MGM Grand cheering for Hatton, along with probably 15,000 other Brits in what has become a ritual invasion of Las Vegas five times now by the loud, laughing men from the North.

Hatton was in a Las Vegas pub the other night (watching Manchester City, as it happens) and turned around to see 50 fans wearing Hatton face masks. "I thought, bloody hell, that's a bit scary. I didn't realize I looked that slim," he says. (And he is looking clean-skinned and lean four days before the fight, which evidence does not fit with rumors of an elbow injury and some rocky sparring sessions at the start of his preparation.)

These fans were just the vanguard of a Manchester army whose vocal presence between now and fight time will swell like an orchestra's crescendo – or at least the chorus of Wonderwall.