# bits and pieces scrapbook



## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

going to throw stuff in here that doesnt fit anywhere else....and saves filling the place up with seperate threads.

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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

use the zoom on your browser if some of this text is too small....hold ctrl and press '+'...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

v charley powell..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Wallet (May 31, 2012)

Great stuff, Doug. :good


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

it would be another seven years after this that charles would succumb to this illness as it got a lot worse...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

from 1960..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Chatty (Jun 6, 2012)

Quality thread, I can see I'm gonna spend some time reading up in here


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

You look at Galento and sadly realise he was in better shape than 90% of today's American HW's.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Decy said:


> You look at Galento and sadly realise he was in better shape than 90% of today's American HW's.


he had over 100 fights under him when he fought louis, and was coming of an 11 fight winning streak...he was a good contender


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

this is a piece i think worth sharing here....it's by By Wright Thompson from ESPN...worth reading....sad reading this though..

.......................................


I went to see Muhammad Ali on Thursday night, and hours later I'm still struggling with the profound sadness of the evening. I'm not sure if other people felt it as strongly as I did, but I walked out of the 5th Street Gym in a daze.
Arriving at the party, I wasn't sure what I'd find. I'd heard he has good days and bad days. I know he loves children and still likes to laugh. Maybe he'd be feeling warm and nostalgic.
The occasion was a joyous one. Ali's old trainer, Angelo Dundee, was reopening his famous gym and Ali agreed to attend the celebration. I wanted to see him for lots of reasons. Part of it was a "bucket list" sort of deal. But I also wanted a glimpse of the old Ali. Does that person still exist? If you're in the room with him, can you still feel the spark?
Hundreds of people packed into the gym. We were all pouring sweat. Entire shirts, drenched. There was no air conditioning. Every so often, folks stepped out into the muggy Miami night to cool off. While they waited, people talked among themselves about wanting to see Ali. They talked about him like he was the Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon. He's an attraction. Something to see, not to be moved by the experience, but to check it off. I saw my own motives reflected in the people around me, and it made me feel guilty.
A few old friends and lots of boxing people came, but much of the crowd was there to worship in the church of celebrity. The altar was set: velvet rope outside with a guest list and VIP badges, a deejay inside, party girls in tight dresses and trendy shoes. A man dressed as a gaucho served meat. The bartenders looked dressed for the midnight shift at the Tropicana. The only thing missing was bottle service. The whole event felt like a South Beach club opening.
I slid out the door to get a break. On the street, I saw Bert Sugar, the famous old boxing writer. He wore a seersucker jacket and smoked a thick cigar. He looked at the new gym, and at the Wachovia bank next door, where the original stood until they knocked it down.
I asked Sugar if it made him sad to see Ali.
"No," he says.
He said seeing Ali makes him think about him how fast the world moves. Everyone from that time is old or gone. Nothing reminds him more of his vanished youth than seeing Ali struggle. When they were kings, indeed.
"We were young with Ali," he says.
Once, Ali could knock out George Foreman. Now? Every morning, Dundee's right-hand man Mark Grismer told me, he has to make a decision. His Parkinson's medicine controls the shakes and allows him to be in public, but he can't talk when he takes it. So he has to choose: shake or talk?
A few years ago, Sugar tells me, he asked Ali if he regretted boxing. Ali told him that if he didn't box, he'd have been a sign painter in Louisville. The pleasure was worth the pain.
"To become the most famous man in the world?" Sugar says, trailing off.
Back inside the party, it was really, really hot. Every man in the place had a wringing wet shirt. The crowd grew restless, aggressive. They wanted their dose of celebrity and they wanted it 10 minutes ago.
"Put your cameras away," one organizer yelled. "This is no joke!"
"If you have a phone or a camera," another yelled, "it's gone."
Some movement in the corner got the crowd's attention, and everyone rushed to the back. Another velvet rope cordoned off a wide, round table. Partygoers pressed against the rope, bunched up close.
"Let me see Ali so I can leave," a man said.
"I'm about ready to throw in the towel," another said. "I've seen him before."
An organizer screamed at the crowd.
"Ali is not coming unless everybody takes two steps back," he yelled.
"Is he actually here?" a guy asked.
The event folks were red-faced.
"He's not coming if you don't back up!"
"We're about to lose our guest of the evening. We're not gonna have our guest. I'm serious!"
It became apparent that Ali was in the building, and he wasn't coming out until there was more room. This went on and on, with organizers standing on chairs, screaming into the crowd. People stared at the back door, as if to will him to walk through it. No one moved. A woman got on the microphone.
"I know it's hot. I know everybody's a little bit cranky. Mr. Ali doesn't want to feel claustrophobic."
"You knock over the ropes," an organizer yelled, "he's not gonna come out."
Then, after a half-hour of bouncers pushing back the crowd, Ali arrived. He shuffled to his seat. His sister-in-law, Marilyn, and his manager, Bernie, helped. He sat down and drank a glass of water while Marilyn held a napkin under his mouth. It felt like a zoo. This wasn't a cocktail party for Ali. It was a public viewing.

"I saw the top of his head!" a woman gushed.
The crowd chanted: "Ali! Ali! Ali!"
A woman aimed a camera and Marilyn and Bernie pointed frantically. A guy took a picture and a bouncer snatched his phone and then physically pushed him toward the door.
"You gotta go," he said.
The event folks wanted to make sure everyone else got the message.
"There's the first example," they crowed.
Ali sat at the table. Marilyn slipped a pair of sunglasses on his face. Someone put a photo book about him on the table and Ali opened it up. It was a circus around him, and, in the middle of the madness, he gently lifted each page and turned, his long fingers delicate on the glossy paper. Soon, after 20 minutes, he'd be whisked into a waiting SUV, where Marilyn would strap him into the front seat.
But in the moment, people crowded around him for official photos, dozens of people, moving in and out, grinning, putting their arms around him like he was a mascot. He didn't acknowledge them, or look at the camera. They smiled and posed. He looked down at the book. I wondered what he was thinking, if he felt like a freak show at the carnival. I wondered if he remembered the old building next door, remembered the Beatles coming to visit him there, remembered the promise of those days. He looked sick, and I thought about how much he must love Angelo to fly down here for this.
His lips were pursed. He looked absent and lost, like a wax statue, and I found myself 15 feet away from the most famous man in the world, overcome with sadness. I hoped this was just a bad day, hoped tomorrow would be different. The groups of people came and went for their picture, one woman giving a fist pump and hollering "Yeah!" after the shutter clicked.
Ali just sat there, sunglasses hiding his famous eyes. He flipped the pages, slowly looking at photographs of the man he used to be.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

joe velez.....never knocked out in 181 pro bouts.
his story here...
http://www.award-graphics.com/joey/


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Flea Man (Jun 2, 2012)

Great stuff, bloody brilliant thread. Thanks in particular for the Johnny Bratton piece, love that guy, massively underrated boxer.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

_"At first, I thought putting this fight together would be impossible because Manny and Oscar were in different weight classes. Then I started thinking about it. After I trained Oscar, I realized he had trouble with smaller guys and southpaws. Oscar sparred with Ivan Calderon, the former 105-pound champion, when I trained him for the Floyd Mayweather Jr. fight because I wanted someone real quick. Calderon slapped Oscar around like it was unbelievable. I said between rounds one time, "Oscar, I want you to hit him one shot to show him who's boss." He couldn't do it. I got mad at him. I told him the same thing another time; we used Calderon for a couple of days. I said, "Go ahead and hit that little mother." Again, he couldn't do it. Calderon was too quick and had a southpaw stance, like Manny does. That's when I thought of Manny. I knew then it was a winnable fight."_ ~ Freddie Roach


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Artie Levine, who stood at 5' 8", was a right handed slugger, with an orthodox fighting style. His left hook made him a fighter who no one looked forward to facing in the ring. He was trained by Charley Goldman, the famed trainer of boxing legend Rocky Marciano.
Levine fought professionally for eight years (1941-49) before retiring at the age of 24.

On November 6, 1946, Levine challenged Sugar Ray Robinson. Robinson claimed Levine hit him with the hardest punch of his career when he knocked Sugar Ray down and out for a 21-second long count.
Instead of directing Levine back to his corner, the referee walked him to his corner then returned about 10 seconds later to begin the count on Robinson. Robinson came back and KO'd Levine in the tenth round.

Of the fight, The Ring Magazine wrote:
Sugar ... was almost kayoed in the fourth round. A left hook, followed by a right cross, both to the chin, put (him) down and almost out... Sugar rose unsteadily and called upon all his ring skill and stamina to last out the round...Sugar had several other close calls during the course of the evening. Artie's left hooks and resounding right crosses occasionally found their marks and with telling effect. Robinson's class and body punching were taking their toll from the heavier Levine as the bout progressed. Sugar started the tenth with knockout intent. With the round about two minutes gone, Sugar paralyzed Artie with a right to the solar plexus. Then Sugar became a 'killer,' throwing punches with reckless abandon to both head and body with the result that Artie was beaten to the floor. (The Ring, January 1947, page 34)

"Yes, I was the first guy to knock him out. They gave him a long count&#8230;.I knocked him out, but they gave him a 20-second count. There was a riot at ringside. They protected him at Cleveland. The referee walked me back to my corner and then he picked the count up at 'one.' He was supposed to start the count immediately upon him going down&#8230;.It was the largest crowd they ever had in Cleveland at that time. Any fight. I got $25,000 for that fight. It was a lot of money in that time. I got half of the money. $12,500. The manager paid the expenses out of my share. This was an agreement we had. Isn't that terrible? I got half."

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"My mother says now, 'I don't know how you ever won any fights&#8230;.You never won any when you lived here.' I won my first fight when I was in the 11th grade. I must have been 0 and 40 by then."

Scott LeDoux to the New York Times, 1980

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

the payout sheet for the night sugar ray leonard beat tommy hearns in 81

http://boxrec.com/show_display.php?show_id=2085


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

_"They say I haven't trained hard enough for this fight. Who is to be the judge of how hard I work? I have worked all right, harder than most people think." That's Randy Turpin before the fight with Olson. He only spars 30 rounds leading up to it, and does this with his featherweight-size brother Jackie. Beats the hell out of Jackie, sure, but it ain't a real workout. Does he not take Carl "Bobo" Olson seriously? Or is he distracted, something on his mind &#8230;

A woman. Adele Daniels. The light-skinned beauty from Harlem that Turpin met on his first trip outside of England, back in '51 when he gave the middleweight title back to Sugar Ray Robinson, the belt he'd taken just months before.

Turpin's in New York again and she's hanging around. Getting crazy at his hotel, making a scene. George Middleton, Turpin's manager, had warned Randy about Adele when they first met. Randy's getting the message now, and he's trying to hide out, staying at the camp, laying low. He won't train in public, won't talk to the press, even telling folks he may just fly back to England, forget the whole thing.

"Bobo" Olson doesn't believe all the talk, thinks Turpin is in great shape. Thinks his opponent's camp is trying to mess with his head, get him to let his guard down. So he trains twice as hard.

A few weeks before the match, Adele Daniels accuses Randy Turpin of assault.

The fight is held at Madison Square Garden, in front of almost 19 000. With Sugar Ray retired, the World Middleweight title is vacant - the winner will take it.

So they get to it. Turpin owns the first three rounds, despite his head being elsewhere. In the fourth, Olson opens up Randy's cheek with a jab. They go back and forth a bit, but it's Olson's round. By the sixth, Olson is taking control, leading the fight.

Ninth round, Turpin gets a couple good shots in, regains confidence. He comes at "Bobo" with a left hook, but Olson slips it. Turpin comes at him with a right, but gets caught with a left hook of Olson's. Back against the ropes, four, five, six big punches from Olson, no answer from Turpin. Randy gets off the ropes, throws his right but can't land it. Back to the ropes and it's left, right, left, right from Olson and Turpin goes down. He beats the count and the round is over.

Turpin's caught on the ropes with another left hook in the tenth and is down for the second time. The eleventh, bang-bang, double-jab from "Bobo", putting Turpin on the ropes again. Turpin gets away, only to get caught with a brutal belly shot, and he's leaning, leaning. It goes on like this, Turpin being held up, Olson moving in, working it. Randy does get a good round off in the thirteenth, avoids punishment and dishes out some of his own, but it's late.

In the last round, the fifteenth, Turpin lets it hang out, goes for the knockout, but he just can't land the shot he needs. He takes the round, and there's some pride in that, but the night is Olson's.

"If I had been in my natural mental state, I could have stopped him about the eighth round. But I've had so many personal troubles recently, I wasn't myself." That's Turpin after the fight. He says Olson is no Sugar Ray.

Adele Daniels drops the assault charges a couple weeks after the fight. She does end up suing Turpin for $100, 000 in damages, but gets only $3500, out of court, in the winter of '55.

Turpin just fades after that, losing the bouts he needs to stay relevant. When he wins he's putting down nobodies in nothing-fights. He finally retires in the early sixties. Short on cash, he turns to professional wrestling, but he was never a showman and even those crowds tire of him.

In 1966, he's bankrupt. He shoots himself, and he's gone.

But you go to Market Square in Warwick, England and you'll find a statue of Randy Turpin. You look at that fighting pose, and you can flash way back to July 1951, when he took the belt from Sugar Ray in fifteen rounds. Way back when he got his taste, when everything shone so bright._ 
~ David Como


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

we've had a lot of new customers since posting this...so hope its ok to bump.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


>


To me, this is one of the most beautiful, nonchalant, artistic, picturesque knockouts in all of boxing history.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

And yes Rocky, he _was_ the master..


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Fantastic thread, by the way...


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## Theron (May 17, 2013)




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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Incredible thread...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

the oldest ages of participants in a professional boxing match...

William Jubb vs. George Washington Brown

from boxrec via the new york times -

(Jubb was 92 & Brown was 80.) They boasted "whiskers of the Kentucky colonel type and through the four rounds both vainly tried time and again to reach the button. Round one found octogenarians waving like palm trees in the gentle ocean breeze." Brown floored Jubb's false teeth in the third stanza. By the end of the bout "both aspirants were locked in an embrace on the floor [after falling during a clinch] as 2,000 tourists cheered.... Charles W. Eldridge, the referee, 101 years old, declared the battle a draw." New York Times

http://boxrec.com/list_bouts.php?human_id=250894&cat=boxer


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The perfect prizefighter, to me, next to Dempsey, in type the pure, unspoiled standard bearer of the prize ring was a middleweight from Nebraska by the name of Ace Hudkins. He wasn't the best fighter in the world, indeed he was never a world's champion; but he was tough, hard, mean, cantankerous, combative, foul, nasty, courageous, acrimonious, and filled at all times with bitter and flaming lust for battle. If there was a kindly trait in Hudkins, I never knew it. 
He weighed roughly around 150 pounds and had sort of pinkish, tousled hair, a long stubborn jaw that always showed a four-day stubble of beard, and a pair of the most baleful and vindictive blue eyes ever placed in a human head. His lips were thin and his teeth always bared in a snarl. He was utterly vicious, truculent, and brutal. He would heel, rip, thumb and butt with his head. He was meant to be strictly a rough-and-tumble bar-room fighter."

(Paul Gallico - sports editor of the New York Daily News)

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New Yorkers had gathered to cheer their favorite, Ruby Goldstein, the pale-skinned boy with the big eyes they called the Jewel of the Ghetto on a warm June night in 1926. They had cheered him through 23 straight victories; tonight would be another as he knocked out some rube from out West, a raw kid called Ace Hudkins. 
When the fight was made, another ghetto favorite, lightweight Sid Terris, sounded a warning. Sid had outboxed Hudkins in Chicago for a decision a few months previously, and he cautioned, "That Hudkins, he's too tough. Keep him away from Ruby, I'm telling you. He'll chase anybody out of the ring" But they hadn't heard of Ace Hudkins in New York and they backed Ruby with every dollar not nailed down. It was all over inside four rounds. Ace climbed off the canvas in the first round and in round four hung Goldstein over the ropes like a bundle of wet washing.

The Evening Journal headline on June 26 said it all: "$400,000 Changed Hands. It would be remembered as the fight that broke the Jewish banks." It was the fight that made Ace Hudkins.

(by John Jarrett)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

First professional fight in 1969. Final professional fight in 2008.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

few fantasy fights...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Ted Spoon (Aug 13, 2013)

The Louis-Frazier photo is brilliant. What a tease!


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> few fantasy fights...


Mike Tyson would take like what,....all of 80 seconds to ko Tyson Fury?


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Roy would be face down on the canvas after that Jinx arrived on his chin...it would be murder.


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## tommygun711 (Jun 4, 2013)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

nice one tommygunn711


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The joint was packed, a full house, with people standing around the ropes. Stooped over, waving Clay's letter of intent, I shuffled my way to the front of the crowd, chirping in my best Southern falsetto, 'Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo! Is that Cautious Clay I see up there? Cautious, why are you afraid to fight a little ol' washerwoman?'

When I reached the ring, I swung the mop and bucket through the ropes and then climbed through. Out came the rags. Out came the box of Grandma's Lye Soap. Cassius looked stunned. He was quiet and confused, just like he'd been when I'd chided him about his Popeye arms in Louisville.

I knew full well how ridiculous I looked, but the stunt had the desired effect. Diles quickly instructed his cameraman to swing over to me before he stuck his microphone in my face. Naturally, I stayed in character. 'Cautious Cassius backed out of fighting me,' I cackled, waving the letter of intent at the camera. 'He's chicken. How can he possibly be afraid of fighting someone like little ol' me?'

My stunt was the lead item on all the TV sportscasts later that evening, and in the next day's papers Clay danced around the questions by saying he wasn't going to fight anybody - least of all - that dirty Chuvalo - before his upcoming title shot against Liston in February.

My appearance in drag wasn't the only excitement at the Big D that afternoon. While all the commotion was going on in the ring, somebody slipped into the dressing room and swiped Clay's wallet. A handful of shady suspects who were hanging around the room were questioned, but the culprit was never found. I later found out that Cassius only had about $80 in his billfold, but he was furious that anyone would have the temerity to rob him. I guess he found out Detroit was a lot less friendly than Louisville.

(by George Chuvalo)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1935 Jersey Joe Walcott had become a boxing big shot around Camden, New Jersey, although this did nothing to help his financial situation as he was in debt and running out of credit. He and his wife Lydia were being hounded by the grocery store, the milkman and the landlord for immediate payment. Needing money, Walcott agreed to face his old mentor Roxie Allen. Allen had been calling Joe out for some time and had openly challenged him, so a fight was arranged at the convention hall.

Arriving for the fight, Joe was unexpectedly stopped at the entrance by a stranger who wanted to introduce Joe to a small dark man. 'Here is the original,' said the stranger 'Meet Joe Walcott, the Barbados Demon himself.' Joe was absolutely thrilled and inspired by the incident. After all, Joe Walcott was Jersey Joe's idol. Although Joe didn't have a dime to his name to buy a ticket, he managed to get his hero a ringside seat.

The fight started off as a bit of a shock for Walcott. Roxie, in a burst of fury, floored Jersey Joe with a big left hook in round one for a count of seven. Once up, Walcott proceeded to batter Allen without mercy, finally knocking Roxie out in round eight with a left hook. The blow sent Roxie to the canvas, his head hitting the floor of the ring hard enough to make it bounce. Roxie's body stiffened and Jersey Joe again had the awful feeling that he might have killed an opponent. Roxie was taken to Cooper Hospital. That night Joe prayed for God to spare Roxie's life. The next afternoon Roxie regained consciousness, but remained hospitalized for ten days. After the fight the Barbados Demon paid Joe a visit in his dressing room, giving him a hug and saying, 'Lots of fellers take the name Joe Walcott but you're the only boy I ever saw I was actually proud to have using it.'

For his victory over Allen, Joe walked away with $375. By the next evening, every cent of it was gone to pay the grocery store, landlord, milkman and a dozen other credits. By the next morning the family were living on markers once again.

(by James Curl)


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## johnmaff36 (Aug 3, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> The joint was packed, a full house, with people standing around the ropes. Stooped over, waving Clay's letter of intent, I shuffled my way to the front of the crowd, chirping in my best Southern falsetto, "Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo! Is that Cautious Clay I see up there? Cautious, why are you afraid to fight a little ol' washerwoman?"
> 
> When I reached the ring, I swung the mop and bucket through the ropes and then climbed through. Out came the rags. Out came the box of Grandma's Lye Soap. Cassius looked stunned. He was quiet and confused, just like he'd been when I'd chided him about his Popeye arms in Louisville.
> 
> ...


i read this on your CBS page yesterday doug. Great read. Is there any footage available of this do you know?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

i couldn't find any john...i did look...couldn't even find a photo of it.


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

Dougie, I enjoyed these posts so much, especially the great article on my favorite action fighter Beau Jack. I saw many of
the fights Beau Jack mentions, especially the Ike Williams bout, the Henry Armstrong bout, and the fight with the classy Tony Janiro
in MSG when Beau Jack reinjured his knee and hopped all over the ring on one foot til the referee stopped the fight...There will never be 
another sensational crowd pleaser like Sidney Walker, better known as Beau Jack...cheers D...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thanks burt.....these are all just articles i find online or here in books that i just keep a note of...those last ones are all from books i have here......mickey walkers book was amazing btw...bit of an abrupt end to it...a couple of pages covers many years at the end, but its an amazing read up to end of his boxing career.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Stephen Singer, a collector of all things Muhammad Ali, had sought out to collect the signatures of every man Ali fought in his 21-year professional career.

After all, many became famous for fighting Ali. Chuck Wepner's 1975 effort spawned the billion dollar Rocky franchise.

Joe Frazier's 1971 victory cinched his place in heavyweight history. Great Britain's own Henry Cooper became a knight of the British empire and his legend lives on long after him for what he did against a 21-year-old Clay in London, England.

Enlisting the services of a "professional autograph collector," the first 35 signatures came easy. As the pro's well ran dry, Singer set out to find the rest on his own.

Searching over the course of months, Singer went from gym to gym, seedy neighborhood to seedy neighborhood in his quest.

He located a notarized letter from a fighter turned Mafia hit man. A rabbi acted as a middle man in a small Argentine town for the passport of a fighter who'd been dead since 1964. He was No. 49.

Bit by bit, the puzzle came together as Singer counted his autographs.

He counted 49.

Only one remained.

One February night in 1961, just a few weeks removed from celebrating his 19th birthday with a 3rd-round stoppage over gangster Tony Esperti -- who later did time for a mob hit -- Clay was scheduled for his fourth fight.

The scheduled opponent had fallen through. Jimmy Robinson, a last-minute replacement from Miami, found himself with the assignment to pad Clay's record.

He lasted a mere 94 seconds in what turned out to be Ali's only 1st-round KO, sans the Sonny Liston dive.

"If promoter Chris Dundee had canvassed the women in the audience, he couldn't have found an easier opponent for Clay," The Miami Times wrote.

Robinson, known as "Sweet Jimmy" went on to carve a niche as a local "enhancement talent," a jobber - a guy paid to lose.

He retired in 1964 with an 8-24 record, coming out of retirement in '68 to lose once more.

There's been only one sighting since then. In 1979, a photographer shooting pictures for Sports Illustrated went to find Ali's earliest opponents. Michael Brennan located Jim Robinson, whom people down in Miami called "Sweet Jimmy." Most of what's known about his life comes from the brief blurb that ran with the photos. He lived off veteran's benefits. He claimed he was born around 1925. He claimed he was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery. Most days, he just hung out in the seedy Overtown neighborhood, at the pool hall owned by Miami concert promoter Clyde Killens.

The photos show a haunted man. His jaw juts out, like he's lost teeth. His eyebrows are bushy; once, they probably seemed delicate. A visor throws a shadow across his eyes. A deep scar runs along his left cheekbone. In one, he leans up against the wall of a Winn-Dixie. In another, he walks down railroad tracks, the skyline of Miami rising behind him. He never smiles.

Brennan shot the photos on a Friday night and Saturday morning. Sweet Jimmy smelled of booze and Camel cigarettes. Brennan remembers the last time he saw him. It was in the morning, on the railroad tracks, and he slipped the old fighter 20 bucks. Sweet Jimmy turned and walked off, negotiating the crossties. He never looked back.

"Tell Clay I ain't doing too good," he said.

...............................................

Some other Ali opponents...

Tunney Hunsaker, the first opponent, spent nine days in a coma after a bout.

Trevor Berbick, the final opponent, was beat to death with a steel pipe.

Herb Siler went to prison for shooting his girlfriend.

Tony Esperti went to prison for a Mafia hit in a Miami Beach nightclub.

Alfredo Evangelista went to prison in Spain.

Alejandro Lavorante died from injuries sustained in the ring.

Sonny Banks did, too.

Jerry Quarry died broke, his mind scrambled from dementia pugilistica.

Jimmy Ellis suffered from it, too.

Rudi Lubbers turned into a drunk and joined a carnival.

Buster Mathis blew up to 550 pounds and died of a heart attack at 52.

George Chuvalo lost three sons to heroin overdoses; his wife killed herself after the second son's death.

Oscar Bonavena was shot through the heart with a high-powered rifle outside a Reno whorehouse.

Cleveland Williams was killed in a hit-and-run.

Zora Folley died mysteriously in a motel swimming pool.

Sonny Liston died of a drug overdose in Las Vegas. Many still believe the Mafia killed him.

(by Wright Thompson)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1979.


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Stephen Singer, a collector of all things Muhammad Ali, had sought out to collect the signatures of every man Ali fought in his 21-year professional career.
> 
> After all, many became famous for fighting Ali. Chuck Wepner's 1975 effort spawned the billion dollar Rocky franchise.
> 
> ...


Great article, but very sad.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Boxing News belt awarded to Randolph Turpin after a poll to find who did the most for British boxing in 1951...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A fight that got away...Jake LaMotta v Rocky Graziano...June 1950..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1950. A fight that was billed as being for the Heavyweight Championship of the World...although only recognized as such by the British Boxing Board of Control...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"One day at Stillman's Gym, Charley Goldman, who trained Rocky Marciano (shortly to become world heavyweight champion), approached a young, then-middleweight, yet to turn pro, Floyd Patterson and asked if he could go a few rounds with a new fighter Goldman was working with, Tommy Harrison. Patterson wasn't so sure he was ready for that. Harrison was one of Marciano's regular sparring partners, and he was taller and heavier than Patterson. And he was fast, nearly as fast as Floyd himself.

Patterson told Goldman to ask Cus D'Amato, who was cautiously bringing Floyd along, not rushing him to spar fighters substantially better than he. D'Amato, to Patterson's surprise, gave the OK. Early in the first round, Harrison unloaded twelve unanswered jabs, most landing in spite of Patterson's bobbing and weaving. Those blows hurt Floyd, even though Harrison wore padded sparring gloves. In all his amateur career, even fighting for the championships of the AAU and the Olympics, Floyd never encountered punches as hard as these. It was a brutal introduction to just what Floyd could expect as a pro. The eyes of the Stillman's cognoscenti locked onto Patterson as he took those heavy shots. Would the kid collapse? Patterson knew he had to do something. He timed Harrison's next big jab. When it arrived, Patterson threw a stiff right cross above it, tagging Harrison in the face. The experienced pro staggered. After that, Floyd pursued Harrison, firing combinations that Harrison struggled to ward off. The men in the folding chairs nodded their approval, happy with how Floyd had overcome adversity, transforming it into an advantage.

A buzz began to spread around New York about D'Amato's up-and-comer, a kid who someday soon just might be good enough to put in the ring with the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson.

There were plenty of questions about his manager, however, the most eccentric man in the New York fight community. He was a weirdo, someone who read too many books, someone who believed in flying saucers and welcomed visitors from another planet, someone who never smoked or drank - the latter all but unheard of in the world of professional boxing.

And there was more. For reasons no one could quite understand, D'Amato refused to play ball with the men who ran professional boxing. It seemed as if he bore a vendetta against something, but just what that something was left boxing insiders scratching their heads. It also seemed as if he were preparing for a war of some kind. He lived in his gym, sleeping in a small room to the left of the boxing ring, a baseball bat within easy reach, a gun or two hidden away, his fierce dog curled up on the floor next to him. He never rode subways, fearing enemies could push him onto the tracks as he waited for a train. But he was plotting to become the most powerful force in professional boxing."

(by W.K. Stratton)

..............................

*A couple of years later in 1954, 15 fights into his professional career, and now weighing 169lbs, Patterson TKO'd Tommy Harrison in 89 seconds of the first round of their fight in Brooklyn. The fight report is testament to Patterson's nature as a boxer - 
"Patterson staggered Harrison against the ropes, floored him with a clean flurry for "four" and the mandatory eight-count, and floored him a second time with a left-right combination to the head that sent Harrison down flat on his back. Harrison barely made the count of ten. But he lurched helplessly around the ring with his arms down. Referee Conn appeared contented to let the bout continue but Patterson refused to attack and implored him to step in."


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

Fucking brilliant thread.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 1952. The first time that two southpaws would meet in a British title fight...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 1969. Mayfair, London.

Jack O'Halloran, future actor and known for starring in the Superman films, headlined a bill which featured a prizefighter-type tournament on the undercard, which Danny McAlinden won by beating Richard Dunn, later challenger to Muhammad Ali for the World Title, in one round in the final. This tournament was McAlinden's and Dunn's pro debuts.

Jack O'Halloran W Carl Gizzi PTS 10 10x3

Richard Dunn W Del Phillips PTS 3 3x3 
Richard Dunn L Danny McAlinden KO 1 3x3 
Danny McAlinden W John Cullen TKO 2 3x3 
Danny McAlinden W Dennis Avoth TKO 1 3x3 
Dennis Avoth W Obe Hepburn PTS 3 3x3 
Dennis Avoth W Billy Wynter PTS 3 3x3 
Billy Wynter W Jack Cotes PTS 3 3x3

*In 1975 Dunn got revenge by stopping McAlinden in two rounds in a British Heavyweight title fight


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"My problem with Leon Spinks arose in 1980 at a dinner in Las Vegas honoring Joe Louis.

At that time, Louis, in failing health, was confined to a wheelchair. The end, it was plain, was near. I was one of many champions seated at the dais while Diane* was at a table up near the front. Spinks, it turned out, was at the same table. He was loud and obnoxious, and bothering Diane. I had one of my guys go over to him and tell him to cool it. That's when a ruckus started, with Spinks and my people pushing and shoving and shouting. I hurried over and found Spinks and Diane pulling on a small, gold souvenir boxing glove that was at the center of the table. Leon had been taking them from the various tables and throwing them around. Diane had told him not to take the one on her table, but he had ignored her and grabbed it at the same time she did.

When I got there, I told him let go or I'd knock him on his butt. He let loose with a stream of profanity, and when I pushed him his bodyguard tried to get at me. His bodyguard was a muscular guy with a Mohawk haircut and a lot of attitude. Nobody knew him back then, but in time he would surpass Spinks as a celebrity, becoming an actor going by the name of Mr. T. I'd have whupped Mr. T and Spinks right where they stood except for the importance of the occasion, to honor Joe Louis. I didn't want to muddy that with violence, so when Spinks let go of the souvenir and both he and Mr. T relaxed their threatening postures, I backed off. But I marked Spinks for a good buttwhupping, deciding right there I'd try to get him in the ring as soon as I could. Get him in the ring and beat him bad.

Hurt him - that was what I had in my mind when the bell rang in Joe Louis Arena for me versus Spinks. I didn't have to go looking for Spinks. He was charging at me, bobbing and weaving like a disco dancer in a frenzy, trying to get inside my longer reach. But he was also firing away, like some damn kamikaze in boxing shorts. Some of his shots hurt, but I took them because what I was laying on him was even better. Still, he kept coming. There was a lot of fight in him.

By the third round, though, he seemed to be slowing. And I wasn't. I nailed him on the jaw with a right hand. Spinks dropped slowly to the canvas, fell facedown on the lower strand, and rolled over onto the canvas, landing on his back. He was on his feet at the count of nine. The referee, Richard Steele, asked him if he was okay. Spinks nodded and came toward me. I hit him with one right hand after another, and he took the punches. That's when I suddenly began to feel sorry for Spinks in spite of the way he had insulted Diane. I stepped back from Spinks and yelled at Steele: 'Stop the goddamned fight. You want me to kill this man?' But he didn't stop it. It didn't get stopped until Leon's brother, Michael - who would fight Eddie Mustafa Muhammad the following month for the WBA light heavyweight title - came charging up the steps yelling at Steele while another guy in Leon's corner threw a white towel into the ring.

Steele would tell reporters afterward that he never saw the towel - he was going to stop it then and there on his own. Whatever. The fight was over. The rage was gone from me by then, and I was feeling pity for Leon Spinks and regret for the malice I'd had for him."

(Larry Holmes)

*Diane - Larry Holme's wife.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

An epic comeback by Harry Greb in his 1923 fight with Soldier Jones.

..........

The first round began with Greb forcing the fight while Jones 'missed with lefts and rights.' Greb hooked lefts and rights to the body and face while Jones continued to miss. According to the Pittsburgh Post, 'Both were swinging wild and Jones sent a left to the chin, which backed Greb up to the ropes. Jones hooked a left to the head and Greb went down.' It was just one minute into the first round. Being blind in his right eye, he probably didn't even see the left punch coming. While he was being counted out, Greb 'lolled and rolled about on the lower ropes.' While the count continued Greb was able to 'regain his feet after a count of eight and wobble about like a drunken man.' Jones continued his attack 'and another right caught Greb's chin.' Greb went down again, this time holding on to Jones's legs. Referee Joe Keally had counted to four when Greb finally staggered to his feet. Greb went in for a clinch to try to clear his head. While Greb was still 'groggy' Jones landed two more left hooks. Mason called for Greb from a corner since he was 'staggering and did not know which corner to go to.'

In between rounds Greb sat 'limp' on his chair while Mason tried to revive him. 'Mason worked frantically but wisely over him, rubbed his tired legs back into life, massaged his ears and brought color back into his pale face.'

Greb came out at the start of the second round still blinking, tired and groggy, but slowly recovering due to the help of his manager. After a minute of the round Greb had seemingly recovered, and it looked like he would survive. Then Jones landed two more left hooks to the head which rocked Greb again. Greb went in for a clinch then later landed a left and right of his own. These punches were able to delay Jones's attack until the bell rang to end the round.

When in his corner Greb was silent, but then halfway through the rest time he began to 'straighten up in his chair and began talking to Mason.' When the third round started the crowd was 'standing on chairs, yelling and howling for Greb.' This seemed to refresh Greb, who then 'began moving, swinging, jabbing, hooking and throwing with both hands.' With one of the best chins in boxing history, Greb had shaken off the cobwebs and finally recovered. Throughout the third round his energy continued to replenish itself with Greb throwing 'right and left overhand punches to Jones' head and face.' Near the end of the third round Greb threw a punch that caused a 'gaping cut' over Jones's right eye. The third round was awarded to Greb.

By round four Greb was not only fully recovered but was dominating Jones. He was even able to stagger Jones with a right to the chin. The Post wrote: 'Greb was battering Jones to all sides of the ring at the bell. It was a terrific round and Greb had a big margin, sending Jones to his corner with his right eye closed.' Now, unbeknown to most people, both boxers were fighting with only one eye.

For the rest of the fight Greb proceeded to punish Jones so badly it was described as 'a slaughter.' Greb landed twenty unanswered punches in the fifth round, and by the sixth round 'Jones was wobbling around. It was another round for Greb and Jones seemed more tired even than Greb was in the first two rounds.' By the seventh Jones was 'leg weary' and only managed to land two blows. Greb was back to his normal self and was completely dominating his opponent, who was staggering around groggily. At the end of the round the referee had to ask Jones if he wanted to continue. In round eight 'Greb hooked a hard right to Jones' chin and Jones went down for the count of nine, Jones arose and seemed helpless as Greb pounded.'

Jones continued to stagger around at the start of round nine. During the round Greb punished Jones severely, 'which made the soldier's face a mass of blood.' Jones had one eye closed while blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The tenth round was much the same. When the fight ended Greb had lost the first two rounds but won the remaining eight in a very one-sided finish. It was said to be one of the biggest massacres Greb had dished out. A headline in the Post the next day read, 'Pittsburgh's great boxer displays wonderful gameness and recuperative powers. Tears into Soldier Jones, earning verdict by taking last eight rounds.'

(by Bill Paxton)


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## One to watch (Jun 5, 2013)

Best thread on CHB bar none.

An absolute feast of information and nostalgia,top man @doug.ie.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

One to watch said:


> Best thread on CHB bar none.
> 
> An absolute feast of information and nostalgia,top man @doug.ie.


it's not that ....but thanks for saying anyway.....i'm just a magpie, no more than that....picking things up online over the years..or..posting passages from the boxing books i have here


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## It's Ovah (Jun 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> it's not that ....but thanks for saying anyway.....i'm just a magpie, no more than that....picking things up online over the years..or..posting passages from the boxing books i have here


Well if it's not then it's close. Absolute gold nuggets that wouldn't be available anywhere else. This is top stuff man, and thank you truly for posting it up for us.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Shortly before noon three men got out of a taxi and scuttled under the marquee of the Washington Coliseum to avoid the rain. One of them was 'Young Joe Walcott' (real name Harvey McCullough and no relation to the former heavyweight champion), who did not carry about him the fine flush of youth. With a ducktail haircut, dark glasses, padded-shoulder sports coat and tight, black pants, Young Joe might have been an aging rock 'n' roll singer. He chewed on a toothpick, turning his lumpy face up to sneak a look at the blue-letter marquee. If he expected to see his name he was disappointed, TONIGHT, it read, giving him no hint of fame, SUGAR RAY ROBINSON. HOLLY MIMS IN COFEATURE.

Walcott's advisers, a fat man in a gold coat and a fatter one whose suit looked fresh from an ashcan, trooped into the office to inquire about the weigh-in. A myopic lady in a print dress knew nothing. At the arena's main gate a lone ticket attendant told them to go around to the stage door at the rear of the building. They walked rapidly through the rain, the man in the gold coat holding a protective newspaper over his head. Rain dripped down Young Joe's seamed face, but he did not mind. Just one more indignity to bear in a life of cheeseburgers and long bus rides. After much door-banging a crotchety old man with a red face appeared to disclaim knowledge of any fight, whereupon he slammed the door. The trio made the long trek back to the front of the arena, Young Joe volunteering his only spontaneous remark of the day: "Man, I'm gonna walk all my weight off."

This time the entourage was admitted, after more confusion, to a gloomy, battleship-gray room in the depths of the Coliseum. A young, officious man took Walcott's pulse, poked him in the ribs and asked an embarrassing question: "The papers say you have a 6-10-2 record. That right?"

The pugilist looked uncertainly at his two handlers. The gold coat shrugged in the manner of a lawyer whose client is caught with hot goods. With a laconic "uh-huh" Walcott pleaded guilty. He was guided into an adjoining room to be fingerprinted. They are not very trusting in Washington. Half a dozen prelim fighters were going through the same ritual. None of them bothered to look up at Walcott.

Sugar Ray arrived a good half hour late. He walked in easily, wearing dark slacks and a paisley-print sport shirt, his eyes harboring the cloudy look of a man just aroused from deep slumber. Everybody hi-Sugared and howdy-Rayed as Robinson sidestepped an old-fashioned set of scales on rollers, shucked his shirt and dropped onto a straight-back chair.

He seemed uncertain whether he should speak to Robinson or ignore him, as Sugar was ignoring him. Young Walcott weighed 156 but looked smaller. When the ex-champ mounted the scales—in shorts, undershirt and sneakers—there was a moment of consternation. Sugar Ray muttered under his breath, stripped to the skin and still came in 10 ounces over the 160-pound limit. More mumbles. Gainford said, "Lemme see, Ray." His thumb performed a certain magic on the scales. "Hunnert and sixty on the nose," he proclaimed. Nobody disputed him.

There was a surprisingly good crowd that night—nearly 4,000 paying from $2 to $7 per seat-had rocked the arena when Robinson appeared 15 minutes late, bobbing and dancing in the white robe with "Sugar Ray" etched on it in apricot hues, ignored the cheers. By contrast, Walcott had paused on the ring apron to stare in disbelief at a tiny knot of fans applauding him. His next act was to misstep into the rosin box, turning it over.

At the bell Walcott seemed confused. Before he could get himself untracked Sugar Ray had hammered several quick lefts on his nose. Robinson rocked Walcott with a right uppercut and a moment later nailed him with a straight right that had Young Joe retreating. Robinson returned to his corner untouched by human hands.

In the second and third rounds Robinson jabbed and followed through, just as his mother had told him to do. The crowd applauded Robinson's showmanship, and it was easy to feel you were watching the Sugar Ray of old.

Round four brought Walcott a painful lesson in the art of infighting. Sugar's hands worked at his opponent's torso and under the chin. At ringside, in a white sequined dress, Millie Bruce came out of her chair, yelling: "Come on, baby. Come on, love." When Robinson paused to pull up his trunks Young Joe thought he saw his chance. He tried a long, looping right and immediately got tangled in his own shoelaces. Exposed, vulnerable, he struggled frantically for balance. Sugar Ray feinted a punch that could have sent everybody home to early supper, but he did not throw it. He dropped his arms, laughed aloud and tugged again at his shorts.

It was more of the same in the fifth. Robinson boxed Walcott off-balance three times and reprieved him three times. Once, when Walcott moved forward, Robinson chortled aloud, embraced him in the middle of the ring, then wheeled and mashed poor Walcott's sore nose with a stinging left.

But maybe Sugar hadn't been all that sweet. The exertion was taking something out of him. Suddenly, between the fifth and sixth rounds, he looked old.

At first the crowd thought he was resting for the final big push. There were cries of "O.K., Ray, now's the time," "Put 'im away, Sugar Boy." But the old combination one-two-three now misfired. So did some long right hands. Punches that earlier rocked against Young Joe's chin now slipped harmlessly over his shoulders. 

It was hot under the ring lights. Sugar Ray grasped through the seventh, sweating buckets. Walcott hit him in the face a number of times, his first meaningful blows of the fight. In the eighth he did it again, and now Young Joe was looking tough. Robinson wasn't grinning anymore. There were scattered boos at the bell.

In the ninth Walcott pounded Robinson in the body, and though Sugar had chopped home a few blows of his own they lacked power. When the two pawed and clutched a moment later in the center of the ring a voice from the $2 seats yelled, "Waltz me around again, Sugar," and too many people laughed.

Many in the crowd were already heading for the exits before the end of the 10th, in which nothing happened except that Young Joe sent in a few more futile body blows. At the finish there was a roll of boos. Sugar Ray, tarnished but the obvious winner, accepted the victory calmly. All three judges favored him heavily. But the cheers were mostly for Walcott as he swaggered from the ring, proud, apparently, that he had not been knocked out.

Sucking a soft-drink bottle in his dressing room, Robinson thanked the writers who came by to see him. The old conceit, the old lip, the old arrogance were there, if his reflexes and the punch were not. No, he hadn't been hurt—but that boy was tough, no doubt about it. No, the heat hadn't bothered him too much. No, he hadn't really been looking for a knockout. He would be sharper for the champion Giardello if he went the distance a few more times. Nobody was counting, but Robinson had gone the distance three of his last four times out.

The newsmen rushed off to meet their deadlines. The last curious fans faded away in the halls. Houselights dimmed over the empty arena. His manager Gainford gathered up Robinson's fight paraphernalia, methodically stuffing a small bag.

From the shower, standing under a sting of spray, Sugar Ray called, "Hey, George! What was that cat's name I fought tonight?" "

(by Larry L. King)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In one of his sober moments, Mickey Walker had made Doc Kearns promise they would take a trip to Ireland. His father's people had come from Roscommon, his mother's from Kerry, and his mail bag was always full of letters from people claiming to be cousins or related in some way, warm, friendly letters, and Mickey wanted to meet them. So Doc gave Walter Friedman a roll of bills and told him to book the trip to the Emerald Isle.

Friedman was a Broadway character labeled "Good-Time Charley" by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn't know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn't know anybody in Ireland either.

Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn't in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn't seem to care. He was having too good a time.

(by John Jarrett)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

During and well after Joey Giardello's days in the ring, he used his celebrity for the benefit of children with disabilities. Not only did he fight exhibitions but he staged two events that brought the best fighters of the 50's and 60's together for these children. Joey collected boxing greats: Carmen Basillio, Tippy Larkin, Chuck Davey, Willie Pep, Charlie Fusari, Billy Graham, Rocky Graziano, Chico Vejar, Jake LaMotta, Paul Pender, Ernie Durando, Sandy Saddler, Billy Conn and others. Many would attend the "Carnival of Champions" just to see the referees: Heavyweight champions, "The Manassa Mauler," Jack Dempsey; Jersey Joe Walcott; and "Cinderella Man," James Braddock. He gathered these fighters twice (1969 and 1972) and donated all the proceeds to charity.

(by Charlie Redner)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In a six-month stretch between 1943 and 1944, Jake LaMotta and Fritzie Zivic fought four times. Three of the four bouts ended in disputed split decisions, and three of the four bouts occurred in the hometowns of each fighter. LaMotta went 3-1 against Zivic, but it wasn't that simple.

The first Jake LaMotta vs. Fritzie Zivic bout occurred on June 10, 1943 in Zivic's hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. LaMotta was a major force in the middleweight division. At the time, LaMotta was a month shy of his twenty-second birthday. The Bronx Bull was already 1-2 against Sugar Ray Robinson, and was a veteran of over forty professional fights. He was young, hungry and eager for a title shot.

In stark contrast, Zivic was considered a grizzled, fading, thirty-year-old former welterweight champion. Zivic was one of the most active fighters in boxing history. Fritzie had participated in an eye-popping 170 bouts when he and LaMotta first met. Leading up to the bout, Zivic had lost four of his last seven contests.

Regardless of Zivic's latest showings, he hadn't lost in his hometown since dropping a decision to Charley Burley in 1939. Nevertheless, some of Zivic's most ardent supporters were predicting doom for the quotable, carefree, and peripatetic former champion. Even Zivic's Ph.D. in butting, thumbing and heeling wouldn't be able to overcome natural wear and tear and LaMotta's strength and stamina.

As it turned out, Zivic proved the skeptics wrong, but not without unexpected controversy. Weighing 151½ to LaMotta's 155½, Zivic was too smart and experienced for the young contender. He outboxed the charging LaMotta before the hometown fans, and seemed to win an easy ten round decision. Zivic's biographer, Timpav, describes the action and controversy surrounding LaMotta vs. Zivic 1 in his book 'Champ: Fritzie Zivic: The Life and Times of the Croat Comet'.

"At the start of the seventh, Zivic appeared to have the decision in his lap. LaMotta must have sensed it too, for he started rushing in that frame, and continued the same tactics in the 8th. Zivic, unruffled, took the 9th round with ease, and coasted to an apparent victory.

LaMotta staged a last-round rally to win that stanza, but his face was splattered in blood flowing from gashes over both eyes.

When the decision was announced, the crowd went wild. It just didn't make sense to the fans who just saw the Crafty Croat fight one of the most brilliant battles in his long career.

Even LaMotta was amazed when the result was announced.

Referee Al Graybar tallied six rounds for LaMotta, four for Zivic; Judge Kid Stinger had six for LaMotta, two for Zivic and two even; and Judge George Martzo scored it six for Zivic, three for LaMotta, and one even."

Fans reportedly booed the decision for a full twenty minutes. Along with several top writers, Timpav reported that Barney Ross and LaMotta's pilot, Mike Capriano, thought Zivic won comfortably. The decision was so bad that when the rematch was ordered, new officials were appointed to oversee the action.

Zivic won the fifteen round rematch on July 12, 1943. The bout was a bloody, ebb and flow war, but it was also close and controversial. Zivic was effective in the middle rounds after taking a beating from LaMotta in the first round. LaMotta ultimately took charge and shut Zivic out in the championship rounds. The scorecards read: 8-5-2, 8-7, 5-7-3.

This time, most observers thought LaMotta won. Timpav reported that an eerie stench loomed over both decisions. In fact, part of the requirement for LaMotta vs. Zivic 3 entailed that the bout wouldn't take place in Pittsburgh.

The rubber match occurred on November 12, 1943 at Madison Square Garden. LaMotta weighed 161 to Zivic's 149¼. LaMotta was a 3-1 favorite.

LaMotta was the hometown fighter, but Zivic was extraordinarily popular in NYC. The 23,190 fans who witnessed Zivic's welterweight title defense stoppage of Henry Armstrong on January 17, 1941 remains a Madison Square Garden attendance record.

As LaMotta would discover, being the hometown fighter isn't all it's cracked up to be. For starters, Zivic successfully bargained for five-ounce gloves with hopes of cutting LaMotta to shreds. Timpav describes the action and controversy.

"For the first five rounds it was a pip of a brawl, with Zivic apparently ahead on points. The Croat Comet cut Jake's eye in the 4th, but LaMotta never backtracked. Fritzie got his foe to straighten up out of his familiar crouches with telling hooks and uppercuts in the early rounds.

Starting with the 6th, Jake's punishing punches began to slow Zivic down. A cut was opened over Fritz's eye in the 7th. The 8th, 9th and 10th rounds had LaMotta in control all the way. He showed his good form in the 9th, when he stormed over Zivic from all angles. They were still slugging it out hard at the final bell.

Jake took the decision, but it wasn't unanimous. Referee Eddie Joseph voted for LaMotta, 6-4, as did Judge Marty Monroe. But the third official, Judge Jack Goodwin, gave 7 to Zivic and 3 to Jake."

Much to the chagrin of LaMotta, his hometown fans reportedly rooted for Zivic during the entire bout, and loudly booed the split decision victory in his favor.

LaMotta and Zivic would fight once more on January 14, 1944. For the first time, the bout occurred at a neutral venue: Olympia Stadium in Detroit. By the same token, for the first time, the bout ended without controversy. LaMotta dominated Fritzie over ten rounds despite being penalized for low blows in the second and fourth round. The scorecards read: 8-2, 8-2, 6-3-1.

Their combined careers totaled nearly 340 bouts and over 2,600 rounds of ring activity. Despite the depth and veracity of their skill and will, neither could escape the tangled and intricate web of the hometown decision.

(by Greg Smith)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The crazy tale of the night that Paul Swiderski fought Mickey Walker...

Doc Kearns (Walkers manager) claimed he had accepted an original offer for Mickey to box Pat Dillon, a Canadian journeyman fighter, in Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby in 1930, but when Dillon suffered a hand injury, the promoters asked Doc if he would accept Paul Swiderski as a substitute. Kearns would refer to Swiderski as a “local boy noted as a very rough and tough customer,” but Paul was actually a light-heavyweight from Syracuse with a so-so record. They needed spending money for the big weekend, so Kearns agreed to the fight. 

But when fight day rolled around, the promoters told Kearns that they hadn’t taken in enough money to pay Mickey’s purse. There were plenty of sporting gents in town but they had come to see the big race, not a boxing match, even if there was a world champion topping the card. Doc told them if there was no money, there was no fight. When he told Mickey, the Toy Bulldog joined in the festivities and started hitting the bars. 

It was some hours later when Kearns was called by the promoters. They had three grand for Walker if he was still sober. He wasn’t when Teddy Hayes (his trainer at the time) found him, but he was always ready for a fight, and manager and trainer set to work to get their star attraction fit for the fray. They finally got him into the ring but were hoping Swiderski wasn’t feeling too ambitious. He was. 

Kearns recalled, “Swiderski galloped across the ring at the opening bell and walloped Mickey on the chin with a right hand that knocked him flatter than a house detective’s arches. Through the next couple of minutes, Mickey was up and down like a pump handle, and finally Swiderski fetched him a smash on the jaw that knocked Mickey cold.” 

The way Kearns told it, he happened to hit the timekeeper’s gong with Mickey’s water bottle, thus ending the round. Harry Lenny (Swiderski's manager) had seen Doc’s unofficial action and jumped into the ring, yelling to the timekeeper that the round was not over. Kearns and Hayes had followed Lenny into the ring, intent on hauling Mickey back to his corner for some badly needed first aid. 

They needed a diversion and a free-for-all broke out in the middle of the ring with the local police joining in. Meanwhile Doc got Walker back to his stool, doused him with water and shoved the smelling salts under his nose. He was stirring when they cleared the ring and the bell rang for round two. 

Kearns would recall that Swiderski cornered Mickey again and knocked him out, absolutely cold. Luckily there were only five seconds left in the round and Walker was saved by the bell. But he was still virtually out on his feet when going out for round three. 

For Doc Kearns, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. He recalled on entering the arena seeing a bank of switches in the box office, which he pointed out to Hayes. If those switches were pulled by some careless person, all the arena lights would go out. So, with the dangerous Swiderski taking aim on the hapless Walker, Doc sent Hayes off to the box office. 

Leaving the ringside, Hayes raced off to the front of the hall and found the box office. Surprising the guy in there, he yelled something about the lights, pulled on two large switches, and out went the arena lights. Then he charged back to the ring, got Walker to his corner, and worked on him. By the time the lights came on again, Mickey was shaking his head and coming out of his nightmare. 

When all the lights went out, Kearns recalled that he was in the ring and swapping punches with Swiderski, having shoved the semi-conscious Walker into a corner. He was soon joined by Hayes, who slugged Lenny, and with the crowd going crazy and the referee looking on helplessly, the cops again charged into the ring to sort things out. It took about half an hour this time to clear everybody out of the ring except the principals, and the real fight started again. 

The story of this fight is as mixed up as the circumstances leading up to it. In his “Sportlight” column, Grantland Rice wrote, “It was almost another Dempsey–Firpo melee.... It took a fighter to get back and tear in as Walker did. Only a fighting man could have staged such a counter attack. And here was $100,000 worth of drama and excitement on tap for a $7,000 house.” 

By all accounts, Paul Swiderski put Mickey Walker’s lights out in that hectic first round, and by the accounts of Kearns and Hayes, they put everybody else’s lights out. They didn’t mention a double knockdown in the opening round, yet in several reports there was such a rare happening. 

In a review for Ring magazine, Dan Daniels recorded, “The rivals connected simultaneously and both hit the canvas. Paul pulled himself up at six, Walker needed nine.... The round had gone 2:30 with the champion sprawled out on the canvas when the bell suddenly rang. Kearns had sent trainer Teddy Hayes to rap the gong in time to save Walker from being counted out.” Daniels concluded that, but for the skullduggery pulled by Hayes and Kearns, Walker would have been knocked out.

Damon Runyon, in Louisville for the Derby, was at the Walker fight. He saw the double knockdown, recording in his column a few days later, “As Mr. Swiderski speared him on the chin with a left hook, Mr. Walker’s right landing at the same instant on Mr. Swiderski’s kisser. Down they both went. ’Twas the first double knockdown these aged eyes have viewed in many a semester.” 

Somebody else remembered the double knockdown—Paul Swiderski. He would tell sportswriter/cartoonist “Lank” Leonard, “We both land at the same time and we both go down. Well, I’m the first to get up. Mickey finally makes it but he’s in terrible shape.” Swiderski also recalled the lights going out. “By the time they find a new fuse Walker is himself again and I’m tired out from giving him everything I’ve got. He finished strong and I was lucky to finish.” 

A couple of months after the fight, Swiderski talked with columnist William Braucher for his “Hooks & Slides” column. “Sure, low blows hurt,” he said, “and I still carry effects of one that Mickey handed me in Louisville. Well, just as the bell rang ending the third round, Mickey let a wild one go and it took me right in the groin. I went over on my face and felt very sick to my stomach.” 

Swiderski and manager Lenny tried to buy the pictures that were taken of the knockdowns but they were too late. Doc Kearns had already bought the plates from the only photographer who covered the fight. Recalled sportswriter Henry J. McCormick some years later, “Swiderski’s manager had placards made up showing his boy knocking down Walker eight times. In some of the pictures the fighter purporting to be Walker wore dark trunks, in others he wore white trunks; in some pictures the fight was in a ring outdoors, in others in a ring indoors.” 

(by John Jarrett)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

21st September 1948

Lee Oma vs Bruce Woodcock - Haringey Stadium, London.

In New York they thought Oma should win, but they'd had the word and bet Woodcock. Oma said he 'didn't feel too good' the day before the contest and those with good boxing dialect knew what that meant. He certainly didn't look too good a few flurries into the fourth round. Woodcock caught Oma with a right hand blow and the American swayed and took a little time to lie on the canvas and roll from side to side. There was no ovation, only pennies thrown into the ring by the disgruntled crowd. A crackerjack headline in the next day's 'Daily Mirror' above Peter Wilson's report read "OMA! AROMA! COMA!", which led to a commotion and Lee Oma's purse being held by the British Boxing Board of Control.

(By Douglas Thompson)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

An 1865 'Contest Of Courage'

................................

Two half-naked men stalked each other around a sand-floored ring under the flicker of lamplight. Savage blows had smashed the larger man's face into a rubbery red pulp. Bruises dotted his ribs and his arms were knobby with welts. The smaller man's fists were lifted menacingly, although he was near exhaustion, his eyes glazed and every breath a gulp. The skin of his chest and belly was patched with wet blood.

Suddenly the larger man stepped in and landed three quick punches. His opponent slipped to the floor but managed to rise as his seconds hurried to his aid. There was sudden, brisk activity in each corner. A moment later the referee stepped to the center of the ring and, with arms raised overhead, shouted: "The fight is over. It's a draw. All bets are off."

Thus ended what may well have been one of the longest and most brutal fights in American ring history, a bare-fisted match that went an incredible 185 rounds.

The setting was appropriate for such a grueling display of courage and stamina—Virginia City, the roistering gold camp of what was then the Montana Territory. The date was January 2, 1865.

Con Orem was the smaller of the principals, son of an Ohio blacksmith, veteran professional fighter at 29, keeper of the Champion saloon in Virginia City, himself a teetotaler. His opponent was Hugh O'Neil, 34, native of County Antrim, Ireland, a muscular, whisky-drinking barroom brawler and sometime miner.

For days before the battle, Virginia City buzzed with excitement. Everyone knew that Orem weighed only 138 pounds in fighting trim, the size of a small welterweight. O'Neil was a full-fledged heavyweight at 190 pounds. Because of the 52-pound weight differential, O'Neil was a 3-to-1 favorite.

Orem's backers counted on his heart and experience. A quick, wiry bantam rooster of a man, he had fought in various parts of the East and claimed the unofficial championship of the Rocky Mountains. Also, Con Orem was a fanatic about physical conditioning.

The fight was held at J. A. Nelson's Leviathan Hall, "erected with a special view to the development of muscular talent." A lean-to was added to accommodate an overflow crowd that was predominantly male, although "the fair sex was not unrepresented." Tickets, priced at $10 for reserved seats and $5 in the pit, were on sale "at all respectable saloons."

Nelson himself was referee. The crowd gathered early. Shortly after 1:30 p.m. Nelson called the contestants together and went over the London Prize Ring rules with them. These rules provided for a finish fight and allowed a combination of boxing and wrestling. Fighters were permitted to seize their opponents and throw them down. A knockdown ended the round. The person floored had 30 seconds to "come to the scratch," that is, to toe a mark in the center of the ring and renew the contest.

The bout's first real action came in the third round. An unidentified reporter for the Montana Post later wrote: "After a little sparring, Con sent a right-handed, straight shooter heavily into Hugh's ribs a little below the arm pit, receiving a counter from Hugh, somewhat short, in a corresponding location. Con slipped to his knees, but jumping up let fly his left on Hugh's knowledge box. Hugh returned the compliment heavily with his left just below the shoulder, knocking Con, who was retiring, off his feet. First knockdown for Hugh. Loud cheers from O'Neil's friends."

Both men were badly mauled by the 50th round. Orem, with faster reflexes, had dealt out the greater punishment. O'Neil's nose dripped blood steadily and one of his eyes had begun to swell. His sides were rosy where Orem's sharp punches had scored. But O'Neil was stronger in the clinches and time and again he threw his opponent to the floor.

In the 119th round, both men stood toe to toe trading blows in mid-ring until they went down. The crowd was in a frenzy. Seconds dragged the fighters to their corners and went to work on them. Both responded to the bell, but neither could take advantage of the other's groggy condition.

By the 156th round both fighters were moving slowly. Neither had much of any defense left, but neither seemed to have enough force to take advantage of the other man's helplessness. Still, no one moved to stop the battle, and for the most part the crowd sat in awed silence.

Orem weakened rapidly, appearing almost faint at times. Rounds 180 through 183 ended with O'Neil knocking Orem to the sand almost at will. But still Orem came back for more.

In the 184th, Orem landed desperation rights and lefts to O'Neil's nose but the punches had no effect, and Orem slipped down. O'Neil walked back to his corner, and it was apparent the end was near.

Orem was little more than a punching bag in the 185th round. Under O'Neil's attack, he sank to the floor. It was then that Referee Nelson decided to call an end to the spectacle.

Oddly enough both corners protested bitterly. Orem's seconds insisted their man was able to continue. And battered and weary as O'Neil was, he could see a knockout victory almost within his grasp.

The Montana Post's reporter concluded his story with these remarks: "A gamer, harder fight was never contested in the prize ring. As for Con Orem, nothing but temperance, skill, activity and unflinching heroism enabled him to hold out against 52 pounds extra weight, backing a man who was as brave as a lion.... We are sure that no man of Orem's size or anything like it can be found in America who can whip him in a 24-foot ring.... No harder or more trying contest can ever, we venture to say, be seen here or elsewhere. We sincerely hope that such men may never meet again."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 1st, 1937. Manchester, UK.

Benny Lynch goes down five times in his bout with Len 'Nipper' Hampston. Lynch is immediately disqualified when his seconds jump into the ring in the fifth claiming a foul.

"Lynch had been discovered on the eve of the fight in such a state of intoxication his handlers tried to coerce the Hampston camp to fix the fight so the follow-up bout could have more meaning. Naturally the offer was refused and Benny suffered five rounds of torture, continuously being felled by body punches, which was a sure-fire indicator of his lax approach to preparation. The rematch sated some of the indignation Benny felt at the previous humiliation (Lynch won by 10th round tko)"

(By Ben Hoskin)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In one of the stormiest scenes in British ring history, Walter Cartier of New York was disqualified Tuesday night for persistent holding in the second round of his bout with Randy Turpin, ex-middleweight champion and current top contender for the vacant crown.

No sooner had referee Tommy Little stopped the bout at 1.30 of the second session in Earl's Court Arena when Cartier, who had received seven separate warnings for holding, touched off a near-riot by rushing across the ring like a wild man with his fists flying at the referee and at a surprised Turpin as he screamed and kicked the ropes as hard as he could.

More than a dozen men swarmed into the ring from opposite corners and they milled about, waving their arms, shouting and cursing in wild argument. The sellout crowd of 18,000 cheered the referee, booed Cartier and began surging towards the ring.

Wild-eyed Walter claimed he had not been holding and that the referee had no right to disqualify him. Arena attendants finally cleared a path for him and he was escorted to his dressing room.

(The Times-News - Mar 18, 1953)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1913, Jess Willard lost a 20-round decision to Gunboat Smith in a bout where Willard's ear was shredded. Years later, Smith would tell just how Willard sustained such a grievous wound. "So in the tenth round I hit him with one of my right hands, but it was on the ear. Tore his ear right off. That hushed him up for the rest of the fight. The blood was running down, and oh God, I, of course, had my gloves 'loaded.' I had insulation tape laid across my hands."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 26, 1980.
Before and After. 
Muhammad Ali begins serious training for his heavyweight title fight against Larry Holmes, left, at his training camp in Deer Lake, PA in March.....and right, Ali winds down training for the Oct 2nd fight while preparing in Las Vegas.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"That’s right, folks, my robust opinions are in The Times while the Manassa Mauler had to harrumph in the obscure New York Amsterdam News. How appropriate. For years I pursued frightened opponents around the world before winning the heavyweight championship at age thirty. Jack Dempsey got his title young and spent the next seven years dodging formidable black fighters, pummeling white stiffs, and fooling around in Hollywood. I don’t begrudge him the latter, but when a man’s most significant victories come over hundred-ten-pound starlets, he’s no champ, at least in the ring. And, please, disregard those who say I was bad as Dempsey in denying black fighters opportunities. I only did that after I became champ. At least I fought my brothers while I ascended. 

Study the record. Jack Dempsey, already a lazy titleholder, didn’t fight for three years before skinny Gene Tunney peppered him ten rounds. Dempsey was then an old man at thirty-one. At that stage I kept getting better. That’s why, if Dempsey had given me a shot in 1919, when I was only forty-one, I’d have boxed and confused him and made him stumble around the ring before I dropped the hammer. But of course Jack Dempsey wouldn’t fight me then. Maybe he will now. He’s only forty-six and I’m sixty-three and been losing most of my fights for years. 

Joe Louis also irritates me. I don’t know why black folks cheer such an inarticulate guy. They must not remember. If I were twenty-five years younger, I’d tattoo the Brown Bomber."

