'I knocked out Jackass star Johnny Knoxville – he felt dizzy for six weeks'
Butterbean left Johnny Knoxville"dizzy for six weeks" after knocking him out in a department store. The legendary boxer, whose real name is Eric Esch, became a cult hero thanks to his knockout power, massive size and stature and unprecedented four-round bouts.
Weighing in between 300 and 400lbs during his heyday, Butterbean racked up an incredible record of 77-10-4 - with 57 knockouts - before hanging up his gloves in 2013, but many fans may only know him from his cameo in the first Jackass movie which released in 2002.
The scene, entitled "Department Store Boxing" opens with Butterbean and Knoxville on their way to the setting of their bout, with the Jackass lead asking the pugilist what his fastest knockout time was. To which, the now Atlanta-born boxer replied: "Well, the California state record's like 18 seconds including the ten count," before Knoxville nervously replied: "I think you're going to break that today."
Both wearing ring walk robes and kitted out with boxing gloves and shorts, surrounded by an entourage carrying signs such as "round one", Knoxville and Butterbean then entered a department store before makeshift referee Loomis Fall said: "All right you guys, touch gloves and come out fighting," before ringing a bell he was carrying around his neck.
The two then immediately started exchanging blows as staff and shoppers watched the bizarre bout go down. Unsurprisingly, Butterbean dropped Knoxville, who had no professional boxing experience, in around 10 seconds with a flurry of hard hooks to the head and the body. Not done there though, the fighter told him to "get up" before allowing him to hit him with a right cross.
As soon as the punch connected, Butterbean pounced back on Knoxville, knocking him out cold with a hard right hook and leaving him audibly snoring on the floor of the shop. Scenes then showed Knoxville, whose real name is Phillip John Clapp, on his way to hospital to have a cut on his head stitched up, as Butterbean was announced the winner of the unofficial bout.
In an exclusive interview with Mirror Fighting via Lucky Energy, Butterbean, now 58, has recalled how the opportunity to star in Jackass came about. He said: "The funny thing, I get people come up to me all the time and go, do you remember knocking out Johnny? As if I'm the one that got knocked out and I forgot.
"Yeah. I mean, they called me up and I thought it was a prank at first. I said, sure, I'll do a movie with you. I didn't realise it was a real thing. My son goes, 'You better ask what they want you to do.'
"And I, so when I got there, I said, well, what do you want me to do, Johnny? He goes, we want you to knock me out. I said, 'Okay.' And later he tells me, he goes, 'I really got scared then'. He said, he don't get scared much. He said, but when you agreed to knock me out so quick, he goes, 'I got terrified.''
On the aftermath of the fight, Butterbean also added that Knoxville was unable to stand up without feeling dizzy for around six weeks. He added: "I did ask Johnny, if he wanted to rematch...We'd done the family feud together. I asked Johnny, I go, 'Do you want to rematch?' And he said, no.
"He goes, 'I had vertigo for six weeks after that.' He goes, 'I couldn't even walk towards stand up without getting sick'. We're really good friends. Me, Jeff, Jermaine, the whole, the whole group. We're really all good friends now."
It comes as Butterbean has undergone a remarkable weight-loss transformation and is now plotting one last showdown in the ring before retiring for good, with Jake Paul at the top of his list of targets. Thanks to a rigorous yoga routine alongside WWE superstar 'Diamond' Dallas Page, Butterbean was able to shed 200lbs and defy doctors who told him he would never walk again after being constrained to a wheelchair as a result of weighing more than 500lbs at his heaviest.
The star recently called out Paul in a promotional video to celebrate the launch of his new Butterbean's Knockout Punch flavoured drink with Lucky Energy, which the brand describes as "a tropical mix of pineapple, orange, cherry, with a heavy kick of nostalgia fruit punch."
During the video, Butterbean said: "Butterbean's back for one more fight. There's only one fighter out there that wants to fight retired, bald guys. Jake Paul, I'm coming for you. I want to fight Jake Paul because he runs his damn mouth too much."
