Eugenia Williams, they're saying you let the sisters down and that Emily Pankhurst is rolling in her grave and the Spice Girls are spittin'. They even claim you've set Girl Power back to those bleak days when women's sporting opinions weren't taken seriously - and now they never will be again because of your actions.

All week they've been calling you the "woman judge" in the Lewis-Holyfield fight, as if any mother would call her son Eugenia. They seem to assume the man judge who called the fight a draw, Larry O'Connell, was nobbled, whereas you just didn't know your jab from your packet of self-raising flour. "That's wimin for ya," they're muttering.

But ignore them Eugenia, because they miss the point. They don't realise that what you did last Saturday night, when you were the only judge to score that world title fight in favour of loser Evander Holyfield, helped prove conclusively that when it comes to being a dodgy judge in Don King's world of boxing, there isn't a smidgen of difference between men and women.

Forget this "fairer sex" lark - you've struck a blow for equal rights by demonstrating that us girls can be as unfair as the next lad, and that's progress in itself.

"Women who seek equality with men lack ambition," they cry. Maybe, but in the testosterone-filled world that you find yourself, target number one has to be equality - after that, when Don retires, there might be an opportunity to work on ethics.

As we both know, if you had gone out there and scored it like you saw it you'd probably never get another chance in the boxing big time - in fact we would never have heard of you again. Yes, Lennox Lewis landed 43 punches in the fifth round, compared to Evander's 11, and yes you gave that round to Evander, but why is it not obvious to your detractors that you did it for Lennox's (and Don's) own good?

If he had "officially" beaten Evander, who would Lennox have fought next? Mike Tyson's in jail and you could count the rest of the heavyweight division's big names on no fingers at all.

Yes, Lennox could always have enticed Frank Bruno or Gary Mason out of retirement, but a bout in Dagenham town hall in front of a television audience of 36 would be unlikely to generate the kind of purse you'd pick up in a grudge rematch against Evander at Wembley Stadium. That's why, one suspects, Lennox isn't quite as gutted as he could be about the whole affair. That's why, one is certain, Evander is praising the Lord like he's never praised him before. Divine intervention, you might say.

Between ourselves, I suspect they're a bit worried that the Grand Jury picked to look in to the judging will come up with proof that something funny went on. The last thing they want is for Evander to be stripped of his belts and HBO to give up boxing as a bad job.

So, for God's sake, don't have your drive-way tarmacadammed in the next few weeks because that always arouses suspicions and leaves the neighbours wondering "where the bloody hell did yer one get that kind of money?". Sit tight, live frugally and everything should be fine. Don might even put in a word for you for the re-match. The funniest thing, though, Eugenia, is they're all pretending to be shocked about the decision, like it was the first time that boxing judges appeared to be watching an entirely different fight to the rest of us.

They're even now comparing professional boxing to professional wrestling, but that's a slur on wrestling's reputation because that WWF crowd never really pretend that their sport is honest. Well, at least not with a straight face.

A warning, though. Remember back in the eighties when it was revealed that the results of many of the bouts between Giant Haystacks, Big Daddy and Mick McManus were, how does one put it, predetermined? Talk about destroying childhood innocence. The shock was almost as great as the moment I found out Big Daddy's real name was Shirley Crabtree. I never looked at him in quite the same admiring way again.

But that revelation helped destroy the sport this side of the Atlantic by disillusioning the 10 million of us (including 9.8 million grannies) who tuned in to ITV's World of Sport every Saturday afternoon (Remember? "Greetings, grapple fans").

Suddenly we didn't care if Giant Haystacks ("boo, hiss") clobbered Big Daddy ("ea-sy, ea-sy") because, by then, we knew the judges would probably award him the bout anyway. The thrill was gone.

So Giant Haystacks and Big Daddy's careers were brought to a premature end, just when they were reaching the peak of obesity, simply because the cat was let out of the bag - wrestling was a con.

So Eugenia, now that you've proved your equality in the world of professional boxing for the sake of its survival go that extra step next time and call it like you see it. Don mightn't like it but remember, "women who seek equality with boxing promoters lack ambition". And integrity.