(1941 column by former heavyweight champion Jack Johnson published in The New York Times.)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

I went all over Harlem searching for Sam Langford. Nobody even knew the name. Nobody had heard of him. Finally, someone said "You know, when I was at Amherst I played against Frtiz Pollard, a ***** from Brown. Find him. Maybe he can help."

I went back to 125th Street and asked for Pollard and was told "Oh, sure, he's a booking agent. He books ***** acts into all the ***** theaters"

I found Pollard and said "Look, I want to find Sam Langford. Do you know anything about him?" - He didn't. But I figured he could still help me. I wrote a piece about him, as a matter of fact, to butter him up. It wasn't really one of the series because there wasn't much to write about him. Anyhow, one day he said, "Let's go to the ration office" This was during the war and he meant the place where you get your ration books to buy a pound of meat and so on. We went down there. They had never heard of Langford.

"Well," Pollard said, "let's go over to the welfare office." - At welfare they said "Yes, Langford used to come in. He used to be on welfare."
This was the first lead I had, after almost a month. So we knew Langford was somewhere in the area. We left, and as I was walking with Pollard down Lenox Avenue, he said "Let's go in here" It was a butcher shop. Pollard said, "I know this fellow. He's a great sports fan."

The butcher was a white man. Pollard asked him if he had ever heard of Sam Langford. The man said "Sure, he comes in here every day. I give him pig's feet. He lives around the corner."
That's where we found him, in a terrible, terrible old room. He was blind of course. I knocked on his door, this rickety old door, and I said "Sam?"...and this voice says "Yes, c'mon in"
We went in. I could see by the light through the door that he was reaching for a string to turn on the light above him. He was sitting on this bed, the only thing in the room. There was a tiny little window facing on to the courtyard.

I sat and talked with him. The stench in the place was awful. He was so cheerful, laughing all the time. Of course, he didn't know me from Adam. I told him who I was. He asked if I knew all the old people he used to know. We talked and talked. He told me he had been on and off welfare so much the welfare office had lost track of him.
I went back to the office and wrote a piece that night. It ran the next morning. It was quite a short piece, no more than a thousand words. When I saw it in the paper I said to myself, "My God, what a terrible job I've done."

But then I was deluged with money. Every day came dozens and dozens of letters with postage stamps and dollar bills and two-dollar bills, and quaters wrapped in bits of paper. The piece had been picked up by the Associated Press and put on the wire. So this stuff was coming in from all over the country.

This was early in December, and at Christmas I went back to see him again and do another piece. I neglected my family to go up there. By this time we had all this money, and I bought him a guitar, a box of cigars, a bottle of gin, all that stuff. He loved to take a slug of gin. He never took much.

Sam was wonderful, and there was this one wonderful touch. He was blind, remember, but he said, "I got a little money now. Buy me a couple of candles, will you?"
He fished into his pocket and gave me a quarter. "I want you to light the candles. I can't see them. But I want the candles lit for Christmas."

The christmas story turned out to be better than the other. In anthologies they put the two stories together because they supplement one another. They put a title on it, "A dark man laughs" It's in a dozen or so anthologies.

I wrote five pieces on Sam altogether, and we raised twelve thousand dollars. We got a lot of pleasure out of the Langford story and the organization of the fund.

Sam was such a wonderful person. There was no evil in him. Nothing but sweetness. He had no grudge against anybody. The only person he didn't like was Harry Wills. He kept telling me, "Don't you accept nothing from Harry Wills. I don't want anything from Harry Wills."
Sam had fought Wills nineteen times, but he couldn't fight for the title. No ******* were fighting for titles back then. By the time Jack Johnson was champion and ******* were beginning to be accepted for big bouts, Sam was practically blind. He got that lime stuff in one eye, and the eye was gone. But he still fought on. He fought at 160 pounds. Fought the heavyweights too.

Sam and I were friends until he died. We got about a hundred dollars a month for him, which was plenty at the time. He got more and more feeble and then he got diabetes very bad. He kept telling me "I'm going back to Boston". He had a friend up there, a fellow who ran a pub. He finally came down and got Sam and put him in a nursing home. There was enough money to pay his way up there. That's where Sam died.

There was one thing I forgot. Sam is noted for calling everyone "Chief" and I forgot to put that in the story. The first thing I heard him say was "C'mon in, Chief."

The story was not a straight job of reporting. For the facts about Sam, you could say "There he is. He's forgotten. He's blind. He hasn't got any money. And he's very cheerful about it." That's all there is to it, that would be the whole story, if you were just using facts. But this kind of feature reporting is different.

By Al Laney

..............................

From The New York Times - Feb 3rd 1992...

"Al Laney, a sportswriter for more than four decades, died last Sunday at his retirement home, the Fellowship Community, in Spring Valley. He was 92 years old.

In 1924, Mr. Laney went to Paris for the European edition of the New York Herald Tribune and worked there until 1930, when he went to New York to work for The Herald Tribune. In New York, he covered baseball, tennis and golf.

He is survived by a son, Michael Laney of Spring Valley."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dick Madden, young Boston heavyweight, shared Max Baer's mood for good, clean fun last night and they put on one of the most amusing travestries a Boston boxing crowd ever witnessed.

The heavyweight champion was wearing his motion picture ring costume and was eager to provide comedy. His hilarious antics had the over-flow crowd of 4,000 in hysterics all through the four round skit.

Max reeled and slipped, walked bow-legged and acted punch drunk from Madden's futile efforts to hit him. In the second round Madden became a bit serious but he desisted when Max rapped him on the jaw a few times and reminded him he was forgetting his lines.

The champion got a great kick out of his performance but his 239-pound brother Jacob, known as 'Buddy', ran into an unexpected setback. In a four round bout with the veteran Babe Hunt of Ponca City, Oklahoma., Young Baer was soundly drubbed.

(The Miami News - Jan 11, 1935)

*This was one of five exhibition bouts that Baer had in January 1935


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

15th Nov 1940.

"In New York's most riotous ring brawl in years, young Al (Bummy) Davis was disqualified for repeated fouling tonight in the 2nd round of his scheduled 10 round non-title bout with welterweight champion Fritzie Zivic. In the opening session, Zivic battered the floundering Davis about the ring and hit him so hard with a right to the chin that Davis half sank to the canvas, supporting himself on his gloves, with one knee also touching the canvas. Davis was up without a count. In the 2nd round, referee Billy Cavanaugh warned Davis at least four times that he would DQ him if he continued fouling. But Al kept pegging away with his steaming left hook at the champiuon's groin. The fans were screaming, "Foul, foul. Throw him out." And that's what Cavanaugh finally did at 2:34 of the turbulent 2nd round. When Cavanaugh pulled the gladiators apart and motioned Davis to his corner, Davis became almost insane with rage. He tore after Zivic, despite the referee's warding arms, with Zivic desperately trying to fight back. Zivic's manager Luke Carney, joined the fray, then two uniformed policemen leaped into the ring, as newspapers, magazines, and peanut bags showered into the ring." -United Press

"That Zivic is a quittin' bum, he gave me the works and then deliberately stepped into my body punches to make them appear foul. I hit him in the belly and he quit." -Al (Bummy) Davis

"The first two low blows didn't hurt much because my protector caught them. But the third was an uppercut that hurt terribly. I tried to fight back but about every third punch was down in my groin. I was almost paralyzed." -Fritzie Zivic

"I can't talk about rules now because Davis threw them all out the window. We won't need Al Davis anymore in New York. You can say for me that Davis will be barred from NY state for life, and I mean it." -Bill Brown, Commissioner of the NYSAC.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When Stanley Ketchel dispatched Mike "Twin" Sullivan in a single round, a man previously stopped by only Joe Gans over 10 and 15 rounds, big brother Jack "Twin" Sullivan tried to restore the family reputation. The business became personal.

"From a fight fan's point of view nothing better than this Sullivan-Ketchel match could possibly be offered in the pugilistic line. Ketchel, the most spectacular knocker-outer of the current crop, is to hook up with the larger of the famous Boston Twins&#8230;the winner of the scrap will be the bona fide champion&#8230;to add a bit of spice to this Sullivan will be seeking revenge&#8230;to wipe the Ketchel blot off the family escutcheon." - The LA Herald.

Sullivan entered the ring first, taking up the northwest corner, the sun to his back. Ketchel, arriving moments later, stalked across to his opponent and confronted him. Sullivan moved to the other corner. Ketchel had enforced his right to chose which corner he would take his rest in, having won the pre-fight toss.

They began at a stiff pace. Ketchel set it, fighting directly, determinedly, but missing often. Sullivan broke into a smile and eventually a laugh as Ketchel repeatedly missed him. Ketchel took the first round on his aggressive pursuit of his elusive opponent and Sullivan finished the round as cheerily as he had begun it, seemingly fighting his own fight. Observers noticed a thin trail of blood coming from Sullivan's nose as he returned to his stool, squinting at Ketchel through the blazing sun.

The second round was rougher, Ketchel rattling Sullivan's kidneys in a prolonged clinch, Sullivan "lifting Stanley off his feet" with a huge right hand uppercut, blocking well against the punches that Ketchel brought back. By the third Ketchel was already hunting the body with both hands, Sullivan blocking well to the head, winking happily at his opponent when he managed to get one through. Sullivan seemed primed to take over in the fourth. "Ketchel was right on top of his man," noted the LA Herald, "but was unable to land. Jack mystified Stanley with clever footwork as the later tried with both hands at the gong." In the fifth Sullivan "laughed again as Ketchel missed yet another left to the body&#8230;feinted Ketchel out of position and they clinched." In the 8th, Ketchel was cut again, this time over the left eye, which "made him vicious" and he drove Sullivan back to the ropes "missing wildly" with two lefts before slipping to the floor and being rattled at the bell by a returning left hook. Ketchel was winning rounds but at a terrible price. Meanwhile, boxing with great economy, Sullivan was tricking his way through the fight whilst Ketchel expended energy on wasted punches and rushes.

Round nine began quietly, Ketchel chasing Sullivan around the ring to little affect, some ineffective punching was exchanged. Half way through, Ketchel caught Sullivan a hard right-hand punch to the jaw and followed it with a left to the body. A genuinely two-handed fighter, he had landed his first flush combination. Sullivan's response? To laugh once more. But this time he did not manage to escape, did not manage to counterpunch but instead got hit again, hard. And then again. Ketchel's variety of attack cannot be overstated, he worked body and head with straight, hooked and uppercut punches and he seems in this round to have utterly destroyed the surety of Sullivan's guard. Sullivan was still landing at the same rate - but Ketchel was no longer missing.

Sullivan finished the ninth staggering Ketchel with a shot to the chin. He ended the tenth with a "hurricane finish" forcing Ketchel back with headshots. He would not win another round. He would never be the same again. He would win only three of his next ten fights. He was being finished as a fighter. "One of the bloodiest contests seen in recent years" was all but settled. "For the next ten rounds Ketchel battered Sullivan about the ring severely punishing him about the head and body," said The Herald. "He knew he was beaten many, many round before the end actually came but he saw no way he could get out of his predicament gracefully," observed The San Francisco Call.

Indeed, Sullivan's grace deserted him. He would be dropped five times in the coming rounds, four times by body blows, and each time he would attempt to claim a foul. Each time the referee dismissed the claims and Sullivan was forced to climb back into the furnace. When the end came in the 20th, it was pitiful. Forcing Sullivan to the ground with a straight left, Ketchel leapt upon the tortured great as soon as he rose and drove him down again with a left-right combination. Sullivan hauled himself up for once last try. Ketchel smashed through the guard with another left hook to the body and Sullivan fell once more. He shook his head. "No."

When he came to his sense he tried to claim a foul once more. The referee dismissed him out of hand. Sullivan continued to make his case in a post-fight interview. His words were not carried far, likely because they held no truth, but possibly because Sullivan found it difficult to make himself understood -his lips were so grotesquely swollen he found it hard to talk.

(By, and courtesy of, Matt McGrain)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Crowd noise died down as the two fighters reached the center of the ring; after going over his instructions to each man referee George Siler ordered, "Shake hands, gents." Corbett reached his arm out to oblige but was ignored as Fitz walked to his corner.

When the opening bell sounded the early exchanges were cautionary though it was later discovered that Fitz suffered a dislocated thumb on the impact of one of the first punches thrown. It should be noted that, throughout the entire fight he gave no indication of any problem at all.

The punch output increased in the second round with Corbett landing several punches to Fitz's face, the challenger looked up smiling. Even though he tried hard not to show it, Fitz despised receiving punches in the head and neck area of his body; Corbett was more than happy to exploit the situation.

By the fourth round Corbett was comfortably ahead in the fight. Fitz continued to take Corbett's facial attack and both men were breathing hard in the high Nevada altitude.

Up until this point in the fight Fitzsimmons had been on the receiving end of most of the punches landed; he did however take great satisfaction in knowing he drew first blood. It was a boost to Fitz's confidence in the fourth round when he landed a punch squarely in the middle of Corbett's face and every time Corbett opened his mouth to breathe Fitz could see blood soaked saliva.

Throughout the next couple rounds a determined Corbett continued to land punches to the head and neck of his challenger usually ending each round with a flurry of punches that drew cheers of approval from the crowd. By the sixth round Fitzsimmons' upper lip and nose had been bloodied by Gentleman Jim's continuous onslaught of jabs and uppercuts to the head.

The sixth round was like a barroom brawl. While swinging furiously Fitz rushed at Corbett after missing with a right, clinched and wrestled Corbett nearly dragging him to the canvas. The crowd shouted "foul" as Corbett unleashed with vicious rights and lefts to his opponent.

By this point in the fight blood was spurting from Fitzsimmons nose, covering his body and gloves and spattering Corbett's arms and upper body. Corbett could see that Fitz was having trouble breathing because of the gushing blood. A right to the jaw put Fitzsimmons to his knees where he stayed while referee Siler began counting&#8230;to slow for Corbett's liking as he snarled at the referee to speed it up. Fitz took full advantage of the count as the timekeeper ticked off the seconds; the crowd went wild thinking the fight was over. Finally at the count of nine Fitz sprang to his feet and battled out the remainder of the round.

Through the ninth, tenth and eleventh rounds Corbett grew more and more careless. He began looking into the crowd during clinches over Fitz's shoulder as though he was losing focus on the fight. At the same time Fitzsimmons started picking up the pace and became the aggressor as the momentum of the fight swung in his favor.

In the thirteenth round Fitz landed a short, sharp right which sent one of Corbett's gold teeth flying to the canvas and bouncing among the ringside seats.

Fitzsimmons later recalled, "He looked awful sorry when he got that crack, and flushed to the roots of his hair.

At the start of the fourteenth round Corbett started out early as the aggressor, with left jabs to Fitz's already badly damaged nose. Than from a clinch Corbett began to throw another jab as Fitz fainted with a left. As Corbett raised his arm to protect himself, Fitzsimmons executed his famous shift, bringing his right foot forward. Then, like a bolt from the sky, he shot a right to the heart and a left that landed with paralyzing force into the pit of Corbett's stomach for the knockout. A new champion had been crowned and with that knockout was born the "Solar Plexus" blow.

On that date, Bob Fitzsimmons became the new undisputed heavyweight champion of the world by dethroning the sitting heavyweight champion Jim Corbett on St. Patrick's Day 1897.

(By Sam Gregory)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On May 31st 1938, at Madison Square Garden, New York, Henry Armstrong fought Barney Ross, a slick boxer, for the welterweight championship. Armstrong dominated the fight. The first three rounds were even but by the fourth, Armstrong style wore on the champion. The fight became a massacre, as Ross' face was a bloody mess. Ross' corner wanted to stop the fight but Ross beseeched them to allow him to continue. The referee Arthur Donovan went to Ross' corner but Ross pleaded with the third man in the ring. Ross, who had never been stopped, was determined to finish on his feet.
Armstrong, respecting his rival, carried Ross for the last three rounds of the fight. "How are you feeling?" Armstrong asked Ross in the 13th. Ross barely replied, "I'm dead." Ross leaned on Armstrong and Armstrong told Ross, "Just shoot your left but if you shoot your right, you're dead!" Armstrong allowed Ross to finish his last fight on his feet.

(colourised photo courtesy of checkhookboxing poster Theron)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

17th February 1971. Kiamesha Lake, New York.

""Baby, It's Cold Outside" might be what champ Joe Frazier, covered with frost, is thinking as he returns from a recent jogging session at his training camp. He meets Muhammad Ali in a title bout at Madison Square Garden on March 8th." - (Chicago Tribune)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jack Hurley, the tall, thin, caustic manager and promoter who has a genius for developing mediocre fighters into rich ones, began snooping around for another boxer. Into his office one day in 1949 walked a skinny middleweight named Harry Matthews, who had won 67 out of 70 fights on the West Coast, had been fighting for 12 years and had succeeded only in getting deep into debt. Hurley agreed to take him on for his usual 50%. Matthews screamed in anguish. "Listen, young man," said Hurley, "you've been boxing for 12 years and you've made exactly nothing. Now, 50% of nothing is nothing. You don't know how lucky you are. What is happening is that you are getting 50% of me."

Hurley watched his new gladiator work out and was appalled. "He got all his ideas from amateurs. It's a wonder he hadn't been seriously hurt. His idea of how to defend himself was to grab and run. That's all he knew. He didn't even know how to eat. He'd eat two meals a day. I said, "if you were a truck driver, would you eat like that?' He said, 'No, driving a truck is hard work. If I were a truck driver, I'd eat like one.' I said to him, 'Let me tell you something, young man. If you and I are to stay together, you'll work so hard you'll think truck driving is a soft racket. Don't ever lose sight of the fact that fighting is a hard and brutal business, and you gotta be in shape for it. From now on you eat like a truck driver.' He did, and he finally went up to 182 pounds.

"But oh, he was such a bad fighter at first. He couldn't punch, he couldn't take a punch. He was an agony fighter. Looking at a fighter that can't punch is like kissing your mother-in-law."

Hurley brought Matthews along slowly and one night put him into the ring with a carefully selected opponent who had had only 12 fights and was too light to cope with Matthews. "I figured Matthews would make his name overnight," says Hurley. "He figured to knock the kid out easy. But it went 10 rounds and nobody got hit, although Matthews wins the decision. The next day Matthews comes into the office, and he says, 'How did you like the fight?'

"I says, 'What fight?'

"He says, 'Last night.'

"I says, 'Harry, that was the most disgraceful thing I ever saw. If you and that kid were to go down to the street corner right now and go through the same antics, that traffic cop wouldn't even come over and break it up.' "

But Hurley has never needed a superfighter; all he needed now was a property, and Matthews, game and willing to learn, was it. The two of them set up shop in Seattle, and Hurley began the great campaign. Traveling the Northwest like a couple of drummers, Hurley and Matthews built up a legend that still has boxing's public-relations experts scratching their heads in amazement. The soft-punching, glass-chinned Matthews reeled off a dazzling skein of 35 consecutive wins, 28 by knockouts, and even began to learn a little about boxing. Hurley explains in detail how the feat was accomplished:

"I made sure he didn't fight any great fighters. I picked 'em mostly by their styles, guys that had styles just right for Matthews. So all his fights appeared to be sensational. I wouldn't put him in there with a fencer and a runner, because this guy isn't gonna fight, and he isn't gonna let you fight. By the time Matthews runs him down and gets him cornered where he might nail him, the guy jumps into a clinch and the referee rescues him, and he's off and running again. This doesn't make for a good fight or good box office, and even if Matthews wins he has hurt his earning power. So I always picked fighters that really wanted to get in there and fight and lick my fellow, and while they were doing this my fighter was counterpunching and looking great."

As the string of victories began building, sportswriters started to take notice of Matthews, and Hurley decided it was time to throw his "athlete" in with a genuinely tough opponent, "Irish Bob" Murphy. At first glance the fight looked like a cinch for Murphy, and the bookies made him the favorite. Murphy was a sort of left-handed, junior-grade, muscle-bound Marciano; he turned every fight into a street fight, and few could beat him in a street fight. As a pure boxer, however, he would not have lasted six rounds with Maria Ouspenskaya. Hurley knew this, and he also knew that there was one thing Matthews could do superlatively well, and that was fight a southpaw. "He had an instinct for fighting them, and by now he also knew how to fight a guy who comes to him. The fight was a natural for him."

At the end of the seventh round there came one of those moments that determine whether a manager is worth 50%, 30% or nothing. Matthews had been hit hard on the chin and generally mauled around. He came back to his corner, flopped in the chair and made it plain he could not go on. No one would have blamed him. Hurley jumped in front of the exhausted fighter and blocked his view of Murphy sitting relaxed across the ring. "What a hell of a break!" Hurley whispered. "Murphy ain't coming out!" Matthews tried to peer around Hurley for a look, but Hurley kept getting in the way. "Listen," Hurley said, "I don't think he can come out, but if he does, Harry, step around, move around and let him fall right on his face." Dodging from side to side to block Matthews' view, Hurley poured out an avalanche of phony encouragement: "What a break! And you just getting your second wind at a spot like this! Listen, when the 10-second whistle blows you stand up and glare at him over there. Now, Harry, you got your second wind, you're fine, get in there and feint and let him fall flat on his kisser." The 10-second warning blew, and Matthews jumped to his feet, staring at Murphy. Hurley recalls: "Murphy looked back at him as if to say, 'Why, that dummy so-and-so, he ain't even tired.' " The inspired Matthews went on to win the last three rounds and the decision. Later Hurley explained his psychology:

"You can't sympathize with a tired fighter. He's looking for sympathy, he's abused, the poor athlete. I got to shock him. I can't give him a slap in the kisser, which is what I'd like to do, and say, 'Well, yeh dog yeh, you're in here, ain'tcha? Now get out there and fight.' No, I gotta make him believe he's caught his second wind and the other guy's through. And it worked. Matthews told me he woke up in bed the next morning and said to himself, 'How did Hurley know I caught my second wind?' "

With this win, plus one over Rex Layne, Matthews and Hurley had the ammunition for an assault on the IBC's lock on the heavyweight championship and the big money. Jersey Joe Walcott was the champion. Rocky Marciano was the No. 1 contender. Hurley began a whirling-dervish publicity campaign to force a Marciano-Matthews fight, the winner to meet Walcott for the title. The IBC wanted no part of a Marciano-Matthews fight: if Matthews should score a lucky win, Hurley would become a powerful figure in the heavyweight picture, and the IBC and Hurley were deadly enemies. Hurley began making cracks like: "How about Marciano, this great star they're keeping in cellophane? Did he or did he not stink out the joint with Lee Savold?" The campaign took hold. Wrote Frank Graham later: "By word of mouth, person to person or on radio or TV, in letters to newspapers or interviews with sportswriters, Hurley created such an uproar that it reached the halls of Congress where Senators and Representatives howled that Matthews was being discriminated against." The heat was on from Washington; the IBC had to give in.

Stuck with the fight, the IBC began beating its own publicity drums, but Hurley got all the lines. He lampooned Marciano's talents so convincingly that Toots Shor was moved to remark: "If I listened to Hurley for a week, I'd take off 30 pounds and fight Marciano myself." Hurley boomed Matthews as the all-American boy, told one sportswriter: "Harry and his wife are unusual people and very decent and, while I'm no softy, I'm beginning to get an emotional kick out of seeing how well they are getting along and how wonderfully happy they are. I sometimes go over to their home in the evening just to enjoy the wholesome character of the place and the lovely kind of life they live." Brushing away a tear, Hurley would go back to his hotel and wait for the quote to appear in print, whereupon he would buy 500 of the papers and mail the clipping to sportswriters all over the country, who in turn would describe the touching scene in its endearing entirety. The fact was that Matthews and his wife, later divorced, were fighting like wildcats, but Hurley did not feel that this information would help the gate.

The IBC sent out prefight placards bearing a picture of Hurley leaning over Matthews in the corner. No one could remember when a manager had ever been pictured on such a placard, and Hurley asked James D. Norris about it. Explained Norris: "Matthews is nothing without you." It was one of Norris' truer utterances.

The fight was held on July 28, 1952. There are those who say it was a grotesque mismatch from the beginning, that Matthews never had a chance. Jack Hurley, who no longer has a Matthews ax to grind, thought and thinks differently, and he backed up his opinion with a $10,000 bet on his man. "There is a way to beat any fighter," he says. "If Harry had never heard of Marciano or even had been fighting him in his own familiar territory out West, he'd have won in a breeze. I explained to him before the fight, 'Harry, here's a case where you're safer being close to danger than out in the open. If you stand close and lean in about two inches, all his wild swings will go around your neck. And don't grab him in the clinches. He's too strong. Let him grab you, put your hands beside your chest, and as he reaches around, punch up, up. Those left-and right-hand uppercuts do murderous damage inside.' So in the first round everything went exactly according to plan. Matthews busted up Marciano pretty good and raised a knob on his eye. When he comes back to the corner I say, 'Harry, this guy's a soft touch. Now you know the way to fight him, Harry, you've proved it already, now just get out there and stay close; don't get scared and pull back or you'll get in the path of one of those wild swings.'

"Matthews went out for the second round and all of a sudden he breaks out of a clinch, and he realizes he's fighting in Yankee Stadium in front of all those people, and he just gets frozen with fear. The guy threw a cuffing left at him and Matthews leaned back, and it hit him right on the bad chin. There was nothing on the punch, but Matthews leaned back, scared to death, and the fellow threw a second cuff and Matthews couldn't move. He coulda stayed close all night, but he leaned back and he got hit and he got knocked out. Let me tell you, it's a long way from that ring to the dressing room at Yankee Stadium, and all the way back people are saying, 'Where's your great fighter now, Hurley?' and there I am bleeding in my shoes."

The Marciano debacle would have shoved many a fighter into limbo, which is probably where Matthews belonged anyway, but Hurley set about rebuilding "the athlete" into a card, and soon succeeded in getting him a Seattle fight with British Empire Heavyweight Champion Don Cockell. Matthews lost the decision, but a rematch was scheduled in London. Hurley began talking as soon as his feet touched British soil, and the press was goggle-eyed. "Cockell is the best heavyweight you've ever sent to America," Hurley announced, knowing full well that no sportswriter in England could resist printing this line. "No British fighter has ever made such an impression on the West Coast. Cockell could beat Marciano on the best day Rocky ever knew. Marciano can't box, he's just a crude swinger. Cockell would be too smart for him. Who has Marciano ever beaten, anyway?"

Said a reporter: "Well, Matthews, for one."

Hurley shot back: "Matthews wasn't beaten by Marciano, he was beaten by Yankee Stadium. He was overawed. He would have beaten Marciano in three rounds if they had fought in Seattle."

The sports pages were full of the fight, although a less important contest could hardly have been imagined. John Mac-Adam of the Daily Sketch wrote: "Mr. Hurley can sling words faster than either Cockell or Matthews can sling punches.... Hurley convinces you against your will that Matthews is the fighter of the century while you think in your heart he is not." Wrote Noel Joseph in the News-Chronicle: "Personally, I feel Cockell must win, but when I hear Hurley talking I feel Matthews has atomic power." The result, on a damp, chilly June night, was an attendance of 35,000 and a decision for Cockell. Hurley accepted the purse and the decision with becoming stoicism: "I thought it was a dead even thing. The referee could have given it either way." Matthews and Cockell fought a third time, in Seattle, and Cockell knocked him out. Soon after, Matthews retired; he now has a tavern in Seattle. Hurley came back into boxing's limelight in 1957 when he promoted the never-never land fight between Pete Rademacher and Floyd Patterson; he has been "between fighters" ever since.

(by Jack Olsen - 1961)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept. 19th 1956. New York. The State Athletic Commission indefinitely suspend former lightweight champion Paddy DeMarco for conduct detrimental to boxing. 
The commission charged that DeMarco had a convicted gambler, Jimmy Knapp, acting as his manager "or undercover manager" in violation to the rules. Commission chairman Julius Helfand said that DeMarco was indefinitely suspended pending whether proceedings will be brought to revoke his license. Helfand announced the decision after the three-man commission board heard DeMarco and Knapp, who has no license with the commission, testify about their relationship.
DeMarco, who reigned briefly as lightweight king from March 5 to Nov. 17, 1954, bitterly denied the accusation. He said he would ask for a hearing on the decision within 10 days as commission rules permit.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Grimm took the first round by storm, slamming Johnny to all corners of the ring, with a series of two handed attacks. Dias somehow recovered his composure and kept Joe at distance with long and sharp jabs, like he had done before so efficiently. But this time he was counterpunched brutally, and blood began trickling out of his mouth. Until the end of the round, Dias was pounded with stiff shots over and over, forcing him to move backward across the ring. Only the bell saved Dias from a KO. Joe's fans were on their feet, screaming, "Go for KO!"
During the break Joe was sloshed with icy water by his overzealous brother and was told he was doing great. Dias's cornermen tried unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding, while his coach was shouting in his ear. Whatever instructions he recieved, Dias made good use of them. As Joe launched a new attack, Dias used his rapid footwork, forcing Joe to punch the air while enabling his rival to land well-placed blows. At one time Dias counterattacked in full force, and Joe had trouble escaping punishment. It looked like Dias had recovered and maybe even taken the lead. At least that's what his fans wanted to believe.
But, from the third round on, Joe relentlessly struck Dias's body and head with both fists to the delight of the Boy Scouts and Fall River spectators. Round after round, Joe proved himself to be the master of the ring, showing an excellent command of his actions and inexhaustable stamina. Dias fought bravely and once in a while, when he lashed with his left and right swings, his signature punches, his fans screamed with happiness. He moved a lot but could not avoid a serious battering that made him stagger, still, he remained on his feet. As for Joe, he continued to pummel him in the close sessions.
In round eight Joe decided to finish of his tradional rival who had tainted his record with two defeats. He unleashed one attack after another, forcing Dias to run around the ring and be stopped (from running around) by Referee McDonald. Obviously, he was doing everything he could to escape a KO. He was not a coward and continued to counterattack, but Joe's landings came from all angles and directions and were too painful and risky to absorb. 
Dias was outpointed and outpunched by the little Syrian mittster, both boys were deserving the credit for their showing. 
With his arm raised high by the referee, Joe enjoyed the crowd that could not stop its ovations as he proudly left the arena."

(Fall River Herald - April 12th 1924)

The above account is from the third battle in a series of fights between two journeymen boxers, Joe Grimm (not be confused with Joe Grim, often spelled Grimm who lost to Jack Johnson and Bob Fitzsimmons years earlier) and Johnny Dias, fought at lightweight at Fall River, Massachusetts, USA in 1924. Grimm had lost their two previous battles in 1923 both over points. The pair would have a fourth contest in 1927 with Grimm winning by KO in the first round.

*From the story of journeyman bantamweight boxer Joe Grimm, from the 1920s. Joe weighs 118 pounds and is flat-footed; nevertheless, he wins against boxers who are heavier than he is, he wins when he is booked as a last-minute replacement, and he wins against contenders who are headed to championship bouts. He is so gallant in the ring that the press calls him "Gentleman Joe." His career is interrupted when he and his brother are urgently called home by their immigrant parents. He leaves behind the arenas, with their cheering crowds and works as a butcher in his grocery shop bought with ring money for his family. Grimm lived to be 96 years old.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

London. 1979. Muhammad Ali, considered by many to be the greatest heavyweight champion of all time, was really heavy as he announced his retirement at the Royal Albert Hall.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Joey Giambra fought under a completely different set of rules in the 1950s than those afforded the fighters of today. There was no such thing as a two fight-a-year schedule with the accountants tallying up the net. Back in the day, you fought hard, you fought often and - unless you were a world champion - it was enough to keep the wolf from the door. The Giambra suave, good looks and colorful style held him in good stead during the days of the spinning turnstile. And Joey could fight.

By Dan Hanley...(Joey was 82 years old when the following conversation took place)

DH: Joey, where are you originally from?
JG: I was born in Buffalo, New York.

DH: Tell me about growing up in Buffalo in the 1930s.
JG: Well, I grew up one of 13 kids during the depression in an Italian neighborhood where everyone was on welfare. But I was young and we knew no other life. I helped out the family by shining shoes in saloons and (laughing), earned a bit more by being the only Italian kid who could sing an Irish song.

DH: How did boxing enter the picture?
JG: I was about 13 years old and one day I got beat up and robbed of my shoe shine kit. I wanted to learn how to take care of myself and wandered into Singer's gym. It was there I met Mike Scanlon, who taught me how to box.

DH: What kind of amateur career did you have?
JG: I did well. I won the Buffalo Golden Gloves featherweight championship in 1947 and the lightweight title in 1948.

DH: The decision to turn pro, was this something you always intended?
JG: Well I knew there was money in it and I liked it, so it was an easy decision.

DH: Who did you turn pro with?
JG: Mike Scanlon was my manager and Johnny Russo became my trainer.

DH: You turned pro in Canada in '49. Was there any rule barring you from turning pro in the States, since you were just under 18?
JG: No, that just happened to be where I got signed on my first card and it was just over the border from Buffalo. I fought a guy who came out in a fancy robe and I was so green I didn't even know what the referee meant when he told me to go to a neutral corner. I was thinking (laughing), "What's a neutral corner?" But I knocked him out in the second round.

DH: It's hard to believe in this day and age, but you ran off 28 fights over the next three years before you fought your first 10 rounder. And even then you were thrown in with future world champ Joey Giardello in back-to-back fights. Tell me about your first two fights with Giardello.
JG: Well, the first fight I was robbed. We fought in his hometown of Brooklyn and his own fans were booing the decision. I got him in the rematch and beat him badly.

DH: After the Giardello fights you really came into prominence and worked your way up to the leading contender for the middleweight title with wins over Bernard Docusen, Tuzo Portuguez and Italo Scortichini. But suddenly you disappeared for 14 months. What happened?
JG: (laughing) I got drafted! I was in the Army for two years. But the funny thing was, I had been in the Naval Reserve for five years before that. (laughing) I just didn't think they'd come and get me. But I was very well known entering the service and became a boxing instructor. I gotta tell you, I felt like an officer the way I was treated and they even allowed me to continue fighting professionally.

DH: You resumed your career in '55 and ran off four wins in succession on the comeback trail when you got a call for a non-title 10 rounder with middleweight champ Bobo Olson in the San Francisco Cow Palace. How did that come about?
JG: Well, Olson's people knew I was still in the Army and obviously didn't think I was in shape. They were just using me as a tuneup for his upcoming fight with Sugar Ray Robinson.

DH: I have an article on that fight that begins with the line, "A new star glistened over the fight world today in the person of Joey Giambra." Tell me about that fight.
JG: It was like the first Giardello fight. I thought I beat him and so did all his hometown fans who booed the decision in his favor.

DH: After the Bobo Olson fight you were once again among the top ten with wins over Johnny Sullivan and Rocky Castellani. Then you signed for Gil Turner in Madison Square Garden. Joey, I know so little of this fight. Tell me about it.
JG: It was an outstanding fight. I was very aggressive and completely outboxed Gil. I think I won every round, but still it was a good fight. Gil had a lot of class and winked at me afterwards.

DH: Back then fighters seemed to have a lot of respect for one another. Did anyone ever get under your skin?
JG: Ahh&#8230;just once. A fighter named Tuzo Portuguez. I beat him twice but in out first fight the referee was letting him get away with all kinds of rough stuff. And once, while breaking, the ref is standing on my foot and Portuguez actually came over the ref's shoulder and decked me. Man, I just thought, "I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

DH: A second win over Rocky Castellani soon followed, as well as a rare stoppage of Chico Vejar, when you had your first two fights with Rory Calhoun. This interrupted an eleven bout unbeaten streak. Tell me about those fights with Calhoun.
JG: Well, the first fight was a draw, but not too many people know that in the second fight I got my jaw broken somewhere within the first five rounds. I was wearing wires for eight weeks afterwards.

DH: By this time had you relocated to the west coast?
JG: Yes, my manager and I had moved to San Francisco by this time, but they weren't exactly lining up to fight me. Sometimes it was tough getting fights.

DH: Many years ago I read a detailed article on your third fight with Joey Giardello in San Francisco in '58. Tell us about it in your own words, starting with the events leading up to the fight.
JG: Joey Giardello was really being pushed for a title fight at this time and they needed the win over me to continue this drive. We knew one of the judges had been bought but someone approached my manager Mike Scanlon on throwing the fight. He sarcastically, but unintentionally agreed. Like how you would just say, "Yeah, yeah!", but never accepted any money and never told me. I went out there, did my job and won the 10 round decision. I find out afterwards what went on after a commotion in my corner and Mike says to me, "We gotta get out of here!" We had to get out of the Cow Palace fast and Mike sends Johnny Russo out to bring the car around back. I was still in my boxing gear when Mike and I ran out the back, tore ourselves up jumping a barb-wire fence, and made it back to New York as quickly as we could. See, I was a kid from the street. Everyone knew me from back in the day when I was shining shoes. And it was because I was well-known that I got a sit down with Vito Genovese and Carlo Gambino. The only thing that saved us was that Mike never took any money. They couldn't and wouldn't have helped us if he had and as a result they put out the word, 'hands off' of us.

DH: You were off for about nine months after that fight. Were you still worried about repercussions?
JG: Yeah, I was trying to get it all cleared up.

DH: By the late '50s, many articles were referring to you also as a young actor. Were you trying your hand in the trade while on the coast?
JG: Well, what happened was, while recuperating with the broken jaw from the Calhoun fight, I had time on my hands, so I went to drama school. I was messing around with that as well as boxing and one night, after I won a fast knockout in Reno, Clark Gable came to my dressing room telling me he loved my fights. We struck up a friendship and I got a part in 'The Misfits' with Gable and Marilyn Monroe. That was fun but I got in a bit of trouble on the set.

DH: What happened?
JG: There was a lot of posing and pictures being taken on the set and one day Marilyn wants to get a picture with me. Now, Marilyn was really stacked. So, we're standing together and she's really leaning them into me when one wiseguy yells out (laughing), "Hey, Joey, you got a hard on!" Well, Arthur Miller, who was the screenwriter for the movie and also Marilyn's husband at the time, gets hot and wants to come at me. I just said, "Hey, hey, that's not a good idea!" Miller wanted me off the picture, but Gable says to him, "If he goes, then I go!"

DH: You were on another winning streak that took you to your rubber match with Rory Calhoun in November of '60. What did you do so differently in your third fight?
JG: I was still very angry over the broken jaw in our second fight. I trained very hard and fought very aggressively in this fight and won a good tough decision.

DH: It appeared that right after this fight that negotiations began for a 10 rounder with former champ Carmen Basilio. Why did this fight not take place?
JG: Nothing ever came of it. Carmen was a game fighter and I think it would have been a great fight. But if I was going to give my opinion on why it didn't happen. Well, it's all about the money, isn't it, Danny?

DH: Joey, you had been taping your knuckles for over 10 years by this time. Did you ever come close to sitting down at a table negotiating a shot at the world title?
JG: Well, Gene Fullmer was the one I wanted at this time. He was world champ, but I was never even considered for a shot. The best I got with him was an exhibition bout in the 1970s. He's trying all his rough stuff on me during an exhibition and I really had enough of it and knocked him to his knees with a body shot, just to let him know to cut it out. You know he actually came to my dressing room while I was in the shower complaining that I was too rough and it was only supposed to be an exhibition.

DH: Joey, by '62, it looked like you were on the downside of your career. You were about 31 years old, had recently lost to Yama Bahama and Farid Salim - good fighters, but not in your league - and you sign to fight one of the most feared bangers in the division in Florentino Fernandez down in Miami. I don't think anyone gave you a chance. Tell me about the fight.
JG: First of all let me say that you're right, he could really hit, but he was also a very dirty fighter. I mean he was butting me throughout that fight. I was always a clean fighter but I got a bit fed up and retaliated once. A purposely missed punch that I followed with a well-placed elbow. Just to let him know I had enough. As for the fight, despite his tactics, I boxed him and cut him pretty bad. At one point I nailed him with a shot that sent blood spraying over a couple of ladies at ringside and the fight was stopped in the 7th round. You know I made $7,000 for that fight, but bet $5,000 of it on myself to win at 6-1 odds against me. I cleaned up in that one.

DH: In October of '62 you finally received your long-awaited title shot, but it was for the inaugural junior middleweight title. What was your feelings on this new division?
JG: Hey, I didn't care. To me it was for a title. That's the way I looked at it.

DH: Tell me about your 15 rounder with Denny Moyer for the vacant title.
JG: We fought in his hometown of Portland, Oregon and at the end of 15 I didn't have a mark on me. I thought I won. Sonny Liston was the referee for this fight and came up to me before the decision was announced and whispered to me, "You won it, baby!" But Moyer got the decision.

DH: Your last fight was in April of '63. You came in as a substitute and lost a disputed decision to Joe DeNucci in his hometown of Boston. Even the Boston Press said you were robbed, yet, you retired. Were you just discouraged by this point?
JG: Yeah, I was done with it. Y'know, it was embarrassing because DeNucci just conned me at the weigh-in. He's telling me that he just wants to get through this fight because his wife was expecting any minute now and that's all he's thinking about. Well, I'm feeling sorry for the guy, but in the ring he was ready and fighting rough. He was hitting on the break constantly and you know what? I find out later his wife wasn't due for a few months. Between this and a car accident I was in, I was just done with the game.

DH: What did you get into when the boxing career ended?
JG: I worked at Caesar's Palace in Vegas. I was a blackjack dealer. I worked there the same time Joe Louis was there as a greeter.

DH: Joey, what was the one fight out there that just escaped you?
JG: At the top of my list would have been Sugar Ray Robinson for the middleweight title. I pressed him about this at the time and he told me in no uncertain terms, "Joey, I don't like the way you work inside."

DH: Joey, at 82, how is your health?
JG: Well, I had a series of strokes awhile back and between that and the housing market bust here in Las Vegas, it really set me back. My son Joey Jr., whom I should tell you put himself in a position of great personal and financial loss, stuck with me, as did my daughter Gina. And, although I still have a few issues, I feel good today because of them.

DH: What's Joey Giambra up to these days?
JG: Dan, over the years I've been inducted into no less than seven boxing hall of fames and have written a book recollecting some of the events in my career. It's called "The uncrowned champion: Boxing and the Mafia in the golden era", which was published through Author House. And today, they're even talking about a movie on my life.

# # #

Simply put, without the right connections in the 1950s fight game, one had less of a chance of a title shot than a 1980s heavyweight had of ignoring a buffet table. Although having his ups and downs in life, Joey has been blessed with a wonderful family, whom I also had the privilege of talking to. And, although never a world champ, the name Joey Giambra will always be synonymous with what was indeed a truly golden era.

.................................................

(Many thanks to Dan Hanley who has personally allowed that transcript for inclusion on this page)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Evidence in the case of Eligio Sardiñas vs Judah Bergman to be given Thursday night into the hands of a jury of some 25,000 fight fans and a referee at the Polo Grounds.

Eligio, better known as "Kid Chocolate", the dazzling Cuban, will attempt to prove he can give away ten pounds and still whip Bergman, otherwise known as Jeck 'Kid' Berg, a jewish boy from the Whitechapel area of London and one of the best and busiest of the lightweights.

If the jury has any preconceived opinion it is that Chocolate can't do it. The odds for their ten-round tilt stand at 6 to 5 on Berg.

Never beaten in 67 professional or amateur bouts, Chocolate has flashed sensationally in two years of American campaigning. He is considered the uncrowned featherweight champion, a natural 126 pounder, an ebony marvel of boxing ability and speed afoot, and a puncher besides. He has been held only once to a draw, and holds a decision over Al Singer, the present lightweight champion, as a result of an open-air duel here last summer. He is considered unbeatable at his own weight.

But in Berg the Cuban licorice stick is tackling a rough and rugged lightweight who has beaten back the best of the 135 pounders and was considered a more logical contender for the lightweight title held by Sammy Mandell than Al Singer, who finally cornered the crown holder and knocked him out in a round. Berg and Singer have never met but the Whitechapel hebrew has whipped an imposing crop of the divisions best, including Tony Canzoneri, the Italian sharp-shooter.

Berg did his last boxing today in preperation for the battle, going two fast rounds with Nel Tarleton and two with Al Tipoli. He will work out here again tomorrow but will confide his efforts to shadow-boxing, rope skipping, bag punching and calisthenics."

(St. Petersburg Times - Aug 5, 1930)

..............

"A battered little bundle of ebony fighting machinery sat huddled in his corner at the Polo Grounds last night after ten of the most furious rounds of slam bang boxing New York has witnessed in many a moon. As Joe Humpries walked towards him, white official slips in hand, Kid Chocolate leaped in anticipation of being proclaimed the winner, only to stumble back and fall into a sobbing heap in his corner as Humpries suddenly checked himself and turned and lifted the hand of Jackie 'Kid' Berg in the token of triumph.

In those few dramatic moments, pulse-stirring the crowd of 25,000 that had been thrilled by a sensational battle of little fellows, the winning streak that Chocolate appeared to have kept intact was brought to a sudden end.

Entirely on the strength of his tireless agressiveness Berg won by a two to one vote from the officials.

So close was the battle and so partisian was the symapthies of the crowd that the decision, plus the announcers initial uncertainty, provoked a big demonstration of disapproval.

Cocolate, led tearfully from the ring, recieved an ovation that drowned out the cheers for Berg. So heated was the scene that impromtu fights broke out around ringside and in the stands. It was fully five minutes before order was restored by the police.

Among the ringside experts a sharp division of opinion existed. On the Associated Press score sheet Chocolate was given six rounds to Berg's four. Chocolate seemed to have the edge in the first three rounds as well as the sixth, seventh and eighth. Berg holding margains in the fourth, fifth, ninth and tenth. Chocolate landed the cleaner, more effective blows, he had Berg somewhat groggy with a sensational attack in the third round, the most exciting of the entire fight. The flashy ebony kid was also the faster, better boxer whenever he could keep away from the crowding, mauling Englishman.

Berg was unceasingly the agressor. His punches were seldom damaging but they were more persistant and landed more often.

The gate was estimated at $160,000, around the same as that for the Singer-Mandell lightweight title fight recently at Yankee Stadium.

(The Day - Aug 7, 1930)

.......................

Berg was barely 20 when he snapped the long unbeaten run of Kid Chocolate at the Polo Grounds in Harlem that night in June 1930, in what was a huge, if sometimes forgotten, fight. He received a purse of $66,000, a massive payday at the time, and one that set him up for life.

On July 18, 1932 Kid Chocolate would meet Kid Berg in a return match (pictured)...again Berg was able to pull off a close decision, this time at Madison Square Garden.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Former World Heavyweight Champion Tommy Burns, while he was reigning champion, fought two men in one night in 1906 and both bouts were billed as for the World Heavyweight Championship. 
The opponents were James J Walker (0-5-0) and Jim O'Brien (0-1-0). Neither opponent had won a bout before their fights with Burns that night.
Both matches received the only official sanctioning of their day, billing by the promoters and newspapers as being for the World Title.
Burns won both bouts by 1st round KO.
Neither of the opponents ever boxed again.

http://boxrec.com/list_bouts.php?human_id=10744&cat=boxer


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"My break finally came. If you could call fighting Ernie Shavers a break. I had no choice. I'd waited too long to get a fight that mattered. If it had to be Earnie Shavers so be it. I was ready.
Five years before I was an eager amateur, climbing into Gleason's Gym ring against this world-ranked puncher and feeling thrilled to have survived three rounds with him. Now he was all that stood between me and my chance at the Heavyweight Title.
Outside the ring, Shavers was one of the most likeable guys in all of boxing. And he was my friend. Over the years we'd sparred a bunch of rounds and hung out together. I'd found him to be an unassuming kind of guy with a nice sense of humor. Earnie was easy to be around, but push come to shove, make no mistake, he was all man.
I remember one time a bunch of us were playing cards in a Cleveland hotel room and, with thousands of dollars on the table and Earnie riding a winning hand, one of the guys tried to claim a mixed deal on account of an exposed card. Earnie wasn't buying bullshit. With one of his big-knuckled hands, he picked up the money and with a glare that might have made Sonny Liston nervous, said "This money belongs to me. Anybody says different, come and get it". Nobody said different. Not me. Not nobody."

(Larry Holmes)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The facts clearly show that in 1926 I tried desperately to arrange a fight with Harry Wills but the deal collapsed when my guarantee was not forthcoming. Wills and I had signed to fight with a promoter named Floyd Fitzsimmons of Benton Harbor, Michigan. Wills, I understand, received fifty thousand dollars as his guarantee for signing the contract. I was to have received one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in advance of the fight. As the date of the fight grew nearer and my money did not appear, I became anxious and asked Fitzsimmons what was the matter. He wired me to meet him in Dayton, Ohio, assuring me that he would have the money for me there. I met Fitzsimmons in Dayton who handed me a certified check for twenty-five thousand dollars and a promise to let me have the balance almost immediately. I balked at that, demanding the full amount right away. Fitzsimmons tried to placate me by calling the bank where he said he had deposited the money. The bank, unfortunately for Fitzsimmons, informed him that it did not have that much money on hand, that there wasn't enough to cover the twenty-five thousand dollar check he had given me. Furious, I returned the check to Fitzsimmons and told him the fight was off. Later, the Fitzsimmons syndicate financing the fight sued me for failure to honor a contract. I won the case."

(Jack Dempsey speaking in 1950)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He was sitting on the edge of the table, staring into the doctor's eyes. His nose looked like the side of a big hill. The eyes were empty, and above each one there were jagged cuts held together by thin strips of clamped tapes. But the real hurt was visible only when he moved off the table, and then his body hung slightly to the left and his face expressed pain when he walked. He had taken an unforgettable beating.

"I told you I was tough," he said. "I'm California tough."

Wayne Thornton was indeed that. For 15 rounds at Shea Stadium a crowd of 12,000 watched Light Heavyweight Champion Jose Torres hammer Thornton with everything but the scoreboard, watched Torres flirt with true greatness and finally witnessed a fight that for pure elemental conflict stood out like Thornton's nose. It was, if your sensibilities could stand it, a magic night for boxing.

It was also a fight that was actually over in the first round. Midway in that round Torres, a 9-to-5 favorite who was making his first title defense and first appearance in a year (in New York's first outdoor show in six years), delivered the blow that finished Thornton. He slammed a right to the back of the challenger's left kidney, and it jacked Thornton up for the eventual devastation. Then, spinning to the left, Torres dug a left hook to the other kidney and followed that with a right cross. Thornton was on his way down, and Torres kept chopping away until Thornton was draped over the ropes. He was down twice in that round, but he survived, and that was all he would do the rest of the evening. He had nothing left.

Willie Pastrano, who was at ringside, pointed to Thornton after the first-round butchery, raised his eyebrows and spread his hands by his heart. Thornton had to have all heart now, he was saying, and who should have known better than Willie? The punch that caught Thornton, the one behind the kidney, was similar to the one that Torres used to destroy Willie's heart and career.

Still, Torres did not come out of the round undamaged. He had a cut extending the length of his right eye, where Thornton had butted him. He had difficulty seeing out of it until the eighth round, and between the second and eighth he was not the fighter he had been in the beginning. Chiefly, he appeared tired and discouraged because he had not been able to put Thornton away. He did, however, open cuts above both of Thornton's eyes in the fifth round.

Thornton was staggered again in the eighth and ninth, and at one point he caught nine straight blows to the head. After that series Torres just shook his head. If he was annoyed at Thornton's indestructibility, he was even more disturbed by his opponent's back-alley tactics. Thornton heeled, held (mainly Torres' left hand, the one that kept raking the right kidney), butted and used his shoulder. In the eighth, after a verbal exchange in a clinch, Thornton stuck his tongue out at Torres.

"Man, he ees a dirty fighter," Torres said later in the dressing room. "He uses terrible language, too. But I don't mind. I just don't like when he grab my nose and start twisting it. One time he did that and I say, 'Hey, man, let her go.' I also kept sayin' to him, 'Man, you can't fight. I can fight. You punch like a little girl.' "

Thornton did not apologize for his crudity. "Sure," he said, "I knew I was fouling him. Why not? I'd have hit him over the head with the stool if I could. This was for the title."

To be certain, the title in itself is enough to inspire any fighter, but there was a bit more at stake for Jose Torres in this one. He was searching for an identity that he had lost. A proud, intelligent man, he has always wanted to be a symbol to his people. "I only knew I owed my people," he said, telling of his thoughts before the Pastrano fight. "I could only think about my position as the champion. Important people would listen to me, people who could help improve the conditions in which most Puerto Ricans live."

When he did become champion, he returned to Puerto Rico as that symbol. "The government offices closed, the schools closed," he said, "and the sick people waved to me from hospital windows and I heard the sirens of the firehouses and the ringing of church bells.' Then it all changed. He did not defend his title for a year, the main reason being that he had a pancreas condition. But the Puerto Rican people did not understand anything about "what you call thees?" pancreas. Heroes fight, and they fight often. A fighter is not a politician or a writer (Torres wants to be a writer). A fighter just fights.

"I want to win sensationally," he said before meeting Thornton, "so I can convince my people that I am a hero."

Torres did all of that, and was every bit as good as his words. "Now I am a professional," he had said while in training. "I can do many things I wouldn't dare do before. I am on the verge of being an artist." Torres has always had quick, powerful hands that explode into deadly combinations, but equally impressive in last week's fight was the way he moved. When he threw a right to the kidney he was in and out, spinning and cutting to the other side, where he would shoot a left hand to the other kidney or hook to the head. The moves were fluid, and more than anything they reflected a man who knew his business and knew that his business in the immediate future is going to be making money out of his title. His biggest purse prior to Thornton had been only $14,850. For this one Torres received $75,000. Thornton collected $25,000, some of which he will have to squander on a nose job.

"One day I'll get it fixed," said Thornton. "Maybe when I'm through fighting. But I don't pay much attention to it anyway. I've got a lot to show for it."

He had chopped cotton in Louisiana when he was 10 years old, and then he moved to California, where he rode "sickles" and the waves of the Pacific and where, as a kid, he looked for fights and usually found them. But now Thornton is all respectability, the owner of four apartment buildings and an insurance agency, and he walks around forever smiling like a guy who has put something over on the world. "Why do I always smile?" he asks. "Why not? I never thought life could be this good."

This, of course, was said before the fight. Afterward it took a while for the old buoyancy to reassert itself. When it did, his smile told anyone who was interested that Wayne Thornton's life does not change because of one beating. Yes, he was disappointed, but that was only because he had been so impotent against Torres. All he could do was hold on. His plan had been to crowd Torres, to stay in command and to go to the body early and then to the head.

"I just didn't have anything left after that punch to the kidney in the first round," he said. "We thought Torres would fold between the second and eighth rounds, but he didn't. Even if he had, I couldn't have done anything. Sure, it seemed he'd forget to throw to the kidney for three rounds, but then he'd come back and rap, rap, rap!"

Would he fight Torres again?

"I'd do it once a week. Just give me time to rest," he said, and then, as if remembering something he should have never forgotten, he added: "Willie Pastrano warned me of that kidney punch. He said he got hit there by Torres, too, and that he saw yellow spots. I saw them, too."

Over in the other dressing quarters, which were jammed with such friends as Norman Mailer and Peter Falk and a phalanx of his countrymen, Torres sat in a little office before coming out to the main room. When he did emerge, the Puerto Ricans started shouting: "Here he comes, here he comes! Make way for Jose." Torres found his way to a table and stood on it. The cameras flashed, and the questions fell. "Yes," he said, "I saw Clay fight on television this afternoon. I think I had a tougher time with Thornton than I would with Clay."

"Arriba, arriba!" his followers squealed in response to the answer.

(BY MARK KRAM - from May 30th, 1966)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I was in in Panama a few years ago, with Kid Norfolk, the coloured heavyweight, and champion of the Isthumus. The kid had licked them all and was taking it easy, as is his custom.
Things were getting a little monotonous when suddenly word slipped about the little republic that Harry Wills of New Orleans was in the country. Norfolk packed his grip and left for the United States. He made no bones about why he was leaving. Simply stated he was not in the New Orleans mans class.

Wills took on several heavyweights imported there as a source of amusment for the sport-hungry Americans and Panamanians and then the crop failed. 
Sam Langford was brought down for a try-out with Wills. They fought twice. Langford took the full count both times from punches delivered in the region of the stomach. Sam lay on the floor and writhed in aparent agony for 5 or 10 minutes and the crowd on each occasion yelled 'Fake!!".

Harry's wife was there for the first meeting. She is a nice-looking coloured woman and seemed to be entirely of the opinion that her husband would shelve 'The ********' and so expressed herself to the crowd in unmeasured terms. She went about with a wad of good sized bills betting on her husband. Sam had a lot of supporters and when the end came pork and beans were assured for the Wills family for an indefinite period.

When the two men stepped into the ring it looked like a fight between an aberdeen angus bull and a cougar. Wills looked entirely too ready for the Boston gentleman and he stepped right up and stabbed Langford inummerable times in the face. This seemed to only irrate Sam and he made a move to clinch but Wills side-stepped and slapped him again with great earnestness. None of these things pleased the ******** and he referred to Wills unbecomingly and he tossed an uppercut towards Wills chin, the intention of which was in no way disguised. This seemed to bring Wills to a realisation that Sam was cross about something and he wrapped himself around his opponent in such a manner that the referee, who was a very able-bodied citizen, could hardly pry them apart.

As they were seperated Sam looked at the crowd and smiled. Wills did not think this was the right thing for Samuel to do and expressed his indignation by cutting his eye open. My, but did Sam act ugly for a while. But he cooled down later and stood like a block of Vermont granite and took the jabs offered by Wills with becoming dignity. This sort of thing kept up for six rounds, then Harry reached down in his shoe and pulled forth a blow that looked like a streak of sunlight. His hand disapeared in Langford's midriff and Sam doubled up and fell flat on his face on the floor. He did not put out his hands to protect himself. His hands were as useless as a pair of worn-out socks and about as limp. He made serveral ineffectual efforts to rise. He did succeed in getting to his corner some 10 minutes later, with the help of Wills, the referee and two physicians, which showed great will-power. 
Sam said the blow was a foul.

The second fight, fought a month later, was about the same as the first, with the exception that Sam did not collect Wills knuckles until the 7th round, but the effect was the same. Sam gathered his end of the purse after this fight and placing it in his pocketbook left the Isthumus.

I saw both fights. They may have been faked. I am not capable of judging, but Wills attitude during the fights and after them struck me very favourably. He is quiet, reserved and very polite outside of the ring. I believe that if Wills and Dempsey were to ever meet Dempsey will have his championship crown knocked into the Great Lakes."

(by Sid Smith - The Gazette Times - Oct 8, 1922)

.........

Sam Langford often fought the same opponents over and over as was typical of coloured boxers at the time. Langford and Wills tangled at least seventeen times (up to twenty-two times by some sources) between 1914 and 1922. They knocked each other out twice and Wills generally had the better of the series, although it must be noted that the first meeting occurred when Langford was 31 years old.

The first Wills v Langford fight was a 10-round newspaper decision win for Langford. The rematch (pictured here) in November 1914 and second fight in their long series went like this - 
"With a left swing to the jaw, Sam Langford of Boston knocked out Harry Wills from New Orleans, in the fourteenth round of a scheduled twenty-round fight this afternoon at Vernon. Both men were knocked down repeatedly, Langford himself taking the count four times in the first two rounds. Langford early in the fight hurt his left ankle as he fell to the mat in a vicious breakaway. Wills' effective straight-arm drives gave him an apparent even break in most of the rounds, but Langford fought with a superior knowledge of the game that gradually wore out Wills. As the soreness left Langford's injured ankle, his footwork improved and the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth rounds showed Langford winning. His speed, judgment and force then enabled him to play with Wills. The final swing was delivered after a torrent of blows had left Wills staggering." (Indianapolis Star)

Langford had more than ten fights each against Sam McVey, Joe Jeannette, Jim Barry, Jeff Clark, and Bill Tate.

After over three hundred recorded bouts, Sam Langford retired in 1926 at the age of 43. In his last years in the ring, he was troubled by eye problems which eventually resulted in blindness. In 1944, Al Laney of the New York Herald Tribune decided to write a story about Langford, but he had trouble finding him. Several people suggested that Langford was probably dead, but Laney persisted and finally found Langford living at a rooming house on 139th Street in New York City. Langford had 20 cents in his pocket. Shortly after Laney's story was published, a fund was set up for Langford. As a result, he lived relatively comfortably for the rest of his days. Langford passed away suffering from diabetes on January 12, 1956 at a private nursing home in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Harry Wills retired from boxing in 1932, also at the age of 43, and ran a successful real estate business in Harlem, New York. He was known for his yearly fast, in which, once a year, he would live on only water for a month. Wills died, ironically also from diabetes, on December 21, 1958. He left an estate valued at over $100,000, including a 19-family apartment building in upper Harlem. His biggest regret in life was never getting the opportunity to fight Jack Dempsey for the World Title.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Always with him along the way was his reputation as a mean fighter. He fought in the ring as he did on the sidewalks of Brownsville when he was growing up and he occasionally forgot the rules. He finally went too far the night he met Fritzie Zivic in what the New York Times called "one of the most disgraceful exhibitions in the history of boxing." After Zivic jabbed him in the eye with his thumb at the start of the second round, Bummy went berserk and punched Zivic below the belt ten times before the referee disqualified him.

Despite this display, his manager 'Froike' (Benjamin Katz, but he had boxed under the name of Frankie Kane and Froike is the Yiddish equivalent of Frankie), always championed and excused Davis. "Bummy wasn't a bad kid," he once said. "He was really a good kid, but his life was mixed up and nothing ever worked out right for him. They put him in with Tony Canzoneri, which they shouldn't have done, because Tony had been a great champion but now he was washed up. And when Bummy knocked Canzoneri out everyone hated him.

"Everything went wrong for him right down to the night four stickup guys walked into the bar that Bummy had just sold to his pal Dudy. No local hood would of thought of sticking up what had been Bummy's joint. The tough guys knew him and respected him and the joint was off limits. But some out-of-towners have to come and Bummy told them they shouldn't stick up Dudy. You know the rest."

One of the gunmen told Davis-in very offensive language-to mind his own business and to get over to the wall and put his hands up. No man talked to Bummy Davis like that and got away with it. So the graceful left hook made an arc through the air accurately for the last time. The stickup man dropped, his jaw broken in two or three places, but he held onto his gun. He retaliated with a slug that pierced Bummy's throat. The gunmen lammed out the door with Davis going right after them. He died outside on the sidewalk.

(BY IRVING RUDD)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Stanley Kubrick's first short film was 'Day of the Fight'. Adapted from Kubrick's original photo-essay for Look Magazine in 1949, Day Of The Fight follows middleweight boxer Walter Cartier, as he prepares for his bout with Bobby James.

Cartier turned pro in 1946 and fought four one-time world champions during his career. When he retired he became an actor, appearing regularly in the TV series "The Phil Silvers Show" (Sergeant Bilko).

.....

"Cartier was a handsome Bronx knockout kid who sold tickets. Here was a special kind of a fighter clean living, loved being a boxer and always kept himself in shape. When he wasn't fighting, his home was Stillman's Gym. I went there many an afternoon and there I'd catch Walter in one of the three rings on the main floor. Trading punches with him sometimes was his good friend, Rocky Graziano. Jake LaMotta would also be there and he'd trade with him too. "Sure I remember him. He fought them all," is the first thing you'll hear old-timers say about Cartier today. Yes, Walter was in there against the likes of Joey Giardello, Bobo Olsen, Randy Turpin and Kid Gavilan, all champions. I remember seeing him in one hell of a fight against Gavilan. This was in Madison Square Garden in 1951. To set the scene: Gavilan, the bolo punching Cuban, had just come off a draw with Johnny Bratton and prior to that an unpopular win over Billy Graham in which he retained his welterweight crown. It was after this decision was rendered that they started to call Graham "the uncrowned welterweight champ." (BY BILL GALLO - NEW YORK DAILY NEWS)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Billy crossed himself when he climbed into the ring that night.

Louis, who had trained down because of Conn's speed, came in at 199. Conn tipped 169. It was already 17-5 for the champion in the betting, and this weight spread was making the bout look like homicide. They announced Conn's weight at a more cosmetic 174.

And then the fight began, Louis's 18th defense, his seventh in seven months.

Conn started slower than even he was accustomed to. Louis, the slugger, was the one who moved better. Conn ducked a long right so awkwardly that he slipped and fell to one knee. The second round was worse, Louis pummeling Conn's body, trying to wear the smaller man down. He had 30 pounds on him, after all. Unless you knew the first rounds didn't matter, it was a rout. This month's bum.

In his corner, Conn sat down, spit and said, "All right, here we go." He came out faster, bicycled for a while, feinted with a left and drove home a hard right. By the end of the round he was grinning at the champ, and he winked to Jawnie Ray when he returned to the corner. The spectators were up on their feet, especially the ones who had bet Conn.