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Scottish Sun
5 hours ago
- Scottish Sun
Harry's response to charity row is typically him – blame others and then flounce off instead of trying to fix things
Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) PRINCE Harry has flounced out – yet again. This time, not from the monarchy. Not from a podcast deal. Not from the Army, that many believe he quit too soon. 6 Prince Harry's response to the Sentebale row is typically him Credit: PA:Press Association 6 Harry exited the charity following an ugly row with the chair of trustees, Dr Sophie Chandauka Credit: PA 6 Harry co-founded the charity in memory of his mother, Princess Diana Credit: PA:Press Association This time, from Sentebale – the worthy African children's charity he co-founded in memory of his mother, Princess Diana. Once a passion project. Now just another scorched bridge. The exit wasn't quiet or dignified. It followed an ugly row with the chair of trustees, Dr Sophie Chandauka, a punchy Zimbabwean-born lawyer and major donor. Several trustees stepped down, too. What followed was familiar: leaked emails, bullying allegations, duelling statements and headlines Harry tried — and failed — to control. Now comes the Charity Commission's verdict: No laws broken. But the rebuke was clear: governance failures, damaging behaviour and a serious lack of leadership. Harry insists he was forced out. That the chair was impossible to work with. That the environment had turned toxic. What else could he do? Harry always throws toys out of pram - latest charity move is childish But leadership isn't about walking away when the mood turns. In any serious institution — royalty, the boardroom or charity — you don't storm out. You stay in the room. You resolve the problem for the greater good. Instead, Harry bailed. Same old story. And like so many of his recent exits, this one fits the pattern. When pressure mounts and compromise is needed, he withdraws. Rather than engage, Harry flushed red and scarpered back to the luxury of Montecito, and Megs to mop his furrowed brow Robert It's a shame. Because Sentebale mattered. Founded in 2006, it provides long-term support to children in Lesotho and Botswana affected by HIV and poverty. It wasn't a vanity project. It was purposeful — touching the lives of 100,000 youngsters — and at one point, so was Harry. I travelled to Lesotho with him twice. I saw the work up close. Those children in need of help didn't see him as a prince. They saw someone who listened, who cared, somebody who came back. His presence wasn't performative. It was real. His royal rank and media profile opened doors. His conviction helped break stigma of HIV/AIDS, just as his late mother had done right at the outset of the fight. For years, he gave Sentebale visibility and momentum. It was, without question, his most meaningful contribution. But cracks appeared. His decision to quit royal life was costly. In 2023, Dr Chandauka initiated a financial review. She flagged a sharp drop in donations following Harry's withdrawal from royal duties; income fell to £2.39million in 2020, though later rebounded. She reportedly labelled his image a 'reputational risk' and raised questions about whether he was now more liability than asset. Rather than engage, Harry flushed red and scarpered back to the luxury of Montecito, and Megs to mop his furrowed brow. No formal rebuttal. No quiet diplomacy. No attempt to repair. He threw his toys out of the pram. He could have shown resolve, offered solutions, and strengthened the structure. Instead, he vanished. And that's what makes this so frustrating. Harry had no shortage of templates to help lead through turbulence. His grandfather, Prince Philip, oversaw the Duke of Edinburgh's Award for more than six decades — often in silence, always with rigour. His son Edward, the new Duke, is its leader. His father, King Charles, spent years building The Prince's Trust — now the King's Trust — from a niche programme into a national institution. 6 Harry listens to American PR consultants and is guided, above all, by his Duchess, Meghan Markle Credit: Instagram His sister-in-law, Catherine, champions important causes such as early years development with longevity, consistency and focus. His brother, William, leads Earthshot, a well-structured mission with financial backing. None of them walked out mid-crisis. They worked through it. Harry could have done the same. He could have stayed on the board in a non-executive role. Helped recruit new trustees. Brought in independent mediators. Stabilised the organisation rather than adding to the unrest. But that would have required discipline — and a willingness to listen. 