Tyson Fury insists he's retired. And if you believe that, you probably haven't been following boxing – or his Instagram profile - for long.

In the past he may have meant it. This time it might just all be a strategy. I don't think he's finished.

The 'Gypsy King' is back in the gym and has been posting clips of himself running and training.

He's leading us all down a garden path and deep down, I reckon he knows it too. Fury's fire is still burning.

I've been in this sport since the age of seven and I've seen it countless times. When a fighter says they're done, sometimes it's just a pause. A chance to breathe, reset, take the pressure off. At other times it's a decision made in the heat of the moment, based on impulse.

That was the case when I laid my gloves in the ring after losing to Anthony Cacace in September.

I told my dad in the corner after my third straight defeat that "it's not there any more".

I was 100% committed to that decision. I was broken, both physically and mentally. I did a lap of honour and told Eddie Hearn I was retiring.

The next day, on the way home, was the longest and most painful drive of my life. For the next couple of weeks, I'd take my kids to school then come back and get into bed and start crying.

Because boxing isn't just a job to me – it was who I was. It kept me away from trouble, gave me a purpose when others around me didn't have one. So when that part of you suddenly disappears, it's terrifying.

People messaged me, even those who admitted they didn't like me, telling me to hold my head up. I watched my fight and realised it wasn't as bad as I thought. At the football, Leeds United fans were stopping me, telling me I wasn't finished.

So I went back to the gym, started moving again and realised I still had something left. I couldn't go out like that.

It's easy to say, "Why don't you just walk away?"

But unless you've lived it, you don't understand. The structure of training, the routine, the high of fight week – it's like a drug.

I've never touched recreational stuff in my life but I imagine the hit of fight night is not far off. The lights, the adrenaline, the buzz – it's addictive.

And let's not lie – the money matters. Boxing isn't just a passion, it's a business. One punch can change your life and the pay packets? Insane. You've got influencers making millions from novelty fights.

So if you're a top heavyweight like Fury, what's 36 minutes in the ring when there's eight figures on the line?

But that's where it gets dangerous. The damage adds up. You're getting hit in the head. And what does all that money mean when your speech starts to slur or your reactions slow down?

That's why I say boxing needs a union. Footballers have the PFA (Professional Footballers' Association). We've got nothing.

Most of us come from council estates and broken homes – boxing is a way out. But when it ends, the phone stops ringing. The tax bills roll in. You don't know who to turn to. And that's when some fighters spiral into drink, gambling or depression.

A union could help. It could give guidance, investment advice, even set age limits for comebacks. Because let's face it, a 58-year-old Mike Tyson getting back in the ring? That's not a comeback – that's a health risk. This isn't Oasis reforming. This is people getting punched in the head.

As for Tyson Fury? He'll be back. And yes, I think the Anthony Joshua fight happens. It's too big not to. Maybe it's not what it once could've been – two unbeaten heavyweights fighting for all the belts – but it still matters. There's still pride, still legacy.

Fury might take a tune-up or he might dive straight in.

Either way, I don't believe he's done. Not yet. Not until the lights are off, the gloves hung up for good and he's found something that gives him the same thrill. But believe me, that's the hardest part. I'm not sure anything else will ever come close.