The fourth was even more of a revelation, for now Conn chose to slug a little with the slugger, and he came away the better for the exchange. When the bell rang, he was flat-out laughing as he came back to his corner. "This is a cinch," he said.

But Louis got back on track in the fifth, and the fight went his way for the next two rounds as blood flowed from a nasty cut over the challenger's right eye. At Forbes Field in Pittsburgh the crowd grew still, and relatives and friends worried that Billy's downfall was near.

But Conn regained command in the eighth, moving back and away from Louis's left, then ripping into the body or the head. The ninth was all the more Conn, and he grew cocky again. "Joe, I got you," he popped off as he flicked a good one square on the champ's mouth, and then, as Billy strode back to his corner at the bell, he said, "Joe, you're in a fight tonight."

"I know it," Louis replied, confused and clearly troubled now.

The 10th was something of a lull for Conn, but it was a strategic respite. During the 11th, Conn worked Louis high and low, hurt the champ, building to the crescendo of the 12th, when the New York Herald Tribune reported in the casual racial vernacular of the time that Conn "rained left hooks on Joe's dusky face." He was a clear winner in this round, which put him up 7-5 on one card and 7-4-1 on another; the third was 6-6. To cap off his best round, Conn scored with a crushing left that would have done in any man who didn't outweigh him by 30 pounds. And it certainly rattled the crown of the world's heavyweight champion. The crowd was going berserk.

Only later would Conn realize the irony of striking that last great blow. "I miss that, I beat him," he says. It was that simple. He was nine minutes from victory, and now he couldn't wait. "He wanted to finish the thing as Irishmen love to," the Herald Tribune wrote.

Louis was slumped in his corner. Jack Blackburn, his trainer, shook his head and rubbed him hard. "Chappie," he said, using his nickname for the champ, "you're losing. You gotta knock him out." Louis didn't have to be told. Everyone understood. Everyone in the Polo Grounds. Everyone listening through the magic of radio. Everyone. There was bedlam. It was wonderful. Men had been slugging it out for eons, and there had been 220 years of prizefighting, and there would yet be Marciano and the two Sugar Rays and Ali, but this was it. This was the best it had ever been and ever would be, the 12th and 13th rounds of Louis and Conn on a warm night in New York just before the world went to hell. The people were standing and cheering for Conn, but it was really for the sport and for the moment and for themselves that they cheered. They could be a part of it, and every now and then, for an instant, that is it, and it can't ever get any better. This was such a time in the history of games.

Only Billy Conn could see clearly - the trouble was, what he saw was different from what everybody else saw. What he saw was himself walking with his wife on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City, down the shore, and they were the handsomest couple who ever lived, and people were staring, and he could hear what they were saying. What they were saying was: "There goes Billy Conn with his bride. He just beat Joe Louis." And he didn't want to hear just that. What he wanted to hear was: "There goes Billy Conn with his bride. He's the guy who just knocked out Joe Louis." Not for himself: That was what his bride deserved.

Billy had a big smile on his face. "This is easy" he said. "I can take this sonuvabitch out this round."

"No, no, Billy," shouted his trainer. "Stick and run. You got the fight won. Stay away, kiddo. Just stick and run, stick and run...." There was the bell for the 13th.

And then it happened. Billy tried to bust the champ, but it was Louis who got through the defenses, and then he pasted a monster right on the challenger's jaw. "Fall! Fall!" Billy said to himself. He knew if he could just go down, clear his head, he would lose the round, but he could still save the day. "But for some reason, I couldn't fall. I kept saying, 'Fall, fall,' but there I was, still standing up. So Joe hit me again and again, and when I finally did fall, it was a slow, funny fall. I remember that." Billy lay flush out on the canvas. There were two seconds left in the round, 2:58 of the 13th, when he was counted out. The winnah and still champeen....

"It was nationality that cost Conn the title," the Herald Tribune wrote. "He wound up on his wounded left side, trying to make Irish legs answer an Irish brain."

On the radio, Billy said, "I just want to tell my mother I'm all right."

(Frank Deford)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Let me give you a story I've never completely told before...I was in my best form for this fight. Absolutely indefatigable. I was determined to knock Heeney down with my first punch. I walked out and hit him with a straight right hand-a terrific blow-but he didn't go down.

'Oh, oh!' I said to myself, 'this fellow is tough.' I decided then to box him. For four rounds I hit him so often about the head that my wrist began to get sore and I shifted to his body. Then in the eighth round I hit him again with another solid right, just above the eye. I saw Heeney back away, trying to pry open his eye with his glove, even though the eye hadn't been closed.

I knew what had happened. I had had two personal friends lose the sight of an eye after being hit in that spot. It damages the blood vessel, you know. Heeney had been temporarily blinded. I stepped back and did not hit him again for the rest of the round.

Between rounds it was my habit to observe my opponent's corner. I saw Jimmy Dawson, a boxing writer, rush over to ask Charley Harvey, who managed Heeney, what had happened. Then I saw Harvey make a jabbing motion with his thumb, implying that I had stuck my thumb in Heeney's eye.

I was furious....for the next two rounds I gave Heeney a terrible beating-the worst beating of his life, and all because of his manager. But in the 11th round he was still rushing me. 'There's heart!' I said to myself. I evaded him, and he almost fell. Then I turned to the referee and said: " 'If you want me to go on hitting this man, I won't be responsible for the consequences.' And he stopped the fight.

During the last war I made a trip to the Solomon Islands. I found that Heeney was also there-he had become an American citizen and a first-class seaman in the Seabees. I had him transferred, which was a very difficult thing to do, and made a chief athletic specialist, tripling his pay.

Now sometime after the war I ran into Ernest Hemingway, and he said, 'Tom Heeney tells me you were a dirty fighter.'

'Tom Heeney said that? Do you mind if I ask him about it?'

Hemingway said he had no objections. So the next time I was in Miami I took a cab over to Heeney's bar on the Beach. I walked in and had a Martini, but there was no sign of Tom. Then a woman came over and said she was Mrs. Heeney. She said that some men at the bar had told her I was Gene Tunney.

She called Tom, who was at his apartment, and when he arrived I repeated what Hemingway had told me.

'Yes, Gene,' Heeney said. 'You were a dirty fighter.'

'Tom, I don't understand you,' I said. 'Would it be reasonable for me to try to maim you, and then immediately step back and allow you to recover?'

Heeney had to admit that it wouldn't be at all reasonable. Well, we parted friends, but I don't know even today if that man believed in his heart that I was telling the truth."

(Gene Tunney)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Duran made the 160-pound weight limit two weeks before the fight and was a lean 156 pounds at the weigh-in. Barkley stepped on the scale at the Trump Plaza Theater-and nearly fainted dead away when it registered 164 pounds. "I thought it was all over," said Barkley, who had weighed 160 pounds earlier that morning. If the heavier reading had been correct, Barkley would have had to forfeit his title right there. He stepped off the scale, then stepped back on it-and now it read 159 pounds. Evidently a jokester in Duran's entourage had put his foot on the scale.

Nasty, wintry weather paralyzed the boardwalk on the night of the fight. This was the Duran's 92nd bout in 21 years as a professional. The touched-up beard and glistening hair recalled Charles Manson. His size and stature did as well - standing only 5'7 with his shoes on. In the opposite corner the powerfully built 6'1 WBC middleweight Champion Iran Barkley stalked about, his features half-hidden under a hood.

The flag of Panama waved up in the cheap seats as both men walked to ring center for the pre-fight instructions. Duran was eye-level with Barkley's chest. Within moments, the timekeeper sounded the bell and round one began. The sold-out crowd roared and a familiar chant echoed off the walls as the gladiators converged for battle: "Dooo-ran! Dooo-ran! Dooo-ran!"

The older, smaller Duran had no advantages except for a good memory. His only chance for victory was to fight Barkley in the eye of the storm, counterpunch, angle out, and capitalize on any mistakes that were made. Duran didn't have to wait long for a mistake. Barkley threw a jab with 10 seconds left in the first round and left it hanging out there. Duran slipped it and came over with an overhand right that caught Iran on the side of his head. Barkley's legs sagged. The crowd went berserk. Commentator Gil Clancy, who was in Ken Buchanan's corner on the night that Duran stopped him in 1972 hollered, "Barkley is hoit! He-is-hoit, no question about that! We mentioned the fact Duran has not shown punching power as a middleweight&#8230; there it was!"

"The first round was very important because I had to come back at him when he hit me," Duran said later. With Barkley boring in on Duran's midsection, a target the champion may have expected to find softer than it was, Duran stayed in front of him, deftly slipping most blows.

The struggle quickly became epic. Every round, Barkley made a serious body punching attack, bending at the knees and cranking left hooks that seemed to come out of Duran's back. It didn't slow him down.

Barkley found Duran's head in the seventh round and stunned him with a whistling hook. As the bell sounded, the two stood and glared at each other for a moment.

In the eighth, Barkley went low and came up with another short left hook that snuck in behind Duran's guard. Barkley never threw a better one. Duran's eyes rolled around in his head and he stumbled.

By the ninth round Barkley's left eye was closing. Seeing that, Duran summoned up a final charge. When Barkley waded into him in the 11th, Duran hit him with three lethal combinations. " Barkley was paying for everything he threw," Duran said. "He had to take a punch to throw one, so I put more power into my punches." The third combination sent Barkley to the deck. He survived the round, but after the bell rang, he wandered around the ring for a moment, looking for his corner. He was lost, and though he struggled through one more round, so was his title.

In a fight that really could have gone either way, a split decision was awarded to Duran. The crowd went wild. Some were even in tears. On this occasion Duran was absolutely loved by his fans. Even those who had started off supporting Barkley were gradually overcome during the course of this fight.

"It was his heart," Barkley said after the decision was announced. "It just wouldn't go." By beating Barkley, Duran became the first Latin fighter to win titles in four weight divisions. "I am like a bottle of wine," Duran said. "The older I get, the better."

Sugar Ray Robinson, ringside on the night, said about Duran's performance: "That's the best boxer I've ever seen."

Ray Arcel, duran's old trainer, who was almost 90 years old, watched the bout in his Manhattan apartment declared later - "I just sat there&#8230;and I mean, I was laughing"

It was named "Fight of the Year 1989″ by Ring Magazine.

(Gregory Toledo / Bruce Newman)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Muhammad Ali is being interviewed by Dayton Daily News reporter and columnist Tom Archdeacon in the dressing room before he fought Larry Holmes in 1980.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept. 1908.

Newspapers compared Stanley Ketchel to Jim Jeffries, who would be refereeing him the match, labelling him 'the pugilistic marvel of the decade, ranking as prominently today as Jeffries ranked in his prime.' 'The Evening World' labelled him 'another Fitzsimmons, the greatest of the modern fistic artists.' The World also knew Billy Papke. 'It will be a desperate scrap.'

Billy's ring walk was almost Zen-like, a broad smile on his features, in excellent humour with himself and all the world - he was almost childlike in his supreme confidence, (The LA Herald).

Within three minutes of the opening bell, the fight was over as a competitive battle. In a hellish first round, Papke knocked Ketchel down for the nine count no less than three times. Ketchel, hurt initially by a right hand smash to the bridge of his nose, was dropped five times in total. Already bleeding from the nose, mouth, and a bad cut over his rapidly closing right eye, he needed the aid of his seconds to make it back to his stool.

'When Ketchel stepped to the center for the second round it was seen that his right eye was closed. At the next intermission his seconds lanced the socket and sucked the blood, but Ketchel never regained the sight of his right eye. Before the finish the other eye was all about closed, and for the last three rounds he staggered about the ring dizzy, like a drunken man, virtually blind.' - Jay Davidson, Los Angeles Herald

Papke, a hard-nosed, unforgiving fighter, grinned and laughed as he piled up the damage, but he struggled to put over a finishing blow as Ketchel battled gamely to survive. In the clinches, where much of the battle was fought, Ketchel spat blood that dripped down Papke's body.

In the eighth, Ketchel was brutalised horribly, shipping multiple flush headshots, blood now pouring from his nose. The 1900's crowd began to call for the fight's end, a rarity for the era. Both men were smothered in Ketchel's blood. By the ninth both of Ketchel's eyes were shut and he staggered blindly about the ring as Papke thrashed him.

In the tenth, The San Fransisco Call describes Ketchel's face as 'barely human looking.' Ketchel prepared himself for the eleventh by trying to scrape the blood from his eyes, the left still gaping from the failed lancing between rounds one and two.

The LA Herald: 'The minute between rounds was not enough for Ketchel to recover his wits and although he responded to the gong he was unsteady on his legs and beclouded of brain and about all he could do was cover up and try to stall the round. Papke would not have it - forcing an opening he [landed] a clean right to the head flooring Ketchel for the count of nine.'

Only a heart unbreakable could have drawn Ketchel from the canvas in that moment. Papke, still smiling the same smile he had worn on his way to the ring, approached, but Ketchel was not even looking at him, rather he was looking out to the crowd, arms hanging at his sides, and he 'did not raise his hands to ward off the punch that toppled him from the championship pedestal.'

'As they went to their corners (at the end of the tenth), Papke raised his hands to the crowd and they were running with blood from his wrists to his shoulders, where his opponent had hung on.' - Los Angeles Times

The crowd roared for referee Jim Jeffries to stop the bout in the eleventh, but the former heavyweight champion ignored the cries. Finally, Papke scored with a series of blows, sending Ketchel falling through the ropes and onto the laps of the ringside press. The fight looked certain to be over, but the bell rang and the writers pushed the beaten man back into the ring, where he was lead to his corner for a minute's reprieve.

'The twelfth saw the finish, for in the opening of the round, Papke floored the 'champion' with a right on the jaw. Ketchel was down for eight seconds and when he wobbled to his feet and bleared at his foe, Papke dropped him against for the last time with an uppercut on the jaw. He stayed down for five seconds and then half-raised himself and, sitting there with his mashed and bleeding face and his closed eyes turned toward his own corner. Referee Jeffries counted him out amid a great chorus of cheers from the thousands of excited fans.' - Grey Oliver, Los Angeles Times

Ketchel's condition was horrific. The Evening World: 'Both his eyes were closed tight. His face was battered out of shape, as if Papke had knocked him about with a baseball bat instead of two fists. His face was crooked as if his cheekbones had been beaten in. His mouth was a mere gash. His whole body was covered with unsightly lumps where Papke's iron fists had landed - it will be months before he fights again, if he ever does.'

The fight became a source of some controversy in later years, with the legitimacy of Papke's victory called into question. Papke was said to have struck Ketchel with a devastating opening blow when the champion had extended his hand for the customary touching of the gloves. It is true that Papke ignored the traditional handshake by going after Ketchel to start the bout, but he missed wildly with his opening swing and it was actually Ketchel who landed first when he tagged Papke with a left hand.

In the days after the fight, there was no talk of the bout being decided by foul play, but Ketchel did indicate he believed the result had been a fluke and blamed the loss on overconfidence. Papke naturally disagreed and was quick to sign for a third meeting, agreeing to meet Ketchel again on November 26.

(also contains notes from online articles by Andrew Fruman and Matt McGrain)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

23 February 1939

Eric Boon v Arthur Danaher was the first occasion that the BBC had been permitted to televise a boxing match but also the first time a transmission had been shown live to a paying audience in cinemas (the Marble Arch Pavilion and the Tatler News Theatre). This preceded the first televised heavyweight boxing match (Max Baer vs Lou Nova, from Yankee Stadium) which was held on 1 June 1939.

The match, which pitched super-stylist Danahar against the ferocious, all-action Boon, was a mouth-watering prospect that exceeded expectations. Danahar was stopped in the fourteenth round of what turned out to be one of the most exciting British title showdowns ever.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"It had been at Jack Dempsey's urging that I took on Mickey Walker, whose manager had died. Dempsey had warned Walker that I was an "expensive manager," but he also realized that I could help Mickey as no one else could. It was in 1925, and Walker had come west to make a few matches on his own. He was staying at the Hotel Barbara in Los Angeles, which Dempsey and I owned. I offered him a 50-50 deal, we shook hands on it and that was the only contract we ever had. He had two girls with him at the time and we even split them. We immediately went on an all-night party which pretty much symbolized what our relationship was to be in the years thereafter.

"There's one thing I didn't get a chance to tell you, Doc," Mickey said next day as we nursed our hangovers. "I've already agreed to meet Harry Greb in New York in July for the middleweight title."

"How much are you getting?"

He was almost proud in his answer.

"Twenty thousand dollars."

My explosion took the wind out of his sails.

"Cripes almighty," I yelled at him. "You ought to be getting a hundred grand at least! Maybe we can get you out of the fight."

Mickey proved his honesty to me right then and there.

"I can't do that, Doc. I gave them my word."

We had a tune-up bout in San Francisco and headed east, where I found I was suddenly persona non grata with the New York boxing commission. They still were after Dempsey to fight Harry Wills, and nothing I could say would convince them that every time we tried to set up the match politicians blocked it. Bill Muldoon, the gruff commissioner, wouldn't even let me go to the arena for the Walker-Greb fight.

"If you show up, I'll ban Walker, too," he told me.

I sat it out at Billy LaHiff's Tavern, listening on the radio.

It was a tough night for Walker. Greb outweighed him seven pounds and gave him plenty of thumbs. What made it worse, the referee, Ed Purdy, dislocated a trick knee in the seventh round and from then on frequently supported himself by hanging on to both fighters, particularly Walker. Despite all this, Mickey rallied after nearly being knocked out and was hurting Greb at the end of the 15 rounds. Still, he lost.

Walker met me in LaHiff's after the bout, and we were having a drink at a corner table when who walks in out of the night, like Dangerous Dan McGrew, but Greb. Mickey's eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and Greb's lips were puffed and cut. Greb walked over to our table and leered down at Walker.

"How're you feeling, Mickey?"

Mickey pointed to his own eyes. "How do you think I feel with these peepers after you stickin' your thumbs in them all night?"

Greb grinned wickedly.

"Forget it. You were plenty tough on me, too."

Greb left, and Mickey, usually a happy guy, was pretty glum. "Come on," I said, trying to cheer him up. "Let's go over to the Silver Slipper and have some laughs."

By the time we got there, after visiting a few watering holes on the way, we were in, and full of, good spirits. And one of the first people we spotted was Greb, sitting with a pretty girl. After a few more drinks Mickey, obviously looking for trouble, invited himself over to Greb's table and began making a play for Greb's date. Within a few minutes I heard Walker's voice, loud and clear above the racket in the place.

"You Dutch so-and-so, you couldn't lick me again if your whole family was helping you."

Now they were both standing up, shoving their chins at each other.

"Why, you Irish bum," said Greb, "suppose I let you try right now?"

They were squaring off when a flying wedge of waiters hustled them out to the street. I was right on their heels and watched as Greb started to take off his coat. But Mickey couldn't wait for that. He fired a punch that sent Greb flying into the fender of a parked automobile. They were swinging away in earnest when I spotted a policeman hurrying up the street toward us. I jumped in between them.

"What's the matter with you guys?" I yelled. "You ain't even getting paid for this."

It broke them up. They started laughing, and then, throwing their arms around each other, they led the way back inside. We all greeted the sunrise together.

There was a great demand for a rematch, especially after word of their street fight swept the city, and I was all for putting them together again in the ring.

"Let's get somebody else, Doc," Mickey pleaded. "He's too good a friend of mine for me to bust up."

I asked Greb what he thought.

"You can keep that Irish bum," Greb answered, grinning. "There must be easier ways for me to make money than fighting him."

Walker had been paid $20,000 to box Greb in a fight that drew a $339,000 gate. Now I got Mickey a $100,000 guarantee to defend his welterweight title against Dave Shade at the Polo Grounds.

A couple of nights after the bout, which Mickey won in 15 rounds, I met him and handed him a check for $96,000. All I took was $4,000 for training expenses. I figured that Mickey needed the money and that I wouldn't cut him because this was our first fight as a team. Mickey didn't even look at the check, just stuffed it in his pocket. A few days later I received a letter which contained a note and a check for $48,000. Mickey's note said:

Dear Doc: 
Everything we do is 50-50. 
Yours, 
Mickey. "

(Jack [Doc] Kearns)

*the account of the after-hours street tussle between greb and walker has been highly disputed by a lot of people...including @Klompton who is a leading authority on greb.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 1925. Jimmy McLarnin beats the reigning World Flyweight Champion commonly known as Pancho Villa (real name Francisco Guilledo) in a non-title bout.
In the days leading to the fight, Villa's face became swollen due to an ulcerated tooth, and on the morning of the fight he went to a dentist to have the tooth extracted. Despite the pain and swelling, Villa insisted on going ahead with fight with McLarnin. Villa ended up spending most of the fight using one hand to protect his afflicted face and lost via a points decison.
Two days later Villa had three more ulcerated teeth pulled out.
Within the week it was then discovered that the infection had spread to Villa's throat and he was rushed into surgery, but he lapsed into a coma while on the table and died the following day, July 14, 1925, 17 days before he became 24 years old.
Meanwhile, back in Manila--the day before he died-- Pancho's wife gave birth to their son. In 1989, she swore that his death was caused by an intentional overdose of anesthesia: a gambling syndicate's conspiracy to murder Villa for losing to McLarnin.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"At about seven o'clock in the evening on Monday, December 14, his wife met him on the stairs to their flat on West Forty-second Street. The house they lived in still stands, a house of dingy brick with ten walk-up apartments, two on each of its five floors. He told Mrs. Siki he was going "out with the boys" and would be back in time to help her pack for a trip they were making next day to Washington, where Siki was to appear in a theater. Shortly after midnight on the morning of the fifteenth, Patrolman John J. Meehan, of the West Thirtieth Street station, walking his beat along Ninth Avenue, had a brief encounter with Siki, whom he knew by sight. Siki, wobbling a little as he turned under the "L" tracks from Forty-first Street, called to Meehan that he was on his way home. The patrolman told him to keep going that way. At 4:15 A.M., Meehan walked past the intersection of Forty-first Street and Ninth Avenue again and saw a body lying about a hundred feet east of the corner in the gutter in front of 350 West Forty-first. Approaching it, he recognized Siki. The body was taken to Meehan's station house where a doctor pronounced the fighter recently dead from internal hemorrhage caused by two bullet wounds. Detectives examined the deserted block of Forty-first between Eighth and Ninth avenues. In front of No. 346, some forty feet east of where Siki had died, they found a pool of blood on the sidewalk. It seemed to them that Siki might have been trying to crawl home after he was shot. They could not tell just where the shooting had taken place. The gun, a vest-pocket .32-caliber pistol, was lying in front of No. 333, on the other side of the street. Only two bullets had been fired from it. An autopsy showed that these had entered Siki from behind, one penetrating his left lung and the other his kidneys. The autopsy showed something else which surprised Siki's neighbors a good deal when they heard of it: he had suffered from an anemic condition.

At his wife's request; Siki was given a Christian funeral service at the Harlem funeral parlors of Effie A. Miller. The Reverend Adam Clayton Powell delivered a eulogy. However, seven Mohammedan pallbearers in turbans carried his body to the hearse, chanting prayers as they did so, while a crowd of three thousand people looked on. The body was clothed in evening dress, as Siki would undoubtedly have wished. His estate, estimated at six hundred dollars, was awarded to his wife in Surrogate's Court after Levy made out an affidavit in her favor. The words of the affidavit while perhaps not strictly accurate in point of fact told the broad truth about Siki's place in the world better, I think, than the editorial that spoke of Achilles, Siegfried, and "natural man." To the best of his knowledge, Levy said, Siki left surviving "no child or children, no father, mother, brother, or sister, or child or children of a deceased brother or sister." He lived as a man without kin or country, roots or guides, and that, it seems to me, is a hard way to do it.

Siki's murder was never solved. There was an abundance of suspects, but none of them suited the police at all until one day in March 1926 a young man of eighteen who lived a block or two from Siki's house was arrested and booked on a homicide charge in connection with the killing. Detectives disguised as truck drivers had heard him making incriminating remarks, they said, over a telephone in a bootleggers' hangout at Tenth Avenue and Fortieth Street. On being arrested, he allegedly signed two statements which gave two different accounts of the crime. One said that Siki had staggered into a coffee pot at Eighth Avenue and Fortieth Street in the early morning of December 15 and had thrown a chair at the eight men, including the deponent, who were gathered there. Deponent ran out of the place in alarm and heard shots fired in the restaurant behind him. The other statement, which fitted the physical facts of the killing a little better, said that a short while after the throwing of the chair, he, the young man under arrest, lured Siki to Eighth Avenue and Forty-first Street on the promise of buying him a drink. At the corner they were joined by two other men, one of whom, as the party walked west on Forty-first, shot Siki in the back. The young man was held in the Tombs for eight months, until the fall of 1926, and then was released by the court without trial, presumably because the state was not satisfied with its case. I might add that in May 1927 this same young man got five to ten years for second-degree robbery, committed in April in the vicinity of Ninth Avenue and Forty-second Street against a tourist from another state. That was clearly the wrong part of town for a tourist to go to."

(by John Lardner)

.........

Battling Siki (September 16, 1897 - December 15, 1925), aka Louis Mbarick Fall, was an American-Senegalese light heavyweight boxer born in Senegal who fought from 1912-1925, and briefly reigned as the lineal light heavyweight champion after knocking out Georges Carpentier.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"It must've been around 1904 at a bar in San Francisco, I was drinking with some admirers when Jack Johnson strutted in and demanded I fight him for my heavyweight championship of the world. For about a minute I listened to his boasts about speed and defense and how he'd carve me up, then told him to get out before I knocked him out. Johnson persisted, what an obnoxious fellow he was, so I reached into my coat, grabbed about two grand, and slammed it on the bar and said, let's go down to the cellar, and this money's yours if you make it back up the stairs.

I ain't no cellar fighter, he said. You're afraid of blacks.

This way, I said, pointing the index finger of a big left hand ready to flatten him.

Johnson darted the other way, out the door."

- James J Jeffries


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"One afternoon, Jack Dempsey strolled quietly into Stillman's gym on eight avenue and after passing the time of day with several old pals, he walked up on to the balcony while "Two Ton" Tony Galento was going through the motions of working out. Galento was fatter than ever, hopelessly out of condition and quite obviously doing nothing about it.

Anyway, he didn't see Dempsey and continued waddling lazily around the ring, clowning wisecracking and grinning as he fooled with his sparring parthers. After watching a couple of rounds Dempsey came down to ringside. He was wearing a beautifully cut light grey suit, tan and white shoes, and white silk shirt and when Tony caught a sight of him, he waved a glove at the ex champ.

''Hiya Jack" he grinned. ''You look like a million bucks dis afternoon'' Dempsey gave him a mean look, ''never mind how I look, you big bum" he said "lets see you do some work''

Galento must have thought he was joking, because he made no attempt to speed up his work and carried on ambling around until Dempsey blew up. ''Have you a pair of Gloves Ray?" called out Dempsey. Then taking off his coat, he stripped right down to his white silk, monogrammed underpants and vaulted into the ring.

''Now Tony'' he said ''it's you and me. I'II show you how we used to do it'' He began huming a little tune - and old Dempsey mannerism- and then, as Galento backed away, he flashed into action. Jack was 40 years old, but his body was lean and tanned, and for three memorable minutes he was the old Dempsey, the murderous, tearaway Manassa Mauler of the 1920's.

He ripped punches into Galento's podgy torso from all angles, split his lips with a terrific left and sent the blood spurting from his nose. ''Lay Off Jack'' Galento gasped as he staggered backwards vainly trying to cover up. But Dempsey showed him no mercy, he chased after him until time was called.

Still breathing easily Dempsey ducked under the ropes and began to dress, while Galento stood shaking his head in a semi daze and trying to wipe the blood from his face with the back of his gloves.

When dressed, Dempsey gave him one contemptuous look. ''That's how we used to fight!!" "

(Ray Arcel: A Boxing Biography)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Dressing room No. 26 in the rear of New York's Madison Square Garden is a windowless pit that holds heat like a thermos. Behind its heavy steel door, Room 26 contains nothing but the basic needs for a fighter in training - two low benches pressed against the grim, peeling walls, a small tiled shower, an archaic bronze-colored scale that has lost too many decisions to oxidation, a rubbing table only recently oiled and repadded to disguise its oblique past. Every day for six weeks prior to meeting Joe Giardello for the world middleweight championship, Dick Tiger, the courtly 36-year-old Nigerian challenger, would come to this room and sit on a bench in the 90 degree heat.

......

Right from the first round, Tiger flicked jab after jab at Giardello. From a far corner there even came the sound of an apesi, a Nigerian drum. Played by a friend of Tiger's, it beat constantly, and its message was "keep punchin'." In turn, Giardello's fans from Philadelphia started chanting "Hey, hey, take it away," in the ninth round when Joey seemed to rally, but there was very little that Giardello could do to take anything away. As the fight moved toward the 15th round, his combinations had totally disappeared, his legs looked stiff and Tiger's jab was keeping him from ever getting a chance to throw the big right hand that would knock Tiger out. Giardello was courageous, as he always has been, and he was thoroughly beaten, as he hadn't often been.

......

In his dressing room after the fight Tiger looked like a woodcut print of a boxer, while Giardello, sitting on a table across the arena, lifted his mashed profile and announced, rather proudly, his retirement."

(William Leggett)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The Champion who literally had an iron chin.

Eugene Criqui whose jaw and part of his chin were shattered in WW1 by a snipers bullet. Surgeons rebuilt his face with iron and titanium.
After the war he resumed boxing. He won the French featherweight title in 1921 and the next year won the European Boxing Union featherweight championship. On June 2, 1923, he beat Johnny Kilbane by a sixth-round knockout in New York City to win the world featherweight title.

Had over 100 bouts with a reconstructed iron jaw and chin.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The toughest fight I ever had was with Richie Mitchell in 1921. I almost lost the title then because of Arnold Rothstein, the gambler. Before the fight, Rothstein asked me whether I thought it would be a tough fight. Four years earlier I had knocked out Mitchell in seven rounds, and I told Rothstein this time I thought I could take him in one. That prospect intrigued him, and he said he could get good odds on a first-round knockout and would put $25,000 on it. He said he would give me a piece of the bet for nothing. Well, Arnie was a good friend and I didn't want to disappoint him. I also wanted to pick up some of that money, so I tore into Mitchell at the opening bell. In less than a minute, I had Mitchell down for a nine count. He got up, but I put him down again for another nine count. With a little more than a minute left, I landed a solid left hook and Mitchell crumpled again. He went down as if he could never make it up before the 10 count, but he made it at eight. I knew one more solid punch and it would be over. It came quickly, but I didn't land it. Out of nowhere, Mitchell dug a solid left to my stomach and all the air went out of me. He followed with a right to the chin and I went down. I didn't know where I was; I was in worse shape than Mitchell had been in. They tell me I got up at seven - it must have been out of instinct - and I held on till the end of the round. I finally knocked him out in the sixth. Rothstein came into the dressing room after the fight and told me he could never get the bet down...." - Benny Leonard


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I was full of hate. He was a thing to me - not a human. When he hit the canvas the first thing I thought was "I got him!!"
Only after that did I realise I had won the title again and that he was lying there with his leg twitching.
I don't ever want to feel like that again." - Floyd Patterson


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I knocked on the bedroom door and a voice you associate with misty New York dockside rasped: 'Friend or foe?'

'Friend, I think.'

Inside there were blue whorls of cigar and cigarette smoke, a small crown of American lounge suits and a plump man in ragged trousers and short padding barefoot and swinging an arm as thick as your thigh.

'&#8230; So I keep coming forward like this, left foot first, and I hit him a shot with the right, and I see his eyes roll up in his head and I give him the left to finish him&#8230;'

'Rocky, you remind me of a skunk&#8230;!' Somebody interrupting. I backed quickly for the door.

The Rock's eyes widened below the stitch mark - one eye took thirteen stitches, seeing him through just one million dollar world title defence: 'A skunk?'

'The way you fought, Rocky, like a skunk with a farm dog and the dog keeps backing away because he knows what a punch that skunk packs in his tail!'

'Right! Joe Louis couldn't take my shot to the head - not even high on the head. I got to him with one high on the head and I see his eyes go "Great to meet ya!"' The Rock comes for me. 'Have a cup of coffee! You're welcome!' The Rock opens his fist and there's a cup and saucer hidden in it.

The honesty in the round, hearty face is humiliating. I told the Rock we're talking of banning boxing in Britain.

'Right! Well, it's got to come! It's got to - in fifty, twenty-five years' time - no, less than that - it's got to come; as people get more civilized, they're going to ban boxing.'

'Rocco, my baby!' A man lying full-length on a divan barks: 'Whaddya sayin'&#8230;!'

'I tell you it's got to. They will outlaw boxing. A hundred years from now we'll be like the gladiators, something out of history.' The sad, gentle eyes. 'There won't be any boxers any more - aw, boxing's just got to go. Less than twenty-five years, ten years or less than that maybe. In America they let fighters go on till one of them's half-dead - Joe Louis couldn't take a shot to the head any more.'

'He couldn't take one on the button, Rocky!'

'He couldn't take a punch anywhere on the head any more. Even high on the head. People say to me, "Rocky, you made me scream watching you fight, you looked like you're going to get killed the way you keep coming forward taking all those punches on the chin&#8230;"' The Rock shakes his head amusedly. 'But I never did.'

He tucks the bristling chin into the protective shoulders. 'I always had my chin down here. I never used to take any punches on the chin. Nobody can take punches on the chin.

'Rocky, baby&#8230;'

'Only time I left myself wide open was when they put wintergreen in my water bucket to try and stop me winning the world championship and my eyes stung so I had to lift my chin just to see and Walcott nailed me on the chin and nearly knocked me out.'

'Crooks! Wintergreen they put in his water bucket!'

'Talk about divine justice. The officials handling me in that fight, awhile after they all dropped dead.' The Rock massaged his chin quickly.

Are there punch-drunk boxers in America? 'Not many. Ezzard Charles. Oh, he's banged up, oh God yes he is. After he met me.

'Rocco, baby! He is not! Charles is not.'

'Aw, yes. Aw, terrible, yes. He is.' The Rock demonstrates with a press picture showing his victim's face like a chocolate marshmallow crushed between the Rock's fists.

'Think! What kind of money Cassius Clay versus Rocky would take now! Rocky could take Clay right now!'

There is a famous story of the Rock's pugilistic encounter in a wartime brawl in a British pub. 'Right! That's true. But if I get in trouble like that now I have to back away. Talk my way out of it. I have to &#8230; I never like to see people hurt. I was an old man when I won the world title - I was twenty-eight. That's why Patterson can't beat Clay! He's an old man. He's twenty-seven.'

The Rock's finger's play constantly with the poke of his English ratting cap on his head. Going bald has hurt the Rock more than anything could do in the ring. He wears the cap even indoors and, for public appearances, a well-made American hair-piece.

'Over here in Britain boxing is so civilized anyway. They'd never let me become heavyweight champion of England - I bleed too easy. Sure there are fights that not quite right. But not the world heavy championship. There's too many people like Norman Mailer - like you - watching us all the time.'

The eyes soften. 'I don't even go to the fights any more. Don't like to see people getting hurt. I'm a bad fight referee even.' The Rock admits it sadly. 'I spoil the fights. Soon as one of the fellers starts bleeding a little even, I stop the fight. The crowd don't like it. You hear the crowd yelling. Screaming. Go on! Let 'em fight! Beat him to death, go on! That's the really brutal part of the boxing. The crowd.

Outside I met a sports writer. 'You saw Marciano - what's he like? More animal than man, I suppose?' "

(John Summers - 1965)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Most of the crowd were standing on chairs now, roaring protestor encouragement. A wadded newspaper landed in the ring, then somebody's hat. The referee kept his fascinated gaze on the fighters, like a young lab assistant observing a couple of ferocious insects.

Davis walked across the ring and fired a left hook that landed, according to one reporter, "about a foot above Zivic's knees." Zivic's face screwed up in pain, then settled into righteous indignation as he glanced at Referee Billy Cavanagh. Cavanagh was looking elsewhere.

Davis returned to the attack. Another low blow brought a chorus of boos from the crowd. Zivic backed away, but Davis pursued him, ripping two more left hooks into his groin. Fritzie, his face contorted with pain, hopped stiffly, first on one leg, then on the other. He fired back at Davis, rocking his head and drawing blood again from his mouth. But Bummy, in his passion, was impervious to punishment. He crowded Zivic, hooked him low, shifted his attack to the ribs and then lowered it once more. Only once did Referee Cavanagh warn him to keep his punches up.Davis dug another left into Zivic's groin.

Finally, at 2:34 of the second round,Cavanagh stopped the fight......Or, at least, he tried to. But Bummy was not yet ready. His answer to the referee's restraining gesture was to bounce a left hook off Zivic's skull. Faced with a more orthodox attack now, Zivic quickly solved it by hooking Davis twice in the face, bloodying his nose. Handlers from both corners, as well as a squad of burly special cops, poured through the ropes and tried to drag the berserk Davis to his corner. Bummy, his arms pinioned now, aimed a kick at Zivic, who had plunged into the struggling mob. Missing the intended target area on Fritzie's trunks, the kick instead caught Referee Cavanagh in the thigh. Bummy finally was hauled, spitting and cursing, from the ring.

The fight was awarded to Zivic on a foul. Even while the excited crowd streamed out of the Garden, journalists and politicians prepared to publish their outrage to the world. General Phelan, chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission, called the fight "the most disgraceful thing I ever saw," and banned Davis from boxing in New York state "for life".

Having joined the Army shortly afterward, Davis was granted a pass by his commanding general and a pardon by General Phelan on condition that he fight Zivic again for an Army charity. In a bout notable for its strict adherence to the commission's regulations, Zivic dealt Davis a savage beating and stopped him in the 10th round. But this orthodox defeat did nothing to break Bummy's rebellious spirit.

Some years later Bummy Davis was shot to death as he charged, bare-handed, into an armed gang trying to hold up the store of a friend in Brownsville. He was still trying to get that left hook across when he went down."

(from sports illustrated)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Before Johnny left for his New York training camp we talked at length about the future and he told me he knew we had not spent enough time together, that it had been one training session after another, but he tried to explain to me that he was finally in the position he had been waiting so many years to reach. He felt that if he won the title he wouldn't have to worry about anything else. He explained that champions get the largest share of the gate receipts and that he wouldn't have to fight as often as he had previously done working to the top.

I flew to New York the day before the fight and registered at the Roosevelt Hotel. Johnny had come in from camp and stayed at the Edison Hotel. Johnny came to see me the afternoon of the fight just after he had left the weighin and, as always, there were three or four fellows with him. He had to go eat his dinner at Jack Dempsey's restaurant at 4 o'clock so we didn't have much time together. As I walked to the elevator with him I took his hand and he flinched. I asked him about it and he told me not to worry. But I couldn't help worrying because I knew Johnny was no complainer.

I could not stand to watch the fight and shortly after the first round I went out to the lobby and walked around. The scene soon resembled a motion picture. One by one all of the people who had been sitting in our section - Johnny had purchased all of the tickets together - came out to the lobby and even Johnny's brothers joined us. His oldest brother passed me as if he didn't recognize me, and when I ran up to him all he said was, "They should stop it. Johnny has been hurt." I thought the fight would never end, and finally, from what seemed like a great distance, I could hear the announcer say: " Kid Gavilan, the winner!"

At the dressing room I learned Johnny was to be taken to the hospital right away. His jaw had been broken a third time and he had a broken bone in his right hand. I will never be convinced that he didn't go into the ring with a broken hand. In spite of his handicaps Johnny finished the full 15 rounds and was never knocked down. Within the next few days he had the wisdom teeth on the right side of his jaw removed, as had been done to the left side just a year before, and went back to the camp where he had trained for the fight. He said he needed time to get himself together and he wanted to be alone where he could think things out clearly and decide what his next move would be.

Johnny stayed at camp for almost two months. I was coming to the point where I felt that our marriage would never work. The baby was a little more than a year old now and he didn't even know his father. We didn't have any place that we could call home. Johnny agreed with me in principle, but he kept repeating one idea - this was no time to become disheartened. He asked for more time to get himself together.

It seemed he was always able to reach that point in fighting where he had only one more fight to win and everything would be all right in his world. Then, at the crucial moment with everything at stake, he could never pull through this last fight.

After a brief visit to Detroit, Johnny went to Chicago and I didn't hear from him again for two months. I tried calling everywhere but to no avail. His mother said she hadn't seen him, and even though I left messages he never returned my calls. He hadn't called even to find out how the baby was.

I got a job in Detroit and was working for about three weeks when one evening the phone rang. "Hi, Jo, what are you doing?" Johnny said casually. I had planned for weeks what I would say to him. Now that the time was here I was at a loss for words. The reason he hadn't gotten in touch with me, he said, was because there was nothing he could tell me. When I told him I was working he became quite disturbed and said he would be in Detroit the next day. The next day when I came home from work his car was parked in front of the house. I tried to be stern and forceful in the things I said to him but deep down inside I could see the change that had come over him and I knew he hadn't been too happy either. Johnny had decided to give fighting another try.

We had become indebted to the IBC to the extent of some $18,000, and Mr. Wallman had sent Johnny money during these months he had been laid off. We also owed the government $36,000 in back income taxes. Johnny explained that he knew no other way to erase these tremendous financial obligations. Mr. Wallman had told Johnny he wanted us to come to New York where he would get an apartment for us and make all the necessary arrangements. He would advance Johnny any money necessary for current living expenses until he could fight again. I wanted to go to New York, or anywhere else where we could all be together.

I came to New York and took a cab to Flushing, Long Island, which was to be our address and home from that first day of October 1951. It was more than I had expected. Johnny came in from camp and finished training at home for his next bout against Wilbur Wilson. It was the first time I had ever been able to cook his meals, go to the gym with him, take care of his clothes and really feel that I was helping him in his career.

At 26, when most men are just reaching the height of their careers, Johnny was an old man in the ring. On November 13, 1953 he was to fight Kid Gavilan again for the welterweight title. This was his second attempt to become world champion, and still the only prayer that I could offer was for him not to get hurt. The day of the fight Johnny seemed weaker than I had seen him in a long time and his face was very thin and drawn. The tension was stronger than I had ever felt it before. Everywhere the fight was advertised and everywhere people were after Johnny for attention. Under the pressure, Johnny did a funny thing. He shadowboxed on the street, something he had never done before.

I left the hotel for the fight a full half hour after it had started and I went in the first church I saw on the way to the stadium. I think it was a Catholic church, though I'm not a Catholic. The fight was still going on when I reached the stadium. I waited near the dressing room. After an eternity I could hear the crowds of people rushing from their seats, and again the announcer's voice reached my ears: "And still welterweight champion of the world, Kid Gavilan."

A crowd gathered at the dressing room door, and photographers began asking me to pose for pictures and popping questions at me from all sides. I saw Kid Gavilan come through and finally caught a glimpse of Johnny being almost carried by his handlers. Johnny's mother came past me, and the officer on the door allowed us to go into the dressing room, which was already so overcrowded with people that it was hard to catch your breath.

Johnny was in a prone position on the table and his face was completely covered by towels. For the first time in my life I heard him cry. I left the dressing room to try to compose myself. When Johnny finally came out he had on dark glasses, but they did not cover the horrible sight of his completely disfigured face. At the hotel the outer room of the suite was filled to capacity with people. When I went into the bedroom I wanted to turn and run but most of all I wished that I would soon awaken from what I hoped was a nightmare.

Johnny's face was indistinguishable. His eyes were so swollen that he couldn't open them at all. I walked up to the bed and he said, "Jo, is that you?" He then reached out his swollen hand to touch me. He wasn't out of his head but he just kept repeating that he couldn't understand what had happened to him. He said that he lost all of his strength in the seventh round. It was difficult for him to talk because he had gotten hit in the Adam's apple and he complained that his throat was very sore.

It was two days before Johnny could open his eyes at all. I came into the room and he said, "Jo, I can see you" - just as a child might have said it. I read him all of the newspapers and telegrams that he had received, and before long his friends started coming by. His parents took me aside and begged me to get him to stop fighting. I tried to explain what had happened before and that I was resigned to the fact that Johnny would not quit until he made the decision himself."

(Joanne Jackson - former wife of Johnny Bratton)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

St Patrick's Day, 1923 - Dublin. Mike McTigue beats Battling Siki for the Light Heavyweight Title via a 20 round points decision...a very controversial one. This is a story of the fight that took place during the Irish civil war as bombs blasted outside the venue...and how both boxers received death threats. 
A tale that will be forever part of Irish boxing folklore..

.................................

"When Mike McTigue was an elderly man, being shuttled from one New York hospital to another, he always could count on a visit from a sportswriter when St. Patrick's Day rolled around. For it was on St. Patrick's Day, 1923, in a bout colored by controversy, that McTigue won the light heavyweight championship from Battling Siki. The story generally has been written from Siki's standpoint -- of the duped Senegalese warrior arriving in Dublin only to lose his title on a disputed decision -- while McTigue usually has been depicted as a willing accomplice in a grand hoax. What's been forgotten is that McTigue was a colorful character. He had a career any fighter would envy, cramming over 170 fights into a 16-year campaign. The fight with Siki overshadows everything else he did, which is a bit unfair. It's a wonder that the Dublin bout happened at all. The Irish Civil War had been raging for nine months and Eamon de Valera, Ireland's president at the time, had deemed the event inappropriate. When thugs threatened to bomb the La Scala Opera House where the fight would take place, Siki and McTigue began traveling with guards; death threats were slid under the doors of their hotel rooms. Still, the promoters put the fight on as scheduled, even as armored cars patrolled the streets. St. Patrick's Day, they maintained, was a time for celebration. But mere hours before Siki and McTigue entered the ring, a mine exploded outside the arena, shattering windows throughout the neighborhood and injuring two children.

Siki was nervous -- and not just because of the violence outside the ring. He hadn't wanted to fight an Irishman in Dublin. Since winning the 175-pound title from the popular Georges Carpentier, Siki was being eyed by promoter Tex Rickard as an opponent for Jack Dempsey. Rickard was planning to introduce Siki to America by matching him with Harry Wills. All Siki had to do was whip the lightly built McTigue. Twenty rounds later, McTigue was declared the winner and new champion. Descriptions of the bout don't always support the popular legend that Siki was robbed. Most ringside reports from the era describe neither fighter doing much until the 14th round, when McTigue started coming on as Siki faded. McTigue had a bit of the con artist in him. For a while he pretended to be Canadian; when he won the Canadian middleweight championship in 1920, the Halifax crowd cheered as if he were one of their own. The Associated Press reported that in the final round, McTigue "went in hard and punished Siki severely in the face." Then, as now, a strong finish counted for a lot. "Perhaps it is doing 'Bold Michael' an injustice to imply he won the title from Battling Siki only because he was an Irishman fighting in Ireland on St. Patrick's Day," New York Times columnist John Daly wrote 21 years later. "Of course, all historians gleefully pounce on the remarkable coincidence until it has come to grow as accepted fact. Too few realize that McTigue was a polished boxer; Siki, a crude and relatively inexperienced workman." Siki (whose real name was Amadou M'barick Fall -- or just Louis Phall) had been a French war hero during World War I, going to the front at age 16 and earning the Medaille de Militaire and the Croix de Guerre on the battlefield. As a prizefighter, he was promoted as a sort of untamed man child with an impossibly hard skull. Siki gave newsmen plenty to write about. He was a partier who once walked down a street in Paris with a lion on a leash. Michael Francis McTigue had been born to a farm family in the parish of Kilnamona, near Ennis, County Clare, Ireland, on Nov. 26, 1892. Along with his 12 brothers and one sister, McTigue worked the farm until he was 16. After his immigration to America, he worked as a butcher's helper until he started fighting for money. During a bout with Emilio Solomon, McTigue ducked and Solomon accidentally belted referee Billy McPartland. McTigue scolded Solomon, saying, "See what you did, you big oaf?" When Solomon turned to apologize to McPartland, McTigue sucker punched him for a 10-count.

If McTigue was crafty, he'd learned from the best. McTigue fought multiple bouts against the likes of Harry Greb, Mickey Walker and Tommy Loughran. He lost most of those bouts, but he actually got the best of the great Loughran during one of their no-decision contests. He also earned close decisions over Tiger Flowers and "Panama" Joe Gans. When McTigue returned to America after beating Siki, he was greeted by a marching band and over 1,000 admirers. McTigue entertained the mostly Irish mob with old-fashioned blarney. "Siki outweighed me by as much as 30 pounds," McTigue lied, "But I boxed him carefully and won on points." McTigue then praised Siki's brute power, adding, "If he'd learn how to box, he'd be a great man in the ring." By this time, stardom had found McTigue. There was serious talk of him fighting Gene Tunney in Yankee Stadium. Unfortunately for McTigue, he was already an aging fighter when he beat Siki. Hand injuries and managerial problems plagued the champion and before he could cash in on being champion, McTigue was defeated by Paul Berlenbach via decision. McTigue avenged his loss to Berlenbach two years later with a sensational fourth round KO, but that would be his last great night in a ring. After losing 16 fights during the next three years, McTigue's boxing license was yanked by the New York Commission. McTigue worked as floor manager of a Manhattan ballroom and lived in the Bronx with his wife, Cecilia. Without boxing, he drifted into alcoholism. One January night in 1937, as McTigue was drunkenly making his way home from work, six men attacked him on a subway platform. Appearing in court with blackened eyes, teeth missing and a fractured skull, McTigue identified his attackers but didn't press charges. Since everyone involved was Irish, there was no need to press charges, McTigue said. To the judge's surprise, McTigue and his attackers left the courtroom as buddies. McTigue spent the final years of his life broke and ill, until he died at age 73 in Queens General Hospital. As for Siki, he hit bottom after fighting McTigue. He relocated to New York, lost several fights and spent most of his time inebriated. In 1925, he was found dead on Ninth Avenue with two bullets in his back. His murder was never solved. Siki and McTigue had been on the verge of fame and fortune. One was due to fight Dempsey, the other to fight Tunney. Instead, their Dublin meeting was the beginning of the end for each. Even in rehab without a nickel to his name, McTigue regaled listeners with tales of the Dublin bout. McTigue's favorite story involved an armed sentry stationed in his corner to keep the peace. As the rounds progressed, he stuck his bayonet between the ropes and jabbed McTigue in the leg. "I got three pounds' bet on you," the guard said. "God help you if you lose!" Perhaps that bayonet accounted for Mike's late-round surge. All accounts agree that he finished stronger than Siki, which helped him become the first Irishman to win a world title on Irish soil, giving several generations of columnists something to write about when March 17 rolled around."

(via espn)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"When I was a young fellow I was knocked down plenty. I wanted to stay down, but I couldn't. I had to collect the two dollars for winning or go hungry. I had to get up. I was one of those hungry fighters. You could have hit me on the chin with a sledgehammer for five dollars. When you havn't eaten for two days you'll understand." - Jack Dempsey
.
.
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(enhanced photo credit - checkhookboxing poster Theron)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of Harry Haft who was a survivor of a Nazi concentration camp in WW2, surviving by winning bare-knuckle fights in which the loser died during the fight or was executed. Eventually he escaped the camp and his life brought him to professional boxing and to a fight with Rocky Marciano.

..................

"Harry Haft was born in Poland in 1925. "It was anything but good fortune to be born a Jew in Poland in 1925," wrote his son. "Harry would think back on his birth as his first act of survival in an increasingly miserable time."

One of eight children, Haft was sturdy and strong from the day he was born. His mother, who was so heavy she did not even know she was pregnant with him, was working over a basin when he dropped from her body, landing headfirst on the floor.
His father died when he was three years old, and from the time he was a youngster, the wide-shouldered and extremely muscular fatherless Haft had a fiery temper, which was displayed mostly against anti-Semitic youths. Early on it was obvious that if provoked, he had no qualms about finishing arguments with his massive fists.

In 1939, when he was 14 years old, Haft witnessed the German occupation of Poland. Under Nazi occupation, Haft together with his older brother ran a smuggling business.
In 1941, at aged 16, Haft was deported to Auschwitz because he was Jewish. He spent nearly six years in slave labor. During those six years Harry had been shot, bayoneted, beaten half to death and starved.
Because of his strong physical stature an SS overseer trained him to be a boxer, and had him compete at fights to the death in front of the military personnel. The fights took place at the concentration camp Jaworzno, which was situated at a coal mine north of Auschwitz. Haft fought 76 fights at this concentration camp. When the camp in Jaworzno was dissolved because of the advancing Soviet Red Army, the inmates were sent on death marches. (Those still alive when the marchers reached the coast were forced into the Baltic Sea and shot)
Having witnessed countless acts of horrific sadism, Haft made his escape while on his death march. He stole the uniform and weapon of a German soldier whom he had killed with his bare hands. He then tried to pass himself off as a lost soldier to an elderly German couple who he encountered at their farmhouse. When they suspected-or he thought they suspected-that he might not be who he said he was, he feared that they would turn him into authorities. Knowing he would be tortured or killed if that occurred, Haft shot them to death without giving it a second thought.
After eventually journeying to America, via the assisstance of American liberators, Haft arrived in New York and began boxing out of desperation. 
While boxing in America, Haft encountered even more problems, especially when gangsters Frankie Carbo and Blinky Palermo tried to take control of his career. He won his first twelve fights, but lost against a more experienced boxer in Westchester County Center on 5 January 1949. After this loss, his career never recovered. His final fight was against Rocky Marciano, on 18 July 1949 in Rhode Island Auditorium, in what was Marciano's 18th professional fight. Haft claimed that he was threatened by the Mafia and forced to throw the fight against Marciano.

As Haft warmed up in the dressing room, he said three men entered and threatened to kill him if he did not go down in round one. After they departed, Haft asked his manager what he should do. The manager just shrugged his shoulders and said he did not know.
Having already survived Nazi death camps, the undeterred Haft refused to go along. An article in the Providence Journal described him as "a rusher with very little style," and said that he "landed the first good punch of the fight, a hard right to Marciano's midsection."
Marciano hurt Haft in the second with a right hand that sent him reeling into the ropes. Two follow-up lefts had Haft groggy at the bell.
"Two hard punches to Haft's head-a left and a right-were Marciano's openers in the third," reported John Hanlon in the Journal. "At the halfway mark, Haft rallied briefly. But it was too late."
Marciano hit Haft with a left to the gut that he followed up with his fabled right hand. Haft was finished. According to the Journal, he "received a fine reception as he left the ring."

After his loss to Marciano, Haft retired. He married in 1949 and opened a fruit and vegetable store in Brooklyn. 
In April 2007, Haft was included in the National Jewish Sports Hall of Fame. He died in November of the same year, aged 82.

(Wikipedia / Robert Mladinich)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Roberto Duran hugs his former bitter rival Esteban DeJesus who lies dying of Aids.

"In the Thanksgiving weekend of 1981, in what became a famous case in Puerto Rico, De Jesús was convicted of murder after killing a 17-year-old, over a traffic dispute. He was sentenced to life in prison. There, he excelled in another sport, baseball, making the Puerto Rico penal system all star team three times. In 1984, he became a born-again Christian and started to turn his life around, becoming a preacher. After it became public knowledge that De Jesús had acquired HIV and had become a sufferer of AIDS, governor Rafael Hernández Colón pardoned him.

After returning to spend his last days with his family, De Jesús was visited by many celebrities, including hall of fame baseball player Orlando Cepeda, Salsa music superstar Cheo Feliciano and his old nemesis Duran. Duran hugged and kissed De Jesús and told his daughter to do the same. This event was witnessed by José Torres who said he was amazed to see Duran's compassionate gesture as he lifted De Jesús out of his bed and hugged him at a time when so little was known and so much feared about AIDS.

Esteban De Jesús died one month after being pardoned at the age of 37." - Wikipedia


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Mathis actually grabbed referee Al Berl by the shoulders and threw him aside in his desire to get at Chuvalo. Chuvalo had be warned twice about hitting low, after he was warned one more time the referee Al Berl began to move in like he was going to warn him, Buster Mathis took two steps back and tee'd off from around his knees looking to hit as low as he could, and he caught Chuvalo, who never even flinched, it was then that they began to get really mad with each other. Chuvalo at one time used his head like a paint brush across the face of Mathis....this could be one hell of a night..."

and it all happened in the 1st round...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A story about Curtis "Hatchetman" Sheppard by Aram "Rocky" Alkazoff

....................................

The "Hatchetman"

Something about the name gives you a cold feeling.

Roll it around your mouth and you get the notion you're saying the name of a old time outlaw or gunfighter. That's some nickname, "Hatchetman". How many guys in boxing get a nickname like that? I was starting to think I might have what it took to be a pro fighter when I first heard the name. I was only a teenager, but guys in the neighborhood told me I had a big punch in both hands. That thought got into my young head, and I started to read anything on boxing I could get my hands on. No Gene Tunneys, Billy Conns, Willie Peps, or Tippy Larkins for me. I only wanted to read about the guys who could crack. I related to Dempsey, Louis, Marciano, Sonny Liston. I wanted to be one of them.

I remember how impressed I was by Rocky Marciano, how he had destroyed so many legendary names, but the job he did on Archie Moore amazed me the most. I couldn't believe anybody hit hard enough to bust up the great Moore the way Rocky did.

So what happens? I read a Ring Magazine article about The "Old Mongoose" in which he was asked who was the hardest hitter he ever faced. I'm expecting him to rave about Rocky and what does he say? It went something like this: "Hatchetman" Sheppard. This guy was something else! When the Hatchetman hit you it was like a electric shock struck you! Hatchetman knocked me down so hard I bounced off the canvas. I decisioned him twice mainly by making him miss."

Who the hell was Curtis "Hatchetman" Sheppard? Could he really hit harder than the tremendous fighters Moore was in with? Guys like Marciano, Charles, Patterson, Ali, and Harold Johnson? There was a picture of the Hatchetman in the article and I took a close look at it. Curtis was a dark-skinned black guy with a cold, destroying look in his eyes. Standing with his shoulders hunched in fighting position. he looked the every image of Disaster. Big bones, gigantic fists, and smooth muscles. I imagined getting hit with his straight right. What was it Moore said?

"This guy once hit a guy so hard he broke his collarbone."

Looking at him, that was easy to believe.

The second time I read something about Hatchetman was in a book called "The Great Fights". It mentioned that Joey Maxim, whom I recalled as an iron jawed, defensive boxer, suffered only one KO in his entire career--a one round destruction by Curtis "Hatchetman" Sheppard, a "tremendous puncher". That lesson was never forgotten by Maxim, who thereafter became a safety-first boxer and outboxed Sheppard a month later. But Sheppard had managed to knock Maxim out, whereas Walcott, Moore, Charles, Robinson, and Patterson couldn't. I wondered why I had never heard about him; I figured he must be one of those black fighters of the thirties and forties who couldn't catch a break. A Charley Burley-Lloyd Marshall type. To be black fighter with a murderous punch in that era was to be a victim of...well, let's call it "bad timing."

The years passed, and I didn't become a champion in the ring. I found a new profession, new friends, and a whole different way of life. But I kept up my interest as a fan, and I never forgot the name Curtis "Hatchetman" Sheppard or what Archie Moore said about him. One day in early 1988 I was indicted by the United States Government for various "organized criminal" offenses. The charges were laid, I believe, so as to pressure me into informing on people about whom the feds thought I had meaningful information. I was found guilty and given a life sentence.

After almost a year in Detroit Wayne County Jail, suffering through not only a lengthy trial, but a long detainment in solitary confinement for assault on a County sheriff I felt had disrespected me, I was chained up and transported to Chicago. In Federal custody I was driven to M.C.C. Chicago, a skyscraper prison in the middle of downtown, not far from where I had been raised. It was a holding building for people in Federal trial, court, informants, and those in transit to the Bureau of Prisons correctional system.

As I climbed out of the bus in the M.C.C. garage, some fresh air got into my lungs for a second. The first fresh air I had taken in for a year. You can imagine the shape I was in, what with the confinement, lack of exercise, terrible food, and depression. I was a mess, a shadow of the man I used to be. I was forty years old and facing the reality of spending the rest of my life in prison, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When I reached the thirteenth floor and a bunk, I was very tired. I spotted a few people I knew from the streets, but I didn't even want to talk. I was ashamed of what I looked like. I went into the bathroom and gazed into the mirror for the first time in a year. I didn't like what I saw. My face was drawn, my eyes worn, my hair long and unruly, with twice as much gray as before. My rock hard 190 pounds was no more. I had a little stomach for the first time, and my muscles felt like they had no power. I put my head down in misery and hurt. Then I heard a man's voice speaking words I'll never forget. "C'mon Rocky. Pick up your head and act like the man I heard you were," he said. "I heard you was a good fighter. Well, now you're in the first round of a tough fight. C'mon, son. You've got a fight in front of you and it's time to start fighting back." I looked up and saw a tall, very dark-skinned black man who had the kindest eyes I had ever seen. His eyebrows were grayed and I could see more gray in his beard, but that didn't tell the whole story. Dressed in an orange prison jump suit, his forearms and biceps were solid, sinewy. He had a tucked-in waist and broad powerful shoulders, along with the absolute biggest fists I have ever seen. He was shaved bald, wore spectacles, and was carrying a big black Bible. He was so impressive in his health and vitality for a man his age, I might have
been worried had he not been so gentle in manner.

"I heard you was a pretty good fighter when you was younger," he said.

"I tried it some, but I didn't go all the way like maybe I should have," I answered, figuring he had talked to someone who knew me.

"That's why I knew I could talk to you," he said. "You ever heard of Curtis "the Hatchetman" Sheppard? That's me."

The minute he said the name, I remembered the article and the picture. It was him! He was older, but it was him. Same head, same expression, same body and fists. The first thought I had was,"No wonder Moore said he hit so hard." One look at him and you knew he was built to punch. Imagine him saying he heard I was a pretty good fighter! Hatchetman Sheppard talking to me like I was good enough to relate to a fighter like him. I was ashamed to let him see me in this shape.

"Course I heard of you, Curtis," I said with respect. "You was some fighter. Archie Moore said you was the hardest hitter he ever boxed."

"Joe Maxim said it too," he laughed. "Two champs. But these young kids out there don't know. I heard you got "life", Rock. Is that true?"

"Yeah I did, Curtis," I answered, looking down. "I let them get to me. I broke down in the "Hole", man. I got down on myself and let myself go soft. I'm ashamed to let a great fighter like you see me like this. How about you, Curtis? What have they got...."

"Rocky, I have done over thirty-two years in prison for two crimes that I had no choice about," he said, cutting me off. "I've been on "death row" twice. I've been so far in hurt and hell, that I never thought I'd live again like a human being. I lost control just like you did. But with God I came back. I stayed locked up, but I became a proud man again. I got my pride back. That's what I want for you, Rocky. I want you to show me and God that you're a champion. I want you to pick yourself off the canvas and start fighting back like the great fighter I know you are."

Here was a guy who fought Moore, Walcott, Maxim, Bettina, and Bivins, and who had done thirty years plus, telling me to pick up my head and act like the fighter I was. He was telling me to come back to life after the death blow of my sentence! Who was I that he should talk to me like that? He didn't even know me.

I glanced up at him and was greeted by a smile, and a huge hand on my shoulder.

"I'm praying for you son," he said. "You clean up and come on out. We can talk about the old fighters. These young boys out here don't know anything. I need a buddy to take my side."

That was the beginning of my rebirth and my friendship with Curtis "Hatchetman" Sheppard, who went from being one of boxing's most feared fighters, to possibly the most feared man in the Illinois Penitentiary System, to a gentle giant carrying a Bible.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The curious case of Joe Louis having to defend his world heavyweight title in a scheduled four-rounder...against Johnny Davis, who sported a record of 3-3-0...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1918, Billy Miske was told by his doctor that he had Bright's disease, a kidney related condition, and that he had five years to live, if he was lucky...especially in a sport where punches to those kidneys were likely.
Miske decided to keep the news from his family, only telling his manager, and he continued to box, most notably losing to Jack Dempsey in a third-round knockout in 1920.
Despite that loss to Dempsey, Miske continued to fight and win for the most part, only losing one fight from over twenty between 1921 and 1922, but by 1923 his health was failing and his time was running out.
In November 1923, struggling financially and with a strong desire to give his wife and three kids one last memorable Christmas together, Miske convinced his manager Jack Reddy to get him a fight.

................................

