sun that followed that very public humiliation, even though he tried to laugh it off.

And now, after he had fought so hard to beat his manic depression, I didn't want to be part of sending him back into that hell. But he talked about all of this and more. 'No problem, Kevin,' he said. 'Ask me whatever you want.' But he always said that. 'No problem.' As long as I've known Frank, his first reaction has been to please. This is, partly, because, like most of us, he wants to be liked. It's also a hangover from his boxing days, when his management team encouraged him to play the media game, to co-operate. Largely, though, it's because he'd been brought up in a strict West Indian household in which he was taught by the power of his father's swishing curtain rod and the entreaties of his Baptist-preacher mother to be respectful and polite. He had not always managed it (especially in his tearaway youth), but his urge to do the right thing is deep-rooted. Now, in the intimacy of many hours of conversations, I learnt not to take anything for granted with him. There was the programmed response and, after he began to trust me, more candid revelations.

He never liked to show vulnerability and the easiest way to hide his pain was to pretend nothing was wrong. But he gritted his teeth and opened his heart. When the book was slated to be released on 18 October, I suggested Frank might like to come to the Boxing Writers Club dinner the night before, at the Savoy. I wasn't sure if he would be keen to walk among so many of his old mates, fighters and writers, after what he had been through. 'No problem,' he said. I took this as a good sign that his recovery was on track. When announced to the throng, he received an ovation as moving as any of those that he received during his career. This was his homecoming. They didn't quite break into 'Broo-no!' but they loved him as much as they ever did - probably more. He looked very much at home. Frank is presently looking for a new house. He sees Laura and the kids once a week, sometimes more often. This has caused the predictable outbreak of speculation in the papers about the possibility of a reconciliation. 'I still love Laura,' he says. While he doesn't rule out getting back together, he thinks it's a very slim chance.

He is, I think, resigned to his new life, at least for the time being. To see fear in a man's eyes is a frightening experience. I thought I saw fear in Frank's eyes the night he lost his title to Mike Tyson, as he repeatedly crossed himself on his way to what was not so much a boxing ring as an execution block. And I thought I saw fear again in Hertfordshire a couple of months ago. 'I tell you man,' he said, his voice becoming agitated and his face scrunching up, 'if they ever come looking for me to try to lock me up again, I'll do a runner. I'm serious. I'll be on the first plane out of the country. I know it's wrong, but I'd do it. I'm never, ever going back there ... No way!' Then he smiled. 'Of course I wouldn't really do that. Where would I go? Like I say, I'm all talk sometimes.' · Fighting Back by Frank Bruno with Kevin Mitchell is published by Yellow Jersey Press (£18.99).

Kevin Mitchell is chief sportswriter of The Observer Frank Bruno reveals he was sectioned twice in six months and a maniac tried to knife him in hospital - Mirror Online Could not subscribe, try again laterInvalid Email Boxing hero Frank Bruno is fighting a terrifying new ­battle with mental illness. In a harrowing interview the former world heavyweight champ tells how he was locked up against his will TWICE in six months after relatives grew worried about his behaviour. Frank, 50, also reveals how he was the target of a menacing knife attack. He got through his ordeal by doing an incredible exercise regime of 4,000 press-ups a day and praying to God each night. “Being put back in hospital was like living in hell,” he says. “Now I am out and I am determined not to go back.” The boxing favourite also revealed that a patient tried to stab him while he was locked up in hospital. In a terrifying attack the boxing hero had a blade menacingly pointed at his chest before staff managed to wrestle his attacker to the ground. The drama unfolded just hours after the former world ­heavyweight champion was led from his front door by police and taken away to hospital in an ambulance.

Today, in an exclusive interview, Frank bravely speaks out to explain in ­harrowing detail how he is in the grip of a new fight with the mental illness that first saw him sectioned in 2003. Honest: Frank Bruno talks about his mental health battle (Photo: Sunday Mirror) It has led to him being locked up against his will twice this year over concerns that his bipolar disorder had returned. The 50-year-old star – who vehemently opposed being sectioned – said: “Mental illness is a very powerful thing. If it is with you it is probably going to be there until the day you die. I am trying so hard to break mine, but it is not easy. It is my toughest fight ever.” His voice cracking with emotion Bruno said: “I have been sectioned twice this year and it is the most degrading thing. I don’t want that to ever happen again. I don’t want to end up dying and being known as ‘that bloke who kept getting sectioned’.” To hear Bruno talking in such a way is as heartbreaking as it is shocking.

