When I first saw Muay Thai, I was amazed by this full contact ring sport that incorporated boxing with knees, shin kicks, elbows and defensive work.

The next day, I found a club called Jakapong, run by a Thai man who called himself Master Boon. He claimed that he was the number three Thai trainer in the whole of Thailand and chief instructor to the Thai army. Being completely inexperienced in Muay Thai at this stage, I was impressed, and felt lucky to have found such a famous Master only a mile from my own home.

Within six months of training at Jakapong, I became the best Thai boxer in the club, and within two years Boon had promoted me to a red Khan instructor. In 1992, I was entered into a fight. Boon showed up at my house the night before and took me to a club, persuading me that I needed a drink to help me relax as well as make me stronger for the fight the next day. I did not question my instructor and had a drink, but Boon continued to consistently bring me drink after drink until I was completely inebriated. This is the point where alarm bells began to ring.

I boarded a coach to the fight in Wigan the next morning completely hungover. To make matters worse, when we arrived, Boon told me that he had forgotten to bring bandages, and improvised by wrapping my hands with two rags and brown box tape. My opponent, Shawn Johnson, on the other hand, boasted three of the greatest Thai trainers in the country in his corner; Master Toddy, Master A and Master Pisces.

When the fight started, I suddenly realised that I did not know the first thing about competing in Muay Thai. I lacked Thai style and body conditioning, and was never taught to grapple. I was about to face the worst nightmare of my life.

Every shot that Johnson threw elevated me from the canvas. I was lucky to see it through two rounds with only two broken ribs, ripped thighs, a black eye, a bruised jaw and a headache that lasted around eight weeks. Despite this devastation in the ring, the hardest thing to come to terms with was the realisation that I had just wasted three years of dedicated training with one of the worst cowboys in Muay Thai that this country has ever seen.

After the nightmare was over, I began training at the Thai temples in Wimbledon and Manchester, where I met Sammit Murnramon. Within only two months of training with him, I had learnt more than I had learnt in all my years of other martial arts training, and the improvement was not stopping. After training with Sammit and his brother, I never got beaten again. In fact, I went on to only lose one fight in the UK upon a controversial decision.

Just when I thought that my career could be nearing an end, Sammit brought over Bonart Krongsak, six-times Lumpini Stadium champion and three-times world champion, who had defeated much heavier opponents such as Rob Kaman. Sammit arranged private lessons between us, where Krongsak truly delivered a champion’s knowledge and training. I went on to represent England as the light heavyweight in the 1998 King’s Cup in Thailand, something I’m still so proud of.

I will always remember Jan Hart, Sammit Murnramon and his brother, Bonart Krongsak and the Bangrajan camp for teaching me the true meaning and spirit of Muay Thai, and I will never forget that the success of Scorpions is an extension of Sammit’s own success.

Anybody reading this that has trained with and gotten hurt by a cowboy of our fantastic sport should always remember that there is no such thing as a bad student, only a bad instructor. This is not to say that fighting is for everyone, but an instructor’s job is to train his or her students until they are ready for the fight in hand, so even if the result does not go their way, at least they were given a fair chance and had an enjoyable experience, something that everyone deserves.