'Jack', said Billy, 'get me a fight.'
'You must be kidding, you're in no condition to fight,' Jack replied.
'Get me a fight anyway!'
Jack shook his head. 'I won't do it.'
'Look, Jack,' pleaded Billy, 'I'm flat broke. I know I haven't long to go, and I want to give Marie and the kids one more happy Christmas before I check out. I won't be around for another. Please get me one more payday. I want to make Christmas this year something Marie and the children will always remember me for.'
'Look,' said Jack, 'you know as well as I do that if you were to fight in your present condition you might be killed.'
'Sure, but I'm a fighter and I'd rather die in the ring than while sitting home in a rocking chair.'
Jack pulled out his wallet. 'Let me help you. How much do you need?'
'No way,' Bill put his hand up like a wall. 'I've never taken a handout and I'm not gonna start now.'
'Here's what I'll do,' Jack said. 'You go to the gym and start working out. If you get into any reasonable kind of shape, we'll talk about getting you a match.'
'You know I can't do that,' Billy replied. 'It's impossible for me to train, but I've got to have one more fight for my family's sake. Please do it for me. Please.'
Jack sighed. 'I'll live to regret this.' He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. 'Let me see what I can do.'

...............................

His opponent was Bill Brennan, whom he knocked out, taking a $2,400 payday in the process, which he used to make his last Christmas with family unforgettable. Billy bought a piano for his wife Marie, who was an accomplished singer, and piles of gifts for his three children. The next day, Billy called Jack Reddy and asked Jack to take him to the hospital. En route, Billy told Marie for the first time that he was dying.

Miske died on New Year's Day. He was 29 years old.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 1931. The eyes of the boxing world turn to Chicago, where Tony Canzoneri and Jack "Kid" Berg engaged in their double championship contest. This bout represented the first time two world titles would be at stake in the same fight, with both Canzoneri's lightweight crown, and Berg's junior-welterweight belt up for grabs.

.....................

"It was a frenetic, fast paced battle while it lasted - and though the ending was sudden, it was not unexpected. Berg's swarming, whirlwind attack played almost perfectly into the American sharpshooter's hands, and even as the Englishman appeared to be inching his way back into the fight, there seemed almost a doomed inevitability to his cause.

The opening round was an especially strong one for Canzoneri, with the Louisiana-born, New York-based fighter, getting much the better of exchanges. Looking calm and composed in the face of Berg's rushes, he cracked the British invader a number of times with right hands and left hooks, while using his strength to tie up the action on the inside.

Undaunted, Berg kept marching forward, as he tried to jab his way into mauling range. He was successful at times during a more competitive second session, managing to close the gap and land with a little more frequency than he had in the opening three minutes - though the harder shots were still being dished out by Canzoneri.

The third round, up until the knockout, was the closest yet, with Berg doing better at evading fire on the way in, and Canzoneri looking to hold more often. Though as Berg charged forward repeatedly, the opportunity was always there for counter blasts, and Canzoneri, with his back a few feet from the ropes struck like lightning, connecting with a left hook, right cross combination. Berg slumped forward, crashing to the canvas face first. He valiantly struggled to pull himself up as the count was tolled off, before sagging backwards into the ropes, where his seconds quickly came to his rescue.

Berg was in tears at the end, breaking down in his corner after being assisted to his stool. Afterwards in his dressing room, the disappointed fighter expressed interest in another meeting, saying that "It would be a little difficult to go home without the championship." He went on to say that he wasn't quite himself in there, adding that Canzoneri got to him before he was warmed up.

The winner was also emotional, though sporting tears of a different sort as his eyes welled up after the contest when presented with a diamond studded N.B.A. title belt. Having vanquished Berg, he was naturally looking ahead to other lucrative challenges - with his manager Sammy Goldman mentioning that they would have interest in meeting the winner of the upcoming clash between Jimmy McLarnin and Billy Petrolle.

Canzoneri walked off with his contracted 50% of the $54,000 gate - a sum that most expected would be higher, though the attendance had been a somewhat disappointing 12,825. Berg received 10% of that total, a number that after travel and training expenses left him with little to show for his rough evening."

(from thecruelestsport.com)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

“On the first visit to New York, I went to straight to ‘Sugar Ray’s,’” said Gavilan. “Robinson was standing behind the bar. I sat down and ordered two shots of whisky and Robinson poured them and put them in front of me. I said, “this one is for you, and this one‘s for me. Robinson just looked at me and said, “I don’t drink. I’m the welterweight champion of the world.” I told him, “well, I’m Kid Gavilan from Cuba and you’re not the real champion until you beat me.”


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The former light-heavyweight champion who was paralytic drunk when he entered the ring with Jack Sharkey. 
1928. Madison Square Garden, New York.

"In his last big fight he was matched with future heavyweight champion Jack Sharkey. Once again, the possibility of a crack at the heavyweight crown, and a big gate with Tunney, was in the balance. This time Delaney entered the ring flabby, bloated and listless. When the bell rang for the opening round he was unable to move. Apparently intoxicated to the point of virtual paralysis, Delaney stood staring at his corner as Sharkey came across the ring. Sharkey paused momentarily in disbelief, and then knocked Delaney to the canvas. The fight ended with Delaney on his hands and knees, crawling around the ring like a man looking for a lost button, while the referee counted him out. The emotional Sharkey, his mouth piece hanging halfway out of his mouth, clung to the top ring rope crying in joy, as the furious spectators cried fix." - Wikipedia.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"They drew a pistol on us and took the belt back"

"Juan Zurita, he was past due for a defense so they named me as contender and gave me a shot at it. They threatened to take the title away from him.
Since I was a little kid, I had envisioned being lightweight champion. I dreamed about the lightweight title and I finally won it. So I guess when I won it that night I probably leaped about five feet in the air. I knocked him out in the second round. It was a combination, I'll never forget it, it was a right hand to the body and a left on his chin. He went down for the full count.
I was almost killed down there, too, for beating him. The Mexicans, we were almost killed. Then the Mexicans started throwing bricks and things. The cops, our bodyguards, two cops, looked around, they were gone. Connie McCarthy (my manager), he was knocked out with a brick to the head. His head was split open with that brick. That's when the Mexican came up, he said "Gimmie the belt!" I haven't seen the title belt since that night, since April 18th, 1945. I saw the belt for maybe five minutes. I haven't seen it since. Maybe it's down in Mexico City now. The fellow pulled a pistol out. He was going to kill all of us. So I said "Give the man the damn belt!" They took the belt back. They drew a pistol on us and took the belt back. We made it to the dressing room. They followed us to the airport the next morning." - Ike Williams.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of the first, and only, world title bout fought barefoot in the gloved era of boxing. 
.
May 1954. Bangkok, Thailand - World Bantamweight Champion Jimmy Carruthers from Australia defends his title against Chamroen Songkitrat from Thailand.

.......................

Carruthers, recently crowned as champ, agreed to travel to his challenger's backyard in Bangkok, and the anticipation of a major world title bout, drove locals and "not-so locals" into a frenzy as they clamored to obtain tickets and accommodations. Tens of thousands poured into the city by bus, bike, and any other mode of transportation conceivable. Unfortunately, along with this human convergence came another, more unwelcomed guest that proceeded to disrupt the preparations to an alarming degree; rain-and lots of it. It rained monsoonal quantities over the National Stadium Gymnasium (a 60,000 seat open air venue) for a solid week, turning the area into a sloppy, soggy nightmare, and putting local organizers on the spot regarding a potential cancellation; and as the event drew closer, there appeared to be no end in sight.

On May 2, the day of the fight, the event planners, out of fear of large scale rioting, had no choice but to go through with the fight, despite the unsavory and potentially dangerous conditions. Nat Fleisher, Ring Magazine head and boxing historian noted, "The ring looked like a lake, with more than an inch of water covering the entire canvas," and many agreed it was indeed one of the strangest environments for a major world title fight in boxing's modern era.

As you can imagine, the fight was an absolute slapstick affair with both fighters swinging wildly, sloshing around, and falling time and time again onto the canvas due to the lack of footing. At one point, Carruthers missed with a right hand, and actually cut his mouth as he fell. So frustrated was Carruthers that he suggested they remove their shoes and fight barefoot in order to gain some semblance of traction; and that's when things truly got bizarre.

In addition to the rain there was also a great deal of wind circling the arena that did more than just cause a chill. In rounds three and nine, the wind blew so hard that the riggings holding the lights broke loose, causing glass to come crashing down onto the already treacherous ring surface. Twice, the bout was halted so that shards of broken glass could be swept away, and yet the fighting continued. As if the potential hazard of another man wanting to take your head off weren't enough, now both fighters were forced to endure lacerations on their feet from the residual glass left on the canvas.

The two continued to fight on unabated however, and after twelve rounds of brutal action, Jimmy Carruthers was declared the winner, thus retaining his title by way of the referee's 7-5 score. Upon hearing the verdict the crowd immediately began to protest, and voice their violent-fused disapproval, forcing Songkitrat to take the microphone in an attempt to quell the uprising that was developing. Songkitrat praised his opponent, and succeed in preventing a full scale riot, thus bringing an end to one of the most bizarre, and hard to believe moments in modern ring history.

With the win, Jimmy Carruthers improved to 19-0 with 11 knockouts, and after the bout he immediately announced his retirement from the ring. More than seven years later he would attempt a comeback, but after losing four of six fights, he would officially call it quits in June of 1962, finishing with an overall record of 21-4 with 13 knockouts. For Singkitrat, who had a much more extensive Muay Thai background, he would fight just four more times (losing three) finishing with a record of 7-5-1 with 2 knockouts. In terms of boxing history, however, these two warriors will forever be remembered for their barefoot, rain soaked battle (the only one of its kind in the gloved era), that could have well been the first fight to have ever been stopped due to a cut on a fighter's foot.

(By Aaron Lloyd)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"MUMBLING INCOHERENTLY, the shriveled little man shuffled into the charity ward of Chicago State Hospital. The doctors looked at him with a mixture of pity and awe. His eyes were blank and his once muscular 133-pound frame had wasted away to a mere 80 pounds. A brash young attendant said callously: "Huh! Another derelict. We're sure getting a lot of them these days." An elderly attendant shot him a cold look. "Do you know who that 'derelict' is?" he snapped angrily. "That 'derelict' is Battling Nelson, one of the greatest fighters who ever lived."
Old Bat, who had licked immortals like Aurelio Herrera, Young Corbett, Jimmy Britt, Terry McGovern and the incomparable Joe Gans, was 71 years old when he was ruled insane and committed in January of 1954. The psychiatrists' diagnosis had been chillingly brief: "Incurable senile dementia." Nobody will ever know what went on in Nelson's tortured mind as he dribbled away his last days amid alien surroundings. Occasionally a flicker of interest would light up his lustreless eyes and he would try to talk. But the words trickled out in a jumble of meaningless phrases. Those familiar with the ex-champion's spectacular career could pick out place names here and there and link them with some of the famous battles that had earned him riches beyond his dreams. Names like Colma... Goldfield... Point Richmond... But what could they make of such mystifying phrases as electric lights... cracks in the floor... sheets of snow... my seven dollar suit...? It was hard to make any sense of this babbling because Nelson, in his wild hallucinations, was conjuring up the broken images of a past less concerned with his great triumphs than with the vivid fragments of memory that often overshadow the important events in a man's life..."
A month later he was dead of lung cancer at age 71. With 68 wins, 19 draws and 19 losses, Bat once said that although he had "lost several fights," he had never been beaten.

(From: Boxing International, Dec. 1974)

Battling Nelson was elected to the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1992.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On his pro debut in 1910 future Australian sensation Les Darcy fought Guv'nor Balsa over a scheduled 10 rounds, the fight was scored a draw and it was decided by all parties to box one more round to decide a winner, which Darcy (aged 14) won on points. 
This was the only time a professional fight was won on points over 11 rounds.

(photo below shows Darcy at 15 when he worked as an apprentice blacksmith)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The Story of Sean Mannion. 
The Irish Boxer who had the support of 11,000 fans in Madison Square Garden in 1984 to watch the Galway man fight for a world title against the great Mike McCallum, taking the future 3 weight world champion the full 15 round distance.

................................

HE CAME from humble backgrounds in the west of Ireland and became the toast of Irish American's. Sean Mannion should have returned to these shores a wealthy man - instead he returned to Galway years ago penniless and with a drink problem.
His rise to fame is as interesting as the fictional Rocky character but without the financial rewards.
Eleven thousand Irish boxing fans flew to New York in 1984 to watch the Galway man fight tyrant Mike McCallum who was to become champion at three different weights.
Every Irish American wanted a ticket for the 15-round fight that went the distance at Madison Square Gardens and Sean should have made his fortune instead of earning nickels and dimes.
Mannion had previously beaten the World's number one contender, big names avoided him and World Title fights for the super middleweight were promised but never materialised.
"Did my manager know any better," questions Mannion.
"I earned just just $3,000 for beating the number one contender and my share of the purse for the McCallum fight was just $20,000, whilst fighters I would have beaten like Mustafa Hamsho earned $500,000 in his defeat to Marvellous Marvin Hagler."
Apart from a few weeks surrounding the McCallum fight Mannion toiled on the building sites of Massachusetts - throughout his 16-years of boxing in the United States the Galwayman earned a living in construction or labouring.
Sean had his share of bad luck but the amount of fights the tough southpaw fought against quality opposition he should have been made for life.
The legendary Angelo Dundee would phone Sean's manager Jimmy Connolly with big pay days in Europe but Connolly would hang the phone up. A number of times Sean was forced to fight with just a weeks notice and fought with injuries. On one occasion he had lost 6lbs in 90 minutes so he could fight.
Sean became number one contender for six months and still his manager failed to find him big money fights.
The Ros Muc man would enter the ring with whoever and whenever his manager told him and lost out to fights with legends Roberto Duran who feared Sean had the style to beat him and Sugar Ray Leonard whose brother could not make a deal for the two to meet. Just one of those fights would have earned the southpaw from Ross Muc enough to live well on for the rest of his life.
Mannion needed to move out of Ireland for a boxing career. He didn't know anyone in England and headed for Boston.
"I went to the U.S. first in 1974 as a 17-year-old worked out there stayed until Christmas and returned when an uncle died.

"I came back worked in a factory in Rath Cairn, Co Meath and returned to the States in 1977.
"My brothers and sisters were there. There were twelve of us in the family and at one time or another we were all in America."
Sean used Connolly's gym in Boston and the legendary Marvellous Marvin Hagler asked him to spar with him.
Boston at that time had a very strong Irish run mafia and Sean was repeatedly asked to work for them. He resisted the temptation.
"All the guys in the Gym were connected with the Irish mob," said Mannion. "One of the top men was from Ros Muc and he told me to stay away from it.
"These were nice lads but one of the guys who trained with us got caught dealing drugs and was sentenced for 11 years.
"They were all gangsters working for ****** Bulger."
The Galwayman got into a few scrapes whilst in Boston.
"An American hit an old man in a bar when he complained of the language used in front of his daughter. I hit the American and cops arrested me.
"They gave me a good beating in the street and took me back to the station.
"They called me an Irish pig even though they were Irish American. They kept beating me at the station until eventually a black cop intervened."
Sean was also troubled by a court case that could have ended up with him being jailed or deported.
"I was also involved in an incident when a guy pulled a knife on me and I hit him in self-defence.
"I didn't know until later that he ended up with 49 stitches and I was being taken to court. It went on for six months and just before the trial the man's brother persuaded him to drop charges."
Mannion has worked hard and not received the credit or financial reward for his toil but he said he would 'do it all again'.
Speaking to Sean you can tell that money was not his first love. When he came to fight Mike McCallum he rejected one sponsorship deal so he could show the world he was proud of his birthplace in Connemara .
"A sports gear company came in with first bid of $5,000 for sponsorship on my shorts for the Mike McCallum fight," he explained.
"I told them they would be wasting their time increasing bids - I wanted Ross Muc on my shorts."
Things looked up towards the end of Sean's career when Muhammad Ali's former cornerman Angelo Dundee managed him.

Mannion swears his record should have been better and has been let down by taking fights at short notice or without sparring practice.
As Sean's boxing career dwindled he sought refuge in drink.
"After the McCallum fight I was depressed and drunk a lot," he explained.
"I haven't drunk for 6 years now though. I retired from boxing in 1993 at 36 and returned to Ireland in 2000. I loved America - I had great support and was treated like a hero everywhere I went, but my heart was always in Ireland.
"I've worked in construction for seven years in Galway and I'm now looking for more work.
"I never made money in boxing and I earned more in construction."
Sean's boxing know how has not been lost - he's now on hand to help the west of Ireland's up and coming talent.

(written by Phil Campion)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When Mick Leahy won the British middleweight title against George Aldridge with a first round ko....Sugar Ray Robinson, Muhammad Ali (then Cassius Clay) and Randy Turpin all jumped into the ring to hug Leahy.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Joe Gans, World Lightweight Champion 1902-1908, fought in his final two world title bouts with Battling Nelson while dying of Tuberculosis. Those fights went a total of 38 rounds. 
In 1910 Gans died in his mother's arms...he only weighed 84 pounds.
.....................

"Early in his career he frequently climbed into the ring handcuffed forced often by promises to gamblers and opponents managers to carry his opposition. He suffered from racial prejudice and injustice and was sometimes forced to carry and even lose to white opponents. Willie Ritchie, lightweight champion from 1912-1914, who knew Gans, said in an interview with Peter Heller, "Gans had to do as he was told by the white managers. They were crooks. They framed fights, and being a ***** the poor guy had to follow orders, otherwise he'd have starved to death."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jimmy Britt in his first pro fight won a 15 round decision...and in his first two years as a professional fought 5 champions.

Kid Lavigne
Frank Erne
Young Corbett 11
Joe Gans
Battling Nelson


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jack Britton in his 3rd pro bout in 1905 was stopped in one round.
He then went on a run of 341 bouts, including becoming three time world welterweight champion, without ever being stopped again..over a period of 25 years.
He holds the world record for the number of title bouts fought in a career, 37 (18 no decisions).


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Marciano's gloved fists broke blood vessels and bones in LaStarza's arms and elbows. First the arms grew heavy, then they began to ache awfully, then they grew numb. As the relentless battle wore on, LaStarza found it harder and harder to raise his arms, much less jab with them or punch with them. His hands lowered, his defense dissipated, Marciano began to punish him about the head. LaStarza began to take a terrible beating." Bill Libby, "The Story of a Champion", 1971.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

jake lamotta lost over 100 stone in weight during his professional career....ballooning in weight between bouts and losing it again to make weight.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Nel Tarleton from liverpool became the British featherweight champion in 1931, and fought for the world title in 1934...and he had only one lung !!
He fought 50 x 15 round fights in his career, a total of 148 fights and was never knocked out.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Liston came back to his corner after round 2 against Valdes with a nearly closed right eye. 
The cornermen were waiting for him with an ice-pack, and hurriedly applied it to the closing right eye in an effort to stop the swelling that was becoming more serious looking by the second.
As the bell sounded for Round 3, Sonny was slow getting out of his corner, and was met by an aggressive Valdes, who rushed at him from across the ring.
In a flash Nino fired a 3-punch volley followed by a stunning left hook that crashed off of Liston's exposed jaw. 
Stunned and angered, Liston retaliated with a volley of solid punches that seemed to take everything out of the 34 year-old Nino's legs, as he rocked back on his heels. 
Liston then crashed a big left hook on Ninos' jaw.
With a stunned Nino in front of him Sonny fired a solid combination that drove Nino into the ropes where he bounced off into a savage right cross that dropped Nino like a weight.
Valdes, with his right arm dangling over the lower rope strand, was on his knees until the count reached 7 then rolled onto the canvas to be counted out at 0:47 of the round.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The Gator"...Craig Bodzianowski....in 1990 he fought for a world title belt...with one leg !!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

91,000 people turned up to watch Jack Dempsey vs Georges Carpentier fight for the heavyweight title in New Jersey in 1921......this is how people many turned up in Times Square, New York to listen to it via radio over loudspeakers...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1902. Battling Nelson, down 7 times, floored Christy Williams 42 times, finally KOing him in 17 rounds. The 49 total knockdowns remains an all-time record for a single bout.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In his old age and brain damaged state after decades of hard fights, he was locked up in an attic and brutally tortured by his family members for years...he barely got anything to eat for days on end, he had to sleep in his own sewage and he was physically beaten.
When the police came to his daughters house and entered that attic in 1998 after a tip-off, they found Jimmy Bivins, former No.1 contender for the world heavyweight title, wrapped in a blanket covered with urine and feces, he weighed only 110lb, he was near death and he had bed sores, broken bones and bone cancer.

..................................

"When Bivins' third wife, Elizabeth, died in 1995, his life forever 
changed. He spent less and less time at the gym. He grew weak and 
depressed. And finally he quietly moved into the Collinwood, OH home 
of his daughter and son-in-law, Josette and Daryl Banks.

As months passed, Bivins' boxing buddies worried. No one knew where 
Bivins was.

In April 1998, Cleveland police found him. They had gone to the Banks' 
house to investigate a report of child neglect. They found no child, 
but in the attic, they found Bivins.

The former heavyweight had withered to 110 pounds, about 75 pounds 
below his fighting weight. He was wrapped in a urine-soaked and 
feces-caked blanket that covered his face. At first they thought he 
was dead.

But when the officers asked Bivins if he was OK, he politely responded 
that he wasn't doing so well. Then he asked the officers how they were 
doing.

Police initially charged Josette and Daryl Banks with felonious 
assault. Daryl Banks later pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and was 
sentenced to eight months in jail. Charges against Josette Banks were 
dropped after investigators determined that her husband had made all 
decisions regarding Bivins' care.

Many 78-year-olds might not have survived, but Bivins proved to be as 
tough as his leathery hands.

He spent most of his remaining years in the Shaker Heights home of his 
sister, Maria Bivins Baskin. Slowly, he started showing off the road 
map of his scars again, carefully unfurling his boxing stories to the 
nurses and visitors who tended him.

In 2009, Baskin died, and Bivins moved into McGregor. The Ohio State 
Former Boxers and Associates threw birthday parties for him there.

"It's been quite a life," Bivins told The Plain Dealer. "It's been 
quite a life."

According to his family, Bivins outlived his two sons, three sisters 
and a step-daughter. He left behind a daughter, Josette Banks; four 
grandchildren and many great-grandchildren and 
great-great-grandchildren. "

from - cleveland.com/obituaries
..............................

Jimmy Bivins, who died in 2012 at the age of 92, was a boxing great of the 1940s and '50s who defeated some of the greatest fighters of his time.
He never fought for a world title, but in 1942 he was given the unprecedented ranking of No 1 contender in the light heavyweight and heavyweight divisions. He met seven fellow Hall of Famers, beating four, and 11 world champions, defeating eight.
Bivins retired from boxing in 1955 after more than 100 professional fights and was inducted in the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1999. He won bouts against numerous world champions, including Archie Moore, Ezzard Charles, Gus Lesnevich, Melio Bettina, Anton Christoforidis and Teddy Yarosz. He also went the distance with Joe Louis and fought Jersey Joe Walcott to a split decision.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of Bernard "Superbad" Mays, described as the best boxer of his era by those who knew him, and yet a talent wasted and a name unknown to many boxing fans.

A record of 200 amatuer bouts with only 1 defeat, and 40 pro bouts with only 1 defeat in the last fight of his career.
By 16 he was an alcoholic and in 1994 at aged 33 he died penniless from the effects of that alcoholism.

Mays trained at the famous Kronk boxing gym in Detroit in the 1970's, a gym that was in the process of producing some of the greatest champions of the following decade, and for a while unsung Bernard Mays was the daddy of them all.

Speaking of his amatuer fights, legendary Kronk trainer Emmanual Stewart said "the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays"

Multiple weight World Champion Tommy Hearns said of him "Bernard Mays was the king. I almost gave up boxing because I dreaded going to the gym every day. I knew I'd have to get in the ring with Bernard."

........................................

The following piece was written by Fred Girard (The Detroit News)....

Best of all

"He was the most talented Kronk boxer of all," Steward said. "He was like a legend, really."

Kronk boxers says Steward is not exaggerating.

"It gives me chills just to talk about him," said Robert Tyus of Detroit, one of the original Kronk team, winner of two amateur national titles. "Superbad Mays was like Sugar Ray Robinson - he had it all."

"Superbad Mays was the awesomest fighter I ever saw - he could devour you," said John Johnson of Detroit, who won a national amateur title under Steward. "Speed is power - it's the punch you can't see that knocks you out - and Bernard had a wicked left hook that would just take the breath from your body."

Tournament winner at 14

When he was 14, Mays swept to victory in the 106-pound class of the national Junior Olympic tournament. Two years later, he repeated in the 139-pound division. He fought more than 200 times as an amateur, losing only once, and at every fight, Steward said, the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays. 
But, "Bernard started disappearing on me," Steward said. "He'd always been quiet, but he got moody, stopped showing up at the gym regular."

Sixteen-year-old Superbad Mays had become addicted to Colt .45 malt liquor.

"Bernard and I had been drinking and smoking since we were 14," acknowledged Eric Williams. That was also about the time, family members say, Prince Milton left and stopped being any influence on his young son's life.

Former world lightweight champion Jimmy Paul said that at the 1977 Ohio State Fair national tournament "I'd be in bed sound asleep the night before every fight, and Bernard would be out drinking beer with the ladies all night, then come in and absolutely destroy everybody else in the tournament."

"Tommy Hearns' first loss of deep significance came in a sparring match with Bernard 'Superbad' Mays. At the time Hearns was confident, flush with amateur success. He would eventually amass an amateur record of 155-8 and win the 1977 National Amateur Athletic Union Light Welterweight Championship and National Golden Gloves Light Welterweight Championship.

This day he was literally broken and remade.

Mays crushed Hearns' nose. Some young men would have quit the ring. Hearns' reacted with disgust and determination. He returned to the gym a different fighter, and the change was evident to everyone present. From that day the effects of that punch showed like a badge on Hearns' face."

Turned pro in 1978

When he turned professional in 1978, Mays parted company with Steward, who had hounded him about his drinking. His next manager, Chuck Davis, tried just as hard, and had just as little success.

Mays hired noted Oakland County attorney Elbert Hatchett to break his contract with Davis. After he did so, Hatchett, who fought as a kid and followed the game all his life, decided to manage and promote Mays himself.

"We lost a ton of money," Hatchett said. "Bernard fought like Joe Louis. He was a middleweight, a classic boxer, just classic. He was the first guy (who) I saw knock somebody out hitting him in the side. But he would drink beer all the time."

Roland Scott, Mays' last trainer, said. "That beer just tore him up. He would get absolutely smashed."

Won 40 straight

At the age of 31, Mays had fought 40 times as a pro and won them all, when everything caught up with him in a bout in California. An opponent hit Mays hard and staggered him badly, costing Mays the fight. The next day Hatchett had him in a hospital.

Mays' alcohol-damaged pancreas was dangerously inflamed.
The doctor told Hatchett, "Look, this condition has progressed to such a point that he takes his life in his own hands if he decides to fight," the doctor told Hatchett.

Superbad Mays would fight no more.

He stayed with his mother for a time, and after she died, a broke Mays entered the New Light Nursing Home in Detroit.

"He walked in here under his own power," said administrator George Talley, and stayed for nearly a year.

In the final weeks his condition deteriorated rapidly. "When I saw him there at the end, his stomach was so swollen it looked like he was pregnant," trainer Scott said.

On March 1, 1994, at 9:55 p.m., Superbad Mays' heart stopped, unable to fight any longer against the crushing load of diabetes, chronic pancreatitis and chronic malabsorption syndrome.

He is buried in an unmarked grave - Section 4, Row 18, grave No. 36 - in Mt. Hazel, a small cemetery on Detroit's far west side that has been closed for years.

Mays' sister, Esther Farley of Ypsilanti, signed the death certificate.
"It was a painful thing to visit Bernard" in the nursing home, she said. "He was always a real charmer, a sweetheart - who knows where his life might have led?
"But alcoholism is a terrible disease."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of Del Fontaine, the 1930's middleweight who mixed with the likes of Mickey Walker and Tommy Farr, who was the only boxer to be hanged for murder in England...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Len Wickwar from Leicester, England, who had a recorded professional record of 465 fights - still a world record to this day.
Here he is in a 1939 non-title bout with reigning british lightweight champion, 19 year old sensation of the times, Eric Boon.
Entering this bout, Wickwar had not been stopped in his 82 previous fights. Since his last knockout defeat, Len had gone 72(41)-7-3. Wickwar would not be stopped again until nearly eight years later. Boon was his only stoppage defeat in a span of 91 competitive outings.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

june 1958...unbeaten 13-0 prospect 140lb jay fullmer, 21 year old younger brother of former middleweight champ gene fullmer, stepped up in opposition and took on 147lb veteran joe miceli....meceli promptly stopped young fullmer in the 3rd round, knocking him down 3 times.
5 months later jay's older brother got to meet miceli in a ring.....this happened....don't blink at 1.18 here...you'll hear it if you don't see it...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"At the age of 18, i had been boxing amateur for about 18 yrs. right after i graduated from high school in May of 84, i was lost did not know what to do with my life, i did not wanted to go to college, and had never worked in my life, but before this when i was around 15 or 16 i wanted to quit boxing, but my dad had a talk with me, and convince me to continue. so anyways, i was 18 right after graduated from high school i did not know what to do. so my dad told me, you are going to do something with your life, either you go to college or you get a job, and i did not wanted to go to college, so he gave me the keys to the car and my dad said dont come back until you find a job. i waslike holy shit, i had never worked in my life, i was naive, i did not know what to do or where do go to apply for a job. I didnot know if i wanted to turn professional at this time, my former and future ex manager Robert Spagnola had been looking for me to sign with him in Houston, but i was scared to live Laredo, i wanted to be here with my family, and did not wanted to leave. so i went to San Antonio to train with Tony Ayala, and Eventually i turned pro, my first fight was here in Laredo, August of 84, on my 2 or 3 pro fight i signed with Robert Spanola and HBA Houston Boxing Association, it was an awesome organization, after all that i had a dream to one day become a World Champion, and then became one !"

...as told by former IBF World Bantamweight Champion Orlando Canizales, Nov 2012


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jimmy MacLarnin and "Pop" Foster. Perhaps the greatest boxer-manager relationship in history. Pop had Jimmy from the time he was a boy, taught the future two-time welter champ how to box and punch, managed his money so that when Jimmy retired he was a millionaire. Pop himself was wealthy and when he died, left his fortune to MacLarnin.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The moment I messed up."

"People talk about the weight issue etc as reason I didn't win the fight. Reality is after this knock down as I was walking back to the neutral corner the thought that went through my mind was "I didn't hit him clean "next time I hit him clean this is over". Same thing that went through my mind the only other time I was stopped in my career. It was during the 4th round of the Willie Edwards fight as he went down same thought happened and same mistake made. I stopped fighting my fight, the fight plan that lead to the knockdowns and the pattern of fight where he barely could connect on a punch. Lead with the jab, when he moves the right way right into the right hand, drop it on him. Instead of doing that and defining the fight I started watching and waiting for the opening instead of creating it. Give Ray a second to realize you are waiting and he changed the pace of the fight. I got it back together in the 8th and 9th but then like a fool was concerned about Ray's health and started to look at Richard Steele the ref to see when or if he was going to stop it as I was hitting Ray pillar to post in the last part of the 9th. Ray saw this, stepped in, connected with the shot that dropped me and the rest is history. I can't blame anyone or anything for the final outcome but myself."

...as told by Donny Lalonde, June 2012


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"He was the greatest fighter in the world," Holmes said at his postfight news conference. "He's one hell of an athlete, one hell of a man. Even trying to win a fourth title is one hell of an achievement. He had a two-year layoff and then tried to fight the baddest heavyweight in the world."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A 13 round fight.
Doug DeWitt beat Tony Thornton over 13 rounds in 1987.
The result after 12 rds. was a draw so an extra round was fought to decide the winner...






*which also happened when sanderline williams fought ronnie esset the following year


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

joe louis earned 4.6 million dollars in his career, but after paying everyone (managers / trainers / staff etc) he only personally pocketed 800,000 dollars...yet at the end of the 1950's he got a tax bill for 1 million dollars !!
and...in order to get a shot at the world title (a post jack johnson era where it was very hard for coloured boxers to get a shot at the world title)...he had to sign a contract with jimmy braddock agreeing to give braddock via his manager 10% of each and every purse he earned from world title fights for the rest of his career !!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

winners and losers - iran barkley once spoke about how after his 1989 fight of the year split decision loss to roberto duran, duran went on to fight sugar ray leonard for a 10 million dollar payday, while he fought micheal nunn for 6,000 dollars.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1966...former world champion sonny liston, was now living and boxing in sweden, and was preparing for a fight when a new sparring partner was brought in...none other than the lesser-known, lesser-talented younger brother of floyd patterson....ray patterson......ray never did that much as a boxer at world level....but that day, behind closed doors, the younger brother of the man who was beaten twice in one round in world heavyweight title fights by liston, did this...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

rocky marciano speaks about joe louis and jersey joe walcott in this personal letter from 1968...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

the story of 'nipper' ... pat daly (born - glamorgan, wales)....who turned professional at aged 10 in 1923...went on to become rated in the bantamweight world top 10 with ring magazine and fought his last fight aged 17...with professional record of 99 wins, 11 losses and 8 draws...including wins over british and european champions of the day...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On March 17, 1910 at the Jeffries Arena in Vernon, California heavyweights Sam Langford and "Fireman" Jim Flynn battled in an important divisional matchup. The "Boston ********" prevailed knocking Flynn out in the 8th round. After the KO, Flynn was placed slumped and dazed on a stool in his corner, while his seconds spent some time attempting to revive him. He eventually got to his feet. Here is a photo (enhanced) depicting the end of the fight with Flynn sprawled out on the canvas as the victorious Langford walks away...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"In the end he was no longer capable of hearing the approach of the train which hit him"

Tiberio Mitri....a boxer who fought for a world title..became a star...lived the rich life...ended up begging on the streets...and a tragic death...

.................................................. ...

from the telegraph newspaper in 2001...

"Tiberio Mitri was born in Trieste on July 12 1926, the son of a fishmonger. His love and talent for boxing were evident at an early age, and after turning professional in 1946 he won his first 50 fights in a row and was European middleweight champion from 1949 to 1954, and subsequently enjoyed some success in the cinema; his latter years, however, illustrated the perils of fleeting fame in the ring.

Mitri was a fast and extremely skilful boxer, whose suave good looks did nothing to lessen his appeal. At the zenith of his popularity in 1949 he married Fulvia Franco, who had been voted Miss Italy in 1948

In 1950, still unbeaten, Mitri was offered the opportunity to fight Jake "Raging Bull" La Motta for the world middleweight championship. He would have been happy enough to stay in Italy, but Fulvia insisted on their going to America. Having carried her point, she made exploratory visits to Hollywood, while Mitri suffered the pangs of jealousy in his training camp.

Rumour had it that the Italo-American boxing mafia had decided Mitri would win the fight, and La Motta would triumph in the rematch. In the event Mitri's fast footwork did give him an advantage in the early rounds, but as the fight settled down, so La Motta began to find his range with heavy shots to the head. But though the champion won on points, he was unable to put Mitri on the canvas.

By 1954 he had fought Randy Turpin, who was in sharp decline. Mitri was a relatively light puncher, but when he caught Turpin on the chin with a left hook in the 28th second of the fight, the British boxer tumbled backwards and banged his head against the boards. Turpin managed to stagger up, only to collapse again before Mitri could land another blow.

Not until 1956, two years after losing his European title, did Mitri retire from the ring. By then he had formed an ambition to go into films. The director Luchino Visconti was a fan of his. He secured a minor part alongside Charlton Heston in Ben Hur (1959), and appeared with David Niven in The Best of Enemies (1961). He was also in the all-star cast of Anzio (1968).

Besides all this, Mitri sold his paintings and wrote two books, an autobiography Una botta in testa (A Blow to the Head) and Una faccia piena di pugni (A Face Full of Punches). "In life you should keep your guard up," he said.

But both Mitri's children died young, Alessandro from a drugs overdose and Tiberia from Aids.

Mitri retained both his interest in and his attraction for women, and in his mid-fifties married Marinella Caiazzo, who at 33 left her rich husband to become Mitri's third wife. Within three years she had left him. Mitri, once famed for his mild manners outside the ring, was now liable to become violent when under the influence of drink. Drugs also took their toll.
Though he managed a poignant final screen appearance as an old boxer in Lino Capolicchio's Pugili (1995), his last years were sad. Suffering from both Parkinson's and Alzheimer's, he would wander around the Trastevere district of Rome, begging in bars and restaurants


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

This painting depicts the occasion when Jimmy Wilde outpointed Joe Lynch of America after a battle over 15 rounds. At the end, the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) stepped into the ring and congratulated the tiny Welshman on his victory. This was the first time Royalty officially entered the ring and thereby had given their official patronage to boxing, a sport which had been illegal in the days of bare knuckle fighting and was still looking for acceptance.


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

Fantastic thread Doug just spent an hour reading it all absolutely brilliant read.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Decy said:


> Fantastic thread Doug just spent an hour reading it all absolutely brilliant read.


good man decy.

while you were reading that, i was watching you getting ice water thrown over you


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> good man decy.
> 
> while you were reading that, i was watching you getting ice water thrown over you


My 6 year old daughter did it after me, she handled it betteratsch

The pic's of Ali before the Holmes fight are heartbreaking as is the Jimmy Bivins article.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The history of boxing turned a page in June 1948 when Rocco Marchegiano appeared in Al Weill's office. Weill telephoned Charley Goldman and told him to set up a sparring session so they could gauge Rocco's potential. Later that day, Marchegiano stepped into the ring at a CYO gym on 17th Street in Manhattan with a heavyweight from Florida named Wade Chancey.

Marchegiano didn't look like a professional fighter. He was short for a heavyweight; five feet ten inches tall. His hands were huge, but he had stubby arms that would make it difficult for him to develop an effective jab.

A. J. Liebling later likened what Weill and Goldman saw 'to the understander in the nine-man pyramid of a troupe of Arab acrobats. He has big calves,' Liebling wrote. 'Forearms, wrists, and a neck so thick that it minimizes the span of his shoulders. He is neither tall nor heavy for a heavyweight, but gives the impression of bigness when you are close to him. His face, like his body, is craggy. Big jaw, big nose askew from punching, high cheekbones; and almost always when he is outside the ring, a pleasant asymetrical grin.'

Marchegiano was also two months shy of his twenty-fifth birthday; old for a novice fighter.

'Al and I often looked over green kids who thought they could become fighters,' Goldman reminisced years later. 'I'll eat my derby hat if I ever saw anyone cruder than Rocky. He was so awkward that we stood there and laughed. He didn't stand right. He didn't throw a punch right. He didn't block right. He didn't do anything right. Then he hit Chancey with a roundhouse right which nearly put a hole in the guy's head, and I told Weill that maybe I could do something with him.'

'Charley Goldman,' Michael Silver later wrote, 'found a block of marble and sculpted it into The Pieta.'

Marchegiano entered the ring as a professional for the second time on July 12, 1948. The site was Providence, Rhode Island; twenty-five miles from Brockton. The opponent was Harry Belzarian. Marciano won on a first-round knockout. His purse was forty dollars.

Years later, Belzarian recalled, 'The first time he knocked me down, he broke my tooth. Then he knocked me down again. Then I don't remember anything.'

Soon after, at Weill's suggestion, Marchegiano changed his name to Rocky Marciano. But Weill wasn't sold yet on his new fighter. He was using him to test other prospects.

On August 23, 1948, in his fifth professional fight, Marciano fought a 15-0-1 heavyweight named Eddie Ross. Rocky was the 'opponent' that night. Prior to fighting Ross, Marciano had traveled from Brockton to New York to train occasionally with Goldman, but the trainer hadn't attended his fights.

Marciano knocked Ross out at 1:03 of the first round. Seven days later, when Marciano fought Jimmy Weeks in Providence, Goldman was in his corner.

Marciano fought eleven times during the last six months of 1948, scoring eight first-round knockouts and two in the second stanza. One opponent made it into the third round.

Rather than work with the fighter at Stillman's Gym (which was a hub of boxing commerce in New York), Goldman continued to sculpt his creation at the CYO gym on 17th Street.

Marciano had poor balance, minimal defense, and little understanding of how to throw a jab or hook. Goldman taught him how to stand properly for balance and maximum leverage on his punches. Turning Marciano's lack of height into an advantage, he taught him to fight from a crouch, which made him harder to hit and forced opponents to lower their hands to hit him. He taught him the rudiments of defense and schooled him to go to the body.

'You got to realize,' Goldman said later, 'when I took him over, he didn t know what a body punch was. In the first ten fights I handled him, he didn't throw a single one. Some of those early fights when he didn't know how to fight; he won them all, but I was afraid he'd get killed.'

But Marciano had a great equalizer; his right hand. Goldman gave him just enough moves and enough of a jab to get inside and use it.

'I got a guy who s short, stoop-shouldered, and balding with two left feet,' the trainer said. 'They all look better than he does as far as the moves are concerned. But they don t look so good on the canvas. God, how he can punch.'

(By Thomas Hauser)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec. 4, 1961

The first clean punch Liston landed was a crisp left hook that caught the aggressive Westphal coming in. He didn't stagger long. Sonny caught him with a huge right to the chin. Albert spun like a pole-axed bull into a full face-plant, layout position. Referee Zack Clayton could have counted 100. At 10, Westphal rolled over slowly and lay staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. Liston emerged from a neutral corner to admire his glove work. He just gazed impassively at the timbered German.

(by Bill Conlin)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1979..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

I have no other info on this....maybe one of you may know more about it....
I have no more of that article either, so haven't got the missing text.....Boxing has all the best stories


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The first time the World Heavyweight Title was contested over a scheduled 12 rounds...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I was at home watching 'Kojak' on tv when the phone rang.
"Chuck! Chuck!"
She was all excited.
"Mom, what is it? I told you to never call me during 'Kojak'"
"Did you see the paper? Did you see that news ??"
"No, I didn't Mom...What's in it ?"
"Go out and get it"
"Mom, tell me what's in it. I'm not just going to run out."
"On the back page....the whole back page!!...it says 'Ali to defend against Wepner in Cleveland March 24.' "
So I put my clothes on and ran up to the Embassy Theater at Forty-seventh and Broadway. The kid had four papers left. They sold them in front of Theaters in them days. I said "Give me those four papers". I turned over and sure enough..."

(Chuck Wepner)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Two weeks after knocking out Red Burman in Madison Square Garden, Joe Louis stepped into Convention Hall in Philadelphia to face Gus Dorazio, his third "bum" in as many months. But Louis was never happy with the disparaging label reporter Jack Miley pinned on his opponents. "Those guys I fought were not bums," he told Art Rust, Jr. "They were hard-working professionals trying to make a dollar, too. I knew the training they went through, and I knew the dreams they had. No different than me. I respected every man I fought."

Louis may have respected Dorazio, but he would have to go a long way to find someone else who shared his sentiments. Betting lines fluctuated and neared lottery odds before finally settling on Dorazio as a 15 to 1 underdog. James P. Dawson of The New York Times called Dorazio "&#8230;one of the most harmless challengers Louis, or any other champion of recent years, for that matter, has ever faced." Even Pennsylvania Senator John J. Haluska, a former amateur boxer, called the match a farce and threatened a congressional hearing. In response, Dorazio promised to knock Louis through the ropes and into the lap of Senator Haluska. Rarely are wish fulfillment scenarios so farfetched.

Ticket prices, scaled from $1.25 to $5.75, were indicative of the second-rate show promoter Herman Taylor thought the fight would be. Dorazio, on the other hand, was as chipper as ever. "I've been training for three weeks now and I'll be in top form when I meet Louis," Dorazio told the Associated Press. "I can't lose. I always fight best against the good boys."

On February 17, 1941, Gus Dorazio entered the ring against Joe Louis for the chance of a lifetime. Even a strong losing effort would make him a hero throughout Pennsylvania. Anything less than that and Dorazio faced the possibility of being a laughing stock. Indeed, Dorazio seemed acutely aware of his reputation in the days leading up to the fight. "All the money in all the banks in Philadelphia couldn't make me climb into that ring Monday night if I thought I couldn't win," he told the newswires. "Not with all those people looking at me." Of course, if he won, his rough and tumble life would be changed forever. 15,902 fans jammed Convention Hall to see if he could do it.

When the bell rang for round one, Louis, 203 ½, and Dorazio, 193 ½, met at ring center. Dorazio was counting on his crouching style, in theory-if not exactly in practice-similar to that of Nathan Mann and Arturo Godoy, to fluster Louis, and it did-for all of a minute. Louis looked awkward sailing shots over his ducking opponent early in the opening round, and Dorazio, to the astonishment of the Milky Way, even managed to land several hard body shots as well as a flicking left hook. But Louis remained unflustered. Midway through the first round "The Brown Bomber" started to reach his target and Dorazio began to resemble a man staggering through Tornado Alley. Still, it was a fairly good round for Dorazio, and he returned to his corner in high spirits. During the rest period Dorazio told his trainer Jimmy Wilson that Louis was not nearly as tough as advertised. "I'm going out and stiffen him," he said. But it was Dorazio who would wind up stiff.

Round two began with Dorazio squatting so low that he resembled Arturo Godoy in disguise. He exchanged a few jabs with Louis and rushed in without consequence. A little over a minute into the round, Dorazio popped up from his crouch and Louis straightened him up with a left hook. Then he stepped forward and connected with a short straight right that landed with the force of a Howitzer. "Dorazio," reported Ted Meier, "fell flat on his face completely senseless." The Philadelphia tough guy was counted out by referee Irving Kutcher while struggling to regain his feet. He had to be carried to his corner by his seconds.

Despite the humiliating knockout defeat, Dorazio continued his career, now losing nearly as often as he won. His record after the Louis fiasco includes an upset of Joe Baksi and decisions over Gunnar Barlund and Harry Bobo, but the TKOs started to mount and the scar tissue lining his brows began to split with revolting ease. He was still an attraction in Philadelphia, however, and thousands paid to see him war with the likes of Melio Bettina and Turkey Thompson. By 1943 Dorazio was under the management of the infamous Blinky Palermo, numbers king of Philadelphia and close associate of Frankie Carbo, and was hitting the road more often where spotty decisions often went against him.

In 1946 Dorazio, with his career in a deadfall, was convicted of draft dodging after the FBI discovered that his job as a wartime welder was strictly "no show." He was sentenced to a year in prison. After his release, Dorazio mounted a dismal comeback before retiring for good in 1946 with a record of 77-20-5.

In retirement Dorazio revealed a bleak entrepreneurial side that included numbers running, leg-breaking, and armed robbery. But it was as a union goon that Dorazio found himself in existential trouble. In 1949 Dorazio lost control while performing his duties as an enforcer at the C. Schmidt and Sons Brewery in Philadelphia. Ostensibly a bottler at the plant, Dorazio was really hired muscle for the mob. The vicious beating he gave to Albert Blomeyer, 33, on January 27, 1949 proved to be fatal. Blomeyer, a bottler who had been circulating pro-labor petitions at the brewery, died of a fractured skull after Dorazio was through with him. Did Dorazio miscalculate the amount of force he needed to teach Blomeyer a lesson? Or did he just snap at the wrong time? When collared by detectives at his home in Yeadon, Dorazio spluttered out an impromptu, pre-Miranda Rights defense: ""People had been taunting me," he said. "They called me punch drunk. They called me on the phone to heckle me. I just got the notion to get even with someone." His outburst, negligible as a defense, seems odd in light of the circumstances. Did Dorazio slip over the edge and take out the frustrations of his life on Albert Blomeyer?

None of this, of course, made any difference to his open and shut case. The evidence against Dorazio was overwhelming and it took less than an hour for a jury to find him guilty of second-degree murder. Dorazio spent nearly three and a half years in notorious Eastern State penitentiary. After being released, he drifted in and out of both jobs and trouble for the next decade. Dorazio slowed down when a chronic back injury suffered during his days as a boxer flared up and forced him to collect disability. Never far from his mind, it seemed, was the fight with Joe Louis.

In his later years, out of work and with a reputation for being slightly punchy, Dorazio would repeat his claim that he would have beaten "The Brown Bomber" in a rematch to whoever would stop and listen. When Louis died in 1981, The Philadelphia Inquirer sought Dorazio out for an interview. "I still dream of that fight," he said. "I was sure I could beat Louis, and in the first round I hurt him. I know I'd have beaten him if I hadn't left my feet throwing a hook and he nailed me. I could've handled him-honest." Gus Dorazio died in 1987, more than 50 years after he first stepped into the Waltz Dream Arena.

(by Carlos Acevedo)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec 5, 1986.


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

Said it before, I'll say it again...fucking brilliant thread.
@doug.ie for King.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

29 Aug 1960

A fight between spectators, officials and boxers ended the European Heavyweight title fight between holder Dick Richardson and former European Champion Brian London, at Porthcawl, Wales. Trouble started when referee Andrew Smyth stopped the match after the eighth round due to London's badly cut left eye. He awarded the fight to Richardson, whereupon London dashed across the ring and attacked his victor.

Richardson's trainer was knocked to the floor by London, spectators swarmed into the ring and the battle began. It took 20 policemen to control the two rivals and their supporters.

(Source - REUTERS)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I watched Beau Jack climb down from the ring apron and move in a
half-trot across the floor, shoulders swaying with his rolling gait,
right leg dipping to accommodate old pain. I approached him. ''You
fought in battle royals, didn't you?'' I asked.
''Yes, sir,'' he said, eyeing me.
''How did it feel?''
''They should still have them,'' he said. ''They'd be a lot of fun
for people who ain't seen them. But they can't. Guys ain't tough
enough anymore.''
''I'd like to write a story about you,'' I said.
''All right, sir,'' he said quietly. A maroon cap hid most of his
balding head with its white stubble of hair, and a T-shirt with the
words FORWARD MOTION covered his still-muscular chest. ''They think
they can tire me out,'' he said, as if he had been one of the men in
the ring. ''They can't. I can outlast them all. They try to kill me,
and I be relaxin'. I know how to breathe and how to throw punches.
You're not in condition, you're gonna get your brains scattered to
the wrong part of your head. Can't never quit in a ring. All that
crap about defense -- take it and put it up your butt.
Conditioning.'' He threw a combination at a heavy bag and walked over
to two women lying on tables, doing leg lifts. ''Everybody gets sick
when they first come here,'' he warned one. ''It'll go away. Tomorrow
I'm gonna murder you.''
His tone turned gentle now, as if he were an old man telling his
assembled grandchildren a story before bed. I moved closer to hear.
''You know, if you didn't get your ticket before Friday when I
fought,'' he said, ''forget about it. They was none left. I had 2,000
ladies came to see me. They'd yell, 'Uh- oh, here comes that tiger
again.' And anyplace I go now I hear people say these same words: 'We
been watchin' and we been lookin', tryin' to find another Beau Jack,
but we ain't never seen another one. How did you keep throwing
punches from one end of the bell to the other, Beau Jack?'
''Well, you have to love people to do that. They kept screamin'
'Beau Jack, Beau Jack,' '' -- his fists began to punch the air --
''so I loved 'em and had $ to fight harder and harder and harder.
Didn't want no people talkin' about me like I was a dog. I had to do
good for my guests. I love every human being God put on this earth.
We're here for one reason -- to attract each other. I fought that
way, for love.''

Pools of dusk had begun to form in the corners of the gym; in ones
and twos the boxers toweled their sweat, called goodbye to Beau Jack
and departed. ''That bone tried to jump up and get away, but I chased
it down and caught it, and I ain't even got no teeth, that's how good
that chicken was you cooked for me,'' he said to one of the two women
he was conditioning. ''You comin' back to work out tomorrow, aren't
you?''
When she was gone, I asked if I could accompany him home. I wanted
to meet his wife and the 15 children that people said he had
fathered. ''No need for that,'' he said. ''We disbanded. Sometimes
it's best to just disband yourself.''
''Who do you live with?''
''Nobody. Myself.''
''Where?''
''One-room place, few blocks from here. Don't need nothin' else.''
I asked what he did alone at night.
''I play blackjack against a dead man's hand,'' he said. ''When I
win, I put the cards on my side. He wins, I put 'em on his side.
Funny, 99 times out of a hundred, the dead man wins.''
Carefully he reached under a desk in his shabby corner cubicle,
pulled out his boxing plaques and awards, and tucked them into a
black bag. He placed it on his shoulder, locked up the gym and headed
home. A block away, he paused. At the night air, he threw a pair of
punches."

(by Gary Smith - Sports Illustrated)


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

Trail said:


> Said it before, I'll say it again...fucking brilliant thread.
> 
> @doug.ie for King.


President(he's Irish)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 27th, 1982.

Both Wilfredo Gomez and Jeff Chandler respectively defended their world titles, winning in the 6th round, on the same night.
Both fights officially ended at 2:28 of the round!!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thats a belt !!...


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

Decy said:


> President(he's Irish)


President it will be then!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

have you seen the irish president. ....you cheeky pair of bastards !!


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> have you seen the irish president. ....you cheeky pair of bastards !!


Can't please some people, can you...:lol:


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> have you seen the irish president. ....you cheeky pair of bastards !!


You look more like David Norris.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Decy said:


> You look more like David Norris.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec 16, 1979.

A great short battle for the WBC Flyweight Title sends the crowd into a frenzy...






from the superb YouTube channel by our very own @Flea Man


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Oct 28, 1920.

"Harry Greb, light-heavyweight of Pittsburgh, won the newspaper decision over Mickey Shannon of Newark N.J. in their ten round bout here Thursday night. Greb scored a knockdown in the ninth round, but Shannon recovered and was able to stay the limit." (Decatur Daily Review) The Pittsburgh Post reported that Greb went in and simply traded blows with the heavier Shannon, making little effort at defense. Shannon held his own in the first round and clearly won the second. Greb handed out a lot of punishment in the next four rounds. Shannon rallied in the 7th, but Greb fought back and cut his eye. Greb socked Shannon all over the ring in the last three rounds, flooring him for a 3-count in the 9th. Shannon was badly marked at the end.

And these are the gloves that Greb wore...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Chuck Wiggins' complete boxing record has never been fully documented, but he fought when ever, and where ever he could. Sometimes giving away weight, height, and experience, he did battle with anyone who dared lace on the gloves. Such well known names as Harry Greb, Gene Tunney, Jeff Smith, Tommy Gibbons, Johnny Risko, Tiger Flowers, Big George Godfrey, Tommy Loughran, Young Stribling, grace his list of opponents.

Probably the most frequently asked question was who was the greatest fighter Chuck ever faced. The answer was always Tunney, and Greb.

Well, he would be asked, "Which was the toughest?"

Chuck would toss a drink down, and shout, :[xx!*].. . I pick Greb. I fought the sucker nine times, and the only two times I win, I wasn't in shape. I got two draws too, but he took the rest. That guy used to make me disgusted with the gloves. The worst beating in my career was given to me by that Dutchman Greb. He made me say "Uncle" twice in three days. The worst bouncing I got was in Kalamazoo. The night of the fight the boxing commissioner came to the dressing room and said, "Look here you fellows, this fight will not end on a foul, so don't plan anything along that line. "Greb got me first, and hit me low. He bit me in the nose, and drew blood in the first clinch. Pretty soon he slipped, and as I was behind him, I gave him a kick in the pants, and he fell out on the floor. It was an alley fight all the way, but I had too many elbows for him that night, and got the decision."

In September of 1927, Gene Tunney was preparing for his fight with Dempsey in Chicago. Chuck was his chief sparring partner, and also the highest paid. During one of the workouts Chuck opened a gash over Tunney's eye, and was dismissed.

In later years Tunney was asked who was the gamest man he ever met. Tunney replied, "There were three men I met I can call really game. One was Harry Greb; another Bartley Madden; still another was Chuck Wiggins.

"I'll tell you what I mean by real gameness. I fought Wiggins the first time just when I was getting started. For weeks I had been practicing the trick of slipping inside a right hand blow, and hooking my left to the body. It is not an easy thing to do, and I was green. In the first round I tried the punch, and the blow landed in foul territory. Not a word of complaint came from Chuck. Again in the second I tried it. Once more it landed low. This time the referee warned me.

"For several rounds I did not use the blow, but in the seventh I decided to try again. My aim and my timing were bad. The referee promptly stepped between us, and promised to disqualify me if it happened again. The blows were entirely unintentional on my part, of course they were low blows, Wiggins took them in silence without ever a thought of winning on a foul.

"Once again before the fight ended I tried, and once again my judgment was bad. The referee was at the point of giving Wiggins the award when Chuck himself interrupted, 'Keep em up Gene', he snapped, ' Those punches really are low'.

"That is a game man, couldn't beat me at boxing, at least he was too much a fighter to seek a win on a foul."

Despite the reputation as the dirtiest fighter to ever climb into a ring, Chuck was always kind, and generous to his friends. When in the money, Chuck would buy up a truckload of turkeys for the holidays, and distribute them to the underprivileged, both black, and white, in Indianapolis. Renting a big touring car one night he hired some black musicians, and rode around town with the band blaring "Hold That Tiger" his favorite song. Picking up some drinking buddies, the overcrowded automobile finally arrived at the burlesque, and Chuck gave a rather memorable performance to wind up the evening.

After years of rough campaigning, 1930 found Wiggins definitely over the hill, as far as boxing was concerned, and financially broke.

About this time a glandular freak from Sequals, Italy, was brought to the United States. Primo Carnera stood 6 feet 6 ¼ inches and weighed more than 250 pounds. Backed by the mob, the giant waded through a select group of has-beens, and never-will-be's all instructed to make like a swan in a certain round.

Chuck was always good for news copy, so it was arranged for him to meet the "Ambling Alp" in St. Louis on March 17, 1930. Since "Ole Chucker" was unpredictable at the best, the syndicate guys gave him an advance of 500 dollars to take a spill. Chuck knew his days were long gone, so taking the money, he got good and drunk. As the fight approached, the mob started getting nervous, for fear Wiggins would cross them up, and "square off" on the prominent jaw of Carnera's. Two muscle men were sent to see that Chuck had all the liquor he needed, and that he stayed stewed' till the fight was over. The boys didn't hide the fact that they were armed, and didn't want Wiggins to get any ideas about knocking out their "investment."

A group of young admirers from Indianapolis, and surrounding areas, went to St. Louis to wish the old "Hossier Playboy" luck. Not realizing their idol was throwing the fight, they knocked on his door at the hotel. The door opened, and Chuck, bleary eyed, stuck his head out. With youthful enthusiasm the boys surrounded the fighter with praise, and slaps on the back. Chuck's face darkened, and he gruffly told the youngsters to get back home, and to make it snappy. With backward glances the kid's went down the hall wondering what was wrong with "Chucker." Back in his room Chuck sat down, and poured himself a drink. Man, wasn't that great, those kids bumming their way here just to wish him luck. Maybe someday they would understand.

Almost 25,000 fans, the numbered believed to be a world's record for attendance at an indoor fight show, jammed into the palatial arena to see the most talked about prize fighter meet the veteran brawler. About a minute into the second round Carnera half shoved, half pushed Chuck through the ropes. Reporters at ringside helped shove Wiggins back into the ring at the count of seven. Carnera again cuffed and mauled his smaller opponent around the ring, and again Chuck went through the ropes, struck a revolving chair, and sank down limply. The referee counted ten, and then helped Wiggins back into the ring.

After leaving the prize ring for good, Chuck lived at the Empire Hotel in Springfield, Illinois. Since the future looked pretty bleak, his drinking increased at an alarming rate.

One day around 1932 Chuck was drinking in the Empire Tap Room, when in strolled Tommy O'Brien, a good middleweight from the west coast. Tommy could bend his elbow with the best of them, and since Chuck was an old friend, the two sat down to do some serious drinking. After a number of drinks, O'Brien turned to Wiggins, "You Know Chuck, you are a great guy, and have done me a lot of favors, and I'll always like ya, but I always figured you ain't as rough as people say. Someday, I hope we get a chance to fight each other, cause I think I can whip your butt."

Wiggins shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Bartender, give us another drink." Then turning to Tommy O'Brien, "Lets finish this drink, and then go out in the alley, and get this out of your system. The loser comes back in, and buys the house a drink."

Finishing their drinks, both walked back to an area in the alley. Wiggins takes off his thick glasses, and both take off their coats. "I'm ready when you are," said Chuck. Punches started flying. Down goes O'Brien flat on his back. Wiggins extends his hand to Tommy and helps him up. "You slipped Tom, get up."

O'Brien got up, and away they went again. A couple of minutes, and Tommy again hits the deck.

"You ready to buy that house drink, Tommy?" asked Chuck as he helped O'Brien to his feet. "I'm convinced," replied Tommy.

They dusted themselves off; strolled back inside as if nothing happened, and stayed drunk together for the rest of the week.

By now divorced, Wiggins drifted back to his old haunts in Indianapolis, and took residence with his mother at 1716 Broadway.

It wasn't long before he was again in the headlines. In 1934 Chuck was found lying in the street unconscious, after being slugged on the head with a shotgun. He was rushed to City Hospital with a fractured skull. While waiting treatment he regained consciousness, rose from the hospital cot, and walked out of the hospital.

A short time later he fainted at a filling station, and fell, striking his head on a concrete pump guard. Again he was taken to the hospital, where he recovered quickly.

Physicians said that the first skull fracture had caused a blood clot which probably would have been fatal, but when Wiggins fell against the concrete pump guard, the clot was relieved causing the injury to heal.

And Chuck's skull had been fractured before&#8230; falls, clubs, and even gun barrels.

He once knocked out 15 policemen in a barroom brawl at Calumet City, Illinois, and another time fought 7 policemen, and 2 city fireman in the lobby of the Wesley Hotel, in Indianapolis.

In 1935 he fainted, and fell, striking his head against a curb in front of the Madison County Jail on South Alabama Street. He was in critical condition for a while.

An X-ray photograph taken at City Hospital on the occasion of his last serious injury showed the surface of his skull criss-crossed by tiny cracks from old injuries.

"It pays to have a bomb proof noggin," Chuck said with a grin. "This bean can take a lot of thumpin yet." And it did. Police blotters show frequent notations where Wiggins was arrested for assault, and battery, intoxication, and drunken driving.

Rumors started to drift around that "Ole Chucker" might take up professional wrestling. His reply, "Ha,Ha! Who, me? Now ain't that something? Just because I go to the shows , and look the mugs over, I guess the fans think they'll see me in there one of these nights shaking my fist at some flathead, and letting him snap off an arm. I'll get in there with them when they put on the gloves, and from what I've seen lately it looks like they'll soon be doing that. When they do, Mr. Wiggins is going to take a hand. I'm thinking about a comeback anyhow in the spring."

In April 1937 he barged into the sports department of the Indianapolis Star, and announced that he was on the comeback trail. Wearing a huge moth eaten raccoon coat, and a battered derby he said he was to be known as the "Bearded Battler." He wanted to meet John Henry Lewis.

"I'll fight Lewis, and turn my part of the purse to the dog pound. People should always be kind to dogs, and not kick 'em around too much. But if I can get that Light Heavyweight Champ in the ring, I'll take him apart, or call it quits." No one took him seriously.

With money gone, and sight failing, Chuck like many other declining ex-pugilist, took a job as a bouncer in a downtown tavern. A job responsible for one of the many stories told about him.

Wiggins' employer told him to promptly eject any person who becomes too obnoxious, and Chuck performed creditably. One night, however, Chuck visited other taverns before going to work, so when his boss became a little boisterous, Wiggins promptly gave him the "heave-ho," from his own place.

Big, flabby, and squint-eyed, with thick glasses, Chuck in his declining years had no resemblance to the man once described by Jack Dempsey, as the greatest street fighter in the world.

It was hard to believe that this man, bald, and a rubber tire waistline, had fought all the great ones of the 1920's, had made well over a quarter of a million dollars, and was hailed coast-to-coast as one of the greatest Light Heavyweights ever. But it was true!

(by Robert Carson)

Artwork courtesy of @Klompton from his 'Live Fast, Die Young - The Life and Times of Harry Greb' book.


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## Klompton (Jun 27, 2012)

They used to have a goon squad on hand to bring Chuck into the station in Indy when he was on a bender. This guy was tough, he would CLEAN OUT, bars and then take on a whole squad of police single handed. It was rumored that he was murdered by police despite the official story that he fell down a flight of stairs.

How about that London Richardson clip. You can see Richardson butt London at least twice just in that short little clip. I dont blame London for going ballistic, he should have cracked the referee one also.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He received his first opportunity to win a world title in his 87th fight, in 1913. Although he fought the champion, Johnny Kilbane, to a draw, he would not receive another shot at a title until 1921. By this time he had fought an astounding 264 fights. He won the title when his opponent, George KO Chaney, was disqualified in the fifth round. Johnny Dundee thus became the first universally recognized world junior lightweight champion in ring history.

(by Rob Snell)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I knew from the quiver in his voice that the gentleman calling on the phone wanted to tell me something he knew would knock my socks off. He was so right.

"They found a Harry Greb film!"

"You're full of you-know-what," I said. "Did you see it yet?"

"No. Not yet. But I'm getting a tape in a few days."

"Good," I said. "Give me a call after you do."