In a glittering career he won 40 out of 45 professional fights and was crowned champion of the world on September 2, 1995. And despite quitting the ring 16 years ago he remains one of Britain’s most loved sports stars. Winner: Frank Bruno after beating Jose Ribalta (Photo: Daily Mirror) His booming laugh and gregarious personality have seen him build a ­fanbase of millions worldwide. Yet, privately, Bruno is a shy and at times troubled person, who rarely talks about his personal life or his well- ­documented health demons. But he has opened his heart to the Sunday Mirror and the Daily Mirror this week because he sees facing up to the illness as a key part of his recovery. It was on April 13 this year that Frank’s latest nightmare began. At 4pm he was dancing away to the music from his iPod at his mansion near ­Leighton Buzzard, ­Bedfordshire, when there was a knock on the front door. Frank raced to answer it, shouting that he was: “Not interested in double-glazing” before letting out his trademark booming laugh. But when he opened the door, six policemen were on the drive.

“Frank Bruno?” the officer in charge said – instantly realising how ridiculous that question sounded. For Frank, it was like a flashback to September 22, 2003, when he suffered a highly publicised nervous breakdown and was sectioned. History was repeating itself. “The police officers were standing there with this strange lady, telling me I had to leave my home,” Frank says. “I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe I was going to be taken away again. I remember the doctor asking all these weird questions about how I felt and when I answered a couple of the officers laughed. I remember saying to them, ‘Please don’t laugh at me – they will lock me up if you laugh at me’.” Starting out: Frank Bruno with BBC boxing commentator Harry Carpenter (Photo: PA) Concerned by his recent behaviour, family members had reported their fears to local health officials. “I was interviewed in my home for ages by the doctors then eventually someone said ‘OK, it’s time to go now, Frank’. “A voice in my head was screaming ‘No, I don’t need to go anywhere’. “But before I knew what was ­happening I was being led to an ambulance.

“All I remember thinking is whether the neighbours were watching. “But I am not a lawbreaker. If someone tells me I have to do something I will do it. Then they took me to a place which was like a living hell.” Frank was driven to a specialist mental health unit at Basildon Hospital in Essex and soon he was no longer the former heavyweight champion of the world – he was “patient Frank”. “Being in that hospital was worse than being in prison. At least in prison you know why you are there,” he said. “But I could never understand why I was back in the system. “My room was no bigger than a prison cell. All I had was a bed. There was no TV. All I did was listen to my iPod to try to calm me down. “There was a tiny window in theroom but you couldn’t open it. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the toilet without being supervised. It was degrading.” Frank endured a daily routine of rest, counselling and powerful medication to help with his bipolar disorder. He is still deeply unhappy about being taken back into hospital. “I need to be clear about this – going back into hospital was not my decision,” Frank says.

“But once it happened I took my punishment and I didn’t cry. “I was just pumped full of drugs and it didn’t make me better... it made me worse. My children held my hand as I lay there in the bed. “Everyone walked around the ­hospital like they were drunk all the time ­because of the medication. At night, I would go to bed and think, ‘Why me? Why am I back in this place?’ Frank had been in the Basildon unit only one day when he was subjected to the knife attack. He said: “I was sitting in the dining area when I saw a guy out the corner of my eye. He’d grabbed a knife out the kitchen and was coming at me when ­security staff bundled him over. “I froze in shock at what was ­happening. A lot of the people in these hospitals are very sick and need help. “I didn’t feel scared. How can you feel frightened of anything when you have been in the ring with Mike Tyson twice? But it did shock me. “After it happened, getting out became even more important to me.” Frank was eventually released on April 20 after a medical board ruled he should be allowed to go home.

