By: Tony Saleni

Some of you might have noticed that nowadays the virtues once considered essential discipline, loss, perseverance are now spoken of as burdens rather than blessings. Children, we are told, must be protected from the cruelty of ambition, shielded from the harsh light of competition. This is, of course, nonsense—and, fortunately, Logan Wilkinson didn’t get the memo.

By the age of four, while his peers were negotiating Lego and learning to share, Logan was demanding pads and trying to spar his father. That father, Dean Wilkinson a boxer himself might have hoped for a little peace after a long day in the ring. Instead, he got a miniature version of himself throwing punches before he’d had time to unlace his boots. It was not merely precocious. It was prescient.

Still, one must be cautious when encountering proud parents. The sport is filled with deluded fathers and inflated tales of “natural ability.” So when Dean first took Logan to a kids’ class at Empire, he might have looked like just another wide-eyed dad with a fantasy. Then Logan started hitting pads. Within minutes, the coaches—those hardened veterans of hundreds of hopefuls were no longer skeptical. They were astonished.

But talent is the easy part. Everyone, at some point, thinks they have it. What separates Logan Wilkinson is not that he started fast—but that he started badly and kept going.

His first ten fights produced just two wins. A résumé that would cause most ambitious young athletes or their parents to politely pivot toward football or something less bruising. But Logan stayed. And each season, like a stubborn flame fed by oxygen, his confidence grew louder, his footwork sharper, his jab more honest.

Under the tutelage of his father who wisely laid his own ambitions down to sharpen his son’s Logan began to turn losses into lessons. With the aid of James Roberts, Dean became his full-time coach, not out of ego, but at Logan’s request. The boy was not confident in crowds, not yet. But in his father, he found both the familiar and the ferocious. A corner man who knew when to push and when to protect.

Today, Logan Wilkinson stands with a record 19 wins from 32 bouts. That may not read like a sanitised Instagram fairytale, but it tells a richer story of refinement, not instant gratification. In his last 22 bouts, he’s dropped just five. All in finals. All against the best. This is not someone who is losing. This is someone who is learning in public and improving at a rate the sport cannot ignore.

His list of accomplishments now demands attention:
— 2025 National Champion, defeating the London favorite.
— 2024 National Finalist.
— Tri-Nations Finalist.
— Three-time East Midlands Champion.
— Junior Belt Holder at 52kg.
— East Midlands’ Best Schoolboy Boxer, 2024/25.

These aren’t participation trophies. These are scalpels etched into granite.

Those who know boxing know what these titles mean. They know the difference between luck and legacy. They know that Logan has sparred with the country’s elite many undefeated and not once, according to his coach and father, has he been dominated or dismantled. One could say, quite credibly, that you’d pay to watch the spars alone.

As for the future? Logan’s eyes are fixed on the Olympic rings and the red and white flag of England. Whether or not he makes it to that stage—and I’d wager he will—his is already a story of defiant progress in a world that too often rewards surrender.

There is no myth here. No golden child. Just a boy who learned to take a punch, and a father who taught him why it matters.

And that, in a world of flinching pretenders, is something like glory.