To understand the historic significance of what the gentleman was saying , you need some background. From the day when collecting boxing films became a cult art form, the most astute cult members grew increasingly frustrated when not an inch of film footage of Greb, an immortal of fistic immortals, had been uncovered. Compounding that frustration was the fact that extensive footage had been discovered of dozens of famous boxers, even 19th-century champion John L. Sulliven. As a matter of fact, the very first boxing movies were taken of an exhibition between Jim Corbett and Peter Courtney at Edison, New Jersey, in 1894, which was the year Greb was born. How could there be nothing on Greb?

My old friend, the late dean of boxing film collectors, Jim Jacobs, and I kidded each other for more than a quarter-century about the non-existence of Greb fim footage. Many times I would call Jacobs.

"Hey, Jimbo," I'd say, "You know what the mailman delivered this morning?"

"Don't give me that again," Jacobs would snort, knowing instinctivly that I was throwing him another Harry Greb curve. Jimmy knew I was jiving, but it was still fun.

The last time I saw Jacobs was a year before his death. He had come to our offices in Rockville centre in search of still photos of Stanley Ketchel. He found three pictures that he wanted. I promised I'd have prints made and send them to him. With Ketchel out of the way, we turned, as usual, to our favorite mystic subject.

"If somebody--somebody astute about fight films, not just a guy who knows nothing about collecting--found, say, Greb footage in his cellar or attic, and he called me for a deal, I would trade him anything I have in my collection for whatever he has of Harry greb," Jacobs said.

You can understand why, when i recieved that out-of-the-blue phone call about the possible discovery of Greb footage, why I immediately thought of my dear, late friend. As hopeful as I was that this would not turn out to be yet another Greb false alarm, I had mixed emotions. Wouldn't it be a shame if this was indeed the real thing and Jimmy hadn't lived long enough to enjoy it?

It was indeed the real thing! Remarkably sharp film footage of Greb had been discovered in the archives of a major American University, where it had rested, unnoticed, for about 65 years. You can imagine how tense and excited I was as I sat in the screening room with the young man who had brought me the film, collector Phil Guarnieri, waiting to see for myself wether or not this whole thing was for real. The first thing to fill the screen was the smiling face of Harry greb; the same face I had seen in hundreds of still photo's for more than half a century. But this time the face was alive. The eyes blinked, the head turned, the lips curled into a mischeivous smile. I was astonished and moved to the point of tears.

"I've got to be dreaming. This can't be! Pinch me, phil," I said to the young collector seated next to me. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

For the next four minutes 43 seconds I was mesmorised, watching the great harry greb punching the bag, skipping rope, sparring with Philadelphia Jack o'Brien, exercising, clowning for the camera, playing handball, and suddenly dressed in the tight-fitting, striped suit of a broadway dandy, with an oversiazed brimmed straw hat and a broad grin on his one-of-a-kind face. (We all have lookalikes, but not Greb. He was a true original.)

To have an opportunity to see harry greb alive and in the prime of life was beyond my wildest dreams, comparable for a fight film collector to seeing Abraham Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg Address or Napoleon bidding farewell to his troops at waterloo. My only regret is that Jim Jacobs was not sitting with me in that screening room the day Harry greb was re-incarnated. Had he been there, years of kidding and teasing would have been erased by less than five minutes of wonderful reality."

(by Stanley Weston)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jack Dempsey of Salt Lake was knocked out at Murray, a suburb of Salt Lake City, Tuesday night by Jim Flynn of Pueblo, Colo., ten seconds after the men shook hands. Flynn pushed down Dempsey's guard with his right and swung his left to the jaw. The Salt Lake man sunk down for the count and it was twenty seconds after Flynn had been declared the winner before Dempsey regained his feet.

(San Antonio Light)

....................................................

Dempsey was insensible for several minutes and when brought back from the land of nod he evidently thought he was still in the prize ring and attempted to slug his seconds.

Before the fighters entered the ring, the gate receipts were split after considerable wrangling, but those connected with the affair will not say who got the big end of the money. It is understood, however, that Flynn's demands were met and when he got into the ring he cut loose for a knockout, outclassing his opponent in every respect.

During the time the men had been in the ring after shaking hands, Dempsey was hit twice on the left side of the head and twice on the right and the finish punch which closed the short but brutal contest between two giants.

After being hit twice, Dempsey appeared dazed and he was helpless as a baby against the final rain of blows. Dempsey appeared ready to do battle at the opening gong and rushed in with all his speed, but the hammer punches ended his aspirations to finish a winner.

Johnny and Alex Bratton, nine year old twins, appeared in a preliminary bout. The boys fought in the same ring as the heavyweights. They fought and slugged away but being equipped with soft gloves neither was hurt, but despite this, there was the spirit of the occasion present and the thousands of fight rooters cheered loudly as though the boys were heavyweights.

(Deseret Evening News)

......................................................................

It was the thirteenth day of the month and Jack Dempsey forgot to duck.

The "pride of Utah" will therefore have ample reason to shy at the baker's dozen day in the future for he lasted just about twenty-five seconds before Jim Flynn at Murray last night. A right hook square on the chin apparently sent Dempsey to the place where the birdies sing and it was curtains.

After a whole lot of unnecessary delay, both fighters finally entered the ring somewhere nearer midnight than 9 o'clock and much to the discomfiture of the audience and, apparently, themselves as well, Jack forgot to shake hands, but Flynn insisted on this little formality, all of which took up about five seconds. Jack rushed at Dempsey as if he, too, had a last car to catch. Jack bent over and covered up. Flynn rushed again. In fact he tore into the local man, pushed him into position with one hand and laced him with the other. Dempsey acted as if he might be content to let well enough alone, perhaps in the hope that Flynn might tire, step back or finally give him a chance to straighten up. Dempsey did not appear to be in any distress, at any rate. Then came the end like a flash. With Dempsey still bent over and walking toward Flynn, both forearms and gloves covering his face, Flynn rushed again. The Pueblo battler gave Dempsey's head a quick shove toward his right and sent a short right hand hook through Dempsey's guard and straight to the point of the chin. He stepped back at the same instant and Jack went down face first in his gloves. It was all done in a flash, but those close to the west side of the ring could plainly see the punch and all grabbed their hats and coats for the bout was over before it had gotten started.

Dempsey entered the ring as if scared out of his wits and shook like a leaf as the seconds were putting on his gloves. No one realized this any more than Flynn did and the latter was not slow to take advantage of it.

(Salt Lake Telegram)

.............................................................

Salt Lake, Feb. 14.--Exit Dempsey! A "one-two" to the jaw was about all there was to the much-advertised battle at Murray last night. There was only one redeeming feature to the entire bout, and that was the fact that the dope books will carry down to posterity the information that Jim Flynn was engaged in one of the shortest bouts in history. The contest lasted twenty seconds and in that time Jack Dempsey never laid his glove on the "Pueblo trial horse." The men shook hands, Flynn put his head down and bored in. He got a left to Dempsey's face and had the local boy covering up and not knowing what to do. As Jack dropped his guard from his chin and peeked out, Jim put a right swing to the local boy's jaw, followed quickly with a right to the same spot, and Referee Ralph Armstrong counted ten. It was all over except hauling the "local pride" to his corner.

(The Ogden Standard)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Silver belt won by boxer Jem Carney in 1887 *

..........................

When this fight was made, it was to unite an undisputed lightweight world champion. McAuliffe was the current USA lightweight champion and Carney was the current British Lightweight kingpin. Carney's reputation was as a mean-spirited mauler who was there to wear you down. He had previously participated in bare-knuckle matches.
The bout was originally scheduled for May of 1887, but was postponed due to McAuliffe's failure to come up with the money for the stake. It was re-scheduled for October of that year--but, due to an illness, McAuliffe got an additional six weeks until the bout. It finally took place in November.

For the first ten rounds of the bout, McAuliffe dominated Carney with his obvious advantage of boxing skill. Carney, though losing, was also applying his fight plan of wearing down the champion since this was a fight to the finish. When the 20th round arose, McAuliffe was showing signs of fatigue, although his defense and boxing skills were still making it very difficult for Carney. In the 26th, the ruthless Carney headbutted McAuliffe in the midsection and knocked him over. McAuliffe's handlers jumped into the ring and for a moment it looked as if a riot would break out, but the action was finally restored. In the 60th, McAuliffe looked very unsteady and nearly exhausted; Carney had done an effective job of wearing him down. But McAuliffe, in the 62nd, produced one of his last brilliant fighting surges by dropping Carney with a right hand. In the 70th, Carney dropped McAuliffe with a shot that nearly finished the bout.

McAuliffe's supporters jumped into the ring and delayed time for their fallen and nearly beaten fighter. Action was resumed however. Again in the 74th McAuliffe was dropped hard and once again his supporters jumped into the ring.

Referee Stevenson had seen enough of this wild battle, and called it a draw to prevent a serious riot that would probably result in arrests, since prize-fighting was illegal in this jurisdiction. Both Carney and McAuliffe were ready to continue and both had legitimate cases that they should have won. Carney's position was that McAuliffe couldn't last three more rounds with him and was too weary to put forward much of a fight if it were to be resumed. McAuliffe believed that Carney had fouled him throughout the bout, and had kneed him, even bit him. Both arguments appeared true but the environment was too unpredictable and dangerous to host this fight much longer. So one of the most controversial fights in boxing history went into the books as a 74-round draw.

(by Nat Fleischer)

*Carney claimed the title in Britain and Europe










(i'm getting different reports on different pages about this belt.... fellows the auctioneers state - "After 70 plus rounds, the fight was disrupted as McAuliffe's party broke into the ring. The fight was thus declared a draw and, as a letter sold with the belt reveals, both Carney and McAuliffe were awarded a belt." ....but i am surprised there would be two belts of that quality made.
however, its stated here that Carney got the belt...
http://www.paulfrasercollectibles.com/News/Sports-Memorabilia/Boxer-Jem-Carney's-silver-belt-makes-$12,000-at-Fellows/17739.page )


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 10, 1993.

Chavez came out pressing the attack, and in the first two rounds Whitaker backpedaled to his right and popped the occasional right jab, keeping Chavez out of tempo. Roars went up whenever Chavez landed a punch, and throughout the vast dome the crowds waved the red, white and green flag of Mexico. Chavez was already having difficulty solving Whitaker's elusive movement.

Whitaker came out for the third with a crisper, sharper jab, nailing a pursuing Chavez with three stingers in a row. At once he settled into what he called his "sleeping style," a kind of slippery, loosey-goosey way of carrying himself that made it harder for Chavez to get to him. By the fourth round Whitaker was in control of the fight as Chavez grew increasingly frustrated with his opponent's style.

In the fifth Chavez's corner began yelling at him to renew the attack, and he charged back to score one of his best rounds of the bout. In one flurry he landed two sharp right-hand leads, another left to the body and a third right that had Whitaker, for the only time in the fight, looking chastened and doubtful in the middle of the ring.

Yet Whitaker clearly won the sixth through the eighth, as the crowd fell ominously silent and the flags stopped fluttering. Whitaker had done what he had promised to do: "I like to go on the road and take the hometown fans out of it," he had said earlier in the week.

In the sixth Whitaker accidentally caught Chavez with a low left to the groin. Referee Joe Cortez stopped the fight to give Chavez a minute to kick away the pain, but Chavez needed more than that to shake off the larger effect Whitaker was having on him. Whitaker had taken away most of Chavez's arsenal of punches, save for the occasional right-hand lead, and Chavez had nothing close to Whitaker's jab.

Chavez never mounted a sustained attack to the body, and he began to appear not only feckless and confused but also desperate and despondent as the rounds rolled by. He was losing the fight, and he couldn't come up with anything to turn it around. Chavez did win the ninth, scoring several times with left hooks and right hands.

Chavez came out fast in the tenth, but Whitaker blunted his attack with sharp lefts, and by the round's closing moments Chavez seemed to be underwater. Whitaker won it. He took the eleventh even more easily, and for most of the final round he moved and backpedaled out of harm's way while a tired Chavez chased after him. At the bell, looking perplexed, Chavez raised his arms in a wishful gesture.

Before the scorecards were announced, Showtime television commentators Steve Albert, Bobby Czyz and Ferdie Pacheco were in unanimous agreement that Whitaker had clearly won the bout. When the fight was declared a draw, there was a smattering of boos from the pro-Mexican crowd of about 65,000.

The vast majority of the media had Whitaker winning decisively and wondered what fight the judges were watching. Many also wondered how Dan Duva, Whitaker's promoter, could have yielded so thoroughly to Don King, Chavez's promoter, and the WBC in the selection of the judges, especially knowing, as he must have, that his man was not likely to win by a knockout. In fact, said Duva, after much heated negotiation Texas officials assembled a pool of five judges who had worked fights for the WBC, and he and King were allowed to strike one each. A reasonable compromise? Hardly, said Duva. "It was clear to me that the five were not among the best in the world," he said. "Early on I had suggested getting Jerry Roth of Nevada, the guy who is recognized as the best." But the Chavez camp did not want Roth. "My opinion," Duva said, "is that he was turned down because he had Meldrick Taylor ahead when Taylor fought Chavez." In that 1990 fight Chavez TKO'd Taylor when referee Richard Steele stopped the fight with two seconds remaining in the final round.

After the fight, Duva said a number of WBC officials approached him with strange expressions of condolence. "They said to me, 'What are you complaining about? This is the perfect result. Everyone wins,'" Duva said. "That's just sickening. On the day of the fight everyone who knows me knows that I had one fear: that Pernell would get robbed. That these people, for their own political interest, would deny him his victory."

(Sports Illustrated - Sept 1993)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1964. A rematch that didn't happen in the end.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

(Modern Classic Era)

â€œIâ€™m not talking away anything from Rigondeaux, because he beat me clearly and fairly,â€ Donaire said â€œ..but my mind wasnâ€™t really 100 percent on the fight. I honestly didnâ€™t care about it that much. Most of the time, I was thinking about my kid. But I am glad that he beat me. I was seriously considering retirement, but that loss woke me up and told me, â€˜Hey, I donâ€™t want to quit. I want to do this for a lot more years.â€™â€


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A dear friend of mine, Seymour Sorkowitz, recalls personal memories of going to boxing matches at Madison Square Garden in the 1940's / 50s and visiting the classic Stillman's gym...

lots more videos from him on this page...




__ https://www.facebook.com/classicboxingsociety/posts/445167882294897


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1941. NBA Middleweight Champion, Tony Zale, wins The Ring Middleweight Championship and unifies the Middleweight title after beating Georgie Abrams.

It was a sensational fight. Abrams was the outstanding challenger courtesy of three wins over former NY champ Billy Soose. Zale was knocked down in the 1st round for a "9" count. Judge George LeCron scored it 8-7 on rounds for Zale, and so far the other two votes have not been located. According to Jack Kincaid, all the newspaper reporters whose opinions he read thought that Zale won decisively, despite the knockdown, giving Abrams a bad beating to the body.

"Tony Zale of Gary, Ind., became undisputed middleweight champion of the world tonight by blasting out a 15 round decision over Georgie Abrams of the Naval Air Corps before 12,000 fans at MSG. Zale, already recognized as 160 pound king by the NBA, gained recognition also by the NY commission through tonight's unanimous decision - a verdict which he won after rising from the floor in the 1st round and fighting back from groggyland in the 8th. Zale treated the fans to one of the finest exhibitions of right hand punching to body and chin that any middleweight ever turned in, as he provided the division with its first universally recognized ruler since Mickey Walker relinquished the title in 1931." -United Press


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1964..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

What happened to the film of this 'Extra Feature' ?...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1916.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

Love this thread. Where do you get all these cuttings from @doug.ie


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

either just anywhere i see them online...or scans from magazines and books i have here.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1923.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1951.


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## Theron (May 17, 2013)

Awesome thread man


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1990.


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

When Gene Tunney was paid $990,446 for his rematch with Jack Dempsey he gave the promoter $9554 just so he could get a $1,000,000 cheque!

Really want this to be true Doug do you know the truth?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thats what tunney said ^^


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1978.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1989.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A knock on the Broztell Hotel door. Les opens it. It is the young hotel porter, a painfully thin *****, and he is deeply sorry suh, but there is someone downstairs who is insisting on seeing Mistuh Darcy. Sez he is an Oss-tralian, too. And he used to be a boxer. The thing is, Mistuh Darcy, it is difficult to know much of him, â€˜cos he might be drunk, but he sez his name is â€˜Griffâ€™, â€˜Griffaâ€™, sumâ€™n like that? Young Griffo? The boxing hero of Australia, who had left home shores in 1893 never to return? Great! Show him up! But Mistuh Darcy, he very drunk, not too good dressed, terrible, rotten, black teeth, and thuh hotel probably wouldnâ€™t want likes of him in the buildingâ€¦ Fine, but please get him! 

And so the young porter does, returning shortly afterwards and furtively pushing a fat old drunk man into Mistuh Darcyâ€™s room before skedaddling. He is going to catch hell from management, if they find out. 

And so there they are, Les Darcy and Young Griffoâ€”each a hero before heading to America to seek their international fame and fortuneâ€”meeting in a New York hotel room in the early days of 1917. 

They talkâ€¦ The fact that â€˜Young Griffoâ€™ is no longer young is obvious, as is the fact that the young porter hadnâ€™t been exaggerating in his description. Griffoâ€™s teeth are terrible, he reeks of alcohol, and is evidently doing it very tough indeed. These days one of his tricks to get more alcohol is to take a handkerchief into a bar, stand on it and bet someone that they canâ€™t lay a single punch on him for a whole minute while he doesnâ€™t take a step off the hankie, but simply dodges and ducks all their blows! No, he couldnâ€™t win a real fight in the ring these days, but by God he can still keep himself in grog. 

They laugh and talk. Les is delighted to meet this Australian legend, and later tips the porter a quarter, telling the disbelieving young man that the â€˜fat old alkoâ€™â€”as the porter would later describe Griffo, whom he brought up to Lesâ€™s roomâ€”was once one of the greatest featherweight boxers of them all.

(by Peter Fitzsimons)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1987.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> 1978.


The Watt v Nash fight was around the time I was first getting into boxing real hatred between the 2 of them.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When Les Darcy, the Australian Middleweight Champion, died aged 21, his body was put on view for almost four years !!

Quoting biographer Peter Fitzsimons from his book - 'The Ballad of Les Darcy'...
"For as long as four years after Les Darcy's death it was still possible to view his body in his glass-topped coffin in it's vault, at which point the deterioration was marked enough that the vault was closed permanently."

.............................

*I should add after reading this, I did some research and couldn't find it described as that elsewhere. I did find a great article with extensive info on his 'funerals'...

http://www.maitland.nsw.gov.au/User...s Darcy Memorial and Biograpghic Overview.pdf


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Feb 26, 1925. 
The night that Jack Delaney beat Tiger Flowers....twice....in the same fight!!...

"Delaney was also involved in a bizarre match with future middleweight champion Tiger Flowers. After a round had passed, Delaney floored Flowers with a straight right hand. The referee counted Flowers out, but his corner protested that he had received a "fast count". The Flowers faction became unruly and a riot seemed imminent. Flowers demanded that the match resume, and Delaney amazingly agreed. The two fought until the fourth round, when Delaney again fired an irresistible right hand that knocked Flowers senseless. This time there was no controversy, as Flowers did not come close to arising in time. When Flowers did come to, he went to Delaney's dressing room and said "Ah want to thank you, Mr. Delaney, and tell you that Ah is convinced." "

http://news.google.com/newspapers?n...X9RAAAAIBAJ&sjid=UA8EAAAAIBAJ&pg=6975,4975175


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A Muhammad Ali (as Cassius Clay) fight poster from 1959 !! - (amateur event from Oct 28 at Louisville, Kentucky.)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1960


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

Great thread Doug. Just stole the Darcy picture for the Aussie forum.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Spider said:


> Great thread Doug. Just stole the Darcy picture for the Aussie forum.


couple of lionel rose ones too...the one as the barman...and the one with elvis


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sim Thompkins got the name of â€œYoung Peter Jacksonâ€ in Denver in the year of 1895. He had been boxing as an amateur in Colorado City. After defeating all of the boys in that city he ventured to Denver where he introduced himself to a local promoter named Reddy Gallagher. Gallagher agreed to give him a fight against a boxer named Eugene Turner. Sim was tickled pink.

Later that evening a number of newspapermen asked Gallagher for the names of the participants in his upcoming show. Gallagher reeled off the names, but when it came to the showâ€™s feature bout he could not remember the name of the man who was to box Turner. Unable to recall Simâ€™s name he told the reporters that the fighter was a dead ringer for the great Australian heavyweight Peter Jackson, only not as large. The next morning the papers told of the contest to take place between Turner and â€œYoung Peter Jackson.â€

Sim read one of the newspapers and immediately sought out Gallagher: â€œSay, Mr. Gallagher â€¦ I thought you were going to give me that fight with Turner,â€ said a heartbroken Sim. â€œWell, you are to fight him,â€ replied Gallagher. 
â€œThe papers say that some fellow by the name of Jackson is going to box with him,â€ said Sim. 
Gallagher had to explain how he couldnâ€™t remember Simâ€™s name and what had happened. Sim went on to defeat Turner and from that time on became known as â€œYoung Peter Jackson".

(by Clay Moyle)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1969.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

May 12, 1923. Former heavyweight champ Jess Willard vs. Floyd Johnson - part of the first ever boxing event in Yankee Stadium.

...........................................

"Bringing Willard to Yankee Stadium was like bringing Goliath back from the dead for a rematch with David.

After shuffling some names around, Tex Rickard matched Willard with Floyd Johnson, an aggressive, young fighter who had lost only twice in 40 bouts. Dempsey's manager, Jack "Doc" Kearns, told the New York Times that Johnson was already penciled in as Dempsey's next challenger. Kearns even wagered $1,000 that Johnson would topple Willard.

No one took Willard seriously -- except Willard. He set up camp in Excelsior Springs, Mo., and pushed his 41-year-old body to the limit. When he arrived in Yonkers a few weeks before the bout, he had dropped 20 pounds and looked chipper. But when the press observed his sparring sessions, the 6-foot-6 Willard looked terrible. "It seemed as if it was an effort for the big Kansan to move his arms and legs," reported the Times.

The story on Willard, that he was just an overfed Kansas rancher with no taste for fighting, was only partly true. He didn't take up boxing until he was 29, when he became part of the "Great White Hope" search that swept America during Jack Johnson's reign. Willard was less concerned with white America than he was with making money to support his young family.

Despite his lack of polish, Willard was a good fighter that afternoon in Havana when he won the championship. Jack Johnson's claim years later that he "threw" the fight was to cover his embarrassment at losing to the raw Willard: Films of that bout show Willard landing a monstrous overhand right that would've stopped any opponent cold.
Johnson even swallowed a couple of teeth during the fight, being too proud to spit them out.

But if Willard answered America's cry for a white heavyweight champion, he was surprisingly an unpopular one. He made two dull defenses of the title and spent most of his reign performing rope tricks in circuses and western shows.

By the time Rickard brought Willard to Yankee Stadium in 1923, Willard was still attracting bad press. Except for some unimpressive exhibitions in 1921, he'd been largely inactive, focusing on business interests in California.

"What people forget about Willard, is that he can punch," Rickard said before the bout.

One of Willard's early opponents, "Bull" Young, died from injuries received in their bout. Indeed, Dempsey wrote in his 1977 autobiography that Willard hurt him badly in the second round of their tussle, and that was after Willard had been all but destroyed in the first round. But even if he was as strong as legend would have it, the mountainous Willard was ancient by the standards of the day.

Rickard outdid himself on the promotional end, hiring nearly 700 New York police officers and 370 ushers for what he called his "new outdoor boxing club."

And what a club it was -- 16,000 square feet of sod, 35,000 cubic yards of concrete, plus 135,000 steel castings and a million brass screws for the grandstand. To ballyhoo the event, Rickard added an additional 10,000 seats on the field. He even hired a band to play between fights.

Rickard's hard work paid off on the balmy afternoon of May 12, 1923, when nearly 63,000 patrons turned out, almost as many as had come a few weeks earlier for the Yankees' home opener.
By the time Willard and Floyd Johnson came to the ring at approximately 5 p.m. ET, the skies had gone from cloudy to clear. It was "a setting that could scarcely have been more picturesque had it been painted by a master's brush," noted the Times. But when Willard's weight was announced at 248, the customers burst into laughter.

The laughter would soon stop, for old Jess was about to put on a command performance.

Time and again Willard caught the incoming Johnson with right uppercuts. Willard's style was to keep his guard low, inviting opponents to come at him, and nail them with blows to the heart or chin. The strategy worked for a few rounds -- until Willard began blowing like a tired horse.

By the eighth round, Johnson had taken over, banging Willard on the head with roundhouse shots. "Willard was showing symptoms of an old man," reported The Associated Press. "The steam was gone out of his punches, and the flesh on his legs was throbbing."

Willard had to be lifted from his stool by his handlers to begin the ninth. Then, after taking a beating for most of the round, Willard threw a desperation haymaker, dropping Johnson just before the bell. There was still some grit in the old horse trader, even if he looked like he might collapse from exhaustion.

At the end of the 11th, using what one reporter called "the brute strength of primitive man," Willard socked Johnson to the canvas again. The younger fighter, by now groggy and bloody, had to be carried back to his corner, where the fight was immediately stopped.
"Youth, take off your hat and bow low and respectfully to Age," Damon Runyon wrote for the New York American. "For days and days, the sole topic of conversation in the world of sport will be Willard's astonishing comeback."

Willard made news again that summer during the Chickasaw River flood in Ponca City, Okla. As massive rains caused $5 million worth of damage, Willard rescued several women and children, carrying them on his back to safety. The United Press headline roared, "Big Jess Willard -- Hero of High Water!"

But Willard's new celebrity status was short-lived. When Rickard proposed the next Yankee Stadium show would feature a main event pitting Willard against Firpo, Willard was refused a boxing license because of his age. The bout was moved to New Jersey, where nearly 90,000 people witnessed Firpo club Willard down in eight rounds. "Willard, never a favorite with the mob when he held the championship, appeared to have captured their affections fully, as he made his final, unsuccessful bid for victory," The Ring's George Tickell wrote 10 years later.

Willard's metamorphosis from disgraced ex-champion to sentimental favorite began the day he beat Floyd Johnson at Yankee Stadium. Not only did he help launch the Bronx edifice as a boxing venue, he turned it into his own house of redemption.

And if you were wondering, a ringside seat for Willard's miraculous transformation cost only 20 bucks.

(by Don Stradley)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

â€œI could see he was upset in the ring and that is when I said to him, â€˜I will give you a rematch. Wherever you want the fight to take place, I will be there. If you want the fight to take place in Australia, I will be there. Your mother can be the referee; your father can be the judge; and your friends can be the supporters. I will knock you out.â€™â€ - Azumah Nelson speaking after his draw with Jeff Fenech in Las Vegas, June 1991.

WBC president Jose Sulaiman was keen for a rematch and was concerned that Fenech would opt to take on WBA champion Hector Lopez, as they had installed him as their number-one contender. Eventually, an agreement was reached. Fenech signed a new contract with Don King for one fight only; the Australian would receive a percentage of the television rights and $2 million. Azumah would receive the same pay prior to paying expenses to his management support staff. The fight was scheduled for March 1, 1992, and would be staged in Melbourne. The rematch was good news for Azumah, as it finally guaranteed him a substantial payday to match his glittering career. He had only suffered one defeat in the past nine years, and that was to Pernell Whitaker on the eve of his wifeâ€™s passing away.

Azumah had headed to Spain for an operation on his elbow, which had troubled him in the first fight. He had the operation in Zaragoza and based himself there for his recuperation and training with Buffalo before heading to Melbourne.

Fenech was quoted in Fist magazine as saying, â€œIâ€™ve really lived for this moment, when I can get Nelson into the ring again. Now that weâ€™ve signed and got a date and a venue, Iâ€™m a very relieved and happy man. There have been some great sporting events in Australia, and this will be as big as any.â€ He went on to â€œguaranteeâ€ there would be no draw in the rematch. Probably his most shocking statement was when he was quoted in the media as saying, â€œThe only way theyâ€™re going to take him home to Ghana is in a body bag.â€

Azumahâ€™s reported response was, â€œTell Fenech he is playing with fire, and it will burn him.â€

Finally, the day of the most anticipated sporting event in Australia arrived. The fight was to take place on a Sunday to tie in with television in the U.S. On the undercard that night was another boxer with a bright future from the Johnny Lewis stable making his professional debut, Kostya Tszyu, who knocked out Australian Darrell Hiles in just seventy seconds.

The rain started to fall in Melbourne, which reduced the crowd from an expected sell-out to close to thirty-seven thousand. However, many Australian highfliers were ringside, including media tycoon Kerry Packer, Olympian Dawn Fraser, iconic Aussie actor Paul Hogan, and former WBC featherweight world champion Johnny Famechon, who arrived in a wheelchair after having been hit by a car while jogging outside Sydneyâ€™s Warwick Farm racecourse the previous year.

This was Azumahâ€™s seventeenth world title fight in almost ten years. He was thirty-three years of age; he had fought in seven different countries; and he had been a world champion for eight years. Yet few gave him any chance of victory against a younger fighter in his own backyard.

Azumah was incredibly confident going into this rematch and, as he had done previously, had ensured that the fight would be aired live on television back home in Ghana. Knowing that there would be plenty of excitement back home, he contacted his good friend, Obi Oblitey. Obi recalls, â€œHe sent a message to me and one of our friends, who has now died, as he knew the Ghana Broadcasting Corporation would come and interview us. He said they will ask us how we see the fight and told us to tell them he would stop Fenech in round seven. So we did.â€

In his corner, Azumah had his brother, and he had told him to tell him when round six had finished so that he could be true to that prediction.

It took Azumah one minute and forty-five seconds of the first round to have Fenech on the canvas. â€œBefore the fight, I hear his coach telling himâ€"he is a good coachâ€"he is telling him, â€˜Be careful. Azumahâ€™s left hook is dangerous. Watch out.â€™ So from the first round, the guy was watching my left hook. All of a sudden in the first round, I just jab, one, two, three, four, and then boomâ€"I landed a right and he went down. The left hook didnâ€™t come because I knew he was looking for the left hook. I changed the style and I put him down. I knocked him down again in the second and almost in the third,â€ Azumah remembers with a trademark smile.

Round two saw Fenech come back well from the knockdown, but Azumah was still the aggressor and benefitted when what appeared to be a slip by Fenech was ruled a knockdown by Mercante. This was a very different fight from the one in Las Vegas. Azumah looked stronger, fitter, and much sharper than his opponent, and went forward more often than he had in the first encounter. Round three saw the two toe-to-toe, as they had been in Las Vegas, and Fenech landed some telling blows. The bell sounded and Mercante struggled to separate the two, and words were exchanged. Azumah, despite his prediction, failed to knock out Fenech in round seven, and he explains why this was the case. â€œI told my brother, â€˜Listen, I will knock this guy out in the seventh round. I will set him up, and after the sixth round I will knock him out in the seventh, so when we get to the sixth round let me know.â€™ But in between the rounds, my brother was enjoying watching the fight so much and he was so happy. At the seventh round, he came to me and said, â€˜Brother, sorry I forgot to tell you it was the sixth round. Itâ€™s the seventh round.â€™ I said, â€˜I told you to tell me the sixth round, so I could knock him out in the seventh. Now I cannot knock him out in the seventh. I will have to do it in the eighth and set him up this round.â€™ The bell went for the seventh round, and I start setting him up. At the end of the round, I looked at my brother, and I said to him, â€˜Now I am going to knock him out this round'.

â€œIn the seventh and eighth rounds, I give myself to him and he just starts punching. When I set him up, I went to the corner. He is throwing the punches and I am blocking, but I slow my punches down, so I am just touching him. I am hardly hitting him, just touching him. Then he realises the punches are slow and there is no power. He could lose himself and start throwing punches, trying to knock me out. As soon as he did that, his guard came down and I went boom, boom, and landed the punches and he went down.â€

Ever the warrior, Fenech quickly leapt to his feet, but that could have been his mistake. His trainer, Johnny Lewis, climbed the steps to the ring, towel in hand, desperately trying to see how his fighter was, but Mercante, who waved the fight on, obstructed his view. Azumah turned Fenech back onto the ropes and fired off six unanswered blows to the head before Mercante stepped in and stopped the fight at the same moment that Lewisâ€™s towel hit the canvas behind him.

Two minutes and twenty seconds into round eight, Jeff Fenech had lost his first professional fight, and Azumah had recorded a victory that was named the â€œUpset of the Year for 1992â€ by The Ring magazine. The disappointed Australian crowd that had booed Azumah when his name was announced at the start of the bout showed great sportsmanship at the end of the bout, acknowledging a great champion. Many realised that they had just witnessed two great champions go head-to-head in their own backyard.

It was after this fight with Jeff Fenech that Azumah went from being â€œThe Terrible Warriorâ€ in the ring to being known as â€œThe Professor,â€ a moniker that certainly suited his age far better. There has been conjecture over who gave the champ his new ring name, but it would appear that it was in fact Azumah himself. At the press conference after the fight, where both fighters complimented each other, Azumah said, â€œI am a professor of boxing. Fenech is a great fighter, but today I proved that Iâ€™m better.â€ The media around the world appeared to love the description, as the title â€œProfessorâ€ was linked to his name by more than one media outlet in their post-fight write-ups. Ultimately, the origin matters not, but from that day forward Azumah Nelson became known as â€œThe Professor.â€

(by Ashley Morrison)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1987.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Promotional poster for Mike Tyson's professional debut in Alabany, NY vs. Hector Mercedes on March 6, 1985


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> 1987.


Well that went with a bang.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Finsbury Park Cinema, London - 1923

(now a Lidl supermarket)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1972


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Promotional poster for Mike Tyson's professional debut in Alabany, NY vs. Hector Mercedes on March 6, 1985


I'd love a copy of one of those posters. Tyson debut...hell...I bet it's worth a packet.


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## bask (Oct 26, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

August 17, 1938

It was a split decision win for Henry Armstrong over Lou Ambers at Madison Square Garden. Henry had made history. The magnificent little titan was the simultaneous holder of three world championships. But he had needed to summon up all his phenomenal energy and determination to dethrone the fiery Ambers in a bloody and spectacular fight for Louâ€™s lightweight belt.

Such was the intensity of Henryâ€™s effort, he finished the fight with leaden arms and close to exhaustion. He looked terrible in his dressing room, with cut and bruised eyes and a damaged lip that required stitches. It was some time before he could haul himself off the rubbing table and walk to the shower.

Armstrong lost three rounds for low blows and then had to contend with a mighty rally from Ambers down the stretch. Henry benefited from a barnstorming start, in which he compiled a significant points lead. Few writers disputed that he was a deserving winner, even though Ambers survived near disaster to charge back and whittle down Henryâ€™s points advantage.

Lou was nearly bowled out of the fight near the close of the fifth round, when he was saved by the bell after being hammered to the canvas by an explosive right to the jaw. Things scarcely improved for Ambers in the sixth, when he was cut down again for a count of eight. Both knockdowns occurred as Lou was trying to escape from close quarters, where Armstrong was in his element as he dug away with his favoured combination of a left to the body and a right to the jaw.

But Ambers was a tough and clever man, a great champion in his own right, who could tilt with the best of them. The so-called Herkimer Hurricane from upstate New York never did know how to blow out gently.

Henry kept punching. He always did. Failure to finish an opponent after an early success never dispirited Armstrong. He believed that if you chop at a tree for long enough, it will eventually fall. In a ferocious eleventh round, he tossed everything he had at Ambers, but Lou would not go and was still full of fight. He fought back to take the next three rounds, two of them due to Armstrongâ€™s infractions. But then Lou faced another major onslaught in the fourteenth as Henry raced for the wire. A right hand catapulted Ambers into the ropes, which saved him from his third trip to the canvas.

In the fifteenth and final frame, Armstrong butted and pounded Ambers into the ropes as blood ran down Louâ€™s right leg from Henryâ€™s cut mouth. The crowd of 18,240 was roaring as a right to the jaw shook Ambers, but it was Lou who came on strong in the final seconds as the two great warriors traded punches beyond the bell in the bedlam.

Ambers, once again, had shown himself to be a remarkably durable and determined man with excellent recuperative powers. But his brave resistance and spirited counter offence were not enough to save his championship. Most people in the pro-Ambers crowd booed the decision. They had been particularly swayed by Louâ€™s stirring comeback from adversity, which had resulted in Armstrong walking groggily to the wrong corner at the final bell. Lou said that he had suffered no damage from Henryâ€™s low blows, though manager Al Weill was sufficiently riled to complain to referee Billy Kavanagh at the end of the tenth.

The Associated Press awarded Armstrong a decisive victory.

(By Mike Casey)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> couple of lionel rose ones too...the one as the barman...and the one with elvis


:good


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

And now was the hour, on this bitterly freezing July night. Entering the arena proper, there was a massive roar from the crowd at the first sight of Fritz Holland and, in fact, for the man shambling along behind him, Tommy Burns. Oh, yes, they remembered Tommy all right, at least plenty of them didâ€"Tommy, who, in the most humiliating fight any of them had ever seen, had been the great white Receiver-General for black angerâ€¦Helloooo, Tommy! Burns, in response, gave what seemed to some to be a slightly sheepish wave of acknowledgement, but no more than that. His focus was on his charge, Fritz, and getting him ready for this fight, not that he expected it would be too much trouble, despite the enormous crowd that this kid Darcy had pulled and the passion they had for him. For, as the battle knell sounded, all other thoughts were drowned as Darcy himself emerged into the light with a posse of three men behind him. At the sight of him, the fight fans, almost as one, were on their feet and cheering wildly. Les! Darcy! Les Darcy!

Some boxers, to be sure, could wither under such adulation, such pressure to perform, but not Les Darcy, never Les Darcy. For now in response to the roar Les waved cheerily, flashed a broad smileâ€"much as he did to anyone who recognised him on the streets of Maitlandâ€"and made his way into the ring, attended closely by Hawkins, Fletcher and Newton. Of course there wasnâ€™t really a need for all three of them to attend as his â€˜secondsâ€™, but Les just wanted them there, so that was that.

Same thing with Father Coady, who sat in the front row. It was not a part of Father Joeâ€™s pastoral duties to be there, and he had not attended as a fight fan pure. Rather, he had become extremely close to Les over previous years, and it was unthinkable for him not to be there.

From his own corner, Fritz Holland surveyed the scene with an experienced and therefore entirely untroubled eye. There was no way this unmarked fellow opposite smiling at him could beat him, but he, too, had been interested that such a young man could have generated a following enough to fill a stadium this size, and apparently have 3,000 or so more outside trying to get in! How could this be? How could a man of so few years have already developed a following so strong? Such musings were interrupted, as young Darcyâ€™s seconds unfurled a large Australian flagâ€¦and now the crowd roared even more!

From the opening bell, Les did what he had always done in boxing matches, which was to charge at his opponent like a bull at a gate, throwing lefts and rights, uppercuts and crosses, in furious flurries that would have completely overwhelmed a lesser opponent. And indeed, Fritz Holland was surprised at the extraordinary intensity of the young man. Nevertheless, by simply covering up, he was able to absorb and parry the worst of the blows, smother the charges, and come back with a few hard punches of his own. The key, the American knew, was to weather the storm. There was no way the kid could keep up this pace for long. But why did he keep smiling? It near put a bloke off to have to punch such a pleasant, friendly countenance, but Fritz did the best he could as Les continued to charge inâ€¦obviously enjoying it hugely!

Down in the crowd, Father Coady and not so far along from him, the Australian heavyweight champion Gentleman Dave Smith were watching the clash closelyâ€"the latter, as always, analysing every punch, every feint, every move. It was obvious that Les was giving a very good account of himself against this veteran boxer of vast experience, but equally apparent that much of young Darcyâ€™s energy was being wasted against Hollandâ€™s bristling defensive shield.

Though the 27-year-old American really had seemed shocked early at the unexpected thunder and lightning emanating from the youngsterâ€™s fists, he was nothing if not wily, and bit by bit was able to adjust and make his way back into a fight that in the first rounds seemed to have escaped him.

The spectators, sitting in near-darkness as the two figures went at it beneath the harsh electrical light bulbs suspended above the ring, roared themselves hoarse, trying to will Darcy to a great win, but it was always going to be a nail-biterâ€¦No matter how hard Les bored in, the American always seemed to have an answer, a parry, a block, a sharp jab, to momentarily rock him backwards. In the thirteenth round the younger man did seem to get on top but, no, Holland held on and came out almost as strongly in the fourteenth round. True, by the end it was clear that the American was completely exhausted, while Darcy appeared comparatively fresh, but even then Holland was managing to counter most of what his young opponent threw at him and still give back some of his own. No matter, with just a few rounds left in the bout, Les said to Mick Hawkins during the break, â€˜Gee this is great! I hope it keeps going.â€™

After twenty rounds of the finest fighting many in the crowd had ever seen, it seemed to most of the spectators that Les was the victor, but the referee and sole judge of the fightâ€"Harald Baker, the brother of the manager of the stadium, Snowyâ€"was not of the same opinion. And the winner isâ€¦Fritzâ€¦Holland! 
Fritz Holland!?!?! 
Never mind that Les himself smiled gracefully, and warmly shook the hand of the man who had bested him. All around, the stadium went crazy. Boos, hisses, chairs thrown, fists flying, the lot. The men of the coalfield did not take lightly one of their own being called a loser when he had bloody well won fair and square, and they made their feelings known in no uncertain terms. Order could only finally be restored by directing fire hoses at the brutes who simply wouldnâ€™t quitâ€¦and those who were trying to set fire to the stadium besides. Even after the police arrived in force, there were still an estimated 8,000 men in the environs of the stadium an hour after the match was over. Back in the dressing room it was all quiet and Les, for his part, was not at all upset.

The smile he had displayed throughout the fight was genuine; he really had enjoyed going up against such an experienced campaigner as Fritz and, again, felt he had learned a lot. For now the most important thing was to gather himself together and get to Sussex Street in time to catch the 11.30 pm steamer to Newcastle, which would allow both him and Father Coady to make 6 am Sunday morning Mass. And though, because it was a Saturday and Les didnâ€™t have to work on the morrow, he nevertheless wanted to get straight home so he could have the early pleasure of giving his prize moneyâ€"no less than Â£500!â€"to his mother.

On the steamer, Father Joe was impressed by the young manâ€™s upbeat mood. He had been afraid that Les would be downcast and need reassuring. Instead, Les was thrilled at having fought at the stadium, against such a veteran as Holland, and having acquitted himself well, without yet attaining victory. â€˜Itâ€™s a step in the right direction,â€™ Les told Father Joe, as the throbbing of the small shipâ€™s motors propelled them north along the sleeping Australian coastline.

(by Peter Fitzsimons)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1948.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1957


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 31, 1944.

Jake LaMotta beat "Sergeant" Lou Woods by SD over 10 rounds as they battle it out to a state of utter exhaustion.

"Woods used a left jab to hold the bull-like rushes of his Italian foe at bay....
During the eighth round the Sarge barely missed dropping Joltin' Jake. Woods took the offensive at the outset and opened Jake's left eye with right-hand smashes. Midway during ths round, the Detroiter jolted LaMotta with a succession of rights and the Easterner held on. However, just before the bell ended the round, a barrage delivered by Jake floored Woods for a two-count.
In the ninth Woods went down again for a nine-count. These two knockdowns apparently were the deciding factors in the officials' tabulations in awarding LaMotta the laurels."

(by Chicago reporter Gene Engel)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Never have I witnessed such delirious scenes as those which occurred when Boonâ€™s gloves were raised in victory. Scores of his Fenland supporters jumped wildly into the ring and roared their delight while the Lonsdale belt was handed to the youngest champion Britain has ever had."

- John Thompson, writing in the Daily Mirror after Eric Boon beat Dave Crowley in December, 1938.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Lloyd 'Silent' Escobar was born in 1922, in the town of Pacific Grove, and lived in Salinas, California. At the age of four, he suffered spinal meningitis, completely lost his hearing, and was crippled for nearly three years. An Indian woman showed his mother how to massage his spindly legs with warm olive oil. Soon he became well enough to attend a School for the Deaf and he began to thrive. By the mid-1940's, he was known as a middleweight, knockout boxer. "Silent Escobar" had 44 wins, and only three losses during his entire career. After one his opponents died in a coma, from a punch during that fight, he gave up boxing.



















^^
"For the first time in the history of Oakland boxing, probably settig a national precedent, two deaf mutes will fight here tomorrow night--not each other. Harold Siegel (extreme left), local clothier and fight filbert, sponsors both. They are Silent Escobar (second from left) and Leroy Pate, listening to Pete Tripodes, their trainer, who though not a mute speaks the sign language fluently. Pate fights Bill McGee, a light-heavy." Images depicts Tripodes "speaking" to Escobar and Pate while Siegel watches. (from the Oakland Tribune)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

From 'The Tacoma Times' newspaper - December 9, 1912

.............

"Here it is!
One of the Most Remarkable Fight Pictures Ever Taken.

When Willie Ritchie took the championship away from Ad Wolgast on Thanksgiving day, at San Francisco, he really did it with straight lefts. For it was those tantalizing straight lefts that prepared the way for several of Ritchie's right crosses and particularly that terrific one in the 16th round that floored Wolgast, knocked him under the ropes and led him to commit the foul that lost him the championship.

In the accompanying picture Ritchie is shown driving his straight left to Wolgast's jaw. Note the expression on Ad's face and how the force of the punch has straightened Wolgast from his customary crouch. Also note the remarkable reach of Ritchie.

This picture taken during the 16th round on Thanksgiving day by M.C. Larkin, Times staff photographer."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Graziano, so nervous he twice had to be told to relax, then told how the man approached him in the dressing room and made the $100,000 proposition...










(feb 1947)

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He came out for the 15th round and he was crying...the ringsiders could hear his sobs as he battled those final three minutes...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec. 1942


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 28, 1907.

Bill Squires, champion heavyweight boxer of Australia, who recently was beaten by Tommy Burns in one round for the heavyweight championship of the world, suffered a second reverse at the hands of Jack Sullivan, an American "light heavyweight" who is in the first ranks of American boxers. The contest took place at Colma, a suburb of San Francisco, in the large arena erected for the previous contest between Burns and Squires. Squires defended himself for nineteen rounds, Sullivan punishing him badly. In the nineteenth round Sullivan knocked Squires out.

(Auckland Star)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Gene Tunney is sitting in the back row" he whispered.."he's got a cap pulled down over his eyes and is wearing smoked glasses"...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The technical knockout which Billy Fox scored over Jake LaMotta in the fourth round last night caused raised eyebrows in the boxing industry today. Widespread reports of a fix, which received official recognition, robbed, for the time being at least, the glory which naturally would have gone to Fox for becoming the first boxer ever to knock out the tough battler from the Bronx.

There was no question of Fox's victory and the dynamite which the Philadelphia ***** packed in his fists. But there were doubting Thomases among the persons who paid to see the bout at Madison Square Garden, for a lot of maneuvering went on before the fighters stepped into the ring. Early in the week there were whispers that the 'fix' was on. Then, late yesterday, after the odds had been 6 to 5 and pick 'em, the betting changed and Fox became an 11 to 5 favorite. Three hours before ring time the odds on Fox soared to 3 to 1 and bookies refused to accept any more Fox money, although they took wagers on LaMotta.

The rumors of the fix became so persistent in the Garden corridors then, that chairman Eddie Eagan of the New York Boxing Commission twice went to the dressing rooms of the boxers to warn them. He was not available for comment after the fight, but a spokesman of the commission said that so far as he knew the commission was satisfied with the bout. He emphasized, however, that he had not spoken to Eagan.

It wasn't the same LaMotta whose long and distinguished career had made him a scourge of the middleweights so long, who faced Fox last night. Despairing of hope to get a shot at the middleweight crown because the 160-pounders want no part of him, LaMotta took on Fox in the hope that it might lead to a battle with Gus Lesnevich for the light heavyweight crown.

But it was Fox instead of LaMotta who was in line for the title shot today. The Philadelphia *****, scoring his 50th knockout in his 51 bouts, hopes to get an opportunity to avenge his only defeat, a 10th round KO at the hands of Lesnevich.

Outweighed six and three quarters pounds (167 to 173Â¾) and facing an opponent with superior height and reach, LaMotta never showed any of his old fire. Instead of boring in with a body attack, as he usually does, Jake held back and became an easy target for Fox's lightning lefts and hard rights. Fox caught LaMotta with two lefts and a right at the start of the fourth and only the ropes kept the Bronx boxer from going down. After Referee Frank Fullam separated them, Fox again drove LaMotta to the ropes as he staggered blindly around the ring. In separating them that time, it appeared Fullam was going to stop the fight, but he changed his mind and let them continue. But not for long, for Fox kept up his battering and when the referee finally stopped it in the fourth round, LaMotta was a helpless, bleeding hulk."

United Press - November 15, 1947

........................................

"Jake LaMotta â€" boasting what a good fighter he used to be â€" confessed Tuesday he threw a bout nearly 13 years ago in return for a promised crack at the middleweight crown he later won. But LaMotta â€" sweat beading his face â€" backpedaled anxiously from an earlier statement to Senate probers. That statement fingered an alleged rackets figure as the fixer of his 1947 bout with Fox, and two boxing managers as offering him $100,000 to take a dive in front of Fox. The alleged fixer was identified as Thomas Milo: the other two as Frank (Blinky) Palermo and Bill Daly ... One time champ LaMotta â€" who hasn't been in the ring since 1954 â€" bridled when counsel Rand Dixon of the Senate Antimonopoly subcommittee suggested LaMotta's memory became cloudy because of fear of reprisals against him or his brother, Joey, who managed him. 'I'm not afraid of none of them rats,' LaMotta rasped. Jake told the subcommittee he spurned the $100,00 offer ... but agreed to let Fox defeat him on Nov. 14, 1947, so he could get a shot at the title. LaMotta testified the odor stayed so strong he had to wait two years before arranging the 1949 match in which he took the title from Marcel Cerdan. Even then, LaMotta said, he had to kick in $20,000 of his own â€" $1,000 more than the purse he got for beating Cerdan in Detroit. However, LaMotta said he made $16,000 on the Cerdan fight by betting on himself. As for who got the $20,000, LaMotta said he didn't know, that he paid it through brother Joey."

Associated Press - June 15, 1960


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 6, 1931.

Local fighter Sammy Fuller (135 Â½) upset world champion Tony Canzoneri (133 Â½) in a ten round non-title clash at the Boston Garden.

The heavy handed Fuller had the backing of 10,000 spectators as he bobbed and weaved his way inside time and again, battering the title holder with a steady two handed attack to the body.

The result prompted Fullerâ€™s management to offer Canzoneri a $25,000 guarantee to risk his crown against the bruising Bostonian. According to the Associated Press, the championâ€™s team was less than receptive to the offer.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Feb 18, 1985.

Friends gather around Sugar Ray Robinson to celebrate his birthday at New York's Carlyle Hotel.

From left to right are Jake LaMotta (giving Robinson a punch), Joey Giardello, Sugar Ray Robinson, Charlie Fusari and Artie Levine.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1917


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 1963


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Who would win....Jack Dempsey vs Joe Louis ?...well, this blow by blow radio broadcast of this fantasy fight gives one account of how it would go.
In 1967, a Miami promoter, Murray Woroner wanted to simulate a tournament (by means of a supercomputer). This tournment would have the greatest heavyweight boxers in history, fighting for the All-Time World Heavyweight Championship in fantasy fights, complete with build-up's, interviews, blow-by-blow commentary of the battles with crowd noise to complete the feeling of listening to something very authentic...for any classic boxing fan, regardless of liking fantasy fights or not, this is really worth listening to...
The first part of the broadcast was the build-up and the fight broadcast itself starts at 15 minutes in here..
..from the Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

September 14, 1923.

Fight fans gather around the bleacher entrance at the Polo Grounds, New York - waiting patiently to see the 'Bull' (Luis Angel Firpo) and the 'Tiger' (Jack Dempsey).


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"A faint trickle of blood was visible from the Tiger's mouth as he crawled to his corner..."


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> September 14, 1923.
> 
> Fight fans gather around the bleacher entrance at the Polo Grounds, New York - waiting patiently to see the 'Bull' (Luis Angel Firpo) and the 'Tiger' (Jack Dempsey).


Everyone has a hat on! The guy on the left carrying the basket are them hats in there?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jdempsey85 said:


> Everyone has a hat on! The guy on the left carrying the basket are them hats in there?


look too small for that i think :/


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He pitched to Willie Mays, played golf with Sam Snead, fought a bull in Spain and played bridge with Jacoby. Now he wanted to see how it felt to fight Archie Moore...










(Jan 1959)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Muhammad Ali v Tommy Hearns short sparring exhibition clip
The Bahamas, 1981, while Ali was in preparation for Trevor Berbick.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1969


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

@ 9.20 here...coolness personified with a wink..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 1958...unbeaten 13-0 prospect 140lb Jay Fullmer, 21 year old younger brother of former middleweight champ Gene Fullmer, stepped up in opposition and took on 147lb veteran Joe Miceli....Miceli promptly stopped young Fullmer in the 3rd round, knocking him down 3 times.
5 months later Jay's older brother got to meet Miceli in a boxing ring.....and this happened....don't blink at 1.18 here...you'll hear it if you don't see it...


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## Theron (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> @ 9.20 here...coolness personified with a wink..


That was awesome :hat


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

that is the BEST performance Turpin ever delivered, on film anyway!

but to think that Top Fighters Worldwide over 150 years of Boxing History, that might never ever be seen were lesser fighters is absolutely wrong... Boxing is more corrupt than Figure Skating, and we all know how shady that world is, LOL.

But there are far too many cases of Corruption & Protection, and far too many exposes' about Boxing's "Way", that you'd have to be foolish or too attached to recognise it's truth.

the latest being the revelations of Harry Haft, has anyone read the book?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thistle1 said:


> that is the BEST performance Turpin ever delivered, on film anyway!
> 
> but to think that Top Fighters Worldwide over 150 years of Boxing History, that might never ever be seen were lesser fighters is absolutely wrong... Boxing is more corrupt than Figure Skating, and we all know how shady that world is, LOL.
> 
> ...


i have the graphic novel on its way to me...bought a few days ago.

you talking about the mob visit in the dressing room before the marciano fight ?


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

I'm talking about ALL of Boxing History over the whole history of it, particularly in the years that I researched, 1930s, 40s & 50s. I'm talking about the dozen's of fighters I met & spoke with, I'm talking about the 70 odd Boxing Book's I read, and the HUNDREDs of Boxing Magazine's I have both owned and studied. I'm talking about all the Facts that have been reported about - Robberies, Protection, Fixing & Ownership and now we have yet 'another' exposure in Haft.

I met the fighters and insiders they told you how it works, but Thank God we've also got No End of documentation, like Archaeology unfolds the truth!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

i meant the revelations of Harry Haft part....in respect to him alone, were you talking about the mob visit in the dressing room before the marciano fight ?


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

No dougie, I haven't read his book, I've only seen recently that it is finished, I read bits n bites of the account leading up to it, including little video about it over 2 years ago or so, I would like to get a copy.

I have been familiar with Haft loosely for about10 years though.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 16, 1967. Frankfurt, Germany.

Karl Mildenberger was solidly favored to beat the rugged but crude Oscar Bonavena, and some handicappers set odds of 4 to 1 favoring the German. Bonavena, however, turned out to be much too strong for Mildenberger in the ring. Mildenberger was knocked down four times by the powerful Argentine and lost the 12 round decision by scores of 56-48, 57-53, and 57-53.










Some amazingly clear and high quality footage, considering the time period..


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

I remember seeing that fight on free tv in '67....I avidly followed ALL the fights in that tournament...it was a big deal to me as a fledgling boxing fan....I thought Oscar was waaay too strong for Mildy...and I think Karl was lucky to survive that 10th round kd...Oscar almost took his head off.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"After introducing several celebrities in the audience, the ring announcer, Freddie Russo, said in his booming voice, â€œLadieees and gentlemen, tonight we have a fifteen round fight for the Welterweight Championship of the World.â€ As is customary, he introduced the challenger first, â€œWeighing in at 145 Â½ pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger with a record of forty-five wins and six defeats, the Flame and Fury of Fleet Street, Tony Demarco!â€ The cheering was deafening and seemed never to end. When Saxton, the reigning champion was introduced, the cheering for me had not yet subsided.

Mel Manning, the referee, gave the instructions to each of us before we went back to our corners to wait for the bell. We stared at each other from our respective corners. It seemed as though our eye contact brought us closer and closer to the middle of the ring. We were both eager for the fight to start. The bell finally rang and we charged on one another, hurling leather. This was the defining moment.

Immediately I threw punches to Saxtonâ€™s head and body. I seemed to get the best of him with my body punches. The fact is that body punches donâ€™t knock you out but they have a devastating effect on your stamina. It was certainly the case with this fight. Between rounds my trainer, Sammy Fuller, told me to keep using body punches and not to let up. I continued to throw body punches at every opportunity. We went back and forth, round after round, but the body shots on Saxton were finally taking their toll. Whenever I could, I threw left hooks and continued until I could see that they were hurting Saxton. Johnny was a devastating puncher, and believe me, he was inflicting some real punishment on me, but I began to wear him down.

The excitement mounted with every round. It got to a point where Saxton and I walked to the center of the ring and just stared each other down until the bell rang to start the round. My adrenaline was off the charts, and I was throwing shots that were coming from left field. A couple of times, Mel Manning, the referee, had to come between us to make sure we didnâ€™t throw any punches before the bell rang.

For the first thirteen rounds, the fight seesawed back and forth between the two of us. At the beginning of the fourteenth round everything changed. I hit Saxton with a combination of punches ending with a vicious right that sent him to the canvas. He was hurt and the crowd went wild. Saxton struggled to his feet before the count of ten. Looking back at his condition at that point, I think it would have been better for the Champ if he hadnâ€™t tried to stand up. He was helpless and defenseless as I attacked with punch after punch.

I caught the Champ with a relentless array of left hooks and right crosses that were devastating. I hit him with a total of twenty-four consecutive punches that were right on the mark. The crowd was amazed at the amount of punishment the Champ was capable of taking. Many in the crowd shouted for the referee to stop the fight before it was too late.

After those twenty-four punches, Johnny Saxton, the champion of the world, was dead on his feet. The Champ was helpless and the referee stopped the fight. I, Tony DeMarco, Leonardo Liotta, had reached the top of the mountain. I was the new undisputed Welterweight Champion of the World. The ring announcer tried to quiet the screaming crowd with no success. His only recourse was to yell over their volume. He brought the microphone closer to his lips and shouted, â€œOne of the few undisputed champions from Boston Proper since the â€˜Boston Strong Boyâ€™ John L. Sullivan won the heavyweight crown on September 7, 1892. Ladies and gentlemen, the new Welterweight Champion of the World, Tony DeMarco!â€ "

(by Tony DeMarco)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of Benny Lynch and Nipper Hampston...

..............

There were three weeks before the match against Len Hampston of Batley at Belle Vue. Hampston, whom they nicknamed Nipper, was a bantamweight; a man with a good enough reputation to provide what the experts reckoned would be a good nightâ€™s entertainment seeing the world champion in action and, of course, winning. No one was to predict anything remotely like the outcome . . . except those really in the know.

Benny had gone on a real binge. They went to look for him but he couldnâ€™t be found. He had told his friends that if they saw any boxers looking for him not to tell them where he was. For he knew they would be after him to get him to the camp. And the camp meant sweat and torture. And worse . . . no drink. They would even raid houses where they thought he might be. Once they got close . . . he was under the bed.

It was Johnny Kelly, friend and regular sparring partner, who found him. He had never known him so drunk. And the fight with Hampston was the next night . . . in Manchester. They tried everything . . . showers and coffee; more showers. Then he went for a long sleep. Because of his state, they approached Hampston to see if he would agree to a gee fight with the promise of a return that wasnâ€™t fixed. â€œNo, lads,â€ said Hampston. â€œIt will be on merit.â€ They didnâ€™t tell Benny that they had tried to fix it for they knew he would have nothing to do with a gee fight. They had tried before. Gus Hart had tried to get him to lie down for a fight he was trying to arrange against Angelmann, whom he had already beaten, in Paris. He had exploded at the suggestion and had made it clear then that there would be no more similar suggestions put to him.

There were dubious low punches from both of them right from the start. Hampston claimed a foul for a low punch when he went down in the first round, but the referee waved them on. Hampston retaliated with a series of punches of doubtful intent. What had started out to be a boxing match had very quickly turned into a fight . . . ugly, brutal, and both men being completely uncompromising to each other.

A left hook to the body and Benny went down for eight. Another to the pit of the stomach, the stomach that could take on the full slam of the medicine ball, the ripple of midriff muscles a belt of steel. But not tonight. The exercising had tapered and the rigid muscle had softened. He was down for another eight. Then another, again in the same area. And he went down again. It was nine this time and he was in desperation when he gained his feet again. Hampston was on the rampage and only the bell ended his unstoppable attack. Nick Cavalli, the Continental agent, had been selected as his chief second for the night and he had to work hard on him in the respite. Benny was in semi-shock. He knew what was happening to him but couldnâ€™t bring himself together enough to hold off the menacing Hampston.

â€œHampston,â€ he thought. A month ago and he wouldnâ€™t have let him share the same ring for longer than two rounds. He was no Jackie Brown, let alone a Small Montana or Pat Palmer. But tonight with the condition he was in and the way he felt, it seemed like those three were there together against him.

A right to the jaw and another straight left which buried itself in his solar plexus and he was down again. Benny Lynch down! Not just once. But in every round. It couldnâ€™t be true! The crowd couldnâ€™t believe it. But it was happening. And he lay on his back, face contorted, knees bent in pain as he heard the fateful count.

â€œONE.â€ . . . 
â€œMother of God, Holy Mother of God, is this really me?â€ 
â€œTWO.â€ . . . â€œChrist, my guts must be ripped wide open . . . how can there be such pain?â€ 
â€œTHREE.â€ . . . â€œC . . h . . r . . i . . s . . t . . . suffering Christ get me out of this misery.â€ 
â€œFOUR.â€ . . . â€œHow do I get up . . . Jesus . . . get me up!â€ 
â€œFIVEâ€ . . â€œRoll round . . . yes, thatâ€™s it . . . roll round . . . lie on my belly and get up that way.â€ 
â€œSIX.â€ . . . â€œThatâ€™s it . . . on my knees now . . . can I push up once more?â€ 
â€œSEVEN.â€ . . . â€œOn one knee now . . . Iâ€™ll make it Hampston you bastard.â€ 
â€œEIGHTâ€ . . . â€œRight . . . just one more push, a hard one this time, and Iâ€™ll be able to stand.â€ 
â€œNINE.â€ . . .

The next round was the fifth. The pattern was the same and he was on his back again. The first was to nine. Hampston crowded in on him the moment the referee signalled to continue. And he was only on his feet seconds when Hampston gave him the most wicked punch of the fight, another sledgehammer to his stomach, again a punch the referee considered not fully below the belt and not a foul. Lynch plunged in a dead manâ€™s fall . . . and a man parted the ropes to jump into the ring. It was Cavalli, his second, and he was waving a towel, frantically shouting at the referee that his man had been fouled. The referee ordered him from the ring, but Cavalli bent over his charge, picked him up and carried him to his corner for treatment. The crowd was in an uproar. They thought for a minute their man was going to be deprived of the victory he had legitimately gained in this night of his greatest triumph. But Gus Platts, the referee, was in no doubts about what the outcome should be and the M.C. announced the findings. Lynch was disqualified and Hampston was the winner.

He was still in agony in the dressing room and they had to tape up his rib cage in order to ease the pain and give him support. He sat on the long bench in the room so weak and tortured he was unable to dress himself.

When they did eventually dress him they had to assist him to his feet. â€œRight, help me round to Hampstonâ€™s dressing room . . . but leave me when we get there.â€ He winced at every step, each movement jarring the big blue bruise blotches. He was uncut, as usual, but his face hurt so badly he couldnâ€™t breathe through his nose, taking short pants of air through his mouth.

Benny had gone to see Hampston to deliver a message. When he got to his dressing room door he pulled himself up and a half smile appeared on his face as though everything was normal. Hampston was surprised to see him but Benny made no move to go into the room. â€œIâ€™ll give you a return within the month,â€ he said. â€œBut Iâ€™m telling you something, Nipper. Get yourself fit. The fittest youâ€™ve ever been in your life.â€ With that, he turned and walked away. The message had been delivered.