Iron­ically, as he walked back through his front door, Frank flicked on the TV to find a tell-all interview he’d given to Piers Morgan being shown on ITV . Life stories: Frank Bruno talks to Piers Morgan (Photo: ITV) “I don’t normally watch myself on the telly,” Frank said. “But I watched it and thought: ‘Come on Frank yesterday was tough but tomorrow will be better’.” In a bid to help his recovery Frank then went to Scotland for a holiday with his new girlfriend Nina Coletta. But once again there were reports of Frank’s weird and erratic behaviour, which led to medics contacting police. Frank said: “My girlfriend and I were driving through Scotland when we were pulled over by an officer. He said they had received a call raising concerns about my health. I was then taken to a police station where I was questioned. “I remember the officers saying, ‘Well you seem OK to me’ then a couple asked to have their photos taken with me.” But just days later, on May 6, when Frank got back home, the police were back on his doorstep. This time he was taken to St Andrew’s Hospital in Northampton.

“I was in there five weeks but it felt like five years,” said Frank. “It is harder than being in the ring. At least in boxing it is 12 rounds and then you come out. In hospital I could never see when it was going to end. “I felt it was a bad place for me. In the end all I wanted to do was get out.” Frank is critical of the care he received and says there needs to be an improvement in how mental health is treated. “At the moment we think the best way is to put people in hospital and give them medicine. But for me that was the worst thing to do. “Being in hospital didn’t make me better – it made me worse.” Frank was released from St Andrew’s in June and since then has been under the care of community doctors who visit him at home once a month. And he is determined to put his hospital hell behind him: “Now I am out I want to stay out. I take my medicine and I am doing what the doctors say. “I am just working on staying alive. “After I got out I remember sitting at home looking at my belts again – I hold my memories of boxing very, very close, in many ways it does inspire me.

“This may well be the toughest fight of my life – but I am going to do all I can to win it.” New love: Frank with Nina on holiday in May (Photo: © JK PRESS) Frank is determined not to let his illness overcome him again. He admits: “This year I have been to a very, very dark place... and I can’t go back.” But despite his anguish he insists he has never contemplated suicide. “No way,” he insists ­firmly. “I am not brave enough to kill myself.” “When I felt low I thought of my old trainer George Francis who took his life (he hanged himself in 2002). “I also used to think of Harry Carpenter too, and all the times we enjoyed together. I realised I had so much to live for. “My agent Dave Davies has also helped me cope when I need someone to talk to. He’s been a tower of strength.” When he was ­sectioned Frank used exercise to cope with his torment. It included an incredible 4,000 press-ups A DAY. “I treated it like I was back in the ring,” he said.

“I was always the first up – I’d be awake at first light and do some press-ups to try to clear my head. “I’d say to myself ‘what the hell I am doing here?’. It wasn’t right that I was in there. You have to be pumped full of medicine. “They get you calm, make you happy and slow you down. But I was doing the opposite... I was moving round, doing press-ups...” For Frank the worst times in hospital came at night. “I spent a lot of my time at night reading the Bible and praying to God,” he said. “I’d ask Him to help me get through this and come out the other side.” Like us on Facebook Most Read Most Recent Most Read Most Recent Frank Bruno back in training... as a hairdresser! Former heavyweight champion considers dramatic career change as he swaps upper cuts for a tidy trim | Daily Mail Online comments Frank Bruno has revealed he is back in training again, but this time he is aiming to become a hairdresser. The 52-year-old former world heavyweight boxing champion is used to dealing with a different kind of cut from his years inside the ring.

But after struggling to find his way following his retirement in 1996, it appears that he could be ready to swap his knockout blows for blow-drys. Close: Frank Bruno pictured alongside girlfriend Nina Coletta who is helping him learn to become a hairdresser Legends: Bruno in action against heavyweight champion Mike Tyson at the Hilton in Las Vegas in 1989 A cut above: Bruno, pictured in January 2014 at a charity event, could move into a new line of work as a hairdresser RELATED ARTICLES Share this article Share Bruno tweeted on Friday: 'I'm learning hairdressing Any ideas for salons name? It will be few years yet' (sic). The Londoner has been romantically linked to hairdresser Nina Coletta who has a salon in Glasgow, and it appears the pair have got so close that he is now looking to work alongside her. In 2012 Bruno was treated for bipolar disorder in a clinic in Glasgow, and met Coletta at a friend's wedding in the Scottish city. In an interview that year Bruno is quoted as saying: 'She has helped more than she could ever realise. 'I need her as a rock more than she needs me.