'Squandered legacy' Instead, he defaulted to the same script: leave, blame, reposition. And this time, the people most affected weren't palace courtiers or out-of-pocket podcast executives. They were the children of Lesotho — many living with HIV, others orphaned, some still stigmatised. Those were the ones who stood to lose most. The pattern goes back further. His early exit from the Army — ten solid years of exemplary service, but he chose not to be a career soldier and go on, to rise further through the ranks and gain his braided uniforms on merit rather than royal birthright. His abrupt departure from working royal life. His mudslinging. His family ties frayed. Promises to reinvent himself in California have mostly yielded media spats, stalled projects and carefully lit documentaries. What's missing is institutional maturity. And staying power. This isn't about empathy or charisma; Harry has plenty of both. But he's never learned to sit with discomfort, to fix what's failing. Instead, he blames. Then bails. Since relocating to Montecito, his inner circle of advisers has narrowed. 6 The Prince defaulted to the same script: leave, blame, reposition, pictured with charity leaders and Dr Chandauka far right Credit: Getty He listens to American PR consultants and is guided, above all, by his Duchess, Meghan Markle — who built her brand around control and survival, not compromise or tradition. The problem is that leadership — particularly in the charitable sector — requires grit, continuity and people willing to challenge you, not flatter you. It's not that Dr Chandauka is beyond reproach. Under her tenure, annual accounts remain unpublished, and the next set is delayed until 2025. She may face valid questions. But here's the telling detail: the Commission didn't ask her to go. She stayed. Harry didn't. Now his team says Harry will support African kids 'in new ways.' In practice, that means nothing. His seat at the Sentebale table is empty. His voice, once essential, is absent. It's the institutional equivalent of ghosting. And this wasn't just another cause. This was personal. A living tribute to his mother. One of the few initiatives he helped build from the ground up. He could have pushed for reform. Brought in fresh trustees. Set a better standard. The Harry I saw in Lesotho back in 2006 –- he had a purpose. A spark. A sense of something larger than himself. Now, all we're left with is another clean break, and another promise unkept Robert The options were there. What they didn't need was drama. What they couldn't survive was abandonment. This isn't scandal. It's waste. A squandered legacy. A cautionary tale. Another institution left to sweep up the debris of brand-driven burnout. The headlines will fade. The charity may recover. But something has shifted. The Harry I saw in Lesotho back in 2006 –- he had a purpose. A spark. A sense of something larger than himself. Now, all we're left with is another clean break, and another promise unkept. When Harry chose the name Sentebale, it meant forget-me-not — a tribute to Diana and her favourite flowers. It was a promise never to let her memory fade. Well, sadly, it looks like he's done just that. Robert Jobson is a royal editor and the No1 bestselling author of Catherine, The Princess of Wales – The Biography
New Statesman
8 hours ago
- New Statesman
Who's afraid of YouTube Man?
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Behind this debate lurks the influential American critic Neil Postman, whose book Amusing Ourselves to Death (1985) forms the standard breviary for this techno-millenarianism. Postman fell into the Huxley school. He was also a comprehensive Luddite who avoided mobiles and refused email. Once, he waylaid a salesman for offering him cruise control on his new car. Postman's lifestyle and arguments have been taken up across the techno-sceptic intelligentsia. The Times journalist James Marriott leads the charge, condemning the decline he sees everywhere (all, paradoxically, while maintaining a popular column recommending obscure works of social history). Recently, in these pages, he lamented the decline of English literature. I couldn't help but feel the standards being exacted were severe. Marriott relates a cultural upbringing reminiscent of the young John Stuart Mill, who began learning Ancient Greek at three years old. Unsurprisingly, the rest of us are found wanting. This is trite, presentist Kulturkritik, and there are many trite arguments against it. People have never read as much or as well as clever people think they should. As John Carey writes in The Intellectuals and the Masses (1992), dons greeted the arrival of a reading public with a shriek, inventing the term 'highbrow' to preserve their graces. In the eyes of this class, people are always reading the wrong thing or reading the wrong way. Cycling through the skag of today's short-form videos, I am reminded of the kind of channel-hopping – Hollyoaks to MTV to Big Brother's Big Mouth – I once watched my sisters engage in on getting home from school. As long ago as 1993, David Foster Wallace analysed the impact of Americans watching six hours of TV a day – approximate to the '25 years' of damnation statisticians now predict. Television was the great stultifier then; now, prestige drama is venerated as the culmination of all the arts, the Gesamtkunstwerk. 