They couldnâ€™t conceal the agony of the worst-ever night in all his boxing life. Anne was shocked when he got home to see what the punches had done. She had never realised what their bodies could be like after a fight . . . weals that reddened as though there was no skin, bordered by big bruises which were brown and a greeny blue, and a face puffed and so tender it couldnâ€™t face food that had to be chewed. He had never thought before about revenge after a fight. The ones he had lost against Paddy Docherty and some others in the early days and, more recently Jim Warnock, were fights to be avenged. And they usually were; the scorecard corrected with a victory. But against Hampston he could only think of revenge for never had a man given him such a beating. Of course it had been his own fault. No one needed to tell him that. He had only been a shell of himself on the night of the fight . . . but had a man to be so humiliated?

He lay for days in agony unable to resume training for the return match, now fixed for March 22 . . . exactly three weeks after the meeting in Manchester.

The venue this time was Leeds. They would be less partisan there. Fourteen days before the match the pains had subsided sufficiently to resume light training. Two days after that it became more intensified and for a full week prior to the date he was in full training, road miles, gym work, and sparring, the sweat rinsing the alcohol from his bloodstream.

They were pleased with him at the camp by the end of the third week. He could outrun any of them, take twenty rounds of sparring in his stride. The only imperfection had been his timing. Once it had been uncannily instinctive, his mind translating every opportunity into instant and precise action; but now there were hairsbreadth flaws in some of his connections, noticeable only to those who had known his target mastery of a year ago.

Hampston was cautious in the opening round, covering himself well and relying on the occasional opportunity which presented itself before despatching a glove. He got one explosive belter in and Bennyâ€™s face twisted in pain for it had hit him square on the belt. The referee, however, ignored it. It was in the fourth round that the pair of them fell back on the tactics of the first fight; punching viciously to any part of the body, hellbent on turning it into anything but a boxing match. Referee Jack Smith stopped the contest, brought them together to tell them, â€œRight, lads, none of that stuff with me. You know the rules. Stick to them. As for the fouling . . . cut it out. Right!â€ They understood.

An aggressive Benny took the fifth and sixth, Hampston gaining confidence to return well to go to the top of the scorecard for the next two. By the tenth Hampston was getting impatient and rushed at his opponent straight from the bell. There are several ways to combat a raging bull in the ring. You can run. Rage back. Cover up. Or keep perfectly cool and apply the ring science you have learned over the years. The first three are easy and reflex. The fourth response is the most difficult and calculated. But Benny knew it was the best tactic. And while Hampston raged and charged, Benny picked him off, bit by bit. A right to the jaw and he staggered on the ropes before collapsing on his back. Up at eight he walked into the most concentrated two-fisted barrage he had ever experienced in his entire boxing career and slowly crumpled on the floor on one knee, his right glove feeling for the canvas as he sank. He rose again, but he wished he hadnâ€™t for the left hook that hit him was like no other punch he had ever received. They would often say that a man was hit so hard it lifted him off his feet. It rarely did and a few had ever seen the metaphor in reality. But they did this night in Leeds as Hampstonâ€™s body lifted right off, his feet rising upwards before falling sharply back on the ropes where he dangled like a wet sheet on a foggy Monday ash line. Jack Smith waved â€œno moreâ€. 
Benny had his revenge.

(by John Burrowes)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 8, 1938.

Tony Canzoneri, former world lightweight champion - James J Braddock, former world's heavyweight champion - and Sixto Escabor, former bantamweight champion, watch Lou Ambers go through his training.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1989.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I often wonder what other fighters feel, and what goes through their minds when they lose," he said, placing a cup of tea on the table. "I've wanted so much to talk to another fighter about all this, to compare thoughts, to see if he feels some of the same things I've felt. But who can you talk to? Most fighters don't talk much anyway. And I can't even look another fighter in the eye at a weigh-in, for some reason.

"At the Liston weigh-in, the sports writers noticed this, and said it showed I was afraid. But that's not it. I can never look any fighter in the eye because . . . well, because we're going to fight, which isn't a nice thing, and because . . . well, once I actually did look a fighter in the eye. It was a long, long time ago. I must have been in the amateurs then. And when I looked at this fighter, I saw he had such a nice face . . . and then he looked at me . . . and smiled at me . . . and I smiled back! It was strange, very strange. When a guy can look at another guy and smile like that, I don't think they have any business fighting.

"I don't remember what happened in that fight, and I don't remember what the guy's name was. I only remember that, ever since, I have never looked another fighter in the eye."

- Floyd Patterson


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1962


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sparring partner to Mickey Walker â€" June 1927 (aged 14)

"When Mickey Walker was signed up to defend his world middleweight title against Scotsman Tommy Milligan at the Olympia on the above date the whole world of British boxing fans were agog with interest.

Jack Kearns, Walkerâ€™s manager, struck camp at Taggs Island, which was situated in the middle of the Thames river at Hampton Court. Kearns, who was the former manager of Jack Dempsey, former heavyweight champion of the world, was very businesslike and arranged what order we would spar with his present champ.

As he looked at me I could see the disappointment in his eyes, and he said, 'Youâ€™re far too light for this job.' I weighed 7st-12lb or 110lb, American method. My manager explained to him that I was engaged for my speed, not my strength. Mickey, who was talking to another of his partners, noticed that we were talking, rather excitedly came to us and on hearing the cause of the argument said, 'Okay Iâ€™ll just spar with him last to speed me up, and he better be fast.'

I sat at the ringside and watched Mickey spar two rounds each with a Malcolm Campbell, middleweight champion of Scotland and Tom Fowler, a heavyweight who had served his time as a sparring partner to most of our leading heavies. Walker, not a brilliantly clever boxer but clever just the same, with a K.O. punch in either hand, and I was his sparring partner. One of his punches could kill me. Still, I had a job to do and I intended to do it as well as I could.

While watching Mickey spar I had noticed that he would make his partner miss with their initial punch by swaying backward, and then counter [the hopelessly reaching boxer] with his right. At the first opportunity I had, I feinted with my left lead, Mickey drew back from his hips and was temporarily defenceless as I moved forward and connected with a perfect right hand punch on his jaw. Mickey stopped boxing, shook hands, patted me on the back and said, 'That was a great punch kid.'

After I had finished my training I was told that we had been booked to appear at Jimmy Butlerâ€™s boxing booth at the Welsh Harp, Hendon in the evening and that I was to stand on the front of the booth and take on all comers. I did two houses, which means I had two fights, three rounds each. Still, it brought my manager in a few shillings and saved me wasting time. I only fought two fights as there was not time for any more, as it was 10pm and the fair was closing down.

(On another occasion, as I had missed a 15 rd contest at Premierland on Sunday, my opponent Young Siki had not turned up, the Prof sent me the next day, Bank Holiday Monday, to work at a boxing booth at Lea Bridge Road. When I started work I created something of a sensation as it seemed that most of the young men in the crowd wanted to take me on as I was 15 years of age, skinny and did not look like a fighter.)

Still, the time saved me from having several more bouts. Iâ€™d had an easy day, only having sparred with the world middleweight champion and fought two opponents at a booth. I was very proud at having sparred with the worldâ€™s middleweight champion and also pleased that Mickey had pulled his punches."

- Nipper Pat Daly.

( via - http://blog.boxinghistory.org.uk/2012/11/sparring-partner-to-mickey-walker-june.html )


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 1947.

James J Jeffries, former heavyweight champion, celebrates his 72nd birthday.
He is looking at a photo of his famous fight with Tom Sharkey in 1899. Jeffries won the bout in 25 rounds.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The tap on the door came at 6 o'clock in the morning. I knew it was 6 o'clock because there was a clock on the dresser, next to a copy of the Bible, and I'd been lying in bed since 2 o'clock looking at it.

The phone had rung all night, friends from Philly and Montana and Tennessee telling me that Howard Cosell had painted Randall Cobb as some kind of a freak of nature on national television.

Yes, Randall took a pounding.

No, he didn't quit. The only other man Holmes has failed to knock out since he became champion was Trevor Berbick, butâ€"as Holmes would tell me later in the dayâ€"Berbick wasn't fighting, he was just trying to survive. "Fifteen rounds, after all the shots," Holmes would say, sounding like he was remembering it from a long time ago, "Cobb was still tryin' to win the fight. He fought me harder than anybody."

I got up off the bed and opened the door. "I knew an ambitious young businessman like yourself would be an early riser," he said, coming in. "All of us are early risers.â€ One of his eyes was swollen half shut, there were six small stitches in the lid of the other one. He sat down on the bed and looked out the window at the Astrodome. It was still raining in Houston, as far as I knew it always had been.

"Are you hurt?â€ I said. I'd walked with him back to the dressing room after the fight, but I left when he and his trainer George Benton started talking about the next one. I think a lot of George Benton, but I didn't want to hear about any more fighting then.

"It looks a lot worse than it is," he said. "I don't know why, usually it's worse than it looks. No, I'm fine, except my ears." Randall always gets an ear infection after a fight. He hit himself on the side of his head, like a kid who has been in a swimming pool.

I said, "If something comes dripping out of there I'm going to lock myself in the bathroom.â€

He smiled and looked at the television. I'd left it on, trying to sleep. It was a Kung Fu rerun, David Carradine remembering the advice of his old dime-eyed teacher on how to disarm a troop of drunk and insensitive American cavalry troops. "You must listen to the color of the sky," he said, "and see the sound of the hummingbird's wing."

"You think I need a blind trainer?" he said.

"He did have a right hand," I said, meaning Holmes.

There was a tiny, unstitched cut about an inch under his left eye, where so many of the right hands had landed, and as he spoke it leaked watery blood down his cheek. The cut must have gone all the way into a tear duct, and his face, on that side, was streaked with two long, bloody tears.

"Are you hurt?â€ I said.

He shook his head no. "It was just an advanced game of tag," he said, "and Larry won.â€

A fresh bloody tear came out of the cut underneath his eye and worked its way down his face."

(by Pete Dexter)

Howard Cosell gave up boxing after calling the fight.

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The relationship between Ali and Patterson goes back to the 1950s, when Ali was inspired by Patterson's example to dream about becoming heavyweight champ. Ali and Patterson were in each otherâ€™s company at the 1960 Rome Games, where Floyd visited the American boxing team as a former gold medalist and where Ali would win the gold medal himself as a light heavyweight. Patterson seemed to find Ali amusing."

(W.K. Stratton)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

His father threatened to lick him if he went near a boxing bout, but his mother would sneak his fighting trunks out to him so he could battle...










(article from 1917)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Middleweight champion Jake LaMotta finds himself hoisted on the shoulders of his admirers as he arrives at Grand Central Station in September 1950 after his Ring Magazine Fight of the Year with Laurent Dauthuille.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1941


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> i have the graphic novel on its way to me...bought a few days ago.


dougie any film of Haft that you know of?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thistle1 said:


> dougie any film of Haft that you know of?


not that i know of.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Sometimes I was actually just a few pounds over middleweight. I used to get a stiff neck looking up at heavyweights all the time but the lead shoes made me their weight.

â€˜Iâ€™d go to the weigh-in and the commissioner would say, â€œOK Mr Johnson, you can come over to the scales.â€™â€

Harold leapt from his bed and started shouting, â€˜Clunk, clunk, clunk,â€™ with each step around the room, walking as though it was an effort to lift his feet.

â€˜The commissioner would look at me suspiciously and say, â€œYou better take those shoes off.â€™â€™

â€˜Then Iâ€™d sneeze.â€™

With that, Harold faked a sneeze that shook his apartment windows and made me jump from my perch at the foot of the bed.

â€˜I would say that I didnâ€™t want to take my shoes off because I might catch a cold before the fight. â€œI think Iâ€™m coming down with something already,â€™â€™ he would tell officials.

â€˜Iâ€™d clunk on to the scales; the commissioner would look at me, look at the scales, look at me and look back at the scales again. Heâ€™d scratch his head and say â€œ190lb?â€ And really I was just over 170lb.

The commissioner would say, â€œOK, you can walk away now.â€™â€™

â€˜Clunk, clunk, clunk,â€™ again filled the room as Harold stepped off the make-believe scales and moved around his room.

â€˜I learned to walk up on my tip-toes so they wouldnâ€™t hear me so much,â€™ he continued.

With that, Harold tip-toed carefully, demonstrating, on his way back to sit beside me.

â€˜One time I had a guy come up to me and he said, â€œYou know Harold, you could lose this fight tonight and make very good money.â€

â€˜I didnâ€™t understand what he was talking about. I said, â€œWhat do you mean? Iâ€™m going to try to win.â€â€™

â€˜He said, â€œBut you could lose.â€â€™

â€˜I said, â€œNoooo way!â€ In a roundabout way he was telling me to throw the fight. I was scared. Back then there were some bad guys hanging around boxing. Someone wanted me to throw a fight with Archie Moore but they didnâ€™t have to. He beat me fair and square.â€™

Harold chuckled at that one.

â€˜So when you finally won the title against Doug Jones, how did you feel?â€™ â€˜I was like a kid who got what he wanted for Christmas,â€™ he enthusiastically answered. â€˜People would ask, â€œHow does it feel Mr Johnson, now youâ€™re champion?â€ And I was speechless. I was so excited I could hardly reply.

A friend had asked me to get Harold to sign a piece of 10x8 photo paper so he could scan a picture over it. I asked Harold to make his mark, adding he was under no obligation to do so. He said he would try but wasnâ€™t sure he could do it very well. I instantly regretted asking him as he struggled with the pen and scrawled across the slick paper.

With time moving swiftly and the interview becoming increasingly repetitious I asked if he would pose for some photos. A little reluctant at first, he soon warmed to the task.

â€˜Like this?â€™ he asked, standing with his hands clasped in front of his belly. â€˜How does this look?â€™ he said, changing position. â€˜Is this the type of thing?â€™ he went on, as he held his hands up in a traditional boxing pose. â€˜Yes, Harold. Yes, thatâ€™s great.â€™ â€˜One more like that?â€™ I asked. â€˜How about a jab,â€™ he offered, prodding out his once meticulous left. â€˜Good,â€™ I said, encouragingly. â€˜And follow it through with a right hand.â€™ He was getting into it, smiling, and then he suddenly stopped and looked at me.

â€˜You came all the way from England to see me?â€™ â€˜Yes, Harold, you were a great champion. Of course.â€™ â€˜Thank you,â€™ he said. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry I might not be how you wanted me to be. I hope you havenâ€™t been disappointed,â€™ he said softly, as we sat back on the bed. â€˜Donâ€™t say that, Harold. Iâ€™m privileged to meet you.â€™ â€˜But look at me,â€™ he said. â€˜Harold, youâ€™re brilliant. I canâ€™t believe youâ€™re in such good shape.â€™ â€˜Really?â€™ he said, looking up hopefully.

â€˜Are you sure you have to go?â€™ he asked, as I gathered my things. â€˜Yes, I must.â€™ He thanked me again and crushed my hand once more. I promised we would stay in touch and he watched me walk back down the long, dark corridor towards the lift. I turned and waved, then heard the door close.

(Tris Dixon)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

God Bless Harold Johnson....great article..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Joe Frazier, pictured in his dressing room after defeating Muhammad Ali on March 8, 1971


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> "Sometimes I was actually just a few pounds over middleweight. I used to get a stiff neck looking up at heavyweights all the time but the lead shoes made me their weight.
> 
> â€˜Iâ€™d go to the weigh-in and the commissioner would say, â€œOK Mr Johnson, you can come over to the scales.â€™â€
> 
> ...


That books on my Christmas list.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

October 1937.

At Shawfield Park (Glasgow, Scotland), capacity packed with 40,000 and thousands more unable to get in, it was vintage boxing, the likes of which a man would see, if he was lucky that was, only once in a lifetime.

It was Peter Kane at his greatest - unbeaten in 42 professional fights - and Benny Lynch at his pinnacle - and the best man won.

Peter Kane was a youngster of nineteen and had been a pro since he was sixteen - although he had been fighting long before that as a youth in the booths around the market towns of the North of England. Some scoffed at the idea of such a young fellow taking on the likes of Lynch. Nevertheless, Kane was unbeaten.

The English were convinced he was their answer to Benny Lynch.

Tommy Farr said it was the best fight of any weight he had ever seen. Elky Clark, former British flyweight champion, rated it the greatest flyweight match of boxing history. And Victor McLaglen, the former heavyweight boxer turned sucessful actor, picked him up in his arms to announce to everyone that he was holding the Jack Dempsey of the small men. â€œOh boy, what a fight,â€ he said. In his commissioned report of the fight he enthused even more...

"Itâ€™s the most exciting fight of its weight I have ever seen and although Kane was the aggressor until about the ninth round, Lynch seemed to have his measure all the time. . . . You would notice that Kaneâ€™s punches had little effect on your boy who seemed as fresh as paint after the fight. Indeed, I was surprised when I met him in Mr Russell Morelandâ€™s office afterwards to see how little bruised he was. How Kane weathered the twelfth round I donâ€™t know. Lynch had him at his mercy . . . it wasnâ€™t a knock out in the accepted sense. Kane was too weak to get up in the thirteenth . . . the gamest loser I have ever seen. And what a clean, fair fight it was. If you can promise me another fight as thrilling and sporting as this one then, boy, Iâ€™m certainly coming back to Scotland."

No one ever offered that promise.

And there never was another fight like that night at Shawfield Park, although other Scots were to win world titles. It was the fight men were to speak about for the rest of their lives. It was the fight the fifty-bob fighters, the men who knew and suffered their industry, said they never thought they would see the likes of, for they never thought two men could fight like that. Some of them had seen Jimmy Wilde. But no one had ever produced what they said was the ultimate in the sporting science called pugilism that Benny Lynch produced that night.

(by John Burrowes)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

interesting article on the history, questionable validity and demise of _"the Ring Magazine"..._

After an association of nearly 35 years with The Ring, Nigel Collins has been fired as editor-in-chief of the magazine by Golden Boy Promotions. (This news was originally reported by Eric Raskin and William Dettloff on their Ring Theory podcast. The Cruelest Sport followed the story via their respective Twitter accounts.) The Ring office in Pennsylvania has been shut down and the operation will now move to Los Angeles, where GBP has its corporate headquarters. Doug Fischer, currently co-editor of RingTV.com, will take over the magazine, and its new direction is a troubling detour on the way to who knows where.

Although it has been considered an institution since 1922, it should be noted that the sanctity of The Ring has been-and always was-largely overstated. Its first ratings were compiled by a promoter (Tex Rickard) and throughout the years, The Ring employed managers, agents, and publicists as writers (including Bill Miller, Eddie Borden and Jersey Jones).

Nat Fleischer himself often had a "see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing" approach to a profession that doubled as the playground of the underworld. Obvious hoaxes like the Fox-LaMotta and Saxton-Gavilan fights were defended as legitimate contests in The Ring, and his friendship with the leading promoter of the day, Mike Jacobs, apparently involved willfully ignoring the fact that Frankie Carbo pulled enough strings on Jacobs to make "Uncle Mike's" dentures rattle. You would never know by reading The Ring that Frankie Carbo, Legs Diamond, Owney "The Killer" Madden, Waxey Gordon, Al Capone, Mickey Cohen, Champ Segal, and Dutch Schultz all owned pieces of prizefighters in those days. Fleischer also judged and refereed several bouts, as blatant a conflict of interest as can be imagined.

By the mid-1960s, The Ring was an abysmal bore, written in a style more appropriate for a fin de siecle issue of the Pall Mall Gazette. Victorian prose battled with Victorian mores during the turbulent "Summer of Love" era-where you could still read about "*******" in The Ring-and when the 1970s sputtered into view, the magazine symbolically mirrored the decade-it was running on empty. Then came the ABC/U.S. Championships scandal-with an outsized cast of characters, including convicted murderer Don King, amoral Al Braverman, foul-mouthed Paddy Flood, unscrupulous Johnny Ort, doddering Nat Loubet, and neurotic Mark Kram-and The Ring appeared to be down for the count for good. Enter Bert Sugar in 1979, with Dave DeBusschere in tow as an investor, and perhaps the greatest run in boxing magazine history began.

Sugar may have published the work of Dave Anderson, Barney Nagler, Red Smith, Vic Ziegel, Michael Katz, Bob Waters, W.C. Heinz, Jerry Izenberg, A.J. Leibling, Bill Gallo and Jack Fiske, but he nearly ran the magazine into the ground with an accounting system based, apparently, on the principles of 52 Pick-up.

In the late 1980s, with Sugar long gone, The Ring suffered its final ethical asterisk-an understandable one, at that-when Jim Jacobs, an active manager, bailed out The Ring and paid some outstanding IRS bills on behalf of the magazine. Still, The Ring floundered and nearly closed shop until Stanley Weston bought it in 1989 and made it respectable again under the editorial oversight of Steve Farhood and Jeff Ryan. Then 2007 rolled around and Golden Boy Promotions took over to great fanfare and alarm.

The Ring had been going downhill steadily over the last few months, with round card girls being interviewed and photos of fans posing with fighters being printed-certainly not in keeping with the staid editorial hand of Nigel Collins. In addition, the presence of a few internet writers of varying quality also seemed odd, as if Collins was looking for some cyberspace synergy to boost sales. Still, Collins took his role as unofficial curator of boxing history seriously, and, by all accounts, is a man of integrity, not something that can be said of many involved in boxing.

Most likely, money is the underlying issue behind this consolidation and not some nefarious plot hatched by Richard Schaefer or Oscar De La Hoya. After all, renting office space in Pennsylvania when De La Hoya owns an entire building in Los Angeles is just bad business. But if GBP personnel were actively trying to shape editorial policy, then the scenario that was implicit when Golden Boy purchased The Ring is now sadly explicit.

As for Fischer, he is a veteran internet writer of inconsistent quality whose work has been marred for years by snarkiness, arrogance, condescension, narcissism, and the thrown-together-quickly quality of what passes for writing these days on screen monitors and smart phones all over the world. In other words, not much separates him from the average blogger. And much of his work since joining RingTV has been, without question, shilling for Golden Boy Promotions, but who can say that paper-and the hallowed reputation of The Ring-won't bring out qualities in Fischer that cyberspace could not? Whether or not loyal readers of the magazine stick around long enough to find out is another question altogether.

There has already been a certain amount of handwringing over the future of The Ring ratings, which is somewhat silly, since any ratings system is ultimately subjective, and the insistence that The Ring ratings are superior to any other is a specious argument, since fights are made largely under the wacko auspices of sanctioning bodies and box office potential-or its second cousin, television licensing fees.

What really matters is that The Ring was an "adult" magazine, and often focused on some of the medical, moral, criminal, economical, and historical aspects of the sport. Boxing is the most serious of all sports-death, pain, morality, corruption, disease, voodoo economics-these concepts are inherent in nearly every bout, but you would never know that reading most contemporary boxing coverage, whose main focus appears to be Fantasy League gibberish and the omnipresent "I." Possibly losing the kind of gravitas The Ring specialized in over the years would be no laughing matter. Or is that LOL?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

thats great reading ^^


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Kid Graves v Harry Greb -


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1983.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> 1983.


All these years and I never knew that there was a Rocky Jr.I was aware that he had a daughter,but not a son.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> All these years and I never knew that there was a Rocky Jr.I was aware that he had a daughter,but not a son.


adopted.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> adopted.


Ahhhh,...ok.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

August 2, 1980

Aaron Pryor vs. Antonio Cervantes

As the fighters awaited the opening bell they presented a study in contrasts. The 24-year-old Pryor couldnâ€™t stand still. Keyed up and ready to go, he danced about the ring, shadow boxing and flexing his muscles and glaring at Cervantes. Meanwhile the champion sat slumped on his stool like a man patiently waiting for the next bus. A veteran of well over a hundred bouts, this appeared to be just another day at the office for â€œKid Pambele,â€ his facial expression and body language that of someone ready for a dip in the hot-tub, not a world championship fight. Or maybe it was that of a ring-worn veteran who was ripe for the taking.

Columbiaâ€™s Antonio Cervantes was something of a mysterious figure to U.S. boxing fans. Despite the fact he had been a world champion for most of the preceding eight years, had dominated the super-lightweight division, and was a living legend in his native Columbia, his face and name were little known, most of his fights taking place in Venezuela and Panama. Another mystery was his age. He insisted he was 34, but he looked older; it was whispered he was past 40. And while he had won 13 straight since losing to the gifted Wilfred Benitez back in 1976, he was a decided underdog going into his defense against Pryor.

But the real mystery was why he was here in the first place, why he had agreed to do what so many would not: take on Aaron â€œThe Hawkâ€ Pryor, in his hometown, no less. But whatever back room deals may have been involved, Pryor finally had a title shot and an appearance on national television.

Pryor had been laying waste to the lightweight division, setting a breakneck pace to compliment his swarming, all-action style. In less than three years he racked up 19 straight wins, all but two by knockout. He was still â€œAaron Who?â€ outside of his native Cincinnati, but the top contenders in the lightweight division were definitely aware of both his presence and his reputation for being a very dangerous individual.

Broadcast live on CBS, Pryor vs. Cervantes followed the timeless script of the proud, old king versus the young upstart in search of glory. At the bell, â€œThe Hawkâ€ tore after the champion, chasing him about the ring and firing a non-stop barrage of leather. Cervantes appeared briefly perplexed by the challengerâ€™s aggression and the absence of any â€œfeeling outâ€ process but soon enough began to find openings for counter shots. Displaying admirable grace under pressure, the champion connected with counter left hooks as Pryor kept barreling in, a veritable buzzsaw, though he landed relatively few effective blows. Setting a whirlwind pace, he forced Cervantes into the ropes again and again but then, with seconds left in the round, a short counter hook followed by a right hand put Pryor down briefly on one knee. Round one to the champion.

The torrid pace continued in the second in what was clearly a contest between youthful exuberance and veteran ring-smarts. Cervantes repeatedly got home with clean punches as Pryorâ€™s brazen attack left him wide open for counter shots, but it was the champion who appeared hurt near the end of the round this time, as Pryor landed two hard right hands. Returning to his corner at the bell, Cervantes could be seen gulping air, the pace already affecting his stamina.

With his cornermen shouting at Pryor to â€œGo get that old man!â€ he started the third with two more powerful rights as he worked to take full control of the battle. Seconds later a series of right hands put Cervantes on the run and opened a deep gash over his right eye. The champion scored with solid counters but the punches had no effect on the constantly charging Pryor. Like a shark, the sight of his quarryâ€™s blood drove the challenger to attack with even more intensity, his unceasing assault driving a bewildered Cervantes from one side of the ring to the other. His legs already unsteady, he clinched and held to survive the round.

To his credit, the champion never gave up. Hurt, tired and bleeding, he fought back as Pryor went for the kill in the fourth. His counter punches kept landing on Pryor but they were like small pebbles thrown at a tank; they had no effect and the challenger just kept driving forward. Backing Cervantes into his own corner, Pryor unloaded with right hands. The champion, overwhelmed, tried to clinch but â€œThe Hawkâ€ shrugged him off and kept firing until a crushing overhand right landed flush on Cervantesâ€™ chin and dropped him. The old king gallantly tried to rise but could not. The long championship run of â€œKid Pambeleâ€ had come to a sudden end.

(by Michael Carbert)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec 10, 1966.

"Horacio Accavallo of Argentina, his right eye swollen shut and his face masked in blood, kept his world flyweight championship Saturday night with a unanimous 15 round decision over Efren (Alacran) Torres of Mexico. The fight, looking much like a street brawl most of the way, kept 25,000 fans howling in Luna Park, the big downtown sports stadium. The 32 year old champion survived a 6th round knockdown from one of Torres murderous right crosses and from the 4th round on kept wiping and blinking blood from his right eye. With the bout just about even after 10 rounds, Accavallo really salted the fight away in the 12th and 13th rounds. He captured the 12th by a big margin with a series of flurries that tore Torres' right ear lobe and reopened a cut under the Mexican's left eye. In the 15th Accavallo expertly flurried in the final minutes."

-Associated Press


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

I apologise for repeating the merits of this thread, it's fantastic. From a hardcore boxing fan to a casual to a youngster keen to find things out...there's something for everyone on here.

Long live @doug.ie


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

What made Mickey Walker different from the norm was that he couldnâ€™t do things within the boundary of a set timetable. For Mickey, the difference between day and night needed to be blurred. Time and timepieces were of scant importance to him.

Manager Jack Kearns made this discovery when he got it into his head that a more regimented training regime would work wonders for Walker and push him to greater heights. Jack got his great idea at Madame Beyâ€™s camp while Mickey was preparing for a fight with King Levinsky. Trainer Teddy Hayes, much more knowing in such matters, was out west on other business and blissfully unaware of this potentially fatal change to Walkerâ€™s civilised routine. Kearnsâ€™ fanciful notion was at once doomed to failure. It gave Mickey the collywobbles and upset his entire system.

Jack wanted him to cut down on the booze, eschew sweet and fatty foods and go for long runs at the crack of dawn. The great plan quickly bombed. The clincher, the one rule that gave Walker the shudders more than any other, was that he had to go to bed early.

As hard as he tried, Mickey simply couldnâ€™t persist with what he regarded as the sacrilegious act of retiring to his bed on the same day he got out of it.

(by Mike Casey)

enhanced photo courtesy of @Theron -


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In the small room is a large bed he makes up himself, several record albums he rarely plays, a telephone that seldom rings. The larger room has a kitchen on one side and, on the other, adjacent to a sofa, is a fireplace from which are hung boxing trunks and T-shirts to dry, and a photograph of him when he was the champion, and also a television set. The set is usually on except when Patterson is sleeping, or when he is sparring across the road inside the clubhouse (the ring is rigged over what was once the dance floor), or when, in a rare moment of painful honesty, he reveals to a visitor what it is like to be the loser.

"Oh, I would give up anything to just be able to work with Liston, to box with him somewhere where nobody would see us, and to see if I could get past three minutes with him," Patterson was saying, wiping his face with the towel, pacing slowly around the room near the sofa. "I know I can do better. . . . Oh, I'm not talking about a rematch. Who would pay a nickel for another Patterson-Liston fight? I know I wouldn't. . . . But all I want to do is get past the first round."

Then he said, "You have no idea how it is in the first round. You're out there with all those people around you, and those cameras, and the whole world looking in, and all that movement, that excitement, and 'The Star-Spangled Banner,' and the whole nation hoping you'll win, including the President. And do you know what all this does? It blinds you, just blinds you. And then the bell rings, and you go at Liston and he's coming at you, and you're not even aware that there's a referee in the ring with you.

". . . Then you can't remember much of the rest, because you don't want to. . . . All you recall is, all of a sudden you're getting up, and the referee is saying, 'You all right?' and you say, 'Of course I'm all right,' and he says, 'What's your name?' and you say, 'Patterson.'

"And then, suddenly, with all this screaming around you, you're down again, and you know you have to get up, but you're extremely groggy, and the referee is pushing you back, and your trainer is in there with a towel, and people are all standing up, and your eyes focus directly at no one personâ€"you're sort of floating.

"It is not a bad feeling when you're knocked out," he said. "It's a good feeling, actually. It's not painful, just a sharp grogginess. You don't see angels or start; you're on a pleasant cloud. After Liston hit me in Nevada, I felt, for about four or five seconds, that everybody in the arena was actually in the ring with me, circled around me like a family, and you feel warmth toward all the people in the arena after you're knocked out. You feel lovable to all the people. And you want to reach out and kiss everybodyâ€"men and womenâ€"and after the Liston fight, somebody told me I actually blew a kiss to the crowd from the ring. I don't remember that. But I guess it's true because that's the way you feel during the four or five seconds after a knockout. . . .
"But then," Patterson went on, still pacing, "this good feeling leaves you. You realize where you are, and what you're doing there, and what has just happened to you. And what follows is a hurt, a confused hurtâ€"not a physical hurtâ€"it's a hurt combined with anger; it's a what-will-people-think hurt; it's an ashamed-of-my-own-ability hurt. . . . And all you want then is a hatch door in the middle of the ringâ€"a hatch door that will open and let you fall through and land in your dressing room instead of having to get out of the ring and face those people. The worst thing about losing is having to walk out of the ring and face those people. . . ."

Then he walked over to the stove and put on the kettle for tea.

(by Gay Talese - 1964)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

January 1945.

Robert Earl is flattened by a young Johnny Bratton in Chicago Stadium. Earl got up to continue fight until his seconds ended the bout.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

August 1952.

"He (Walcott) is, of course, a far better boxer than Rocky, who still is a virtual beginner in that phase of his career, and he can hit like a ton of bricks when an opening comes. Also, he can take a punch.....It all adds up, as the wise money sees it, to a fairly easy victory for the old pappy guy.."

(Associated Press)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> In the small room is a large bed he makes up himself, several record albums he rarely plays, a telephone that seldom rings. The larger room has a kitchen on one side and, on the other, adjacent to a sofa, is a fireplace from which are hung boxing trunks and T-shirts to dry, and a photograph of him when he was the champion, and also a television set. The set is usually on except when Patterson is sleeping, or when he is sparring across the road inside the clubhouse (the ring is rigged over what was once the dance floor), or when, in a rare moment of painful honesty, he reveals to a visitor what it is like to be the loser.
> 
> "Oh, I would give up anything to just be able to work with Liston, to box with him somewhere where nobody would see us, and to see if I could get past three minutes with him," Patterson was saying, wiping his face with the towel, pacing slowly around the room near the sofa. "I know I can do better. . . . Oh, I'm not talking about a rematch. Who would pay a nickel for another Patterson-Liston fight? I know I wouldn't. . . . But all I want to do is get past the first round."
> 
> ...


Floyd Patterson fascinates me...I mean, I'm a huge fan of his as a fighter, but I love to read stuff about him...when he reveals things such as this...if you have any more doug,ie, please post them.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Floyd Patterson fascinates me...I mean, I'm a huge fan of his as a fighter, but I love to read stuff about him...when he reveals things such as this...if you have any more doug,ie, please post them.


ok...some more from that article for you brother...

................................

"I often wonder what other fighters feel, and what goes through their minds when they lose," Patterson said, placing the cups of tea on the table. "I've wanted so much to talk to another fighter about all this, to compare thoughts, to see if he feels some of the same things I've felt. But who can you talk to? Most fighters don't talk much anyway. And I can't even look another fighter in the eye at a weigh-in, for some reason.

"At the Liston weigh-in, the sports writers noticed this, and said it showed I was afraid. But that's not it. I can never look any fighter in the eye because . . . well, because we're going to fight, which isn't a nice thing, and because . . . well, once I actually did look a fighter in the eye. It was a long, long time ago. I must have been in the amateurs then. And when I looked at this fighter, I saw he had such a nice face . . . and then he looked at me . . . and smiled at me . . . and I smiled back! It was strange, very strange. When a guy can look at another guy and smile like that, I don't think they have any business fighting.

"I don't remember what happened in that fight, and I don't remember what the guy's name was. I only remember that, ever since, I have never looked another fighter in the eye."

The telephone rang in the bedroom. Patterson got up to answer it. It was his wife, Sandra. So he excused himself, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Sandra Patterson and their four children live in a $100,000 home in an upper-middle-class white neighborhood in Scarsdale, New York. Floyd Patterson feels uncomfortable in this home surrounded by a manicured lawn and stuffed with furniture, and, since losing his title to Liston, he has preferred living full time at his camp, which his children have come to know as "Daddy's house." The children, the eldest of whom is a daughter named Jeannie now seven years old, do not know exactly what their father does for a living. But Jeannie, who watched the last Liston-Patterson fight on closed-circuit television, accepted the explanation that her father performs in a kind of game where the men take turns pushing one another down; he had his turn pushing them down, and now it is their turn.

The bedroom door opened again, and Floyd Patterson shaking his head, was very angry and nervous.

"I'm not going to work out today," he said. "I'm going to fly down to Scarsdale. These boys are picking on Jeannie again. She's the only ***** in this school, and the older kids give her a rough time, and some of the older boys tease her and lift up her dress all the time. Yesterday she went home crying, and so today I'm going down there and plan to wait outside the school for those boys to come out, and . . ."

"How old are they?" he was asked.

"Teen-agers," he said. "Old enough for a left hook."

Patterson telephoned his pilot friend, Ted Hanson, who stays at the camp and does public-relations work for him, and has helped teach Patterson to fly. Five minutes later Hanson, a lean white man with a crew cut and glasses, was knocking on the door; and 10 minutes later both were in the car that Patterson was driving almost recklessly over the narrow, winding country roads toward the airport, about six miles from the camp.

"Sandra is afraid I'll cause trouble; she's worried about what I'll do to those boys, she doesn't want trouble!" Patterson snapped, swerving around a hill and giving his car more gas. "She's just not firm enough! She's afraid . . . she was afraid to tell me about that groceryman who's been making passes at her. It took her a long time before she told me about that dishwasher repairman who comes over and calls her 'baby.' They all know I'm away so much. And that dishwasher repairman has been to my home about four five times this month already. That machine breaks down every week. I guess he fixes it so it breaks down every week. Last time, I laid a trap. I waited forty-five minutes for him to come, but then he didn't show up. I was going to grab him and say, 'How would you like it If I called your wife baby? You'd feel like punching me in the nose, wouldn't you? Well, that's what I'm going to doâ€"if you ever call her baby again. You call her Mrs. Patterson; or Sandra, if you know her. But you don't know her, so call her Mrs. Patterson.' And then I told Sandra that these men, this type of white man, he just wants to have some fun with colored women. He'll never marry a colored woman, just wants to have some fun. . . ."

Now he was driving into the airport's parking lot. Directly ahead, roped to the grass airstrip, was the single-engine green Cessna that Patterson bought and learned to fly before the second Liston fight. Flying was a thing Patterson had always fearedâ€"a fear shared, maybe inherited from, his manager, Cus D'Amato, who still will not fly.

D'Amato, who took over training Patterson when the fighter was 17 or 18 years old and exerted a tremendous influence over his psyche, is a strange but fascinating man of 56 who is addicted to Spartanism and self-denial and is possessed by suspicion and fear; he avoids subways because he fears someone might push him onto the tracks; never has married; never reveals his home address.

"I must keep my enemies confused," D'Amato once explained. "When they are confused, then I can do a job for my fighters. What I do not want in life, however, is a sense of security; the moment a person knows security, his senses are dulledâ€"and he begins to die. I also do not want many pleasures in life; I believe the more pleasure you get out of living, the more fear you have of dying."

Until a few years ago, D'Amato did most of Patterson's talking, and ran things like an Italian padrone. But later Patterson, the maturing son, rebelled against the Father Image. After losing to Sonny Liston the first timeâ€"a fight D'Amato had urged Patterson to resistâ€"Patterson took flying lessons. And before the second Liston fight, Patterson had conquered his fear of height, was master at the controls, was filled with renewed confidenceâ€"and knew, too, that, even if he lost, he at least possessed a vehicle that could get him out of town fast.

But it didn't. After the fight, the little Cessna, weighed down by too much luggage, became overheated 90 miles outside of Las Vegas. Patterson and his pilot companion, having no choice but to turn back, radioed the airfield and arranged for the rental of a larger plane. When they landed, the Vegas air terminal was filled with people leaving town after the fight. Patterson hid in the shadow behind a hangar. His beard was packed in the trunk. But nobody saw him.

Later the pilot flew Patterson's Cessna back to New York alone. And Patterson flew in the larger, rented plane. He was accompanied on this flight by Hanson, a friendly, 42-year-old, thrice divorced Nevadan who once was a crop duster, a bartender and a cabaret hoofer; later he became a pilot instructor in Las Vegas, and it was there that he met Patterson. The two became good friends. And when Patterson asked Hanson to help fly the rented plane back to New York, Hanson did not hesitate, even though he had a slight hangover that nightâ€"partly due to being depressed by Liston's victory, partly due to being slugged in a bar by a drunk after objecting to some unflattering things the drunk had said about the fight.

Once in the airplane, however, Ted Hanson became very alert; He had to, because, after the plane had cruised a while at 10,000 feet, Floyd Patterson's mind seemed to wander back to the ring, and the plane would drift off course, and Hanson would say, "Floyd, Floyd, how's about getting back on course?" and then Patterson's head would snap up and his eyes would flash toward the dials. And everything would be all right for a while. But then he was back in the arena, reliving the fight, hardly believing that it had really happened. . . .

"... And I kept thinking, as I flew out of Vegas that night, of all those months of training before the fight, all the roadwork, all the sparring, all the months away from Sandra. . . . thinking of the time in camp when I wanted to stay up until eleven-fifteen P.M. to watch a certain movie on "The Late Show." But I didn't because I had roadwork the next morning. . . .

"... And I was thinking about how good I'd felt before the fight, as I lay on the table in the dressing room. I remember thinking, 'You're in excellent physical condition, you're in good mental conditionâ€"but are you vicious?' But you tell yourself, 'Viciousness is not important now, don't think about it now; a championship fight's at stake, and that's important enough and, who knows? maybe you'll get vicious once the bell rings.'

"... And so you lay there trying to get a little sleep . . . but you're only in a twilight zone, half asleep, and you're interrupted every once in a while by voices out in the hall, some guy's yelling 'Hey, Jack,' or 'Hey, Al,' or 'Hey, get those four-rounders into the ring.' And when you hear that, you think, They're not ready for you yet. So you lay there . . . and wonder, Where will I be tomorrow? Where will I be three hours from now? Oh, you think all kinds of thoughts, some thoughts completely unrelated to the fight . . . you wonder whether you ever paid your mother-in-law back for all those stamps she bought a year ago . . . and you remember that time at two A.M. when Sandra tripped on the steps while bringing a bottle up to the baby . . . and then you get mad and ask: What am I thinking about these things for? . . . and you try to sleep . . . but then the door opens and somebody says to somebody else, 'Hey, is somebody gonna go to Liston's dressing room to watch 'em bandage up?'

"... And so then you know it's about time to get ready. . . . You open your eyes. You get off the table. You glove up, you loosen up. Then Liston's trainer walks in. He looks at you, he smiles. He feels the bandages and later he says, 'Good luck, Floyd,' and you think, He didn't have to say that, he must be a nice guy.

". . . And then you go out, and it's the long walk, always a long walk, and you think, What am I gonna be when I come back this way? Then you climb into the ring. You notice Billy Eckstine at ringside leaning over to talk to somebody, and you see the reportersâ€"some you like, some you don't likeâ€"and then it's 'The Star-Spangled Banner,' and the cameras are rolling, and the bell rings. . . .

"... How could the same thing happen twice? How? That's all I kept thinking after the knockout. . . . Was I fooling these people all these years? . . . Was I ever the champion? . . . And then they lead you out of the ring . . . and up the aisle you go, past those people, and all you want is to get to your dressing room, fast . . . but the trouble was in Las Vegas they made a wrong turn along the aisle, and when we got to the end, there was no dressing room there . . . and we had to walk all the way back down the aisle, past the same people, and they must have been thinking, Patterson's not only knocked out, but he can't even find his dressing room. . . .

"... In the dressing room I had a headache. Liston didn't hurt me physicallyâ€"a few days later I only felt a twitching nerve in my teethâ€"it was nothing like some fights I've had: like that Dick Wagner fight in '53 when he beat my body so bad I was urinating blood for days. After the Liston fight, I just went into the bathroom, shut the door behind me and looked at myself in the mirror. I just looked at myself, and asked, What happened? and then they started pounding on the door, and saying 'Com'on out, Floyd, Com'on out; the press is here, Gus is here, com'on out, Floyd. . . ."

"... And so I went out, and they asked questions, but what can you say? What you're thinking about is all those months of training, all the conditioning, all the depriving; and you think, I didn't have to run that extra mile, didn't have to spar that day, I could have stayed up that night in camp and watched 'The Late Show'. . . . I could have fought this fight tonight in no condition. . . ."

"Floyd, Floyd," Hanson had said, "let's get back on course. . . ."

Again Patterson would snap out of his reverie, and refocus on the omniscope, and get his flying under control. After landing in New Mexico, and then in Ohio, Floyd Patterson and Ted Hanson brought the little plane into the New York airstrip near the fight camp. The green Cessna that had been flown back by the other pilot was already there, roped to the grass at precisely the same spot it was on this day five months later when Floyd Patterson was planning to fly it toward perhaps another fightâ€"this time a fight with some schoolboys in Scarsdale who had been lifting up his little daughter's dress.

Patterson and Ted Hanson untied the plane, and Patterson got a rag and wiped from the windshield the splotches of insects. Then he walked around behind the plane, inspected the tail, checked under the fuselage, then peered down between the wing and the flaps to make sure all the screws were tight. He seemed suspicious of something. D'Amato would have been pleased.

"If a guy wants to get rid of you," Patterson explained, "all he has to do is remove these little screws here. Then, when you try to come in for a landing, the flaps fall off, and you crash."

Then Patterson got into the cockpit and started the engine. A few moments later, with Hanson beside him, Patterson was racing the little plane over the grassy field, then soaring over the weeds, then flying high above the gentle hills and trees. It was a nice takeoff.

Since it was only a 40-minute flight to the Westchester airport, where Sandra Patterson would be waiting with a car, Floyd Patterson did all the flying. The trip was uneventful until, suddenly behind a cloud, he flew into heavy smoke that hovered above a forest fire. His visibility gone, he was forced to the instruments. And at this precise moment, a fly that had been buzzing in the back of the cockpit flew up front and landed on the instrument panel in front of Patterson. He glared at the fly, watched it crawl slowly up the windshield, then shot a quick smash with his palm against the glass. He missed. The fly buzzed safely past Patterson's ear, bounced off the back of the cockpit, circled around.

"This smoke won't keep up," Hanson assured. "You can level off."

Patterson leveled off.

He flew easily for a few moments. Then the fly buzzed to the front again, zigzagging before Patterson's face, landed on the panel and proceeded to crawl across it. Patterson watched it, squinted. Then he slammed down at it with a quick right hand. Missed.

Ten minutes later, his nerves still on edge, Patterson began the descent. He picked up the radio microphoneâ€""Westchester tower . . . Cessna 2729 uniform . . . three miles northwest . . . land in one-six on final . . ." â€"and then, after an easy landing, he climbed quickly out of the cockpit and strode toward his wife's station wagon outside the terminal.

But along the way a small man smoking a cigar turned toward Patterson, waved at him and said, "Say, excuse me, but aren't you . . . aren't you . . . Sonny Liston?"

Patterson stopped. He glared at the man, bewildered. He wasn't sure whether it was a joke or an insult, and he really did not know what to do.

"Aren't you Sonny Liston?" the man repeated, quite serious.

"No," Patterson said, quickly passing by the man. "I'm his brother."

When he reached Mrs. Patterson's car, he asked, "How much time till school lets out?"

"About fifteen minutes," she said, starting up the engine. Then she said, "Oh, Floyd, I just should have told Sister, I shouldn't have. . ."

"You tell Sister; I'll tell the boys. . . ."

Mrs. Patterson drove as quickly as she could into Scarsdale, with Patterson shaking his head and telling Ted Hanson in the back, "Really can't understand these school kids. This is a religious school, and they want $20,000 for a glass windowâ€"and yet, some of them carry these racial prejudices, and it's mostly the Jews who are shoulder to shoulder with us, and . . ."

"Oh, Floyd," cried his wife, "Floyd, I have to get along here . . . you're not here, you don't live here, I . . ."

She arrived at the school just as the bell began to ring. It was a modern building at the top of a hill, and on the lawn was the statue of a saint and, behind it, a large white cross. "There's Jeannie," said Mrs. Patterson.

"Hurry, call her over here," Patterson said.

"Jeannie! Come over here, honey."

The little girl, wearing a blue school uniform and cap, and clasping books in front of her, came running down the path toward the station wagon.

"Jeannie," Floyd Patterson said, rolling down his window, "point out the boys who lifted your dress."

Jeannie turned and watched as several students came down the path; then she pointed to a tall, thin, curly-haired boy walking with four other boys, all about 12 to 14 years of age.

"Hey," Patterson called to him, "can I see you for a minute?"

All five boys came to the side of the car. They looked Patterson directly in the eye. They seemed not at all intimidated by him.

"You the one that's been lifting up my daughter's dress?" Patterson asked the boy who had been singled out.

"Nope," the boy said, casually.

"Nope?" Patterson said, caught off guard by the reply.

"Wasn't him, Mister," said another boy. "Probably was his little brother."

Patterson looked at Jeannie. But she was speechless, uncertain. The five boys remained there, waiting for Patterson to do something.

"Well, er, where's your little brother?" Patterson asked.

"Hey, kid!" one of the boys yelled. "Come over here."

A boy walked toward them. He resembled his older brother; he had freckles on his small, upturned nose, had blue eyes, dark curly hair and, as he approached the station wagon, he seemed equally unintimidated by Patterson.

"You been lifting up my daughter's dress?"

"Nope," the boy said.

"Nope!" Patterson repeated, frustrated.

"Nope, I wasn't lifting it. I was just touching it a little . . ."

The other boys stood around the car looking down at Patterson, and other students crowded behind them, and nearby Patterson saw several white parents standing next to their parked cars; he became self-conscious, began to tap nervously with his fingers against the dashboard. He could not raise his voice without creating an unpleasant scene, yet he could not retreat gracefully; so his voice went soft, and he said, finally:

"Look, boy, I want you to stop it. I won't tell your motherâ€"that might get you in troubleâ€"but don't do it again, okay?"

"Okay."

The boys calmly turned and walked, in a group, up the street. Sandra Patterson said nothing. Jeannie opened the door, sat in the front seat next to her father, and took out a small blue piece of paper that a nun had given her and handed it across to Mrs. Patterson. But Floyd Patterson snatched it. He read it. Then he paused, put the paper down, and quietly announced, dragging out the words, "She didn't do her religion. . . ."

Patterson now wanted to get out of Scarsdale. He wanted to return to camp. After stopping at the Patterson home in Scarsdale and picking up Floyd Patterson, Jr., who is three, Mrs. Patterson drove them all back to the airport. Jeannie and Floyd, Jr., were seated in the back of the plane, and then Mrs. Patterson drove the station wagon alone up to camp, planning to return to Scarsdale that evening with the children.

It was 4 P.M. when Floyd Patterson got back to the camp, and the shadows were falling on the clubhouse, and on the tennis court routed by weeds, and on the big white house in front of which not a single automobile was parked. All was deserted and quiet; it was a loser's camp.

The children ran to play inside the clubhouse; Patterson walked slowly toward his apartment to dress for the workout.

"What could I do with those schoolboys?" he asked. "What can you do to kids of that age?"

It still seemed to bother himâ€"the effrontery of the boys, the realization that he had somehow failed, the probability that, had those same boys heckled someone in Liston's family, the schoolyard would have been littered with limbs.

While Patterson and Liston both are products of the slum, and while both began as thieves, Patterson had been tamed in a special school with help from a gentle ***** spinster; later he became a Catholic convert, and learned not to hate. Still later he bought a dictionary, adding to his vocabulary such words as "vicissitude" and "enigma." And when he regained his championship from Johansson, he became the Great Black Hope of the Urban League.

He proved that it is not only possible to rise out of a ***** slum and succeed as a sportsman, but also to develop into an intelligent, sensitive, law-abiding citizen. In proving this, however, and in taking pride in it, Patterson seemed to lose part of himself. He lost part of his hunger, his angerâ€"and as he walked up the steps into his apartment, he was saying, "I became the good guy. . . . After Liston won the title, I kept hoping that he would change into a good guy, too. That would have relieved me of the responsibility, and maybe I could have been more of the bad guy. But he didn't. . . . It's okay to be the good guy when you're winning. But when you're losing, it is no good being the good guy."

Patterson took off his shirt and trousers and, moving some books on the bureau to one side, put down his watch, his cuff links and a clip of bills.

"Do you do much reading?" he was asked.

"No," he said. "In fact, you know I've never finished reading a book in my whole life? I don't know why. I just feel that no writer today has anything for me; I mean, none of them has felt any more deeply than I have, and I have nothing to learn from them. Although Baldwin to me seems different from the rest. What's Baldwin doing these days?"

"He's writing a play. Anthony Quinn is supposed to have a part in it."

"Quinn?" Patterson asked.

"Yes."

"Quinn doesn't like me."

"Why?"

"I read or heard it somewhere; Quinn had been quoted as saying that my fight was disgraceful against Liston, and Quinn said something to the effect that he could have done better. People often say thatâ€"they could have done better! Well, I think that if they had to fight, they couldn't even go through the experience of waiting for the fight to begin. They'd be up the whole night before, and would be drinking, or taking drugs. They'd probably get a heart attack. I'm sure that if I was in the ring with Anthony Quinn, I could wear him out without even touching him. I would do nothing but pressure him, I'd stalk him, I'd stand close to him. I wouldn't touch him, but I'd wear him out and he'd collapse. But Anthony Quinn's an old man, isn't he?"

"In his forties."

"Well, anyway," Patterson said, "getting back to Baldwin, he seems like a wonderful guy. I've seen him on television, and, before the Liston fight in Chicago, he came by my camp. You meet Baldwin on the street and you say, 'Who's this poor slob?'â€"he seems just like another guy; and this is the same impression I give people when they don't know me. But I think Baldwin and me, we have much in common, and someday I'd just like to sit somewhere for a long time and talk to him. . . ."

Patterson, his trunks and sweat pants on, bent over to tie his shoelaces, and then, from a bureau drawer, took out a T-shirt across which was printed "Deauville." He has several T-shirts bearing the same name. He takes good care of them. They are souvenirs from the high point of his life. They are from the Deauville Hotel in Miami Beach, which is where he trained for the third Ingemar Johansson match in March of 1961.

Never was Floyd Patterson more popular, more admired than during that winter. He had visited President Kennedy; he had been given a $35,000 jeweled crown by his manager; his greatness was conceded by sports writersâ€"and nobody had any idea that Patterson, secretly, was in possession of a false moustache and dark glasses that he intended to wear out of Miami Beach should he lose the third fight to Johansson.

It was after being knocked out by Johansson in their first fight that Patterson, deep in depression, hiding in humiliation for months in a remote Connecticut lodge, decided he could not face the public again if he lost. So he bought false whiskers and a moustache, and planned to wear them out of his dressing room after a defeat. He had also planned, in leaving his dressing room, to linger momentarily within the crowd and perhaps complain out loud about the fight. Then he would slip undiscovered through the night and into a waiting automobile.

Although there proved to be no need for bringing disguise into the second or third Johansson fights, or into a subsequent bout in Toronto against an obscure heavyweight named Tom McNeeley, Patterson brought it anyway; and, after the first Liston fight, he not only wore it during his 30-hour automobile ride from Chicago to New York, but he also wore it while in an airliner bound for Spain.

"As I got onto this plane, you'd never have recognized me," he said. "I had on this beard, moustache, glasses and hatâ€"and I also limped, to make myself look older. I was alone. I didn't care what plane I boarded; I just looked up and saw this sign at the terminal reading 'Madrid,' and so I got on that flight after buying a ticket.

"When I got to Madrid I registered at a hotel under the name 'Aaron Watson.' I stayed in Madrid about four or five days. In the daytime I wandered around to the poorer sections of the city, limping, looking at the people, and the people stared back at me and must have thought I was crazy because I was moving so slow and looked the way I did. I ate food in my hotel room. Although once I went to a restaurant and ordered soup. I hate soup. But I thought it was what old people would order. So I ate it. And after a week of this, I began to actually think I was somebody else. I began to believe it. And it is nice, every once in a while, being somebody else."

Patterson would not elaborate on how he managed to register under a name that did not correspond to his passport; he merely explained, "With money, you can do anything."

Now, walking slowly around the room, his black silk robe over his sweat clothes, Patterson said, "You must wonder what makes a man do things like this. Well, I wonder, too. And the answer is, I don't know . . . but I think that within me, within every human being, there is a certain weakness. It is a weakness that exposes itself more when you're alone. And I have figured out that part of the reason I do the things I do, and cannot seem to conquer that one wordâ€"myselfâ€"is because . . . I am a coward. . . ."

He stopped. He stood very still in the middle of the room, thinking about what he had just said, probably wondering whether he should have said it.

"I am a coward," he then repeated, softly. "My fighting has little to do with that fact, though. I mean you can be a fighterâ€"and a winning fighterâ€"and still be a coward. I was probably a coward on the night I won the championship back from Ingemar. And I remember another night, long ago, back when I was in the amateurs, fighting this big, tremendous man named Julius Griffin. I was only a hundred fifty-three pounds. I was petrified. It was all I could do to cross the ring. And then he came at me, and moved close to me . . . and from then on I don't know anything. I have no idea what happened. Only thing I know is, I saw him on the floor. And later somebody said, 'Man, I never saw anything like it. You just jumped up in the air, and threw thirty different punches. . . .'"

"When did you first think you were a coward?" he was asked.

"It was after the first Ingemar fight."

"How does one see this cowardice you speak of?"

"You see it when a fighter loses. Ingemar, for instance, is not a coward. 'When he lost the third fight in Miami, he was at a party later at the Fontainebleau. Had I lost, I couldn't have gone to that party. And I don't see how he did. . . ."

"Could Liston be a coward?"

"That remains to be seen," Patterson said. "We'll find out what he's like after somebody beats him, how he takes it. It's easy to do anything in victory. It's in defeat that a man reveals himself. In defeat I can't face people. I haven't the strength to say to people, 'I did my best, I'm sorry, and what not.'"

"Have you no hate left?"

"I have hated only one fighter," Patterson said. "And that was Ingemar in the second fight. I had been hating him for a whole year before thatâ€"not because he beat me in the first fight, but because of what he did after. It was all that boasting in public, and his showing off his right-hand punch on television, his thundering right, his 'toonder and lightning.' And I'd be home watching him on television, and hating him. It is a miserable feeling, hate. When a man hates, he can't have any peace of mind. And for one solid year I hated him because, after he took everything away from me, deprived me of everything I was, he rubbed it in. On the night of the second fight, in the dressing room, I couldn't wait until I got into the ring. When he was a little late getting into the ring, I thought, He's holding me up; he's trying to unsettle meâ€"well, I'll get him!"

"Why couldn't you hate Liston in the second match?"

Patterson thought for a moment, then said, "Look, if Sonny Liston walked into this room now and slapped me in the face, then you'd see a fight. You'd see the fight of our life because, then, a principle would be involved. I'd forget he was a human being. I'd forget I was a human being. And I'd fight accordingly."

"Could it be, Floyd, that you made a mistake in becoming a prizefighter?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you say you're a coward; you say you have little capacity for hate; and you seemed to lose your nerve against those schoolboys in Scarsdale this afternoon. Don't you think you might have been better suited for some other kind of work? Perhaps a social worker, or . . ."

"Are you asking why I continue to fight?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said, not irritated by the question, "first of all, I love boxing. Boxing has been good to me. And I might just as well ask you the question: 'Why do you write?' Or, 'Do you retire from writing every time you write a bad story?' And as to whether I should have become a fighter in the first place, well, let's see how I can explain it. . . . Look, let's say you're a man who has been in an empty room for days and days without food . . . and then they take you out of that room and put you into another room where there's food hanging all over the place . . . and the first thing you reach for, you eat. When you're hungry, you're not choosy, and so I chose the thing that was closest to me. That was boxing. One day I just wandered into a gymnasium and boxed a boy. And I beat him. Then I boxed another boy. I beat him, too. Then I kept boxing. And winning. And I said, 'Here, finally, is something I can do!'

"Now I wasn't a sadist," he quickly added. "But I liked beating people because it was the only thing I could do. And whether boxing was a sport or not, I wanted to make it a sport because it was a thing I could succeed at. And what were the requirements? Sacrifice. That's all. To anybody who comes from the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, sacrifice comes easy. And so I kept fighting, and one day I became heavyweight champion, and I got to know people like you. And you wonder how I can sacrifice, how I can deprive myself so much? You just don't realize where I've come from. You don't understand where I was when it began for me.

"In those days, when I was about eight years old, everything I gotâ€"I stole. I stole to survive, and I did survive, but I seemed to hate myself. My mother told me I used to point to a photograph of myself hanging in the bedroom and say, 'I don't like that boy!' One day my mother found three large X's scratched with a nail or something over that photograph of me. I don't remember doing it. But I do remember feeling like a parasite at home. I remember how awful I used to feel at night when my father, a longshoreman, would come home so tired that, as my mother fixed food before him, he would fall asleep at the table because he was that tired. I would always take his shoes off and clean his feet. That was my job. And I felt so bad because here I was, not going to school, doing nothing, just watching my father come home; and on Friday nights it was even worse. He would come home with his pay, and he'd put every nickel of It on the table so my mother could buy food for all the children. I never wanted to be around to see that. I'd run and hide. And then I decided to leave home and start stealingâ€"and I did. And I would never come home unless I brought something that I had stolen. Once I remember I broke into a dress store and stole a whole mound of dresses, at two A.M., and here I was, this little kid, carrying all those dresses over the wall, thinking they were all the same size, my mother's size, and thinking the cops would never notice me walking down the street with all those dresses piled over my head. They did, of course. . . . I went to the Youth House. . . ."

Floyd Patterson's children, who had been playing outside all this time around the country club, now became restless and began to call him, and Jeannie started to pound on his door. So Patterson picked up his leather bag, which contained his gloves, his mouthpiece and adhesive tape, and walked with the children across the path toward the clubhouse.

He flicked on the light switches behind the stage near the piano. Beams of amber streaked through the dimly lit room and flashed onto the ring. He took off his robe, shuffled his feet in the rosin, skipped rope, and then began to shadowbox in front of the spit-stained mirror, throwing out quick combinations of lefts, rights, lefts, rights, each jab followed by a "hegh-hegh-hegh-hegh." Then, his gloves on, he moved to the punching bag in the far corner, and soon the room reverberated to his rhythmic beat against the bobbling bagâ€"rat-tat-tat-tetteta, rat-tat-tat-tetteta-rat-tat-tat-tetteta-rat-tat-tetteta!

The children, sitting on pink leather chairs, moved from the bar to the fringe of the ring, watched him in awe, sometimes flinching at the force of his pounding against the leather bag.

And this is how they would probably remember him years from now: a dark, solitary, glistening figure punching in the corner of a forlorn spot at the bottom of a mountain where people once came to have funâ€"until the clubhouse because unfashionable, the paint began to peel, and ******* were allowed in.

As Floyd Patterson continued to bang away with lefts and rights, his gloves a brown blur against the bag, his daughter slipped quietly off her chair and wandered past the ring into the other room. There, on the other side of the bar and beyond a dozen round tables, was the stage. She climbed onto the stage and stood behind a microphone, long dead, and cried out, imitating a ring announcer, "Ladieeees and gentlemen . . . tonight we present . . ."

She looked around, puzzled. Then, seeing that her little brother had followed her, she waved him up to the stage and began again: "Ladiees and gentlemen . . . tonight we present . . . Floydie Patterson. . . ."

Suddenly, the pounding against the bag in the other room stopped. There was silence for a moment. Then Jeannie, still behind the microphone and looking down at her brother, said, "Floydie, come up here!"

"No," he said.

"Oh, come up here!"

"No," he cried.

Then Floyd Patterson's voice, from the other room, called: "Cut it out . . . I'll take you both for a walk in a minute."

He resumed punchingâ€"rat-tat-tat-tettetaâ€"and they returned to his side. But Jeannie interrupted, asking, "Daddy, how come you sweating?"

"Water fell on me," he said, still pounding.

"Daddy," asked Floyd, Jr., "how come you spit water on the floor before?"

"To get it out of my mouth."

He was about to move over to the heavier punching bag when the sound of Mrs. Patterson's station wagon could be heard moving up the road.

Soon she was in Patterson's apartment cleaning up a bit, patting the pillows, washing the teacups that had been left in the sink. One hour later the family was having dinner together. They were together for two mere hours; then, at 10 P.M., Mrs. Patterson washed and dried all of the dishes, and put the garbage out in the canâ€"where it would remain until the raccoons and skunks got to it.

And then, after helping the children with their coats and walking out to the station wagon and kissing her husband good-bye, Mrs. Patterson began the drive down the dirt road toward the highway. Patterson waved once, and stood for a moment watching the taillights go, and then he turned and walked slowly back toward the house.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Much obliged doug.ie:cheers...seriously fascinating to me...keep up the good work on this great thread...it's the best:deal


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Much obliged doug.ie:cheers...seriously fascinating to me...keep up the good work on this great thread...it's the best:deal


thank you brother...its only collecting whats out there already....but thank you.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> thank you brother...its only collecting whats out there already....but thank you.


This thread is what "Classic" is all about.....I'd rather read an article about the complex Mr. Patterson, or any of the greats of the past than some current article about any of the "names" of today.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Joe Louis was in my corner...being around a legend like Joe, itâ€™s so hard to show your appreciation. People are always around. People are always interrupting. Joe belonged to everybody. He was a god. Some people are so rude that they would stop him no matter what. Joe didnâ€™t know how to handle it. He was training me but people would just interfere with him."

(Ernie Terrell)

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1922.

"....the man sat down to watch the human tide flow on as he watches it daily with an eye that holds not the slightest interest in what it sees....he heaved a sigh..."










Dec. 1927 -


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In the summer of 1940, a balding New York restaurant owner named Jack Dempsey launched a comeback at the advanced aged of 45.