This year she has helped me get out of the tunnel and get back on my feet.' Bruno has remained a popular figure since his retirement but has struggled to adapt to life outside of the ring and was sectioned under the Mental Health Act in 2003. Sporting great: Former boxer Bruno takes a turn carrying the Olympic flame around London in 2004 Heyday: Bruno, in the ring with Joe Bugner at White Hart Lane, won 40 of his 45 bouts, with 38 by knockout Frank Bruno’s boxing comeback hopes dashed by licence denial | Sport | The Guardian Frank Bruno’s boxing comeback hopes dashed by licence denial • British Boxing Board of Control tell Bruno licence ‘would not be granted’ • ‘As agents for Frank we must respect and accept their decision’ Tuesday 2 February 2016 03.59 EST Last modified on Monday 4 April 2016 07.13 EDT Close This article is 12 months old Frank Bruno’s hopes of returning to the boxing ring have been dashed after he was told his application for a licence would be declined.

The 54-year-old former heavyweight boxing champion posted on Twitter that the British Boxing Board of Control had informed his agent that “should I apply for a licence this would not be granted”. His agent, Dave Davies, confirmed on Monday the board had been in touch, saying: “Frank, like many other former sports stars, misses the good times when he was in the boxing ring and watching his son train has reignited his wish to return to the ring. “However we have had confirmation today … that should an application for a boxing licence be received from Frank it would be declined. As agents for Frank we must respect and accept their decision.” Bruno, who has bipolar disorder, acknowledged he had “certainly set Twitter talking” after he announced on ITV’s This Morning that he was “coming back into boxing” to help him cope with the effects of his medication. Asked how drugs had affected him, he said: “They made me suicidal – mess up your head, mess up your clock – you can’t sleep. I’m walking around break-dancing I’ve got so much energy. Why would two talented boxers fight each other when one of them could lose?

Read more “I feel like superman, I’m going to the gym all the time, working hard – that’s why I’ve got to come into boxing … to get this out of my system, because I don’t want to end up in Broadmoor hospital.” The former WBC heavyweight then repeated: “I’m coming back into boxing.” Asked by the co-presenter Phillip Schofield if the move was a good idea, he replied: “I haven’t got no choice. I train every day. I can’t really sit down and let these so-called promoters say that their guy beat me in two rounds – and I’m alive and I’ve got to take that. “It’s my job, it’s my profession … you’re good at your job, I’m good at my job.” Bruno was recently pictured training with Ricky Hatton, another former world champion.

Frank Bruno says son has bigger muscles than him and could be a future boxing champion - Mirror Online Celebs Frank Bruno says son has bigger muscles than him and could be a future boxing champion The British ring legend who defeated Oliver McCall for the world heavyweight title 20 years ago this week says he wouldn't like to face Frank Jr Share Get celebs updates directly to your inbox + Subscribe Thank you for subscribing! Could not subscribe, try again laterInvalid Email Boxing legend Frank Bruno has revealed his son is so muscle-bound he wouldn’t want to get in the ring with him. The former world heavyweight champion, 53, told how his boy - also called Frank - could become either a rugby player or a boxer. Frank said of his 20-year-old son: “He was doing rugby and was very very brave. Fifteen men against one man, you don’t need to go to college or university to understand. “I’d rather he did boxing and fight one man rather than 15 - why not go in the ring? “He’s showing a lot of promise, a lot of determination. He’s with the Brentwood Boxing Club, they’re bringing him up nicely.

“I may be biased but he is going to be a force to be reckoned with.” Bruno told Radio 5 Live: “I thought I had muscles but he has more muscles than me and he is a very serious guy. Long ago: Frank Bruno at his home in Essex with son Franklin as a child (Photo: Mirrorpix) “But at the end of the day, you have to wait and see what ‘ding ding’ round one brings and see what he is like when he gets in the ring. “I wouldn’t want to get in the ring with him. I’m very proud of him. Boxing is tough, life is tougher.” It was 20 years ago this week that Bruno became world heavyweight champion, beating Oliver McCall at Wembley.