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Or indeed heroin, which also feels good. But I will defend to the death what I regard as the greatest product of this brave new world: a tutor, a wonder, a friend. By which I mean YouTube. Many a golden hangover has been passed, my phone as horizontal as my body, dozed out before a buffet of videos short and long, thoughtful and mindless. Load up the homepage and what awaits you is a universe in thumbnailed panels, curated by the genius of 'the algorithm'. We're only a little over 20 years since the website launched, but it has been a background accompaniment to life ever since. These days, for me, it's a lot of football videos, old Harry and Paul sketches and celebrity impressions. I really like watching chat shows from the Seventies and Eighties, with Kenneth Williams hissing and honking away. The situation has only advanced since the arrival of YouTube on the TV, an upgrade that has made me the King Edward of couch potatoes. If this isn't the best use of my time, I'm reassured that when TS Eliot wasn't laying down epic poetry, he was down the music hall, and that Martin Amis broke up the composition of the novel Money with sessions of Space Invaders. Alan Hollinghurst played the same video game while dreaming up The Swimming-Pool Library (food for a future doctoral thesis?). Though probably none of us has a great novel in us, I feel I'm speaking on behalf of most young people, and especially men, in praising what may be the great solitary pleasure of our times. One friend likes a YouTuber called Ed Pratt. He films himself unicycling around the world. Others report dedicated relationships with everything from SAS to DIY videos. A culinary friend is keen on a chef-videographer called 'Willy Does Some Cooking', whose videos are packed with zany Gen-Z humour. Willy refers to chicken breasts as 'chicken tits'. Cooking and nonsense is just the half of it. The hunger of the internet to be more serious will surprise those who still see YouTube as the home of make-up tutorials or narcissistic vloggers. Entire new genres have sprung up: the video essay, sort of short-form Adam Curtis, and frequently as intriguing. Are you telling me you wouldn't click on 'Why Aren't There Locust Plagues Any More?', recently recommended by a friend? The pleasure of these videos can range from the shock of the strange to the utterly personal, the parasocial thrill of following a creator over projects and time. In certain quarters, it's commonplace to mourn the demise of intellectual TV discussion shows, and hear mention of Channel 4's After Dark or the BBC's Late Review. But since YouTube broadcasts have no transmission times or dates, a vast number of these programmes can always be found. You can dose up for an eternity on Tom Paulin or Germaine Greer. The algorithm is an expert sommelier, and next up there'll be Terry Eagleton laying into Philip Larkin, Clive James chatting with PJ O'Rourke, Gore Vidal vs Norman Mailer. I am a YouTube-first reader, having watched the above authors before I read their works. The little poetry I have by heart also comes from hearing it recited on video (Jeremy Irons's 'Prufrock' is pure bliss). The pre-eminent lit-tuber is the late Christopher Hitchens, whose withering oratory has left a mark on a generation, for better or worse. My favourite exhibition is an astonishing 2007 episode of Question Time, which features both Hitchens and his brother, the Mail on Sunday columnist Peter Hitchens, as well as Boris Johnson, and in which Christopher addresses Baroness Shirley Williams as 'madam'. Christopher Hitchens is at least partly responsible for transforming intellectual discourse into a kind of pugilism, these 'debates' styled more like boxing matches replete with slugs, hooks and jibes. 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As perspective plays its trick, I do think there are profound reasons to be optimistic. The modernists' great fear of mass culture was its smothering effect, that it would clam the delicate highbrows beneath the density of middlebrow. On YouTube, though, both have carved out commercial niches. Even as highbrow outlets (Radio 3, BBC Four) lose funding, audiences find their way towards similar material. The oldsters are joining me on the couch: in the past two years, over-55s doubled the amount of YouTube they watch on their TVs, now second only to the BBC in broadcasting landmass. And as it gains ground on its neighbour, the two landmasses resemble rival civilisations, one traditional and patrician, the other endlessly diverse, radically democratised and revolutionary in temper. This is the domain of YouTube Man. He still reads – he tries to put his phone in another room – and he takes