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I could've been a contender. Well, perhaps, if only I was not cursed with such a feeble body. Standing in front of a mirror observing my white unhealthy flesh, gripping a Charles Atlas advertisement in one hand, a Marc Almond record in the other, I knew I would never be another Rocky.

Then, one day, a review copy of Barry McGuigan's Boxing arrived. It was my chance to become a punch-drunk caveman in the safety and comfort of my home. I loaded it.

I have always thought McGuigan was one of the few world-class boxers Britain has produced, despite his disastrous title fight in Texas. The loyal fans were chanting "Baa-ry! Baa-ry!" as he climbed into the ring. They were still chanting his name as he was stretchered out. Not so much a boxing match, more a mugging witnessed by 150 million people. Still, if the game has Bazza's name on it, all is well.

To begin you are presented with a picture of 'Joe Normal', a boxer which you alter to suit. I named my boxer 'Savage Simes' and gave him brown hair, white skin, red shorts and so forth.

Also displayed were his statistics, which included strength, agility, endurance, best punch, recovery, stamina image and attitude. Most are self-explanatory, except for the last two.

The image of your boxer relates to how the rest of the world views him and if he wins a number of fights in succession his image rating rises and so do his earnings. A boxer's attitude is gauged by what kind of fight he puts up in the ring. I began with a positive attitude but with an erratic image: no-one was sure of Savage Sime's fighting qualities. You can also choose which style of boxing most suits your man, ranging from a 'dancer', like Ali, to a 'brawler' like Tyson.

It is time to choose an opponent. Savage Simes was listed 19th in the world ranking table. I was able to select an opponent from three comparable pugilists rated 20th, 18th and 17th. You can view the statistics of a potential adversary before opting to fight him. This i5 very useful if your opponent is to be a psychotic wrecking machine built like a Greek restaurant, in which case it is wise to reject him and opt for an easier match.

I elected to fight Typhoon Thompson, ranked 18th. Before he fight, though, there was training camp. This is a chance to improve your statistics by training on weights for strength, roadwork for stamina, sparring for endurance, and light/heavy bags for agility. You are given a certain number of weeks in which to train, usually between four and ten, and must allocate each week to an activity. It is worth noting in which areas your opponent is weak and then exploiting it this by training in those areas.

Fight day arrives. The two boxers are viewed side-on and, although the graphics are blocky and awkward, at least the two boxers are distinguishable. Joystick control allows the player to jab, throw a cross, execute body blows or cover up.

The computer controls movement back and forth across the ring. Above the two protagonists is displayed their respective endurance levels. Once a boxer's endurance level falls below ten points or so a tap on the wrist can knock him down. Round one, Ding! Ding!

Savage Sirnes danced towards Typhoon Thompson, landing jabs and crosses with consummate ease. It was like taking candy from a child. The more the two boxers mix it the louder the crowd roars become and the sound effects were very good for building excitement. At the end of the round, both boxers, statistics are shown, usually much reduced, and also who is ahead on points.

Needless to say, I dropped Typhoon Thompson in the third. The crowd mood indicator declared they were ecstatic. So was I - Savage Simes was unbeatable. He was a lean, mean fighting machine, a steamroller of destruction. Hold on a minute; with all this excitement, I have a nosebleed coming on.

Mv next 'victim' was Pretty Boy Synder, ranked 17th. A little training and 'Savage Simes', oozing ,vas doom and destruction. Unfortunately, Synder had other ideas. He wore me down for three rounds. He floored Savage in the fourth.

"Get up, get up" I screamed at my struggling warrior. Savage beat the count, only to be brutally battered to the canvas again. "You're not hurt," I screamed. "Get up, whaddaya think I'm paying you for?" That did it. Savage staggered to his feet in the eighth second. Then he was decked again. Despite my ravings, he did not beat the count.

If Pretty Boy Synder was so good, what was the number one boxer like? I shuddered to think. Despite my veneer of cultured intelligentsia, I thoroughly enjoyed Barry McGuigan's Boxing and its accompanying descent into animalistic savagery; the two-player option really brings out the caveman in people.