Like us on Facebook Boxing legend Frank Bruno admitted to hospital after bipolar disorder relapse - Telegraph Boxing legend Frank Bruno admitted to hospital after bipolar disorder relapse Mr Bruno, an ambassador for mental health, has been sectioned three times in the past 12 years Frank Bruno (L) and John Emmen at the Royal Albert Hall In 1991 Photo: Rex By Lucy Clarke-Billings Follow Frank Bruno has been readmitted to hospital after suffering a relapse in his battle with bipolar disorder . The boxing legend , who has been sectioned three times in the past 12 years, went -voluntarily with a “severe bout of depression”, according to reports from the Mirror newspaper. It came after friends and family grew concerned about him. Speaking to the Mirror, one close friend said: “It is terribly sad but Frank has been struggling for the last few weeks now and needed to get some help. “He has taken this step in a bid to try to make sure he gets better and back to his best as soon as he can. “All that matters now is that Frank focuses on getting well and his recovery.

Frank’s a fighter and this is a battle he is determined to win.” His spokesman Dave Davies added: “After a very busy period Frank decided to seek medical assistance to help with a severe bout of depression.” Frank was due to talk about his glittering career at a dinner in Lincoln on Friday night but pulled out due to his illness. Boxer David Haye is now set to host the event. "After a very busy period Frank decided to seek medical assistance to help with a severe bout of depression," Mr Bruno's spokesman, Dave Davies Three years ago Mr Bruno said he wanted to be out of hospital for good after another spell battling the condition on a psychiatric ward . Speaking in detail about being sectioned twice in the space of six months following a relapse, he said: “I was in there five weeks but it felt like five years. It is harder than being in the ring. “At least in boxing it is 12 rounds and then you come out. In hospital I could never see when it was going to end. “I felt it was a bad place for me. In the end all I wanted to do was get out. “Now I am out I want to stay out. I take my medicine and I do what the doctors say.

I am just working on staying alive. “After I got out I remember sitting at home looking at my belts again. I hold my memories of boxing very, very close, in many ways it does inspire me. “This may well be the toughest fight of my life, but I’ll do all I can to win it.” Frank Bruno at the DPM Reception for World Mental Health day in London Photo: Rex Mr Bruno told how he got through the ordeal by doing 4,000 press-ups a night and by praying to God. He also became a mental health ambassador. Last year, the dad-of-four joined Care and Support Minister Norman Lamb in a campaign trying to improve the care offered by the Government to people suffering with conditions such as bipolar and depression. He was widely credited in helping bring about improvements. Mr Bruno, who remains one of Britain’s most-loved sports stars despite quitting the ring 16 years ago, has openly spoken about his illness in the past and the need to break down mental health stigma. In a 2011 interview he said: “Being sectioned was the best thing that ever happened to me. Getting put in hospital meant I could stop, get myself sorted and come back stronger.

“Up until that point I wouldn’t surrender, I wouldn’t give in. “Now I don’t feel ashamed to say, ‘Yes, I needed help.’ “If there is one thing I’ve learned from my illness it is that there is no shame and no harm in saying you need help. Frank Bruno and daughter Rachel at the Virgin London Marathon in 2013 Photo: Rex "Mental illness can happen to anybody. You can be a dustman, a politician, a Tesco worker… anyone. It could be your dad, your brother or your aunt. People need to have compassion for others. “After I came out of hospital people would cross the road rather than walk past me in the street,” he says. “I felt like I was in panto again. It made me realise there is still a huge stigma attached to mental health. It is embarrassing for many people to deal with. "But admitting you are ill and getting help is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not shameful to have a nervous breakdown like it was in the old days. “It’s nice just to let it out because the more you keep it in, the worse it can be when it does come out.

"If there is one thing I’ve learned from my illness it is that there is no shame and no harm in saying you need help," Frank Bruno “I now realise there is no shame in asking for help if you need it.” Two years ago, the Londoner’s battle with bipolar was featured in a moving BBC documentary fronted by his daughter Rachel Bruno. My Dad Frank, Bipolar Disorder and Me was widely acclaimed for the way it described the fighter’s torment. Speaking two years ago, Rachel - a campaigner on the condition - said: “Before he was sectioned we’d lost my dad and if he hadn’t got treatment I’m not sure we would have got him back. "It has brought us closer together. Now we can say, ‘Oh, you seem a bit down today, what’s wrong?’ And that can perk him up. “If I saw the signs returning I’d tell him straight away.” Frank Bruno winning the 1995 WBC Heavyweight Title Photo: Rex Frank won 40 out of 45 professional fights and was crowned champion of the world in September 1995.

Question: With what sport is Frank Bruno associated?
Answer: Boxing