b'ROUND 12A view from the end of the road. It is a long drive up the M6 when your head is aching and your eyes are tired because youve been at your wifes birthday party the night before. And it is no way to prepare for a return to the Hatton-wonderland when it is going to involve a day of non-stop all-male world championship celebration.But I arrive at the New Inn just as our old friend Bernard Manning pulls up in his sky blue Lincoln Continental 1 LAF, to the cheers of the invited guests all resplendent in their Shit Shirts. First, a team picture outside: the same smiling faces from Hattersley and Vegas but in grotesque Shit Shirts who greeted my arrival with the welcome of a long-lost friend.I was a first-timer at the traditional post-fight party thrown by Ricky, born over the years of victories, celebrating his brutal sport for the very people he belongs to, all resplendent in the garb of the traditional dress code. I was ushered inside by some burly boys in black suits - no names held on the door, the shit shirt is your entry ticket -to a sea of colour and noise. It seemed that an acceptance of friendship by Ricky Hatton meant I was friends with everyone in the New Inn and it seemed a good while later that I was to reciprocate a round of drinks with all those friends I had met along our journey. I was reminded here of the way I had felt four weeks earlier when we had stepped inside the Harehill Tavern - that welcome they gave us, that sense of acceptance, that unspoken declaration that we were OK so we were therefore unconditionally one of them. You dont get that down south, it takes longer for trust to form and bonds to be made. I dont really know if that is a Ricky thing or a Hattersley thing or a north-south thing. All I do know is that the community here is strong and it is fantastic to be allowed to be a part of it.But enough philosophising. There was a party to be had. Tables and chairs were cleared for Bernard to do what he does best, just stand up, tell some funny, some not-so-funny gags as all the gentlemen in the room appreciated his efforts. After theShit Shirt team picture was filed for edition in The Times, Mark Robinson and I got down to enjoyingthe entertainment! The only two ladies invited to the party took turns in more entertaining and by closing time the next venue for continuing the party was decided and we all moved on. A lift was offered by the dancer and four blokes climbed into her tiny sports car made for two. It was about 12 hours later, when the karaoke took a turn for the worst, that I knew it was time for farewells to my friends. The journey had ended.Owen and I had began all this with a simple interview with a modern-day sporting hero in December 2005. Before we met Ricky, we had done countless interviews with other heroes and we have done a good few since, but none had quite the effect of drawing you in and wanting to be involved the way Ricky did. You take as you find with Ricky, and Owen and I both liked what we found.From his Mum and Dad, brother and friends from a tough area of Manchester, what you see is what you get - we were welcomed and treated as friends of the family and we will always be grateful. MarcWe wanted to give something back to a great, generous sporting hero.This book is from us to you. This book is dedicated to Ricky.New Inn, Hattersley Estate, 2pm Sunday 4thtill 2am Monday 5th February 2007, Marc resplendent in paisley pattern shirt.page 60'