book recommendations from the people he watches. He's rarely seen the same TV show as his colleagues (though he suspects that nostalgia for 'water cooler' moments is so much hokum anyway). Instead, his quirks and specificities are served by all-embracing software, a space to indulge his highest and lowest instincts. He is our most generic cultural consumer. His needs are quite basic. In 2023, the journalist Helen Lewis speculated in her Substack newsletter The Bluestocking that podcasts were popular among men because they provide the mindless chat missing from their working lives, that they were 'a replacement for the pub'. Might YouTube Man be filling the hole left behind by other declining associative institutions and forms: the hobby club, the reading group? Men share videos as they once did articles. Think of the stunt-feature genre of journalism. The writer Geoff Dyer was once sent by a men's magazine to fly in a decommissioned Russian fighter jet. Only a YouTuber could do this now, and it would make for an enthusiastically shared video. As YouTube supersedes television, it will become an increasingly collective viewing experience. This is an ambiguous cultural development, but not a dystopian one. Social media is a radical experiment in leaving a culture to its devices. Rather like leaving a classroom of schoolboys unattended, we can see what it produces under its own steam, an unsupervised epoch of user-generated content. There will be the raised fist, the obscene remark and the vicious rumour: the last decade of history has prompted many liberals to develop a suspicion of 'democratisation'. But still, it must be cause for celebration that, when the teacher reopens the door, there is something more interesting on the blackboard than just doodles and phalluses. [See also: Gen Z cannot stop gambling] Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Related
Wales Online
10 hours ago
- Wales Online
Strictly Come Dancing fans 'rumble' first 2025 star and he's a social media sensation
Strictly Come Dancing fans 'rumble' first 2025 star and he's a social media sensation Strictly Come Dancing fans are already convinced they know which 2025 celebrity will be announced first Strictly Come Dancing fans believe they've rumbled the first 2025 star, and he's a social media sensation. Speculation is building regarding which famous faces will take to the ballroom for the 23rd instalment, which is set to launch this autumn. Judges Shirley Ballas, Craig Revel Horwood, Anton Du Beke and Motsi Mabuse are expected to make their comeback, accompanied by presenters Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman. Earlier this year, the BBC programme revealed all the professional dancers who would feature in the upcoming series. Alongside recognisable personalities, two new professionals will be joining the line- up this year. Alexis Warr is an American-born performer who has previously worked as a guest professional and ensemble member on Dancing with the Stars, whilst Julian Caillon was a professional during the past three seasons of the Australian edition of Strictly, reports Edinburgh Live. Strictly Come Dancing returns to screens this autumn (Image: BBC) As we keenly anticipate the initial wave of casting reveals, numerous Strictly enthusiasts are convinced they've worked out a 2025 celebrity. YouTuber, boxer and recording artist KSI, who recently featured as a judge on Britain's Got Talent, mysteriously posted an update to Instagram on Monday (August 4). "4th August announcement has been postponed. Out of my control, sorry," he posted on his Story, with numerous followers theorising that he could be hinting at a potential Strictly reveal. "Could KSI be the first contestant announced for Strictly Come Dancing?" one individual pondered on TikTok. They continued: "He's the best pick for a first announcement... The sheer virality of KSI being announced would be nuts." Strictly fans believe that KSI is part of this year's line-up (Image: Getty Images) Another added: "I definitely see KSI doing it," while a third said: "Why am I imagining KSI potentially on Strictly and pairing with either Dianne or someone like Nancy or Lauren Oakley." A fourth fan echoed the sentiment, saying: "I've been thinking one of the Sidemen could do Strictly for a few years now and I think KSI could really do it and I don't think he could be that bad tbh." With the programme launch rapidly approaching, the BBC is maintaining strict secrecy around the contestant line-up. Article continues below "More details regarding the upcoming series, including the celebrity contestants taking part, will be announced in due course," the broadcaster previously confirmed. Current celebrity rumours include Love Island favourite Dani Dyer, Olympic champion Sir Mo Farah, Coronation Street's Helen Flanagan and I'm a Celebrity winner Vicky Pattison. Strictly Come Dancing returns to BBC One and BBC iPlayer this autumn