After his retirement - following a second loss to Gene Tunney in the infamous 'Night of the Long Count' - Dempsey remained a massively popular figure in America. He remained active in boxing, often refereeing matches at the same arenas where he once headlined. He also refereed wrestling matches where the inclusion of Dempsey, in any capacity, boosted sales at the box office.

On one such occasion, in Atlanta in May 1940, Dempsey was refereeing a tag-team match. During the match, one of the participants, Cowboy Luttrell, decided to make a name for himself and change the script. He shoved Dempsey across the ring and beckoned the former champion to take a poke. Dempsey shoved the wrestler back, prompting Luttrell to throw a clumsy punch, but the former champion ducked and the whole thing fizzled out.

Afterwards, a local newspaper claimed Dempsey tried to smooth things out backstage, but Luttrell - over 24lbs heavier than the 45-year-old former champ - refused to shake hands and, after a few hastily chosen words, again went for a punch. The two were separated swiftly, but not before a furious Dempsey challenged the grappler to a real contest, and even offered to donate his purse to charity.

Because of Luttrell's dubious day job, there were fears that the match would be a fix, but Dempsey made sure the record was put straight. Speaking to the New York Times, he said: "No. It's no gag. I'm going to fight a wrestler down in Atlanta on July 1. We're going to fight with gloves, the lightest ones Georgia officials will permit, and under Marquis of Queensbury rules. I ought to knock him out quick because I can still punch, and he doesn't know how to fight."

Concerns immediately turned to the popular former champion's health. He was, after all, a 45-year-old restaurant owner, who had not fought in over a decade. But he told the Times: "Naw, I'm not takin' any chances. This Luttrell must be as old as I am. You know how those wrestlers are - they keep workin' till they're ready for the old men's home. And I know he can't fight. He swings from the floor. He's muscle-bound and slow. I don't like any part of this Luttrell and it will be a pleasure to take care of him."

Luttrell, obviously a seasoned veteran of hyperbole, retorted in the Atlanta Constitution: "I'm going to knock Dempsey's front teeth out. Boy, oh, boy, will people be surprised when I wade into Mr. Dempsey with both these big fists flying." 
He added: "Don't you realise that any guy who could go around the rest of his life and say he was the man that knocked out Jack Dempsey would be a big gate attraction as a professional wrestler? I have everything to gain. He's crazy to risk himself in a bout with a man so much younger and in much better physical condition. But that's his business. From now on I am dedicating myself to the task of being the man who licked Jack Dempsey."

A strange phenomenon creeps up on sports fans and writers when a childhood hero returns. It could easily be dismissed as wishful sentimentalism, but it is more powerful than that. Many of those who snapped up tickets to see Dempsey's return, or rushed to write stories about it, grew up during Dempsey's hey-day.

They associated their youth, and the prime of their lives, with him. Now their hero was attempting to turn back the clock and, if he succeeded, they maybe believed the clock would turn back for them, too. These feelings, and genuine excitement at the chance to see the Manassa Mauler in action just one more time, drew an impressive 10,000 fans paying an even more impressive $37,000. The American public and media, who idolised Dempsey, whipped each other into a frenzy in anticipation of their hero's return after his years in the wilderness.

In the days leading up to the fight, perspective - and perhaps reality - seemed to slip away from many writers. Impartiality went out of the window, many of them even wrote that Dempsey would challenge reigning heavyweight champion Joe Louis. But the old fighter did little to ground their flights of fancy, maybe because he didn't want to ruin their fun or admit he was too old.

At the pre-fight press conference, Dempsey said: "That is something I cannot answer. If I prove I can still punch and, if the public demands the match, we will talk about it later. The man who takes Joe Louis' title away must have dynamite in either hand." Then, with a wry grin, he added: "I have been searching for a fighter to beat Louis. Wouldn't it be strange if he turned out to be Jack Dempsey?"

Dempsey received a 10 minute standing ovation when he entered the ring that night. Reporters waxed lyrical about a deafening roar that just wouldn't stop. They also mentioned that Dempsey looked much trimmer than expected. In fact, they noted that he was in better shape than his supposedly fitter opponent.

The fight was a mismatch. Luttrell, despite some boxing experience in his youth, was totally out of his depth and was battered from pillar to post in the first round, where only the bell and a vice-like grip for a defence - saved him. 
But in the second, Dempsey - fighting from the memory of what he used to be - seemed to tap into whatever was left of his greatness. He dropped Luttrell three times in round two, finally knocking the Cowboy through the ropes and onto the arena floor, where he was counted out.

Dempsey stood in the ring, his arms aloft in victory for the first time in over 14 years, and one can only guess how he must have felt when the crowd, almost rabid with excitement, chanted his name. He had not disappointed them. 
A New York newspaper read: "Dempsey, possessed with all the savagery and relentless fury of the Manassa Mauler of old, last night brought back memories of the days when he ruled the heavyweights of the world with a smashing two-round knockout of Cowboy Luttrell, a 224-pound Texas bull.

"Stalking his prey from the opening gong, the old warrior may have battered his way back into the heavyweight title picture as he turned loose a murderous attack on the huge wrestler that left Luttrell senseless and the crowd gasping in amazement.

"Contrary to pictures painted by crepe hangers before the fight, Dempsey was not fat. And he was not clumsy. Instead, fans saw a trim, tigerish Dempsey, lacking the speed of his golden days, but still perhaps the most dangerous fighter in the business, outside of the Brown Bomber."

Another newspaper was equally carried away: "Dempsey was not the flabby, aged ghost of a former great that some of our self-styled sports experts and humanitarians in this vicinity would have you believe. He was a whirling and slashing killer. Over four rounds, he would be a match for heavyweight champ Joe Louis."

But, deep down, Dempsey knew what would happen to him if he challenged Louis. He fought several more bouts against non-boxers, including a professional American football player, and then retired for good.

Luttrell, his 15 minutes of fame used up, disappeared from history almost immediately after guest referee Nat Fleischer completed the 10 count. His defeat was so crushing, so complete, it is unlikely any wrestling promoter hired him to cash in on his brief notoriety. He remains an obscure footnote in history.

(by Anthony Evans)

picture caption reads - 'View of a crowd of people surrounding professional wrestler Cowboy Luttrell who is receiving medical attention after his exhibition boxing match against heavyweight boxer Jack Dempsey'















_To Whom It May Concern:

After he poorly refereed my tag team match in 1940 I pushed Jack Dempsey and challenged him to wrestle but he insisted we put on gloves and have a regular match several weeks later. Iâ€™d done some boxing as a kid and was twenty pounds heavier and ten years younger than Dempsey so figured I could rough him up but at opening bell he charged and hit me with left hooks and a rabbit right and more lefts and I covered up before eating many combinations including some nasty uppercuts. Pretty soon I couldnâ€™t move much and another left staggered me into the ropes at end of round one.

Iâ€™m a tough cowboy and attacked Dempsey to start the second round but caught a right cross to the jaw and more of those damn lefts to the head. Go ahead, keep hitting, I told Dempsey. You canâ€™t hurt Cowboy Luttrell. Dempsey replied with more two-fisted head shots and knocked me down once, twice, three times. Referee Nat Fleischer, the boxing editor who was a worse referee than Dempsey, must have enjoyed the slaughter and didnâ€™t stop it, and I was too game to ask and too dumb to stay down. I was slumped against the ropes â€" where was Fleischer? â€" when Dempsey stepped in and uncorked a left uppercut that launched me out of the ring. Okay, I got my face taped up in the dressing room and acknowledged boxing was Dempseyâ€™s game.

Several months later, when most of the damn bruises had healed or lightened, I drove to New York City and stormed into Jack Dempseyâ€™s restaurant. He walked up, hand extended, and I ducked and drove my head into his balls, wrapped my arms around his knees, and bulled him onto the floor where I sat on him and punched down a lot harder than he could punch up and was busting him pretty good when some of his goons pounced and hit me from behind and drug me outside. Come on, I motioned to Dempsey, letâ€™s finish this on the sidewalk. He waved me off. In a real fight, he knew Cowboy Luttrell was tougher.

Sincerely,

Cowboy Luttrell_


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> 1922.
> 
> "....the man sat down to watch the human tide flow on as he watches it daily with an eye that holds not the slightest interest in what it sees....he heaved a sigh..."
> 
> ...


Great articles Doug...Sorely needed today. As a sidenote, when I was a young lad, my dad a cabdriver who worked nights would tell me of
he and fellow drivers would often see a fat man sleeping in all weather outside theatre doors. It was the former great Young Griffo, the
Willie Pep of his day, the ORIGINAL Will of the Wisp....Keep em acumin Doug...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Burt Brooks said:


> Great articles Doug...Sorely needed today. As a sidenote, when I was a young lad, my dad a cabdriver who worked nights would tell me of
> he and fellow drivers would often see a fat man sleeping in all weather outside theatre doors. It was the former great Young Griffo, the
> Willie Pep of his day, the ORIGINAL Will of the Wisp....Keep em acumin Doug...


good man burt...hope all is well brother.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 31, 1980.

Mike Weaver wins the WBA Heavyweight Title by knocking out defending belt holder John Tate in the 15th round.

Weaver knocked Tate out with a left hook. Tate laid unconscious, face down and spread eagle on the canvas as he was counted out.

"The crowd cost Tate the fight," Weaver said afterwards. "He made the mistake of trying to come out and slug with me. He was boxing before that. He was responding to the crowd."

Weaver v Tate produced one of the divisions finest knock outs ever. The giant taller Tate dominated Weaver for all the first 10 rounds. But then with sheer determination a battered Weaver suddenly turned it around, pushing Tate backward. But he'd left it 'too late?' noted the commentator, as only 5 rounds remained and Tate was expected to resume his lead. However with only 40 seconds left in the 15th round, Weaver caught Tate bouncing off the ropes towards him with a truly lethal left hook. It dropped Tate to the canvas out cold for well over a minute. Press pictures showed Tate sound asleep whilst Weaver did a handstand alongside to celebrate.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec 16, 1962 - Milan, Italy.

Veteran Dulio Loi of Italy regained the world junior welterweight boxing championship by outpointing Eddie Perkins of Chicago over 15 rounds.

The pint-sized, 33 year old Italian, thus avenged his decision defeat at the hands of the 25 year old American in this same city last September.

It was their third meeting and evened the series for the 140-pound division title. They drew in their first fight in Milan in October 1961.

After losing the crown to Perkins three months ago, Loi said at first he was through with the junior welterweights because he found it too difficult to make the weight limit. He said then he intended to campaign only as a welterweight and defend his European welterweight (147 pounds) crown.

Loi then decided to make one more try for the 140-pound title. It paid off.

The title fight was a fast, spirited and close battle all the way. At the finish, referee Georges Goudre of France, the sole official, proclaimed Loi the winner without any hesitation after the final bell.

For a man who has struggled to make the division limit in the past, Loi was surprisingly light. He weighed 137 and 3/4 pounds to Perkins 138 and 3/4.

(The Palm Beach Post)










.......................................................

An extraordinarily busy and durable fighter, Duilio Loi 
reigned in Europe at lightweight and welterweight for eight 
years from 1954, and in 1961 added the, then recently 
resurrected, world light-welterweight title to his 
collection, with a points victory over the formidable Puerto 
Rican Carlos Ortiz. Loi fought 129 contests, losing only 
three, in each case getting his revenge in rematches. He was 
never knocked down.

Loi possessed great ringcraft but he was also tough and 
relentlessly aggressive, and many other top boxers at his 
weight were happy to give him a wide berth. He fought one of 
his European lightweight title defences only two days after 
he had been involved in a car crash.

Born in 1929 in Trieste, where he grew up during the war, 
Duilio Loi started boxing in Genoa, where he went to school 
for a period. He turned professional as a lightweight in 
1948. By 1951 he had won the Italian title from Gianni 
Uboldi and went on to defend it many times. A first tilt at 
the European lightweight title held by Jorgen Johansen, in 
Copenhagen in August 1952, was not successful, but in 
February 1954 he had his revenge against the classy Dane 
when he took his title from him in Milan on points over 15 
rounds.

He was to defend it numerous times over the next few years, 
notably against the Spaniard Jos? Hernandez, with whom he 
managed a draw - and retained his title - in Milan in May 
1956 notwithstanding that he had been badly bruised in a car 
accident two days earlier. His second defence against 
Hernandez in December that year was a more emphatic affair, 
a points victory over 15 rounds. The hectic nature of his 
schedule is indicated by the fact that in between these two 
defences Loi fought no fewer than eight non-title bouts. But 
a shot at the world lightweight championship eluded him.

Then, in April 1959, Loi stepped up a weight to go in quest 
of the newly crowned European welterweight champion Emilio 
Marconi, in Milan, and relieved him of his title over 15 
rounds. He was to continue to defend this title against 
all-comers, even after he had won the world light-welter 
crown, re-established in 1959 after having been in abeyance 
since the war.

This he first tried to wrest from Ortiz in San Francisco on 
June 16, 1960. He lost the decision on points over 15 
rounds, but even Ortiz's large army of fans realised that it 
had been a desperately close thing. At a rematch in Milan 
that September, it was a different story with no one at 
ringside in any doubt that Loi was the winner over 15 
rounds. A third contest between this superbly matched pair 
was another victory for Loi, and he even had Ortiz down in 
the 6th round.

The only other man to beat him, the tough American Eddie 
Perkins, who was also nine years his junior, was now to 
enter the world light-welter lists. He fought a draw with 
Loi in Milan in May 1961, and went back in September 1962 to 
outpoint him over 15 rounds and take his title, despite the 
fact that he had been put down in the 1st and 14th rounds.

But, as with Johansen and Ortiz, the last word was to be 
Loi's. On December 15, 1962, again in Milan, he won his 
title back from Perkins over 15 rounds. Immediately after 
the bout he announced his retirement.

He left the ring both as world light-welter and European 
welterweight champion, having defended the latter title 
against the very tough Sardinian Fortunato Manca, in 
Cagliari in May that year. It was a satisfactory end to a 
highly meritorious career. Indeed, with such a record, Loi's 
name deserves to be more familiar; undoubtedly greater 
exposure in the US would have made it so.

His induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 
2005 was a fitting acknowledgement of his, until then, 
underrated achievements. By that time Loi was suffering from 
Alzheimer's and his daughter, Bonaria, travelled to the US 
to accept the award on his behalf.

Duilio Loi, boxer, was born on April 19, 1929. He died on 
January 20, 2008, aged 78

(The Times Obituary)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1961.

( open this link and click on image for a slightly higher resolution / more readable image -

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv3MC27rK...d+johnson+spokesman+review+march+19+1961+.jpg )


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

(Modern Classic Era)

Jan 19, 2013.

Gennady Golovkin defends his WBA World Middleweight title via a 7th round TKO victory over Gabriel Rosado .

" ... When he hit me in the first round, I just felt straight, solid wraps. It wasn't like it was just the impact of the glove. It felt like a little bat hitting the top of my head. So Triple-G's gloves, Grant definitely makes custom gloves for [him]. So Stevens definitely has to look out for that. ... I've never got cut in a fight. Only by a head-butt, which was four years ago. I got cut twice [over] the same eye in the second round [against Golovkin]. [Matthew] Macklin got cut early in their fight as well. It's just kind of suspect about them gloves." - Gabriel Rosado

...........................

Golovkin -- who was sick in bed two days beforehand considered pulling out of the fight -- dominated even though Rosado, 26, was game.

"This is true, this is true," Golovkin said of being ill. "I'm a little bit sick, but I feel great. I feel my power. I know that Gabriel, I can knock him out. I can do much more better. This chance for me, this was for the public."

As good as Golovkin looked, he admitted he was not at his best.

"No, no, no, no. I wanted to show the public my technique and my tactic," he said.

He cut Rosado in the corner of his left eye in the second round. He rocked him with a right hand in the third round. By the fourth round, Rosado's face was a bloody mess after also being cut over his left eye and bleeding from the nose.

Rosado (21-6, 13 KOs) must have landed something solid in the fifth round, because Golovkin (25-0, 22 KOs) suddenly had a bruise around his right eye. But Golovkin was dishing out way more than he was taking.

Rosado's left eye was in very bad shape and the ringside doctor took a good look at it before both the sixth and seventh rounds as Rosado pleaded to be allowed to continue.

Both fighters were covered in Rosado's blood in the seventh round as Rosado continued to bleed badly until his trainer, Billy Briscoe, climbed the steps and threw in the towel. When referee Steve Smoger saw the towel, he intervened and stopped the fight at 2 minutes, 46 seconds.

(by Dan Rafael)


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## Klompton (Jun 27, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> Dec 16, 1962 - Milan, Italy.
> 
> Veteran Dulio Loi of Italy regained the world junior welterweight boxing championship by outpointing Eddie Perkins of Chicago over 15 rounds.


Yeah right. Perkins boxed Loi's ears off. Typical Italian decision.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Klompton said:


> Yeah right. Perkins boxed Loi's ears off. Typical Italian decision.


good man steve. i haven't seen video of it but read a bit from various reports i found online, and actually one of them from here - 
http://news.google.com/newspapers?n...HclAAAAIBAJ&sjid=5fIFAAAAIBAJ&pg=6207,3134585

says - "By the time the bout was over, the spectators were berating Loi for his poor performance and cheering Perkins"

however...i also read, although an article from recent times from Martin Mulcahey (Maxboxing.com)...which states...

"A famous boxing axiom says, "All great boxers have one last great effort left in them". The 33 year old Loi proved this saying correct in his third bout with Perkins. Only three months after his lopsided defeat, an extremely fit and determined Loi was able to reverse the loss. This time, Perkins could not keep Loi at a distance with his jab, and Loi weaved his way inside, raking the body and mixing in combinations to the head. A drained Perkins seemed resigned to a points loss after the seventh round, while Loi continued to put forth a commendably high work rate for a man his age."

this is the current boxrec entry for the fight -

"Duilio Loi of Italy stepped up his pace and scored with some inside punching in the late rounds to win back the world junior welterweight title with a close decision over Eddie Perkins of the U.S. Perkins moved out rapidly at the opening bell, attacking at once. Perkins kept up his steady attack through the 7th, but the pattern began to shift in rounds eight and nine as Loi countered with increasing power. Slowly, Loi was working into his old late-round stride. Loi withstood a brief rally by Perkins in the 12th, and then continued to pile up points for the championship. It was a fast, steady-slugging battle from the start and the two fighters appeared to be on even terms throughout." -European Stars & Stripes

none of the above posted here with the intention of agreeing or disagreeing with you....just what i found....i'm always glad and pay attention to hear what you have to say fella


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"He believes that, if he had felt as well as he did on any of his ordinary training days, he could have licked Johnson. He has been taking good care of himself - has been training quietly in fact - and he is going to bring about another fight if it can be done."

(The Toronto World - March 1912)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Prison inmate No. 57735, accused of murder and serving a 30-40 year stretch inside Rahway State Prison for armed robbery, introduced himself in a letter to reporter Beth Schenerman at The New York Times on Dec. 17, 1978, writing, in a rare moment of understatement, "This is a unique story." After returning to prison three years earlier, the former professional boxer had long since been recognized as one of the most feared and dangerous of the 1,150 inmates then living behind the walls of New Jersey's most notorious maximum-security prison, a place journalist Ralph Wiley described "as if the world had dropped the sum of its sores into one of New Jersey's gritty smokestacks, then chose not to watch as the results of the experiment filtered down into place."

Scott was one result of that experiment. But he had even bigger plans for his legacy. The message in a bottle Scott wished to wash ashore to everyone living outside those walls was simple: wearing leather gloves over the hands he'd been accused of using to murder someone, he just might be the most dangerous man everywhere else on earth, too. "The rise of a champion from prison house to the light heavyweight championship of the world. Has it ever been done before? No. I'll die if I don't get that title shot," he wrote. "I'm pregnant. I've got to deliver this child."

The Times and everybody else immediately recognized the story. This savvy, self-educated, self-described career criminal found an audience eager to believe him. Only two years before, a little Cinderella-story film about the American Dream, shot over 28 days with a budget of little more than $1 million, "Rocky," had won three Academy Awards and made $225 million at the box office. An unknown actor named Sylvester Stallone, with a pregnant wife and $106 in the bank, had written the script in three-and-a-half days about an over-the-hill Philadelphia club fighter who got a title shot.

But "Rocky" was just a movie. Scott was real, and his far more improbable story, of the American Dream turned into a fantastic fairytale, was already being written. All he needed was the happy ending. In only a few short years, Scott, who had spent over half his 30-year-life behind bars, had already parlayed his story into a career. A week before he wrote The Times, it had already started to come true when he had successfully challenged Eddie Gregory (later known today as Eddie Mustafa Muhammad) from inside Rahway's walls.

The notion was so obscenely preposterous that the feisty new network on the block, HBO Sports, eager to stand out, bought the whole thing. They sent film crews and announcers (including hiring the legendary "voice of boxing" Don Dunphy) to Woodbridge, N.J., and broadcast the fight live before a select crowd of civilians from the prison's auditorium. They touted the fight as "Boxing Behind Bars."

Outside Rahway, the betting line was 4-1 on Gregory, who had a record of 29-3-1 and was coming off two straight first round KOs. The bout was considered a tune-up, a colorful sideshow in Gregory's own march to the title, and in his own story of the ex-con-turned-champion. Boxing a lightly regarded inmate hailed as the New Jersey prison system light heavyweight champion made good copy and attracted curious viewers, but no one thought it would be much of a fight. Even inside Rahway, Scott was an underdog, Gregory the favorite at three cartons of cigarettes to one.

"They say Scott is tough," Gregory told Sports Illustrated before the fight, "but how tough can he be? So he fought a couple of stiffs inside the walls and he knocked them out. He hasn't had a real pro fight in almost four years. And now he wants to fight the top contender. You know he's got to be crazy. He's been in here too long. It happens when you stay in these places too long. I'll carry him for 11 rounds and knock him out in the twelfth. It'll be a good work out."

Gregory was in the best shape of his life, already looking forward to the biggest payday of his career against the newly crowned World Boxing Association champion, Mike Rossman. Fighting a delusional convict with a hopelessly misplaced pipe dream in prison was just a way to pocket an easy $15,000...

(by Brin-Jonathan Butler)















"James Scott was in the same lockup as the â€œHurricaneâ€, Rubin Carter. Carter was said to have sparred and worked with Scott some, but he was less interested in showcasing boxing skill than he was in being released from prison, which he was in 1985, after serving over 20 years.

In 1988, Rahway State Prison was renamed East Jersey State Prison, and Scott was finally released from there in 2005. It was reported that Scott pursued a comeback to boxing shortly after his release - at almost 60 years old!"

"In 2012, Scott was inducted into the New Jersey Boxing Hall of Fame. He currently resides in a New Jersey nursing home, suffering from dementia, with less and less awareness of his surroundings."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

September 7, 1960

Sonny Liston scored a unanimous decision over Eddie Machen in a 12-round nationally televised match and continued his cry for a title match with heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson. Machen, who weighed 196, was interested only in a re-match with Liston. "Liston is a good fighter," Machen said, "but he won't knock down any walls. I don't like to alibi, but I hurt my shoulder six days ago in training and couldn't use my right too well. I want very much to fight him again when I have two hands." Liston, the number one contender for the crown, was equally unimpressed with second-rated Eddie. "All Machen wanted to do was go 12 rounds," he said. "He didn't want to fight. I had a bad night." Liston, who at 211 had a 15-pound weight advantage over Machen, went on to say that Patterson "wouldn't last that long with me. He would get in there and fight and I'd get him out." The bout itself was a dandy, with Liston, the plodding aggressor and Machen playing the part of the darting thief, stealing the show occasionally with sizzling left hooks and jabs. There was no doubt about the decision, however. Judges Ely Caston and Sam Haller favored Liston 118-114 and 118-116, respectively. Referee ****** Domstad scored it 119-112 for the winner and UPI agreed 115-113. The victory for Liston, who was penalized twice for low blows was his 31st in 32 professional fights. For Machen, the loss was his third in 38 trips to the post.

(United Press International)

Machen later said he believed that Liston's handlers made deliberate use of illegal medication in an attempt to temporarily blind him during the fight. He theorized that Liston's handlers rubbed medication on their fighter's shoulders, which was transferred to Machen's forehead during clinches and dripped into his eyes. "I thought my eyes would burn out of my head, and Liston seemed to know it would happen," Machen said. When Liston fought Muhammad Aliâ€"then Cassius Clayâ€"in 1964, Ali returned to his corner after the fourth round and complained that there was something burning in his eyes and he could not see. "The same thing happened to me when I fought Liston in 1960," Machen said two days after Ali upset Liston. "Clay did the worst thing when he started screaming and let Liston know it had worked," Machen added. "Clay panicked. I didn't do that. I'm more of a seasoned pro, and I hid it from Liston."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Presented to Harry Greb for contributing his services for free on a milk and ice fund program in Atlantic City.

Greb fought Pat Walsh in a scheduled ten-rounder, stopping Walsh in the second round, knocking him down four times before Walsh's cornermen threw in the towel.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 26, 1949

Middleweight Steve Belloise of New York displayed a strong two-fisted attack as he pounded Jean Stock of France into an eight-round technical knockout last night at the Palais des Sport.

Stock tumbled to the canvas early in the fatal eight after catching a powerful right hook. When the balding american sent Stock flying with another right to the jaw seconds later, referee Rene Scheman stopped the fight.

It was the opener of a series of bouts on French soil for Belloise, who is aiming at a title fight with frenchman Marcel Cerdan.

(The Pittsburgh Press)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The following piece was written by, and is courtesy of Rick Farris. Rick is a former professional turned esteemed boxing historian and writer...and all round good guy.

.......................

Throughout boxing history the welterweight division has been blessed with exceptional prizefighters. Names such as Walker, Ross, McLarnin, Armstrong, Robinson, Griffith and Leonard are just a few of the greats that come to mind. However, another name cannot be overlooked when considering great 147 pounders, Jose Napoles.

Napoles' nickname "Mantequilla" is the Spanish word for butter and anybody who had the pleasure of watching this brilliant boxer perform understands that Napolesâ€™ style was as smooth as butter. It was a style that combined great boxing skill, devastating punching power and cool control of the ring. It was a style that created trouble for any opponent he faced. I'd have to say the best way to describe Napolesâ€™ style is "timeless". It was a style that could unravel the old timers and the new breed as well.

I had the opportunity to watch this great welterweight's career evolve into a world championship during the years I was boxing. Napoles started out as a lightweight, but had to take on the best junior welterweights and welterweights in the world in order to get fights. Napoles beat them all in convincing fashion until finally, with the help of a great promoter, a champion finally gave him a title shot.

I'll give a brief run down of Napoles early career, however, my story begins in 1968, about a year before he won the title. Although I never boxed with Napoles, I know three men who challenged Mantequilla for the title. Ironically, all three of these welterweight contenders challenged Napoles for the crown twice. Much of my opinion of Napoles is based on the words of these three men who know him far better than those of us who saw him from ringside or watched him train in the gym. You get to know exactly how great a fighter is, or is not, after banging it out with him for fifteen rounds.

The three contenders whom I am referring to are Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Hedgeman Lewis and Armando Muniz. All three were talented and tough welterweights during the 60's and 70's, and all three agree that they never fought anybody better than Jose Napoles.

Jose Napoles was born in Cuba on April 13, 1940. He made his pro boxing debut in 1958, at the age of 18, and fought the first four years of his professional career in Cuba. Between 1958 and 1961, Napoles put together a record of 17-1 (8 KO's) before fleeing the regime of Fidel Castro and making his home in Mexico. Without the perils of living in a communist country, Napoles would now have a chance to make a name for himself in the world of boxing.

Mexico was almost perfect for Napoles, a Spanish speaking culture and rich in boxing talent. Many of the world's best boxers under 147 pounds hailed from Mexico and the Cuban lightweight would have the opposition necessary to take him to the next level. Of course, it wouldn't be easy. Napoles wasn't a Mexican.

After sixteen months of inactivity, Napoles resumed his boxing career in Mexico in July of 1962. Napoles quickly scored three straight knockouts before winning a ten round decision over Tony Perez. In a rematch, Perez was awarded a controversial decision over Napoles. Napoles scored two more victories including a decision over the highly regarded Baby Vasquez before losing again, this time in a ten rounder to Alfredo Urbina, one of the greatest lightweights Mexico ever produced.

After losing to Urbina, Napoles went on a rampage and won 18 straight with 17 knockouts, including KO's over Urbina and Perez in rematches. He also defeated Junior Welterweight champs Carlos Hernandez and Eddie Perkins, Adolph Pruitt and scored two knockouts over L.C. Morgan. After losing on a cut to Morgan in their third fight, Napoles KO'd Morgan for the third time. From there, Napoles put together a string of victories that would lead right up to a shot at the welterweight championship.

In 1968, the legendary George Parnassus became the boxing promoter for the newly built "Forum" in Inglewood, California. Parnassus had promoted boxing for years in the Los Angeles area, as well as in Mexico. Parnassus had a connection that would allow him to bring the very best talent up from below the border to Los Angeles. He would feature the very best Mexican stars at the Forum and it was here that many would become world champions. Champions such as Ruben Olivares, Chucho Castillo and Carlos Zarate won world titles in Parnassus promotions at the Forum, and so did Jose "Mantequilla" Napoles.

Napoles made his U.S. debut at the Forum in Parnassus' initial promotion that featured bantamweight contenders Jesus Pimentel and Chucho Castillo. I was anxious to see Napoles and was at the Forum that night. However, Mantequilla didn't give us a long look. He KO'ed Lloyd Marshall half way thru the opening round.

A few months later I got a little longer look at the future welterweight king when I saw him flatten Ireland's Des Rea in five rounds on the undercard of a featherweight main event featuring Dwight Hawkins and Frankie Crawford at the Forum.

Hawkins was the number one rated featherweight at the time and helped train me for manager Johnny Flores. I had heard Flores and Hawkins talk about how great a fighter this Napoles was and after seeing him in person at the Forum and in the gym I had to agree. Anybody amazed by the talent of Roy Jones Jr. would be a lot less impressed had they seen Jose Napoles up close.

In April of 1969, Jose Napoles would finally get a shot at World Welterweight Champion Curtis Cokes. Napoles was 29-years-old and had been fighting professionally and defeating the best for 11 years when he stepped into the ring at the Forum before a sellout crowd of more than 18,000. Many of the spectators had come up from Mexico in buses that Parnassus had chartered and the sound of mariachis filled the arena. Mexico had adopted the transplanted Cuban as one of their own and when Napoles climbed thru the ropes the Forum exploded with excitement.

Napoles had his way with Cokes and battered the champion at well. After 13 rounds referee Dick young stopped the fight to save Cokes from further punishment. Jose Napoles had escaped communism, defeated the best in three divisions and now, after 11 difficult years was the Welterweight Champion of the world.

Less than three months after winning the title, Napoles gave Cokes a rematch and again stopped the former champion in the 13th round. Like most champions of the era, Napoles didn't sit on the title between title defenses and stayed sharp with several non-title fights, which he won by knockout. Mantequilla finished out 1969 with a unanimous fifteen round decision over former welterweight and middleweight champ Emile Griffith in his second defense of the title.

In 1970, Napoles KO'd number one rated Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez in fifteen rounds and scored two more knockouts in non-title matches. Napoles closed out 1970 with his fourth title defense in Syracuse, New York against Billy Backus, the nephew of former champ Carmen Basilio.

Backus was given little chance of beating Napoles. However, after opening a cut over the champion's eye with a head butt in the 4th round, the bout was stopped and awarded to Backus.

Six months later, on June 6, 1971, Napoles would regain his title by destroying Backus in six rounds at the Forum. I was 19-years-old at the time and had been fighting professionally for exactly one year. I was scheduled to fight on the undercard of the Napoles-Backus rematch and remember all the excitement in the dressing room after Napoles had regained the title. I had won my fight that night but the biggest thrill for me was not my win, but having Carmen Basilio compliment me after my fight. Basilio had worked his nephew's corner that night and was kind enough to recognize that I had done well in my fight.

My most vivid memory of Napoles took place six months later, as he trained for his next title defense against Hedgeman Lewis. This would be one of two championship fights at the Forum along with a World Bantamweight title fight between champion Ruben Olivares and Jesus Pimentel.

I was one of Ruben Olivares' sparring partners for the Pimentel fight and each day we would workout immediately following Napoles before a paying audience. Promoter George Parnassus had his office at the old Elks Building, located right off Wilshire Blvd. near Alvarado St. in downtown Los Angeles. Today the Elks Building is the Park Plaza Hotel and sits right across from Macarthur Park.

Parnassus had a gym set up in the ball room of the Elks Bldg. with a ring at one end of the room against the stage and a couple of heavy bags, a speed bag and double-end bag on the stage. People would pay $1 admission to watch the boxers train and we'd usually have several hundred spectators for each workout. I recall that former lightweight champion Lauro Salas, one of Parnassus' friends who'd fallen on hard times, would collect admission at the door and Parnassus would let Salas keep the money so as the former champ could pay his rent and feed himself. Parnassus was a legendary promoter and had a legendary soft spot in his heart for ex-boxers.

Boxers are some of the friendliest people you could meet but people don't realize that most boxers, regardless of how nice, have a mean streak. This was especially true of Jose Napoles.

One of Napoles chief sparring partners was an L.A. club fighter named Baby Cassius. Baby Cassius (Eric Thomas) knew this all too well after sparring with the champ. I remember talking with Baby Cassius in the dressing room following one of his sparring sessions with Napoles. Both of Eric's eyes were swollen and his nose was bloody. Cassius would moan, "All I wanna do is earn a little Christmas money, but this guy is killing me". He also told me that he knew Napoles was drinking because he could smell alcohol on the champion as they were sparring. I didn't feel sorry for Baby Cassius because he didn't receive any worse an ass whipping from Napoles than what I (or any sparring partner) receive when trying to punch it out with a great world champ. That's the business. However, one incident involving Napoles between rounds of a sparring session will always stick out in my mind.

Napoles had an assistant trainer in L.A. named Phil Silvers. I never cared much for Silvers personally and it was obvious that Napoles didn't either. Silvers job was to tie the champions gloves and give him water between rounds of sparring sessions. One day, after pouring some water into Napoles mouth between rounds of a sparring session, the champ spit the water back into Silver's face. He then smirked and turned around. Not even the wildest fans watching the workout made a noise. I remember how surprised I was to see this, and obviously, so was everybody else. "What a jerk", I thought.

A couple of days later I had a strange experience with Napoles myself. One day after he finished sparring, I was warming up for my sparring session with Olivares. I was punching one of the two heavy bags on the stage and had my eye on Napoles as his trainer helped him slip on his bag gloves. I wanted to see if Napoles was ready to hit the bag that I was warming up on and if he was I'd move to the other bag. Napoles was the champ and he could hit whatever bag he wanted to hit. It was his show, not mine. When I saw Napoles moving my way I assumed he wanted the bag I was punching and I respectfully moved to the other bag. Napoles started banging away at the bag and I began doing the same on the other bag.

As the next round started I saw Napoles approaching me out of the corner of my eye and he tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked at him he motioned for me to move away from the bag and pointed at the other bag. "No problem", I thought to myself, and moved to the other bag. As I'm punching the other bag I see Napoles heading toward me again and noticed a few of his friends smiling. It occurred to me that Napoles was either trying to play a joke on me, or intimidate me, or whatever. Napoles again tapped me on the shoulder and waved me off the bag. When Napoles began to hit the bag, I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the other bag, then stepped in front of him and began hitting the bag again. Napoles grabs my arm and I turn to face him.

In my mind, I had set myself up for an ass whipping by the welterweight champion of the world. However, a fighter does not let himself get pushed around by another fighter and I looked him directly in the eyes. We stood face-to-face for a few seconds that seemed like hours to me. Napoles had a very serious look on his face and I didn't know what was coming next. My trainer, Mel Epstein, saw what was going on and quickly stepped in. "C'mon Ricky, let's get ready for Olivares", he said, trying to pull me out of the situation. All of a sudden Napoles begins to smile and turns toward Epstein, motioning that it was Ok for me to continue working on the bag.

I will never know what Napoles was doing but I assume he was having fun trying to see how much I would take. One thing I did notice was that Napoles reeked of alcohol. I was surprised, despite having this told me earlier by Baby Cassius.

A couple of weeks later, Olivares stopped Jesus Pimentel in twelve rounds and Napoles won a very close fifteen round decision over the flashy Hedgeman Lewis. Lewis was a very flashy welterweight along the lines of a Sugar Ray Leonard, but not the class of Napoles. I realized that Napoles partying had affected his performance. three years later, Napoles and Lewis fight again and this time Mantequilla would ruin Hedge. Lewis was never the same after the beating he took from Napoles in this title fight.

The same was true with Ernie 'Indian Red" Lopez. Three years after losing to Napoles in his first bid for the welterweight crown, Lopez was given a second chance in 1973. After the beating Lopez took from Napoles in this fight he was never any good again. I remember talking with Lopez at the Main Street Gym in Los Angeles just a few days after his second fight with Napoles. I told Ernie I thought he gave Napoles a good fight and was shocked by Ernie's response. "I'll never fight that guy again . . . for any amount of money!" These aren't the kind of words that came out of the mouth of Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez.

At 34, Jose Napoles, a blown-up lightweight who had become one of the greatest welterweight champs in history, challenged another great fighter, Carlos Monzon for the undisputed Middleweight title. Napoles was stopped in seven rounds.

Napoles defended the welterweight title fifteen times and when he was the undisputed champ, something that no longer exists. His last two title defenses were against a friend of mine, Armando Muniz.

Like Lewis, Muniz caught Napoles out of shape in their first match and almost won the title. However, in the rematch held three months later in Mexico City, Napoles had his way with Muniz and scored a unanimous fifteen round decision win.

On December 6, 1975, after holding the welterweight title nearly eight years, Jose Napoles would make his last defense of the title at age 35. Englishman John Stracey would stop Napoles in his hometown of Mexico City.

After the fight, Napoles would announce his retirement from boxing after spending more than half his life in the professional boxing ring.

When thinking about the great welterweights in boxing, don't forget the guy they called 'Mantequilla". He was a true all-time great.

(by Rick Farris)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1971 Miami Beach

Muhammad Ali is training for Joe Frazier. Ali's friend, and D'amato pupil, former Light Heavyweight Champion Jose Torres gives him some rounds. Jose is retired and has not fought in two years. (Steve Lott)

This video includes a short clip of the session..


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## Teeto (May 31, 2012)

tommygun711 said:


>





doug.ie said:


>


I know I'm really late here but these are amazing


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

November 11, 1935 - Berlin, Germany.

In the 'Sportpalast' in front of an audience of 10.000 people, Gustav Eder wins over his challenger, the Belgian Felix Wouters, in the 9th round with a K.O. 
The European welterweight Champion was defending the title for the 6th time. Eder stands in the corner while Woulter lies on his back and gets counted out by referee Henry Patris.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Mike Jacobs 1937 telegram to Max Schmeling


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

January 1986.

Muhammad Ali shuffles back into a ring at aged near 44, testing himself by sparring with Tony Tubbs and Tim Witherspoon.

"I told him that if he looked good, I'd put him in there for an exhibition" - Don King.


....................................................

Muhammad Ali's fists and feet picked up speed when Jimmy Ellis called ''time" on the former champion's eighth and final round of sparring.

Ali heard him and knew his time was up. But he needed to end this sparring session, his seventh in as many days, with his own personal punctuation point.

So he advanced on Tony Tubbs, the World Boxing Association heavyweight champion, behind a flicking jab as the crowd began to chant "Ali, Ali." And he threw a three-punch combination.

Then, he brought the cheering to a crescendo with a slow-motion version of the old Ali shuffle and walked away.

The End.

Or was it the beginning ? Was it just good, clean fun? A way to lose weight? Or is there something more that has prompted this return to center stage for boxing's most beloved figure?

"I'm coming back . . . ," Ali said teasingly one day last week to a crowd that strained to hear his barely audible voice, "to my senses."

The sparring sessions started a week ago when Ali, dressed in his street clothes, walked up to Slim Jim Robinson, Tim Witherspoon's trainer, and asked for a protective cup.

"He said he wanted to go three rounds with Tim," Robinson said. "I gave him a headgear and he slid a cup on over his pants and went three rounds in his street shoes.

"The next day he came in with a sweat suit and a pair of sneakers and we've been sparring ever since, sometimes six rounds, sometimes eight. He's been as many as 10 with Tim.

"I don't know what it's all about, really. But I know the last time this happened, he walked into one of my training sessions when I had Eddie Mustafa Muhammad.

"He went in in his street clothes just like this time and boxed a few rounds. Then he said we're going to box until one of us drops. They went 30 minutes before I made them stop.

"When he came out of the ring, he said. 'I'm going to make a comeback'.

"That was in 1980, about a year after he had won his title back from Leon Spinks. About nine months later, he fought Larry Holmes."

In an interview after his final session with Witherspoon Monday, Ali, who will turn 44 Friday, delighted in tantalizing a reporter by raising the possibility of a comeback and then stepping back from it.

"I came in to lose some weight and feel better," he said. "I lost about 15 pounds. Look at this."

He stood and pulled the top of the sweat suit out of his waist band. The liquified excesses of years of inactivity rolled in rivulets from beneath the suit.

"I feel surprisingly good," Ali said. "I feel like I'm in my prime. I'm working with the top contender for the first time in five years. My punches are landing, body punches landing.

''I asked Don King if he would get me an exhibition fight if I looked good against the top contender. I said I want a 10-round exhibition, five rounds apiece with two top contenders in Madison Square Garden.

"And I said if I look good against them, would he get me a title shot. He said, 'Yes' ".

King's version differed slightly. "I told him that if he looked good, I'd put him in there for an exhibition," King said. "He's bringing himself back.

"I'd be willing to get some other retired fighter. I'd get Joe Frazier or somebody like that and let them make a little money for charity."

Witherspoon had some reservations about the comeback possibility.

"I don't know about a comeback," Witherspoon said. "But he might be able to fight a few exhibitions. He amazes me. He's still got the timing. He still throws the jab pretty good.

"He can take a punch to the body, too. I hit him to the body for real. But I can't bring myself to hit him hard in the head.

"He tells me to hit him in the head hard. But I can't. I don't want the whole world mad at me."

(by Elmer Smith)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The first incarnation of George Foreman - a scowling menace booed from most every seat in the arenas he toiled in - never fought a heavyweight championship round in the United States. Don King his promoter (and Ali's and Frazier's) had found that foreign investors - often governments - were willing to bankroll a heavyweight championship fight just for the tourism, continental bragging rights, PR exposure and international prestige associated with being a recognized spot on the map of current affairs. And King was never one to look a gift demigod in the mouth, so much the better if it happened to be from an African dictator.

The fact that Ken Norton, 30-2 (23), had broken Ali's jaw and looked like the son of Zeus was supposed to mean a real challenge had to be coming George's way. Fledgling promoter King, hungry to keep the Foreman global express rolling along as he had an agreement in principle with Foreman and Ali inked just a week before, brazenly set the Foreman-Norton showdown in, of all places, Caracas, Venezuela. Remote but beautiful setting, well known but dangerous opponent, next fight signed up with a monster, hype making guarantee for both fighters, it was pure early Kings-man-ship.

Checking over the two gladiators and their respective styles most analysts felt that Norton's jabbing, flinching awkwardness which mixed in decent power might - if extended over some rounds - force Foreman into a real, athletic engagement. That at least was the hope. But the memory, still fresh, of the great Joe Frazier being dribbled like a basketball off the canvas until cradled in his manager's arms Yank Durham back to his corner was the newest abiding memory in boxing's long line of championship annihilations. Of course, that's why you fight the big fights.

Besides, if the ex-sailor from San Diego, California could fight competitively with Muhammad Ali for 24 rounds surely he could make the champion break a serious sweat, for his guaranteed $700,000 and ancillary change. And this entire Venezuela thing was not going according to anyone's script. If Foreman was as confident as Saddler and cornerman Archie Moore said to one and all, then why had they tried to have their own hand picked man Jimmy Rondeau flown in from Washington to referee?

Rondeau would indeed referee, miserably, but only after the Foreman camp allowed the entire judging core to be home picked. Better the referee in your pocket than the judges, when your guy is George Foreman that is! Also, why did the champ suddenly come up with a knee malady the morning of the fight after training had ceased? Foreman was injured climbing stairs? The story unravelled from that single assertion ending up to no ones satisfaction. Was the champ able to fight? He sat in his dressing room not committing one way or the other.

In the stadium, Ali was holding court at ringside mouthing to Bob Sheridan "doing the colour commentary" for the telecast of the fight. When Ali and Oscar Bonavena started into a mock stare-down and sparring session during the preliminaries all that was left was for the circus to show up. When the introductions ended and the bell rang Foreman was there in symbolic red trunks and Norton outfitted in blue met him at ring centre to remind everyone there was a championship to be decided.

The fight itself was a study in raw heavyweight power hitting, an exhibition of Foreman's prime uppercuts and inside left hooks locked in for explosion on the head of Kenny Norton. Just over 200 closed circuit audiences in Canada and the US saw the live and living ritual sacrificing of Norton inside of 2 rounds. Never would Norton collect a more deserved 200,000 if only measured as mercy pay. El Poliedro Stadium, barely half full, barely had time to see its dignitaries seated before Bill Slayton halted the fight. No, not Eddie Futch who had been dismissed by Norton's management Art Rivkin and Bob Biron over Futch's new working relationship with Joe Frazier as a conflict of interest. Norton stumbled back to his corner to a stranger, Bill Slayton, who barely reacted outwardly to Norton's having been bludgeoned by Big George for the worst defeat of his young career.

(by Patrick Kehoe)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"..the fun I am going to have fighting my way back to the top again" - Beau Jack (July 1943)


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> November 11, 1935 - Berlin, Germany.
> 
> In the 'Sportpalast' in front of an audience of 10.000 people, Gustav Eder wins over his challenger, the Belgian Felix Wouters, in the 9th round with a K.O.
> The European welterweight Champion was defending the title for the 6th time. Eder stands in the corner while Woulter lies on his back and gets counted out by referee Henry Patris.


You wouldn't find a better example of a guy having been ironed out than that.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Boogle McDougal (Jun 8, 2012)

doug.ie said:


>


Hagler. Hearns.

You thought they were vicious in The War?

Wait 'til you see them in The Office!

Coming next Fall on CBS...


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


>


What a fabulous picture :good


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1926, 19-year old Teddy Baldock was forced to move up to bantamweight, and he had the urge to try his luck in America. His father was against the idea, but after several rows, it was arranged for him to accompany Ted Broadribb and a party including Jack Hood and Alf Mancini. Ironically, it was on the eve of his departure for the United States that Teddy suffered his first defeat. In what was his 42nd paid fight, he faced Kid Nicholson from Leeds, against the wishes of Joe Morris, but did so because he wanted some money for the American trip. Baldock had trouble making the weight, and his only success during the fight was with shots to the body. After several warnings, however, he strayed low once too often, and was disqualified in the ninth round.

The American trip was a tremendous success, and during his four-month stay Teddy had twelve contests, winning eleven and drawing the other. His greatest success was a first-round knockout of the bantÂ¬amweight champion of Canada, Arthur de Champlaine. The fans raved over the lad from Poplar, and top promoter Tex Rickard admitted that had Baldock been old enough he would have given him the chance to fight for the vacant world bantamweight title. Baldock, Hood, and Mancini were paid good money in the States, and clubbed together to buy a car for $95. They were anxious to see the big names in action, and even drove to Philadelphia to watch Jack Dempsey training for his heavyweight title defence against Gene Tunney. They stayed there for several days, and managed to get tickets to see the fight.

When he returned to England, Teddy received a tremendous welcome, and was honoured at a dinner at a Holborn restÂ¬aurant by 250 admirers. While he was away, the International Sports Syndicate was formed, and took over from Harry Jacobs in promoting at the Albert Hall An offer of Â£1,000 had been made for Baldock to have three fights, one of which would be for the world bantamweight title, Teddy accepted the offer, and in his first contest for the new promoters he knocked out Young Johnny Brown of St. George's in three rounds. After the fight, he was asked to return to the ringside because the Prince of Wales wanted to shake his hand. Teddy was terrified, and he refused, and literally had to be dragged from the dressing-room to meet his royal admirer.

After Baldock knocked out the German Felix Friedmann, the promoters cabled American Archie Bell with an offer of Â£1,000 for him to meet the Londoner for the vacant world bantamweight title. Bell, a veteran of over 60 fights agreed. He travelled to London, and trained at "The Black Bull" at Whetstone. Baldock set up his training camp at Hurstpierpoint, with former British featherweight champion Johnny Curley as his chief sparring-partner Baldock had a tremendous following, and on the evening of the fight 52 charabancs, crammed with enthusiastic fans, set off from Poplar for the Royal Albert Hall. The great arena was packed to capacity, and the atmosphere was electric. The American was by far the best man Baldock had faced, and the contest was fought at a terrific pace from start to finish. It was a toe-to-toe battle, and one of the greatest ever seen in a London ring. Teddy boxed brilliantly, and with just two rounds to go he was well ahead. Suddenly, Bell launched a whirlwind attack in an effort to turn the fight around. It was at this stage that the East Ender's speed, skill, and ability to absorb a punch were decisive, and he weathered the storm to take the decision. The crowd were delirious, and at the end the organist played "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".

The whole of Poplar celebrated, and at a civic reception a few days later, Teddy was presented with an illuminated address signed by the Mayor of Poplar, and was awarded the Freedom of the Borough.

(Martin Sax)

.....................

Teddy Baldock was one of Britain's finest boxers of the 1920's and one of its most loved sportsmen. Teddy won the World Bantamweight title* on May 5th 1927 at the Royal Albert Hall in London beating America's Archie Bell on points over fifteen rounds.

World title victory propelled him to stardom in Britain, as his grandson Martin Sax attests: "There was a report about my grandmother and how she had gone to watch him fight at Premierland without him knowing because he didnâ€™t agree with women watching boxing, and I think his parents had a bad car crash, and that made the Daily Express news because of who their son was".

His world title shot didn't come easy. By the time he fought Bell, he had been a professional boxer for six years and had competed in fifty-seven contests, compiling a record of 54-1-2. Another four years passed with some further success, but by 1930 Teddy's best days were behind him. He retired in 1931 aged 24 with a final professional record of 73-5-3.

....................

*At 19 years 347 days old Teddy would win the Bantamweight Title beating Archie Bell in 1927. Though there is some confusion regarding his title win. Three months before, Charley "Phil" Rosenberg had forfeited the Undisputed World Title by appearing in a title bout overweight. By virtue of this bout with Bell, Baldock was declared the World Champ by the British boxing authorities. (Bell would later face Pete Sanstol for another version of the bantam crown).
But on record it is regarded as a Bantamweight Title fight which would make him the youngest World Champion out of Great Britian.

...................

Photo Caption reads - 
"24th August 1929 English boxer Teddy Baldock, centre, surrounded by well-wishers including his mother and finance at Waterloo Station, London, bound for the USA."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Oct 1962 - Madison Square Garden, New York

Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter vs. Florentino Fernandez

"Carter scored two knockdowns. Carter floored Fernandez for the first time with a short right. Fernandez got up at the count of two and took the mandatory eight-count from referee Johnny LoBianco. Seconds later, Carter connected with a right-left-right that sent Fernandez through the ropes and onto the ring apron. He was counted out at 1:09 of the first round."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I should have known the first day I went in the gym and sparred with some kid that I really didnâ€™t have it. But I had waited 11 years for a shot and I didnâ€™t want it to pass me by. I somehow managed to go 15 rounds but after the first round I just knew. Iâ€™ve lived that fight 35 years ago over in my head a thousand times, over and over again. I remember it punch for punch and it drives me crazy. I remember when I came back to my corner after the first I said, â€œWeâ€™re in for a long night.â€ â€˜I thought, â€œOh man, 14 more.â€ It felt like I had done 15 rounds already. I was just counting them down, â€œIâ€™ve got 12 more, Iâ€™ve got ten more rounds.â€ â€˜In the seventh I hit him with a right hand and knocked him down and should have finished him. He was hurt but I didnâ€™t realise and he got up. I was so tired I donâ€™t think I realised how tired he really was. I let him off the hook. If Iâ€™d went in there and tried to bang with him Iâ€™m sure I could have knocked him out. Iâ€™ve got the film and I look at it every once in a while and it makes me sick,â€™ he smiled regretfully. â€˜Thereâ€™s no doubt in my mind I could have knocked him out. He was a tough kid but he never hurt me. â€˜In my career I definitely see a few things I would have liked to have done differently and beating Benvenuti would have been one of them. I go to bed now and every night when I run that fight through my head it still drives me crazy."

(Don Fullmer)

.................................................................................

Instead of being listed as one of Nino Benvenuti's conquests, maybe the man who fought nine world champions in his 79 fights would have been inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame himself. In the seventh round of the 15-round title fight, Fullmer, who was weak from weeks of fighting the flu, landed a punch that sent Benvenuti to the canvas. But it wasn't enough, and in the end he lost that fight by decision.

"About 10 years ago, he told me that a day never goes by that he hasn't thought about that fight," said one of Fullmer's five sons, Hud Fullmer. Adds his youngest son, Kade, "He told me he dreams about it every night."

On the 43rd anniversary of that fight, the Fullmer boys gathered at the South Jordan home of their dad and mom, Nedra, to talk about their father, his life and his legacy â€" inside and outside the ring. They discussed Fullmer's second fight against Benvenuti, an Olympic gold medalist and Italian superstar, on Dec. 14, 1968, which was for the world middleweight title.

Brad Fullmer quietly voiced the sentiment that has haunted his father. "Maybe our lives would have been a lot different from one punch," he said. And then Don Fullmer, who sat in a recliner to ease the constant pain in his back, responded with his simple, dry humor for which he is so well-known and loved: "Mine would have been. I don't know about yours, but mine would have been." The reaction sparked an eruption of laughter, followed by a lot of ribbing.

(Desert News)



















*The first quote is from the superb new book from Boxing News editor Tris Dixon...

http://www.amazon.com/The-Road-Nowhere-Journey-Wastelands/dp/190962652X


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

This thread never fails...:cheers


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Iâ€™ll be forty-one in a few months and have had more than eighty fights, most against fine opponents, and Iâ€™m feeling rather old. My new job as a security guard at a Museum shouldnâ€™t be so painful. I go to the doctor, and he tells me I have liver cancer and not long to live.

Please, I ask the Nigerian government victorious since early 1970 over a Biafra that exists only as rotting flesh and shattered buildings, let me come home. You can come home, they say, but better not cause trouble. In the summer of 1971 I return, skinny in the way of the very ill, and am ordered to turn over my passport while they blister me with three hours of questions. I cooperate. Iâ€™m so happy to again be with my wife and children. I wonâ€™t leave again, I promise. I wonâ€™t except to get this extraordinary new treatment of liver cancer. Please let me leave just a little while, I ask the government. They say no and keep my passport. Iâ€™m disappointed but not bitter. I know. Iâ€™m not going to get better. Iâ€™m being carried through the streets."

(Dick Tiger Stands Up by George Thomas Clark)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1952.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I knew he was a good fighter and Iâ€™d heard that he was a good, scientific boxer but I was young, too, and at the time pretty good also. We went to Copenhagen three days before the fight and we were jet-lagged. Iâ€™d left my training stuff at home and George Francis [Contehâ€™s manager] had booked us a route to Copenhagen that took us 19 hours. We went everywhere but Copenhagen. It was a hard fight but he didnâ€™t hurt me. If weâ€™d gone over there 15 days earlier things would have been different but I learned a lot from fighting Conteh." - Yaqui Lopez

.................................................. ...

"He was harder than I thought he would be. I felt I dictated the whole fight. He hurt me once, in the 6th round I think it was, but I was pleased that my right hand held up well. I hardly threw it but when I did it stood up." -John Conteh

.................................................. ...

"John Conteh of Britain retained his WBC version of the world light heavyweight title Saturday after an absence from the ring of 15 months by outpointing Alvaro Lopez, a Mexican-born American, at the Forum. After four solid opening rounds, Conteh found the challenger swarming over him in the 5th while in the 6th, one of the toughest in the fight, Conteh produced some superb left hooks to the head and then the body, but Lopez was back as strong as ever in the 7th trying to find a way to victory with his left jabbing. Most of the rounds were won or lost narrowly, usually in a burst of jabs by Conteh which tipped the balance against the indecisive shots of the challenger. In the 11th round Lopez suffered a cut over his left eye and the sight of blood only added to Conteh's incentive. Conteh, though, was running out of energy and he cleverly spun out his resources over the remaining rounds picking off his challenger with those left jabs, emphasizing again his class." - United Press International (Oct 1976)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 1964

"Floyd Patterson decisively outpointed Eddie Machen in their 12 round bout here last night before 40,000 at the Raasunda outdoor stadium. Except for the 7th round, which Machen won with a stinging right to the jaw, Patterson dominated the fight with his familiar peekaboo guard and lightning fast series of kangaroo rushes. Machen was down in the 10th and 11th from slips for no counts. Blood stains showed on his white trunks and he nursed a closed left eye at the end. Machen confused Patterson at times by keeping his head low at close quarters, but only his defensive skill - and maybe Floyd's lack of a takeout punch - kept him on his feet for the distance. Teddy Waltham, the British referee and sole arbiter, raised Patterson's hand as soon as the final gong sounded. He gave Patterson nine rounds, Machen one round and called two even, the same as the AP scorecard. In points, Waltham scored it, 59-49." - Associated Press










a bit harsh this following critique of patterson....but anyway...

......

In 1958, the super-cautious Cus Dâ€™Amato, the proprietor of Patterson, kept ducking Machen just as he ducked most of the top heavyweights, charging they were all under the sinister control of the forces of evil.â€ While Dâ€™Amato seethed against the wickedness of man from rickety soapboxes, the heavyweight championship went through the ignominy of having Pete Rademacher and Tom McNeely contest it in spectacles closer to pratfall conventions than prizefights. In his never-ending jihad against unholy forces in boxing, Dâ€™Amato frothed over Sid Flaherty, who, like 98.5% of fight managers, maintained a working relationship with Jim Norris and the IBC. This flaw, one that brings to mind the poor crones in medieval Europe accused of witchcraft due to an unsightly mole or an affinity for cats, was enough to demonize Machen. Behind all of his righteous bluster, Dâ€™Amato was merely trying to protect his fragile champion, whose chin made tin resemble titanium. In eleven Patterson title fights from 1956 to 1963, over 40 knockdowns were scored, with Patterson suffering 15 of them. Years later, Patterson, the most dignified of fighters, was embarrassed at being protected, and when the world demanded that he face Sonny Liston, Patterson insisted that the fight be made. Public demand, unfortunately, never reached those heights for Machen. In 1964 Machen finally got to meet Patterson.

(Arthur Daley)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Growing up in Mexico City, he was not poor, not stupid, and not a loner. He simply loved to box. Constantly suspended from school for fighting, his greatest frustration was when his managers made him wait until they felt he was ready to go pro. It was as though being in the ring was living, while everything else was just a rehearsal. But when his career started, it started with a bang. He won his first 24 fights by knockout, finally being taken the distance two years after his debut. Five months later, German Bastidas tainted his perfect record, record, boxing him to a draw. But he would rack up 61 victories before his first professional loss â€" a shocking knockout at the hands of his 3-time arch rival, Chucho Castillo. But he never lost his sense of chivalry or his delight in battle.

In 1969, he became WBC and WBA Bantamweight Champion of the World, beating the dearly loved Australian pugilist, Lionel Rose in a devastating fifth round knockout. Upon being declared the winner, he embraced his fallen foe and told him, â€œYou gave me the chance and I will never forget that. If you want another fight, you can have it. It would be a pleasure to go into the ring again with a gentleman like you.â€ His 3-fight rivalry with Castillo began with his offer, â€œSure, Iâ€™ll give him another chance. Iâ€™ll give anybody a chance.â€ And indeed, his dance card features names like Arguello, Chacon, Pimentel, Lopez, Hafey, Ramirez, Kotey, and Pedroza. Some he beat, some beat him. But always, there was a smile and a congratulations from the Mexican class act until his retirement in 1981. Unable to stay away, he returned to the ring for some ill-advised exhibition bouts and made his final retirement in 1988.

He is a 1991 inductee into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

(by Matthew Baker)


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

Trail said:


> This thread never fails...:cheers


:deal


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1910


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He is visiting his mother's small clapboard house in the depressed Hilltop section of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the tiny living room, struggling with the long sheet of clear plastic draped, as a sort of dust guard, across the front of the cabinet that his mother has set up as a shrine to his career as a boxer. Finally, he gets his hand up under the sheet and directs it, by memory, to a six-inch winged figurine of Victory. "This here was my first trophy," he says, smiling behind tinted glasses. Then, rummaging once more, he locates the object of his heart's frustration and desire: the gold medal from the 1972 Olympic Games. "This," he says wistfully, "should have propelled me into something good."

Instead, it propelled him into seasons of futility and self-delusion. And finally, tragically, into delusion's physical counterpart: blindness itself.

After more than 400 amateur and professional fights, after seven eye operations and years of kidding himself that he was only a fight or two away from the world middleweight championship and that his surgically restored retinas would hold up until he got there, Sugar Ray Seales, 31, is all but in the dark. He has no vision in his left eye and only 10 percent in the right. "I can't read," he says. "I can't drive. Most I can do is walk with this cane." And gingerly, at that. A novice at not seeing, he steps too soon going up the stairs, he walks into glass doors, he has burn scars on his forehead from trying to put logs in the wood-burning stove in the rented house he shares with girlfriend Mae Howard and her four kids.

What's more, he is penniless. "He owns only what I give him," says Ed Garner, his equally destitute manager, who professes a lifetime commitment to the blind fighter. Worse still, Seales is $100,000 in debt to assorted doctors and hospitals. Even efforts to extract him from the abyss seem doomedâ€"scuttled by the Fates, or maybe just by the ineptitude of the people who have surrounded him throughout his once-promising career. Hearing of Seales' plight, Sammy Davis Jr. brought his Las Vegas show to the Tacoma Dome last month for a benefit performance. "He's got all three Bs," said Davis. "He's black, blind and broke. I got two of them myself." Somehow, the benefit managed to lose $25,000.

Withal, Seales is unbowed. "We're waiting to see what we can do for our-self," he says, lapsing, as he often does, into the royal "we." The only thing, in this Olympic year, that seems to give him pause is the announcement that a younger and more famous Sugar Ray, former welterweight champion Ray Leonard, is returning to the hunt after his own retinal surgery. Together, Leonard and Seales offer an instructive tale of two Sugars, of to-have and have-not, of two careers as different as the two Olympics in which they were forged. Yet Ray Seales' storyâ€"one of naÃ¯vetÃ©, botched opportunity, exploitation and, especially, reckless ambitionâ€"should be required reading for Ray Leonard.

Growing up in St. Croix, Virgin Islands, Ray Seales was quiet, even reticent as a child. "I believe when my mother was carrying me she was working in a mortuary," he says. "I don't know, but I think it made me come out a little slim, a little fearful." The legacy of his father, however, offset his timidity. The latter was a soldier in the American Army who earned his stripes as a boxer. He didn't actually teach Ray how to box during his 15-day furloughs. His influence was more subtle. "We felt for each other," says Seales. "And what I felt in him was fighting."

It wasn't until 1964, when he moved to Tacoma with his mother after his parents' divorce, that Ray made good on his patrimony. He was 12 years old, and his newfound peers were merciless in taunting him about his island English. "I joined the Boys Club and learned to fight," he says. "They stopped picking on me."

On the verge of his teens, Ray stood 5'7" and weighed but 78 pounds. He was all arms and legs, and he had processed hair, which made him a dead ringer for the sweetest fighter of them all: Sugar Ray Robinson. As an amateur Seales lived up to his moniker, winning all but 12 of his 350 fights. In the 1972 Olympics he was a polished stone in a diadem that included such prized talents as Duane Bobick and James "Bubba" Busceme. Yet he was the only one to sparkle. "The Olympics," he likes to say, "was the greatest thing ever to happen to Sugar Ray Seales." Perhaps. But he was not able to convert Olympic gold into more negotiable currency. In 1973 he made less than $1,000 for his first professional fight; four years later Sugar Ray Leonard banked $40,000 for his pro debutâ€"it was more than Seales would ever make for any fight in his entire 11-year career. The matter was beyond his control. Leonard came out of the '76 Olympics as the headliner of a boxing squad that captured the public's imagination, whereas Seales emerged from the sorry '72 affair, best remembered for the bloody massacre of Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. "I saved America by winning the only gold medal in boxing in 1972," says Seales, who to this day fails to understand why America never took him to its heart the way it did Leonard.

