EVERYBODY loves Dave Allen.
Well, almost everybody. Certainly, everybody I know who is aware of Dave Allen, has heard him interviewed, read his tweets, or seen one of his fights, loves Dave Allen. Some feel like they know him; others hope they will someday get to know him. Essentially, though, if you’ve happened upon the curious world of Dave Allen, or “The White Rhino”, or “The Doncaster De La Hoya”, or “Papi De La Liver Puncher” (his current social media handle), you’ll consider him a character tough to dislike.
Even newcomers, those previously oblivious to the cult of Dave Allen, would have settled down to watch his fight on Saturday April 20, in the middle of a scorching Easter weekend, and celebrated the body shot he used to down Lucas Browne in the third round as if it had been thrown by a relative. They will have seen what it meant to Allen, both in the euphoria he shared with team members, and in the amusing post-fight interview, and found themselves under his spell, caring about something and someone they hadn’t expected to care about earlier in the day. He will have reminded them of someone they know. He will have reminded some of themselves.