"His whole mistake," says Cus D'Amato, the fight manager who turned Olympians Floyd Patterson and Jose Torres into world champions, "was when he turned pro he remained with the fellows he was with in the amateurs." Seales' manager-of-choice was one George Yelton, who'd been good for an occasional five-spot when the Boys Club boxing team was on the road and who owned several taco stands in Washington state. Perhaps even more naive than his fighter, Yelton's idea of a major promotion was a banner strung across one of his Tex-Mex establishments: "Come See Sugar Ray Seales at Taco Time." Worse, he did not even know enough to protect his fighter. In 1974, after Seales had gained 20 wins against less-than-stellar opposition, Yelton agreed to come east to Boston for what was billed as a benefit for the United Way. "I thought it would be like an exhibition, where I could dance, get a chance to perform," says Seales. He remembers freezing at the weigh-in, then looking over to see a short, heavily muscled, shaven-headed warrior sweating with intensity. His opponent was the young Marvin Hagler, one of the most devastating punchers of our day, already 14-0 with 12 knockoutsâ€"and neither Seales nor Yelton were ready for him. They didn't even know who he was.

After this first loss, by decision, Seales fought Hagler twice more. Indeed, Hagler would become a sort of touchstone for his career, a measure of how much ground he had lost. Ray fought to a draw with him in a return war in Tacoma. Then in 1979, under new management, Seales fought Hagler again in Boston. Ray's corner was a circus. Two days before the fight, his new manager decided to entertain lady friends in his hotel room, which provoked Ray's trainer, George Wright, to threaten to leave for Tacoma. The next day somebody called from Alaska, claiming he owned a piece of Sugar Ray Seales and demanding to know what his purse was. Ray was hauled into the office of the Massachusetts boxing commissioner for an accounting. Finally, on fight day, it was discovered that Seales and Hagler were wearing the same color trunks, and Ray was hassled into changing his. Already beaten, the Sugar Man was knocked out by Marvelous Marvin before the first round was half over.

Shortly thereafter Seales hooked up with Ed Garner, yet another local businessman without clout or boxing credentials. By this time he was regarded by promoters as an "opponent," a stepping stone for some less tarnished prospect. Yet Ray was as game as ever. In early 1980 he eclipsed the hopes of Arthur "Tap" Harris, a 31-0 fighter scheduled for bigger things, with a sixth-round knockout. Then suddenly, in August, Ray was thumbed in his right eye, which filled up with blood. Two operations performed a couple of days later in Tacoma by Dr. Hsushi Yeh were deemed successful. For his part, Seales remembers Dr. Yeh telling him, "You could get hit in that eye twice as hard as before and nothing would happen." Says Dr. Yeh, "You want the true story? I told him, 'Personally, I think you should quit boxing right at this moment.' " Yeh remembers Seales replying, "Doctor, this is my life. I got only two or three fights before I can gain my championship!"

Seales, however, was deceiving himself. By this time Marvin Hagler bestrode the world. Undaunted, Seales and Garner plunged back into the heartland, starting a new round of one-night stands with local club fighters for as little as $4,000 a go. Then, late in 1981, says Ray, "We experienced something in our left eye. We experienced the ring getting farther away." Seales came home and had two more operations, which had to be performed by two new doctors, since Ray hadn't been able to pay Dr. Yeh and couldn't pay this time either. According to Dr. Yeh, a charitable man who would later resume care of the blighted fighter, this was a turning point. "It's my understanding," he says, "that the fighter still had 20/40 vision in his right eye."

It is remarkable that Seales fought thereafter in six different statesâ€"California, New York, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey and Coloradoâ€"and that he passed each prefight physical with ease. According to boxing commission physicians, Ray deceived his examiners by keeping his surgical history a secret and memorizing the eye charts. On the one hand, Seales denies that he was trying to fool the commission doctors and blames them for conspiring with promoters to use him as meat. On the other, he intimates that he was hoping to get caught. "I wanted someone to tell me," he says, " 'Hey, man. It's over for you. I can't let you fight in my state.' "

The end came quietly last March. Trainer George Wright kept changing the bulbs in the gym, but Seales could not shake the feeling he was in the dark. A few days later in Portland, Oreg., retinal specialist Dr. Richard Chenoweth took one look at the benighted fighter and said, "This kid has been blind for 18 months!"

Back in the days when the world was green and his career was in its first flower, Ray Seales had thought to win the world middleweight title, then return in glory to St. Croix and become governor. The dream seems remote now. But Seales is an incorrigible optimist, and he insists that his ambition has been merely deferred. "It's the strength, the power and the will that I have inside," he says, "that makes me project more light than there really is. Someday my eyes are going to be restored." He pauses and makes a gesture of dismissal with a long sleek hand that bears his ruby Olympic ring. "You know, we don't think of ourself as blind. We are going to stretch and become a champion at something else."

(by William Plummer - 1984)

.................

Years later, doctors operated and Seales regained the vision in his right eye, though he wears glasses. Seales later worked as a schoolteacher of autistic students at Lincoln High School in Tacoma for 17 years until 2004 before retiring. In 2006, he moved to Indianapolis with his wife, where he currently resides. Seales currently works as a boxing coach, working with talented amateurs in the Indianapolis area.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

ali v foreman - look at the seats


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1938

"For a few days at least, there were two Jimmy Slatterys"

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

At the beginning of the combat, Sam McVea looked in marvelous form due to a severe drive in training and strongly attacked Joe Jennnette, and he seemed to worry very little about the blows that his adversary threw at him. During a certain number of rounds, the two men made a good match and looked the equal of one another. Then Sam, by use of terrible blows projected at his adversary, knocked him to the ground several times. Then next, with extraordinary courage, Jeannette raised himself and little by little found the means to put the hurt on Sam. The combat was superb, and all at the same time violent and scientific. Sam landed terrible direct blows to the jaw of Jeannette who also dodged many and counterpunched well with his own powerful blows that landed admirably. Sam no longer looked human, as his eye was completely closed and his mouth bloodied.
We arrive thus at the fortieth round. Joe Jeannette, very fresh, rains a hail of blows on Sam, who is completely disabled, but thanks to his incomparable force and courage, always resists. The bell saved him several times from defeat. The uppercuts of Jeannette are no longer avoided anymore by Sam who is well finished.
With the forty-ninth round, a record! Sam shakes the hand of Jeannette and states he has given up. Science, speed and flexibility have just triumphed over brute force. Sam MacVea, crowned by Parisians as the king of boxing, falls from his pedestal. Joe Jeannette will replace him. Poor Sam!

(La Presse - French Newspaper - April 24, 1909)

...........................

By virtue of oxygen pumped into them by their seconds, Jeannette and MacVey reeled and staggered through forty-eight rounds of a brutal and plucky fight here tonight. At the opening of the forty-ninth round MacVey, his face utterly dehumanized save for an expression of helpless agony that distorted what remained of his features, signified that he was unable to continue, whereupon the referee declared Jeannette the winner.

(New York Sun)

..........................


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1960


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

â€œBetween the rounds Jerry the Greek pushed smelling salts under my nose. I felt as though I had been fighting for hours. I thought I had struck thousands of blows and been hit as many times. I asked Doc what round it was. When he said it was the first round, I couldnâ€™t believe him.â€ .....

http://classicboxingsociety.blogspot.ie/2014/11/from-july-4-1919-to-september-23.html


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> ali v foreman - look at the seats


 A surprisingly high number are empty.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

â€œWhat do you like to eat?â€

â€œSteak, when I can get it. But thatâ€™s not often,â€

â€œMarriedâ€™?â€

â€œNo. But I expect to beâ€

â€œWhatâ€™s her name?â€

â€œNora Speight. She wants me to take back some nylons and a swim suit such as they wear in Hollywood.â€

â€œHow much money have you made fighting?â€

He looked steadily at his questioner. The others squirmed at the crudeness of the question.

â€œI beg your pardon?â€ he said.

The reporter said:

â€œHave you any moneyâ€™?â€

Woodcockâ€™s eyebrows went up. His voice, which had been warm and friendly, was cold.

â€œI have a pound or two,â€ he said.

He turned to another reporter.

â€œWhat did you say?â€ he asked, his voice friendly again.

â€œWhat do you know about Mauriello. Bruce?â€

â€œNot much. Iâ€™ll know more after the fight.â€

â€œHow about Joe Louis?â€

Tom Hurst (Woodcock's manager) had remained silent during the interview. Now he beat the fighter to the answer.

â€œWeâ€™re here to fight Mauriello,â€ he said. â€œLouie can wait.â€


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Two of the great voices of british boxing - Reg Gutteridge and Harry Carpenter - narrate a replay of Rocky Graziano v Tony Zale and Zale v Marcel Cerdan...

"It might be show-business with blood...but it's not scripted"


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

_It was time for him to enter the ring in New Orleans for his rematch with Ali, but Leon had disappeared, and neither his camp nor his bodyguardâ€"Mr. T., the future Clubber Langâ€"could find him. He was finally located in a hotel room, drunk.

As Ali stood in his corner calmly waiting for the fight to begin, Leon reached for his brother and held him in a tight, lingering embrace. He might have been voicing some version of the old spiritualâ€™s lament: Nobody Knows the Trouble Iâ€™ve Seen. But Michael knew.

Somehow Leon managed to fight on relatively even terms with Ali for five rounds before Ali took command. It wasnâ€™t much of a fight. Ali danced for the first time in years, but he landed mostly one- and two-punch combinations while holding Leon ceaselessly over 15 rounds and winning a lopsided decision. Leon went back out partying and kept the party going for years, though his career quickly became a sideshow. He lost about as often as he won, drank up his paydays in single sittings, and generally lived the life of a wild, not terribly bright dude. Years later, training Leon for one last shot at remaking his career, Emanuel Steward went looking for the fighter and found him in the usual placeâ€"a hotelâ€"and in the usual stateâ€"drunk, naked, and with a woman. â€œCoach, it ainâ€™t like it look,â€ he said.

Leon wound up broke.

Where Leon was madcap, Michael was reserved and enigmatic, only slightly off-kilter and in none of the ways that make headlines. â€œMichael always seemed so logical compared to Leon,â€ promoter Bob Arum said. â€œIt seemed to me that Michael had some sense. Leon never had any sense.â€ Michael turned out to be a better fighter than his older brother, too, largely because of his personal stability and discipline. But in 1983, his life was upended when his common-law wife, the mother of his two-year old daughter, was killed in a car accident weeks before he was to fight Dwight Muhammad Qawi to unify the light heavyweight title. Just as he was preparing to enter the ring, someone brought the little girl into Michaelâ€™s dressing room. She promptly asked him where her mother was. Michael almost went to pieces, but he went out and beat Qawi.

Michael had a curious ability to inspire disdain in his opponents, perhaps because of his unusual style, if it was a style. Heâ€™d start out orthodox, but in the heat of battle punches would start flying in from all angles. In 1985, when Michael beat Holmes â€" then 48-0 and one win away from equaling Rocky Marcianoâ€™s perfect record â€" Holmes complained about the decision. The following year, Holmes had a legitimate gripe about their rematch, which Michael also won by decision: most observers thought Holmes deserved the nod. Even in 1987, when Michael knocked out the much bigger Gerry Cooney, whom he feared, he couldnâ€™t seem to convince his opponent. The usually gracious Cooney said that Michael didnâ€™t belong in the same ring with him.

Where Leon endured a sustained descent, Michaelâ€™s downfall was mercifully brief: in June 1988, he faced off against Mike Tyson in the bout that would unify (for a few years at least) the heavyweight title. Tyson was at his peak, a terrifying force combining speed and power. Emanuel Steward told how before the Tyson fight, Michael was afraid to leave his dressing room. He entered the Atlantic City ring, as the authors put it, wearing â€œthe look of a rabbit that had just spotted a hunterâ€™s rifle.â€ Michaelâ€™s trainer, Eddie Futch, wanted him to box Tyson, to stay away for four or five roundsâ€"easier said than done in those days. â€œTake him out in deep water and then we can drown him,â€ he said. Tyson never gave them a chance, annihilating Spinks in 91 seconds. It was Michaelâ€™s only loss as a professional and his last fight.

Michael lives on a generous spread outside Wilmington, Delaware, and mostly keeps a low profile. _

(by John Florio and Ouisie Shapiro)










Some recent Leon news (Nov 2014)...

..................................

Boxing legend Leon Spinks is finally walking, talking and smiling again ... after a medical scare stemming from a chicken bone accident.

As recently reported, Spinks was hospitalized -- and was in pretty bad shape -- after swallowing a chicken bone ... which got lodged in his intestine.

Leon's attorney Steve Pacitti said the former champ is still in the hospital -- but he's making tremendous progress.

"He's healing. He's on the road to recovery," Pacitti said "I went to see him the other night and when I walked in he flashed a huge smile. He's in great spirits."

Pacitti says he's unsure when "Neon Leon" will be discharged from the hospital -- but says things are looking good. "He's up and walking ... he's talking."


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> _It was time for him to enter the ring in New Orleans for his rematch with Ali, but Leon had disappeared, and neither his camp nor his bodyguardâ€"Mr. T., the future Clubber Langâ€"could find him. He was finally located in a hotel room, drunk.
> 
> As Ali stood in his corner calmly waiting for the fight to begin, Leon reached for his brother and held him in a tight, lingering embrace. He might have been voicing some version of the old spiritualâ€™s lament: Nobody Knows the Trouble Iâ€™ve Seen. But Michael knew.
> 
> ...


Good read. I didn't know about the chickenbone thing. We learn something new each day. :good


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 19, 1936

Max Schmeling gets interviewed by NBC shortly after his victory over Joe Louis in their first fight.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Even in 1987, when Michael knocked out the much bigger Gerry Cooney, whom he feared, he couldnâ€™t seem to convince his opponent. The usually gracious Cooney said that Michael didnâ€™t belong in the same ring with him.


Unreal, positively unreal....Spinks didn't just _beat_ Cooney, ...he didn't just _KO_ him,...he beat the royal shit out of him..whipped him like he had spit in Mike's lunch,....he utterly *OWNED* Cooney...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 25, 1902 - National Sporting Club, Covent Garden, London.

Tom Sharkey vs. Gus Ruhlin

After a slight spar in round one, Ruhlin led with his left but was met with an effective counter to the body from Sharkey. The Irishman clinched and held, and was quickly in trouble with the referee. Ruhlin slipped down and his adversary became too impetuous, and was nearly disqualified through striking his man before he had gained his feet. Sharkey was very busy when the round ended.

When the fight resumed Sharkey was again cautioned for holding and Ruhlin took control of the centre of the ring. Three times he jabbed the sailor on the face and got nothing back. Sharkey then missed a wild uppercut with his left and before he could recover, his opponent drove a left and then a right home to the head just as the bell rang.

In the third, both men boxed for the head with little success although Sharkey landed one left jab to Ruhlinâ€™s face.

Both men were guilty of holding in the fourth but a clean jab to Sharkeyâ€™s face left him looking â€œflushedâ€ and â€œdistressedâ€ and he â€œappeared pleasedâ€ when the round ended. Tom came out to take more punishment, but tried everything to disguise the fact that the fight was slipping away from him. â€œThis is not so easy for you as in New York,â€ he told Ruhlin. The bravado fooled no-one at ringside.

In the sixth, Sharkey looked â€œused upâ€, a nasty cut now worrying him over his eye. â€œWith his usual gameness however he kept going after his big rival in determined style.â€ Sharkey was running on instinct.

When Ruhlin backed him into a corner in the seventh, Sharkey showed excellent footwork and got out of danger.

In the eighth, he took further punishment and in the ninth, he was forced back onto the ropes and was hit hard with both fists in the ribs.

All the same, in the tenth, Sharkey goaded Ruhlin again: â€œYou could not beat me with a hammer!â€ 
â€œHowever, for once,â€ noted an onlooker sadly, â€œthe sailor boyâ€™s ideas were wrong.â€ 
Sharkey tried to rush Ruhlin but took a hefty punch on the draw, staggered and reeled back his corner.

Sharkey was out on his feet now and when he stood up for the eleventh he clutched Ruhlin around the neck and dragged him around the ring. Eventually they broke and every time Ruhlin struck Sharkey went down. Four times in all. Sharkey got up each time but the last time, he struggled to his feet, he really did not know where he was. As the round ended, Sharkeyâ€™s corner went to his aid and tried to get him ready for another push. But Tommy Ryan, one of his seconds, knew the game was up. He walked over to Ruhlinâ€™s corner and gave in on Sharkeyâ€™s behalf.

Ruhlin walked across the ring to shake his opponent by the hand and left the ring, some onlookers said, without a scratch on him.

Sharkey remained where he was, tears rolling down his cheeks. â€œIt was somewhat pathetic to see such a game boxer in tears,â€ decided a reporter with the Sporting Chronicle. A reporter filing for American newspapers said the fight had been â€œone of the most determined and desperate struggles ever witnessed in the National Sporting Clubâ€.

Some observers said Sharkey, reduced almost to insensibility, then raged against his seconds for their intervention. All agree he was cut, beaten and angry.

Back in Ireland, Tomâ€™s family and the old fans who had followed his fistic adventures closely through the pages of the Dundalk Democrat read what appeared to be an obituary for that career. The sports columnist known as â€˜Philistineâ€™ wrote that not even â€œHerculeanâ€ Sharkey could continue to take such â€œthumpingsâ€ as that handed out by Ruhlin. â€œWhile it is generally thought that Ruhlin must have come on immensely in his form,â€ he concluded sadly, â€œthe usual opinion is that the sailor has gone back very much, and now has not much else but his undauntable pluck to recommend him.â€

Losing the Â£2,000 purse and getting beaten by Ruhlin would have been only part of the disappointment; realising he was no longer the fighter he once was would have poured salt on the stinging wounds, wounds laid open by the realisation he would never have the chance to fight for the world title again.

But perhaps on that special night there was a wound that went deeper still. For, there in the crowd, was Tomâ€™s father James Sharkey who had come to watch his son in a big fight for the first time. James Sharkey, now 78, had travelled to London to celebrate his sonâ€™s successes on the world stage, but instead he was watching the sun setting on his career.

(by Greg Lewis)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 4, 1912 - Vernon, California
Lightweight World Title 
Ad Wolgast vs. 'Mexican' Joe Rivers

It was a fierce battle between the two determined men, each doing damage in the brutal give-and-take manner that characterized the ring wars of that blood-and-guts era.

Wolgast, making the fifth defense of the title he won in the 40th round of a savage war of attrition with Battling Nelson two-and-a-half years before, started strong but was fading under the continued assault of the younger challenger. The champ had been more on the receiving end than the giving end through the first 12 frames of the scheduled 20-rounder and was behind in the scoring.

Rivers had the edge going into the fateful 13th round but both battlers showed the effects of the fierce trading. â€œBoth boys, gory from head to belt, their faces puffed and cut â€¦â€ is how the ringside reporter described Wolgast and Rivers just prior to the double knockout.

There has been some dispute through the years as to whether the blow that felled Rivers landed low, but the newspaper account said clearly that Wolgast struck below the belt.

â€œRivers suddenly collapsed,â€ the ringside reporter wrote, and there were immediate shouts of â€œfoulâ€ among the spectators. â€œWolgast previously in the same round and in several other rounds had struck Rivers rather low and when Rivers went down there was a sudden shout of â€˜Foul.â€™â€

Rivers went down in a heap but a moment later Wolgast was down also, falling over top of Riversâ€™ legs. Just as he was being hit severely in the groin area, Rivers had landed a solid right to the championâ€™s jaw and Wolgast staggered momentarily before falling.

â€œWolgast suddenly crouched and sent a terrific left directly over Riversâ€™s groin,â€ it said in the next dayâ€™s newspapers. â€œAt the same instant Rivers put his right to Wolgastâ€™s jaw and the champion went down and was practically out. Rivers fell, writhing in pain, and referee Welch began to count.â€

Welch later explained that he started counting over Rivers because Rivers went down first. Welch ignored the claims of foul, saying emphatically that Wolgast landed a clean blow. As Welch was counting over Rivers, who was conscious but in terrible pain, he actually helped Wolgast up from the canvas.

â€œWolgast rolled off Rivers, his features convulsed. Welch immediately began counting and was still counting when he reached down and helped Wolgast to his feet. There were shouts that the bell had ended the round while Welch was counting. By this time the whole arena was in an uproar.â€

The bell rang at the count of 4 and the timekeeper, Al Holder of the Pacific Athletic Club, kept shouting at Welch that the gong had sounded. Welch either didnâ€™t hear him or chose to ignore him. That only added to the outrage of Riversâ€™ supporters.

â€œThe claims on behalf of Rivers were not heeded by Welch. He picked Wolgast up off the floor and declared him the winner. His seconds had to carry him from the ring. Rivers was lying on the floor but in a moment arose unaided.â€

Rivers was prepared to continue fighting but Welch â€œwaved him back.â€ Welchâ€™s actions ignited a near riot in the arena. Several people came through the ropes, including Riversâ€™ manager Joe Levy, and confronted Welch.

The referee told the protesters that his actions were fair and then quickly fled the ring. The protests continued for nearly an hour after the fight ended but to no avail. Later that night, Welch stated that Wolgast had struck a legal blow to the stomach that caused Rivers to fall. Shockingly, Welch also said he didnâ€™t see Rivers land the punch that knocked Wolgast senseless.

In a remarkable contortion of logic, this is how Welch responded: â€œWolgast was clearly the winner. Just before Rivers went down, Wolgast had landed a heavy left to the body just below the pit of the stomach and followed it with another right smash almost to the same place. Neither blow was low. I did not see what happened to Wolgast.â€

So Welch saw two legal blows when others saw a left thrown by the champion that was clearly low. The ref saw Wolgast strike Rivers but he somehow missed the right that Rivers threw to knock Wolgast out! Welch would have made a grand politician.

Rivers later displayed â€œa dented aluminum protectorâ€ in the dressing room to validate his claim of a foul. Levy, Riversâ€™ manager, called Welchâ€™s actions â€œthe worst case of robbery in the history of the American ring.â€

â€œNever before have I seen a referee pick up a man and then give him the decision,â€ Levy added. â€œThe foul blow struck by Wolgast was seen by everyone near the ringside. It was the fourth or fifth foul the champion had landed on Rivers. The sum total of it all is that Wolgast knew he was whipped and resorted to his foul tactics to save himself.â€

The final paragraph of the newspaper article implies that even Wolgastâ€™s people recognized the injustice of Welchâ€™s actions, though they werenâ€™t about to say so. â€œNo one connected with Wolgastâ€™s camp would say a word and all of them quickly jumped in an automobile and left the pavilion.â€

(by Mike Dunn)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

(Modern Classic Era)
March 18, 2006 - Hauts-de-Seine, France.
WBA Super Bantamweight title

After one of the greatest opening rounds a fight has seen things got even better. The second round saw both men continuing to do just as they had in the opening round with Monshipour applying constant pressure behind a high guard trying to get close whilst Sithchatchawal tried countering. This time however it was the Frenchman who appeared to get the better of the action despite both men bludgeoning the other with repeated shots to the head.

Despite being incredibly active in the opening 2 rounds Monshipour's output seemed to increase in round 3 as he threw almost none stop. With the pressure and activity of the champion being extreme the challenger tried slipping shots on the ropes and attacking the a bit more frequently than he had in the early rounds in an attempt to slow Monshipour. At one point the Thai was forced to take a flurry of clean shots that seemed to interest the referee John Coyle who momentarily looked ready to stop it until the challenger fired back.

The fourth round saw Monshipour pushed to canvas early on before Sithchatchawal started using his legs a bit more and actually utilising his reach as he started to jab the champion. Despite Sithchatchawal throwing his jab it couldn't discourage Monshipour who continued to come forward and press the action as we get yet another amazing round of unbridled violence from both men. The crowd tried to get behind their man during the round and give him an extra and whilst he probably won the round he was using up a lot of energy with his all action style.

Round 5 saw both men trading relentlessly through the round. The pressure from Monshipour saw Sithchatchawal mix up what he did a bit more and stand his ground more often than he had in the earlier rounds and in fact he forced the champion on to the back foot for the first time. Had it not been for what was to come later in the fight, this could well have been the round of the round of the year.

The sixth round saw yet more pressure from the champion even though the challenger was mixing up his boxing with his brawling he was still being bossed around the ring an awful lot. It often appeared as if Sitchatchawal could have made the fight easier for himself by jabbing and moving though he only did that for short bursts and instead sat on the ropes and invited Monshipour to throw whilst looking looking to slip and counter.

With Monshipour continuing to pressure Sithchatchawal the Thai intelligently attacked body intently in round 7 with probably the most intelligent work of the fight. He had tried it in an earlier round but this was the first round where really worked the body with some intensity and it appeared to be slowly slowing Monshipour down by the end of the round.

The Thai's body work continued in round 8 as he landed some really nasty looking shots to the midsection of the champion who continued to come forward and unload shot after shot. Around the half way mark of the round Monshipour landed a series of shots but the Thai took them amazingly well suggesting that some of the snap was now being taken from the champions punches.

The action, which by any form of logic should have been slowing notably was still as high octane as ever.

In round 9 it appeared that Sithchatchawal was starting to really take over the bout and he landed a flurry of shots that had Monshipour's head bouncing up and down and looking on the verge of going down. Things then took a 180 flip as the Frenchman roared back with an attack of his own with Sitchatchawal on the ropes and looking in danger himself. By the end of the round both men were starting to look like they were feeling the simply ridiculous pace of the action.

After the none stop action of round 9 it seemed almost certain that the action would slow down in round 10. Instead we got what was quite possibly the round of the fight. Sitchatchawal started to use his feet more than he had in the previous round but it didn't stop Monshipour from bullying him on to the ropes where unload a long flurry. Although a number of Monshipour's shots got through Sithchatchawal did slip a large number before landing a massive counter with about 35 seconds of the round left that rocked Monshipour. With the champion in danger the challenger unloaded a volley of left hands before sending himself to the canvas. It appeared that the slip may have given the champion a few seconds to recover but Sitchatchawal regain his feet almost immediately and went back to work on a still unsteady Monshipour forcing the referee to step in and stop the bout.

Some moments after the bout and when Monshipour regained his senses the two embraced as they seemed to congratulate each other for putting on one of the most memorable bouts in the history of the sport.

(by Asian Boxing News)










*televised on French channel 'Canal+'


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> (Modern Classic Era)
> March 18, 2006 - Hauts-de-Seine, France.
> WBA Super Bantamweight title
> 
> ...


The Internet came of age due to that fight, especially for us boxing fans...no-one other than the French would have seen it otherwise!!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

(Part of a Fiction Friday thread on the CBS page)

Original Air Date - March 9, 1971
Part of the 'Mod Squad' TV Series.

49 year old Sugar Ray Robinson stars as retired boxer Candy Joe Collins with Rocky Graziano as his now trainer, and former opponent, Doc Russo...as he prepares to fight Indian Red Lopez who stars as himself.

Features some great footage, albeit staged, of Robinson vs Lopez.

Official summary reads...

"A middle-aged legendary prizefighter tries for a comeback match, mainly to please his troubled son, whom he thinks wants him to prove he's not a has-been. But the son may have other reasons: he is in debt to gamblers who want him to give them inside information on his dad's odds."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1972

"What Joe Louis warned me would happen, happened" - Ike Williams










larger view...click on this image when page loads...

http://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.n..._=1424023574_33921d84da80e482b6be96d4f272a565


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"A bout with Dempsey is the ambition of my life" - Harry Greb

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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> "A bout with Dempsey is the ambition of my life" - Harry Greb
> 
> .


It's highly entertaining to read Harry Greb's Boxrec entry....amazing fighter.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Former World Heavyweight Champion Rocky Marciano and former WBC World Flyweight Champion Manny Pacquiao had the same reach (67").*










*should be noted both have listings for 68" too, more common in Marcianos case.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 1899

JOE GANS PUT TO SLEEP

Elbows McFadden, the local pugilist, fought his way to fame and fortune at the Broadway A. C. last night. In the twenty-third round he knocked out the clever Baltimore pugilist, Joe Gans, with a right hook on the jaw. At the start McFadden appeared to be outclassed, but by persistent attack, wonderful strength and splendid generalship he gradually forged ahead and won. Gans had been regarded as a possible lightweight champion, but McFadden is now the man to pit against the leaders in his class, Kid Lavigne, Spike Sullivan or Frank Erne.

There was plenty of betting on the result of the star bout. The crowd, which numbered close to 4,000 persons, was the largest that has attended the fights at this club since it was opened. Gans was a 2 to 1 favorite, his manager, Al Herford, and a big delegation of colored sports from Baltimore placing in the neighborhood of $3,000 at these odds. The men weighed in at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, McFadden scaling at 127 pounds and Gans getting just inside the lightweight limit, 133 pounds. When McFadden got into the ring he was greeted with wild cheering, which was an indication that his friends were on hand in force. His seconds were Billy Roche, Tommy Shortell, H. Bahr and Chip Morrison. Gans was taken care of by Al Herford, Jack McCue and Jerry Marshall. The articles of agreement called for twenty-five rounds at 133 pounds, Marquis of Queensberry rules. John White was the referee.

The men had not been sparring a minute when Gans's superior knowledge of science was apparent. He was cool, calculating, shifty, and blocked with consummate ease the few swings that McFadden aimed at his head. Gans appeared to have no trouble in landing a long left, but he did not cut it loose much, preferring to find out what McFadden had up his sleeve, so to speak. Gans began to do some real punching in the second round. He shook McFadden up with a couple of swings on the neck, and altogether outclassed the local man in such a way that the crowd laughed in derision. McFadden concluded that his only chance was to mix it. So when the third round began he rushed in with heavy swings. Gans was equal to the emergency, and at in-fighting surprised the talent with his quick blows, all of which were well directed. McFadden did not land a solid blow in the round, although he tried his best to do so.

Gans did some superb blocking in the fourth round, and also beat a tattoo on McFadden's face. Improvement was shown by McFadden in the fifth round. He began to use his right and got it several times to the neck. Gans, however, nearly scored a knockdown with a hook on the jaw. McFadden continued to improve in the sixth round and landed several hard drives on the head and body. He was Gans's master in physical strength, and his punches appeared to contain more steam. McFadden forced the fighting in the seventh round, and with a hot left hook on the jaw he made the Baltimorean take the defensive until the bell. McFadden had the eighth round, Gans receiving some terrific smashes on the body and jaw. The latter was warned for holding in the clinches. The crowd cheered in a deafening manner when the bell rang, and kept it up during the minute's rest.

The ninth round was McFadden's, too. He did most of the work, and did not allow Gans to rest a moment. Both did pretty blocking, but McFadden's blows were the harder. The tenth round was full of execution. McFadden walked right into his man in spite of left jabs and body blows, and sent back as much as he received. The crowd cheered McFadden when he was in his corner. During a rally in the eleventh round, both men swinging, Gans received a clip on the jaw that brought a clinch. The latter seemed to be a trifle tired when he took his corner. That he was not fighting up to his past form seemed to be the opinion around the ringside, while McFadden's showing was an agreeable surprise.

The twelfth round was uneventful, except that McFadden more than held his own. Gans's nose was bleeding when he got half way through the thirteenth round. His blows lacked force and he appeared to be tiring. McFadden was as strong as a bull. The fourteenth round showed that Gans still had stamina, for he did the leading and landing, McFadden apparently resting up a bit from his previous efforts. McFadden came back in the fifteenth round with his old attack, and ended the round by driving Gans to a corner and to a clinch. It was an even thing in the sixteenth round, McFadden's blocking being up to anything that Gans accomplished in the earlier rounds. McFadden forged to the front again in the seventeenth round. He bored in without let-up and had his man clinching and holding at the gong. It was the same thing over again in the eighteenth. Gans failed to land a square punch because of McFadden's defence, while the latter hammered away successfully at the stomach and neck.

Gans received three savage lefts in the mouth in quick succession during the nineteenth round, but he retaliated with a heavy swing on the jaw that took McFadden by surprise. Again in the twentieth round McFadden did the bulk of the work, and made Gans's nose bleed afresh. At this stage it looked like a defeat for Gans, and the latter's followers were blue. Gans was fought practically to a standstill in the twenty-first round. He was tired and could scarcely keep his hands up. McFadden kept at him incessantly, but did not hustle enough when he received the right opportunities. McFadden cut loose in the twenty-second, and had Gans in evident trouble throughout. The crowd was in an uproar when the bell rang.

When the twenty-third round opened McFadden lost no time in mixing things. Gans threw in a few weak counters, and then received a stomach punch that threw him forward. Quick as a flash McFadden brought up a terrific right hook. It caught Gans flush on the point of the jaw. The Baltimore fighter tottered a moment, and then fell flat upon his face, the blood gushing from his mouth. There was no need of counting him out for he was helpless, and had to be lifted to his chair. The referee declared McFadden the winner amid an unusual demonstration. Hats and canes were thrown in the air. Men hugged one another in their ecstasy and others yelled wildly for the money they had won. McFadden was embraced by his friends, and was cheered all the way to his dressing room. When Gans was able to leave the ring he was applauded generously, too. It was one of the best fights ever seen in this vicinity. The time of the last round was 1 minute and 48 seconds.

(The New York Sun)

..........................

Al Herford Tells Why Joe Lost to McFadden..

Al Herford, manager for Joe Gans, the ***** boxer from Baltimore, who was defeated by McFadden, still believes that his man is one of the best fighters in the world. Neither he nor Gans is discouraged over the result of the last fight. In regard to Gans, Herford says "My boy is the prince of his class. We lost. It was a fair fight, and I have no kick to make, at least on that score. We stood to win $2800. The winner's share of the purse was $1600 and by Joe's defeat I lost $1200 in bets. But few bets were made. The sports looked upon it as a selling-plater against a stake horse. Out of it all I have been taught a lesson. Never again will I bet 2 to 1 against any man--not even were Fitzsimmons matched to meet Joe Goddard. A chance blow can win any fight. Right here I want to say that the report given out that McFadden weighed 127 pounds is an untruth. He tipped the scales at 133. Both men weighed in at the same weight. Joe thought that he had a walkover and did not do the proper training. Besides, he was a very sick man.

"Believing himself unbeatable, he had come to grow careless. He did not believe he needed to train. As it was he put in only five days' work for the contest, and was far from being in shape. Although suffering from stomach trouble, he hid the truth from me. He thought the worst that he could get would be a draw, as he afterward said he wanted to save the forfeit money. His mistake he realized later. The fight itself tells the story of his condition. Though a long distance fighter, his constitution being broken down, he was unable to go the limit. Why, in the first six rounds he made a sucker of McFadden, knocking him about from side to side. But his blows lacked steam. He was weak. At the close of the tenth round he said that he felt himself getting weaker and weaker, and that his stomach was giving him great pain.

"At the end of the twentieth round he could hardly stand up owing to the pain, and he again said that he was very weak and doubted if he could stand on his feet. 'He's too strong for me in my weakened condition,' is the way Joe put it when he realized that he had no strength. He desired to keep away from his man, but was too weak to move about. Yes, he made an uphill struggle. Defeated, I admire him all the more. Why, after the battle he vomited for fully fifteen minutes. He was in a very bad way. He takes his defeat very nicely, and his only regret is that he was caught napping. No, he is not down hearted. He believes himself capable of defeating any man in his class, and will yet come out on top. Again I reiterate that he will be back. Money will work wonders, and Joe is the boy who will give battle with any of them, and I want to give it out here that Baltimore has the champion lightweight. Any one differing need but place his money and I will cover it." Herford also announces that Gans has cancelled all of his engagements. He was matched to fight Martin Judge at Baltimore on April 25, Billy Moore at Syracuse on May 1, and Otto Sieloff at Buffalo on May 8.

(The Philadelphia Inquirer)

................................................

*Should be noted that in the October rematch of that same year Gans easily defeated McFadden over 25 rounds in Brooklyn. In September 1900 Gans won a six round newspaper decision . In October 1900 they fought to a ten-round draw (in which McFadden was down once). In February 1902 Gans was a clear winner in a newspaper decision over six, and in June of that same year Gans scored a three-round stoppage over McFadden when McFadden's corner pulled him out having been down twice in the second and four times in the third - this would be the final in their series of bouts.

.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Barbara Buttrick made front page news over 60 years ago when she became a boxer.
Ignoring critics who described her as "degrading", "monstrous" and an "insult to womanhood", she went on to become the first official female world champion.
Nicknamed the "Mighty Atom of the Ring", she scored 12 knockouts and was only beaten once in her 15-year professional career.
Barbara travelled the world, training first in London and later at the 5th Street gym in Miami, Florida, where she crossed paths with a young Muhammad Ali in the 50s.
"I was close to my retirement and he was just a young kid coming up to the gym. We'd pass on the stairs," she says.
"He had a lot of confidence and a lot to say. I also remember Don King. He used to promote some of my later US shows. I saw Don again back in June when we were inducted into the Hall of Fame. Muhammad didn't come, he isn't so well."
Her place in boxing history may now be guaranteed but Barbara had to fight her way to the top when, aged 15, she was inspired to take up the sport after reading an article by Polly Burns about female boxers.
"I was probably before my time," says Barbara. "My mum used to look at our family tree to find where it came from."
After spending her teens "sparring with boys" in the back garden, Barbara endured vicious insults when she moved from her sleepy town of Cottingham, Yorkshire, to pursue her dream in London.
Aged just 18, with the reluctant permission of her parents, Barbara accepted an invite from boxing trainer Leonard Smith - who later become her husband - to train at the Mayfair Gym and join Mickey Wood's stunt agency as a "tough girl".
She moved to the YMCA in Bloomsbury, worked as a typist by day and trained with Len for three hours every night. Critics reacted with horror when they heard about her.
In 1948 boxing writer Peter Wilson wrote in the Sunday Pictorial: "What a monstrous, degrading, disgusting idea! Would anyone like to go out with a girl sporting two lovely purple-black eyes?" Then, in 1949 before the Battling Buttrick's first public spar with a male boxer at the Kilburn Empire Theatre, there was an outcry. The secretary of the Variety Artists Federation, Mr Lee, urged other performers to boycott her shows, calling her "degrading to womanhood".
Bill McGowran, sports editor of the Evening News, wrote: "She certainly boxes well. But - so what?" Barbara says: "We were on the front pages for a week! Mickey would pick up a paper and say, 'We made the front page again.' I said, 'But look what they're saying.' He replied, 'Don't read it, measure it'."
Barbara eventually appeared on the Kilburn stage, but just used a punchbag to show off her boxing technique.
It wasn't long before she got her chance in the ring, as she toured the country on the carnival circuit challenging women to fight. "I liked it," she says. "You worked hard but it was better than a nine-to-five job."
As Barbara built up a reputation for being unbeatable, the shows pulled in thousands of fans.
But the disapproval continued. The mayor of Dewsbury, West Yorks, even had her banned from fighting in the town.
"My attitude was why should women be stopped when boys can go ahead and do whatever they feel like?" she says.
"I always sparred with boys and didn't hold back. I had a very hard left jab."
Her ex Len even alleges that she broke his nose in training. Barbara says: "He had his nose operated on in later years, and claimed it was me. Maybe it was!" And when a Fleet Street photographer at her training sessions suggested women were better off inside sweaters than in a ring, Barbara knocked him to the floor.
She was eventually lured to America in 1952 by the promise of a glittering career. "Boxing was taking off for women in the America," she says. "But the real reason I stayed so long is the weather!" Although beaten only once in her career - by Joan Hagen who was 33lbs heavier - Barbara had her moment of glory when, aged 26, she beat Phyllis Kugler in the first official woman's world boxing championship.
"That was the most memorable fight of my career," she says.
In 1960 she retired when four months pregnant with the first of her two daughters, having fought 32 matches and given over 1000 exhibitions. Since then she has devoted herself to women's careers, setting up the Women's International Boxing Federation which she runs from her home in Miami. She says: "There's still progress to be made in women's boxing but the difference from when I started out is huge.
I hope future stars in the women's sport will be as popular as the men."

(By Victoria Murphy)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Nel Tarleton won the british featherweight title 3 times...and the lonsdale belt outright twice...a great career summary for any boxer.....especially one who was born with only one lung !!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Second part of "Harry Greb speaks.." from 1922...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 13, 1927 - Ebbet's Field, Brooklyn, New York.

Although he accomplished what only one man before him had done - over a stretch of 17 years, Paolino Uzcudun, the Spanish woodchopper, still is as far away from the heavyweight throne as he was before he knocked out Harry Wills in the fourth round of a 15-round fight last night at Ebbet's Field.

After three rounds of lethargic sparring, Paolino brought a right hand blow on a direct line from his knees to the giant *****'s chin, and Wills rolled to the canvas. He was up at the count of nine only to run into a volley of lefts and rights that put him under the lower rope, where he lay supported on his elbows while referee Lou Magnolia counted him out.

The Spaniard's victory availed him nothing in so far as a title chance this year is concerned. He was dropped from Tex Rickard's heavyweight elimination tournament after Jack Dempsey had refused to engage in more than one preliminary bout leading to a fight with Gene Tunney.

While Paolino's victory was not wholly unexpected, the manner in which it was attained confused as array of ringside critics, who thought that the Spaniard's right hand wallop was the least effective among those in his repertoire.

(Prescott Evening Courier)

*Although the article states that Uzcudun was only the second man to knock out Wills (after Sam Langford), his (Wills) record also shows an early KO loss to George 'Kid' Cotton (Wills TKO loss to Battling Jim Johnson being due to a retirement).


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

May 1908

'Slugfest in Philadelphia'

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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Watching Rocky II with Muhammad Ali
BY ROGER EBERT / July 31, 1979
................

Right here in the middle of Muhammad Ali's mansion, right here in the middle of the mahogany and the stained glass and the rare Turkish rug, there was this large insect buzzing near my ear. I gave it a slap and missed. Then it made a swipe at my other ear. I batted at the air but nothing seemed to be there, and Muhammad Ali was smiling to himself and studying the curve of his staircase.

I turned toward the door and the insect attacked again, a close pass this time, almost in my hair, and I whirled and Ali was grinning wickedly.

He explained how it was done. "You gotta make sure your hand is good and dry and then you rub your thumb hard across the side of your index finger, like this, see, making a vibrating noise, and hold it behind somebody's ear, sneak up on 'em, and they think it's killer bees."

He grinned like a kid "I catch people all the time," he said. "It never fails."

A long black limousine from NBC was gliding up the driveway, and Ali was ready to go to work. This was going to be Diana Ross' first night as guest host of the "Tonight" show, and Ali was going to be her first guest. And then, after the taping, Ali had a treat for his wife, Veronica, and their little girl, Hana. They were going to the movies. What movie were they going to see? Rocky II, of course. A special screening had been arranged, and Ali was going to play movie critic.

"Rocky Part Two," Ali intoned, "starring Apollo Creed as Muhammad Ali."

The taping went smoothly, with Ali working Diana Ross like a good fight. He kidded her about her age, leaned over to read her notes, got in a plug for his official retirement benefit, and made her promise to sing at the party.

And then the heavyweight champion of the world was back in another limousine, a blue and beige Rolls-Royce this time, heading back home to a private enclave off Wilshire Boulevard. It was a strange and wonderful trip, because during the entire length of the seven-mile journey, not one person who saw Ali in the car failed to recognize him, to wave at him, to shout something. Ali says he is the most famous person in the world. He may be right.

He gave his fame, to be sure, a certain assistance. He sat in the front seat, next to the driver, and watched as drivers in the next lane or pedestrians on the sidewalk did their double takes. First, they'd see the Rolls, a massive, classic model. Then they'd look in the back seat. no famous faces there. Idly, they'd glance in the front seat, and Ali would already be regarding them, and then their faces would break into grins of astonishment, and Ali would clench his fist and give them a victory sign. This was not a drive from Burbank to Wilshire Boulevard - it was a hero's parade.

Back home, waiting for Veronica to come downstairs so they could go to the movies, Ali sat close to a television set in his study. His longtime administrative assistant, Jeremiah Shabazz, talked about crowds and recognition. "The biggest single crowd was in South Korea. I think the whole country turned out. Manila was almost a riot; they almost tore the airport down. All over Russia, they knew him But Korea was amazing."

Ali ignored the conversation. He is a man who chooses the times when he will acknowledge the presence of others, and the times when he will not. There are moments when he seems so intensely self-absorbed, even in a roomful of people, that he seems lonely and withdrawn. He was like that now, until his daughter, Hana, walked in and demanded to be taken into his lap, and then he spoke to her softly.

"What's Veronica say?" he asked Cleve Walker, an old Chicago friend who was visiting.

"She's coming right down," Walker said.

"Then let's go."

The five cars pulled out of the mansion's driveway like a presidential procession. Ali drove his own Mercedes, second in line, following an aide who was leading the way to United Artists' headquarters out on the old MGM lot. All five cars had their emergency flashers blinking the whole way: It was the day's second parade.

Rumors of Ali's visit had preceded him to the studio and a crowd of young kids was waiting for him in the parking lot. He shook their hands, told them to hang in there, touched them on the shoulders, and left them standing as if blessed by royalty.

And then he was inside a private screening room and settling down to watch the most popular movie of the summer - the sequel to the movie that won the Academy Award as Best Picture two years ago, and made Sylvester Stallone into a star as Rocky Balboa, the Philadelphia club fighter who took on the black heavyweight champion of the world. Ali, who said he'd really liked the original Rocky, settled down in the back row, Veronica and Hana next to him, and if he was reflecting that Rocky itself might very likely not have been made if he had not restored the fading glamour of boxing, he did not say so.

He watched the opening scenes of Rocky II in silence, not speaking until the scene in which Apollo Creed, the heavyweight champ, delivers a televised challenge designed to taunt Rocky back into the ring.

"That's me, all right," Ali said "Apollo sounds like me. Insulting the opponent in the press, to get him psyched out. That's me exactly."

Back home at Rocky's new house, the doorbell rang.

"You know who that's gotta be," Ali said. "That's gotta be his trainer." And, yes, Rocky opened the door and his old trainer, Mickey, was standing there on the doorstep.

"That's how Angelo Dundee used to get me," Ali remembered. "A good trainer knows a good fighter can't stand to have people talk about him bad on television."

Mickey was giving Rocky advice: "We got to get you fighting with your other hand. Use your right, save your left, protect that bad eye . . ."

"It just maybe could be," Ali said, "that if you started on a kid at seventeen or eighteen, by the time he was twenty-two you could change the hand he leads with. But not overnight it can't be done."

Now Mickey was drawing on his ancient store of boxing lore, making Rocky chase chickens to improve his footwork. "That's one that goes back to the days of Jack Johnson and Joe Louis, chasing chickens," Ali said. "you don't see chickens at a training camp anymore except on the table."

Mickey was leaning fiercely at Rocky, who was pounding a bag "Jab! Jab! Jab!" he was shouting.

"With a great fighter," said Ali, "you don't have to tell him that. He goes at the bag like a robot. I never had anybody tell me to jab. If you don't want to jab, what are you doing being a fighter?"

Now there was a wider shot showing Mickey's gym, with Rocky in the foreground and the background occupied by a dozen fighters working out, jumping rope, sparring.

"What you see here, if you know how to look for it" Ali explained, "is the difference between real fighters and actors. A real boxer can see Stallone's not a boxer. He's not professional, doesn't have the moves. It's good acting, but it's not boxing. Look in the background. Look at that guy in the red trunks back there. You can see he's a real fighter."

Now Rocky was in the ring with a sparring partner. "The other guy's a real fighter," Ali said. "Stallone doesn't have the moves It's perfect acting, though. The regular average layman couldn't see what I see. And the way they're painting the trainer is all wrong. Look at him there, screaming, Do this! and Do that! I never had anyone telling me what to do. I did it. Shouting at the fighter like that makes him look like an animal, like a horse to be trained."

Is there any way, I asked, that the character of Rocky is inspired by you?

"No way. Rocky doesn't act nothing like me. Apollo Creed, the way he dances, the way he jabs, the way he talks . . . That's me." On the screen, a moment of crisis had appeared in Rocky Balboa's life. After giving birth to Rocky Jr., his wife had slipped into a coma. Rocky had just left the bedside and was praying in the hospital chapel.

"Now he don't feel like fighting because his wife is sick," Ali said. "That's absolutely the truth. The same thing happened to me when I was in training camp during one of my divorces. You can't keep your mind on fighting when you're thinking about a woman. You can't keep your concentration. You feel like sleeping all the time. But now at this point, I'm gonna make a prediction. I haven't seen the movie, but I predict she's gonna get well, and then Rocky's gonna beat the hell out of Apollo Creed."

Back in the hospital room, Rocky's wife opened her eyes. Ali nodded. "My first prediction is proven right," he said.

Rocky's wife turned to him and said, "There's one thing I want you to do for me. Win."

"Yeah!" said Ali. "Beat that ******'s ass!"

Little Rocky Jr. was brought into the room by a nurse. The baby had a head of black hair that would have qualified him for the Beatles. Ali laughed with delight. "They got a baby to win the Academy Award. Look at that Italian hair! Rocky couldn't deny the baby in court in real life!"

Now there was a montage, as Rocky Balboa threw himself into his training regime with renewed fury. "That's right," said Ali. "He's happy now. He's got his woman back I'm gonna further predict that in the big fight, they're gonna make it look at first like Rocky's losing, and his eye will be cut and it will look the worst before he wins, and that after the movie the men will be crying louder than the women."

Rocky was weight-lifting: "The worst thing a boxer can do. It tightens the muscles. A fighter never lifts weights. But it looks good in the movie."

In an inspirational scene, Rocky was running through the streets of his native Philadelphia, trailed by a crowd of cheering children who followed him all the way up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Rocky gave his trademark victory salute, repeated from the most famous moment in the original Rocky.

"Now that's one thing that some people will say is artificial, all the crowds running after him, but that's real," Ali said. "I had the same kinda crowds follow me in New York."

And now it was time for Rocky II's climactic fight scene - longer, more violent and more grueling than the bravado ending of the original Rocky. In his dressing room, Apollo Creed, played by Carl Weathers, was jabbing at his image in a mirror.

"Weathers told me he got the dancing and the jabbing, the whole style of Apollo Creed, from watching my movies," Ali said. "The way he's fighting in the mirror, those aren't real fighting moves, but for the movie they look good. And the motivation here is right. Apollo, he won the first fight, but some people said Rocky should have won. If you lose a big fight, it will worry you all of your life. It will plague you, until you get your revenge. As the champion, almost beat by a club fighter, he has to have his revenge."

Could a club fighter in real life stay in the ring with the heavyweight champion?

"No. What he might be able to do, he might be able to come in and absorb an amount of punishment and wait and get a lucky shot and knock him out . . . with the odds being very high against that. But to stay in the ring, to stay with the champion, he couldn't do that."

And now, on the screen, Rocky Balboa had fallen to his knees and was praying in the locker room, and Muhammad Ali, his daughter Hana asleep in his arms, was completely absorbed in the scene.

As Rocky got back to his feet, Ali broke the spell. "The most scary moment in a fighter's life is right now. The moment before the fight, in your dressing room, all the training is behind you, all the advice in the world don't mean a thing, in a moment you'll be in the ring, everyone is on the line, and you . . . are . . . scared."

Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa came dancing down the aisles of the Philadelphia Spectrum, and shots showed Rocky's wife at home, nervously watching television, and Apollo's wife at ringside, nervously watching her husband.

"Even Apollo's wife favors my wife Veronica," Ali observed "They're both light-skinned, real pretty girls . . ."

Apollo was taunting Rocky. "You're going down! I'll destroy you! I am the master of disaster."

"Those first two lines, those are my lines," Ali mused. "That 'master of disaster' . . . I like that I wish I'd thought of that."

And now the fight was under way, Rocky and Apollo trading punishment, Apollo keeping up a barrage of taunts, and dancing out of Rocky's way. Between rounds, in the fighters' corners, their trainers were desperately pumping out instructions.

"My trainer don't tell me nothing between rounds," Ali said. "I don't allow him to. I fight the fight. All I want to know is did I win the round. It's too late for advice."

How long do you predict the fight will last?

"Hard to say. Foreman they stopped in eight, Liston they stopped in eight . . . the movie might take something from that I can't predict. But look at that. There's Apollo using my rope-a-dope defense."

In the tenth round, Ali nodded: "Here's where the great fighters get their second wind, where determination steps in." On the screen, Rocky was taking a terrible beating, and his eyes, as Ali had predicted, were badly swollen.

"In a real fight," Ali said, "they would never allow the eyes to be closed that much and let the fight keep going. They would stop it."

But in Rocky II they didn't stop it, and the fight went the full distance, Ali observing that in real life no fighter could absorb as much punishment as both Apollo and Rocky had, and then the theater was filled with the Rocky theme and the lights were on and Ali's entourage was applauding the movie.

Muhammad Ali got up carefully, so as not to wake Hana, and handed his daughter to Veronica.

"A great movie," he said. "A big hit. It has all the ingredients. Love, violence, emotion. The excitement never dulled."

What do you think about the way the fight turned out?

"For the black man to come out superior," Ali said, "would be against America's teachings. I have been so great in boxing they had to create an image like Rocky, a white image on the screen, to counteract my image in the ring. America has to have its white images, no matter where it gets them. Jesus, Wonder Woman, Tarzan and Rocky."


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

How is this not a sticky?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Just one of the reasons he was called 'Elbows' - Elbows were his specialist subject...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec. 1933.

"...half-carried to his corner where he cried bitterly."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Asaad Amin Ali stands over his father, recreating the famous photo of Ali standing over Sonny Liston, for a photo shoot in 2001, 36 years after the Ali-Liston II fight.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Itâ€™s a clichÃ© but no misnomer to write that those were the days. Boxing was the sport of sports. Jack Dempsey was heavyweight champion of the world. â€œA Dempsey fight was magic,â€ Ray Arcel told the New York Times in 1983. â€œThe minute he walked into the ring you could see smoke rising from the canvas. You knew you were going to see a tiger let looseâ€¦Dempsey would have had a picnic with most of todayâ€™s fighters.â€

Arcel joined forces with another brilliant trainer named ****** Bimstein in 1925, a partnership which almost lasted a decade. Their base of operations was Stillmanâ€™s Gym, aka The University of Eighth Avenue, a hallowed dump just spitting distance from Madison Square Garden. Arcel was at Stillmanâ€™s when it first opened in the 1920s and remembered it as though it was yesterday: â€œThere were more thieves in Stillmanâ€™s Gym than in the penitentiary.â€

When Lou Stillman retired in 1959, he told the New York Times, â€œThereâ€™s no more tough guys around, not enough slums. Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m getting out of the business. The racketâ€™s dead. These fighters today are all sissies.â€

Together with Bimstein or as an independent, Arcel was cornerman to such legendary talents as Henry Armstrong, Jack Kid Berg, Lou Brouillard, Cerefino Garcia, Sixto Escobar, Kid Gavilan, Benny Leonard, Charley Phil Rosenberg, Barney Ross and Tony Zale.

â€œYou didnâ€™t have to be a great trainer to work with a Barney Ross or Benny Leonard,â€ Arcel said. â€œI mean, these guys were natural.â€

The first heavyweight Arcel trained was James Braddock for his fight with Joe Louis in 1937. Over the years, Arcel trained fifteen members of the Joe Louis Bum-of-the-Month Club, a Whoâ€™s Who of horizontal fighters who got bombed by the Brown Bomber.

â€œAs soon as the bell rang, they folded like tulips.â€

Ray Arcel could take a great fighter, perform his magic, and make a great fighter even greater. But he also had a mouth that would not quit. Because of his honesty, integrity and contempt for boxingâ€™s underbelly, Arcel made plenty of enemies, both in and out of the sport.

â€œBoxing had glamour,â€ he observed. â€œOh, sure, we had scoundrels in those days, but they were clever scoundrels.â€

In the early 1950s Arcel began arranging fights for ABC-TV. Unfortunately a rival network with close ties to the IBC (International Boxing Club), run by Frankie Carbo and James Norris, felt the pinch and Ray Arcel was a marked man. On September 19, 1953, Arcel was standing outside a Boston hotel, having just returned from Yom Kippur services, when he was struck in the forehead with a lead pipe. He suffered a concussion, spent nineteen days in a hospital, and was lucky he wasnâ€™t killed. Not long after the attack, Arcel retired from boxing for eighteen years.

â€œMoney is the sickness of the boxing business,â€ he said. â€œMaybe the sickness of the world.â€

Arcel returned to boxing in 1972 and, with another master trainer, Freddie Brown, began a productive eight-year relationship with Roberto Duran. Arcel and Brown first worked with Duran for his fight against lightweight champion Ken Buchanan at the Garden. â€œFreddie Brown is like my Poppa,â€ Duran told Jerry Izenberg. â€œI canâ€™t even go to the bathroom without him peeking. But Ray Arcel, for him I have no words.â€ Arcel was as taken with Duran as Duran was with him. â€œNobody had to teach Duran how to fight. The first day I saw himâ€"not in New York, I saw him in Panamaâ€"I told everybody around him, â€˜Donâ€™t change his style. Leave him alone. I donâ€™t want anybody to ever tell him what to do. Let him fight.â€™â€ Arcel also trained Duran for his victory over Sugar Ray Leonard in their first meeting in 1980, but he gave up on Manos de Piedra after the infamous â€œNo masâ€ rematch.

Arcel said after the fight: â€œNobody quits in my corner.â€

There were a million excuses for Duranâ€™s non-performance that night, everything from a tummy ache to heart disease. Arcel wasnâ€™t buying it. â€œYou mean to tell me Duran has a heart condition?â€ he said. â€œHe doesnâ€™t even have a heart.â€

The last fighter Arcel seconded was Larry Holmes in 1982, in his racially-tinged fight with Gerry Cooney.

â€œYouâ€™re only as good as the fighter you work with. I donâ€™t care how much you know. If your fighter canâ€™t fight, youâ€™re another bum in the park.â€

Ray Arcel was one of the greatest cornermen in the history of the game. He trained over 2000 boxers, including 20 world champions.

â€œI never considered myself a trainer,â€ Arcel said sagely. â€œI considered myself a teacher.â€

Ray Arcel, the man Red Smith described as â€œthe first gentleman of fistfighting,â€ died on March 7, 1994, an eloquent, compassionate, knowledgeable man lost to boxing and the world.

(By Robert Ecksel)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Only 5'4" tall, Bob Moha was barely more than a lightweight in his early career, but even in the gym he made things miserable for bigger and better known fighters. Montana Jack Sullivan was going around the country in 1907 hurling challenges at middleweight champion Stanley Ketchel. But after a few fierce rounds with Moha in the gym, Sullivan literally ran out of the ring to get away from him. Around that same time, Ad Wolgast, swarming his way to the lightweight title and then headquartering in Milwaukee, put out the word that he would knock Moha out in an impending sparring session. Instead, it was Wolgast who ended up seeing the black lights, and when the poster boy for ring durability woke up, Moha told him: "Be careful how you talk about me hereafter, Ad."

Wolgast had a pal, another well-known hardcase of that era called Indian Joe Gregg. He publicly vowed to avenge Ad when he sparred with Moha the next day. Gregg spent three days in the hospital after the Caveman worked him over.

Nothing like that happened when Jack Johnson worked with Moha in 1909, but for the next few years, everytime the heavyweight champion came to town, newspapers reported that Johnson wanted the Caveman to leave with him to fight under his management.

But not even that could pry Moha loose from his home base, where, by unwritten law, the boxing season ran from fall to late spring, thus enabling him to take his pick of the offers from semi-pro clubs bidding for his services on the baseball diamond. "Moha is one of the fastest infielders in the city, saying nothing of his ability as a batter," reported the Milwaukee Free Press. "Many a game was broken up through some of his mighty clouts."

Future welterweight title claimant Jimmy Clabby was hailed as the boxing wonder of the age. But Moha basically used him for fungo practice in their 10-round no-decision match in the spring of '10. The Caveman , reported the Free Press, "pounced upon Clabby like a terrior going to a bone." It was his most impressive and important performance to date, and a natural springboard to bigger and better things. But Moha signed to play shortshop for the summer instead, and didn't put the padded mitts back on until fall.

After getting the better of a no decision bout with former welterweight champ Mike "Twin" Sullivan early the next year, Moha was scheduled to face another fast-rising Midwesterner named Jack Dillon in Indianapolis. The Milwaukee man sprained an ankle playing handball - another favorite pastime, which Moha always played barefoot - and asked for a postponement. Too late for that, said the Indy promoter, and when Moha showed up on fight day, he was at least 10 pounds over the stipulated weight of 154 pounds. Dillon refused to go ahead with the match, so the Caveman shrugged and went with his manager and a Milwaukee physician to a restaurant around the corner. The fighter was just mopping up after a huge steak and potatoes meal when Dillon and the promoter rushed in to announce that the fight was back on.

That didn't appall the Caveman half as much as his doctor friend's suggestion that he pump Moha's stomach before he entered the ring.

"You mean you want to get that steak and potatoes out of me?" The Caveman howled. "Nothing doing! Think of what a job I had getting it down."

Moha had a harder job, under the circumstances, coping with Dillon, who of course had spied on him in the restaurant and then decided to go through with the fight, figuring the heavy meal would make the squat visitor a sitting duck in the ring. Even so, it was close, unlike a rematch a few months later in Buffalo when a trim Moha put the future light heavyweight champion on the floor several times in another no decision bout.

Since the murder of Ketchel in October 1910, just about everybody weighing near the division limit, which was 158 pounds at the time, anointed himself middleweight champion. That included Billy Papke, who'd traded the belt back and forth with Ketchel in a trio of championship fights and figured with Ketchel out of the picture it automatically reverted back to him. A surprising number of fight experts went along with him, but then furiously backpedaled from that position after Papke and Moha put on a truly scary performance on Halloween Night, 1911.

The Caveman at least had the excuse that he broke both hands early in the 12 round match. What Papke's problem was, nobody knew (later his brother would call it "Australian fever," contracted in an earlier trip Down Under). With Moha unable to hurt Papke and Papke unwilling to try to hurt Moha, the crowd at Boston's Armory Club kept itself awake by jeering from the fourth round on. After about two minutes of the final round had elapsed, members of the audience climbed on their chairs and perversly started chanting, "Don't ring the bell! Don't ring the bell!" Siding with them, timekeeper Billy LeClair deserted his ringside post, and over seven minutes passed before somebody gonged the sorry mess to a close.

Moha was the decision winner, and his followers proclaimed him champion.But in fact the match had been made at a catchweight, not 158, and the winner himself acknoledged the flimsiness of his new mantle by pronouncing himself "willing to meet any of the other boys who feel they have a claim to the championship...because I want to clinch my right to it beyond question." Oddly enough, 10 years later Moha would decide that not only had he been middleweight champion after all, but took a page from papke's book and announced that "since then I have not fought around that weight, so I never lost the crown."

That was a hoot, but the reaction to the Caveman's invasion of New York in 1912 was anything but. "The White Walcott" is what critics called him after Moha won a newspaper decision over Sailor Burke on March 21, and followed up two weeks later by knocking out Jim Smith in eight. That was some compliment, since the black Walcott - Joe, "The Barbados Demon," who was welterweight champion in the first decade of the century - was considered one of the ring's all-time greats.

"Moha is a wonder among the middles," wrote Bob Edgren, who described him as, "short and stocky, built something on the lines of a steamroller. He had short arms as thick as the average man's legs. His back is broad and his shoulders wide and chest deep. His round, wide-jawed head is connected to his trunk by a neck as thick as (wrestler George) Hackenschmidt's."

As if that didn't paint a formidable enough picture, Edgren added that Moha "seldom smiles, and when he does his smile is more appaling than his scowl."

Former heavyweight champion James J. Corbett called Moha "the sensation of the hour in New York," and remarked that "a month ago very few Gotham sports fans knew such an individual existed, in spite of the fact that (Moha) has been before the public in a professional capacity for five or six years, and has the credit of a victory on points over Billy Papke. Now the Easterners are raving about the Milwaukeean and touting him for the middleweight championship."

Two months later, nobody knew where Moha was. After a few more appearances in the Big Apple, The White Walcott returned home in June and promptly became downright invisible. Offers for bouts with Papke, Frank Klaus, and Georges Carpentier died on the table because nobody could find Moha, who'd typically decided to take the summer off. When finally tracked down, Moha said that after the hard work he'd put in all winter, he was entitled to a long vacation.

It lasted until the following January, when the overweight Caveman reported back to the gym to melt himself down to 170 pounds for a february 17,1913, fight in Milwaukee against "Cyclone" Johnny Thompson. Thompson had also once beaten Papke for recognition - at least when he looked in the mirror - as middleweight champion. And, also like Moha, his days as a middleweight were behind him. So their fight was sanctioned and advertised as a contest for the 175-pound "commision weight" (later the light heavyweight) title recently created by the New York boxing commision.

Moha won the newspaper decision, but the general attitude toward his new title was summed up in the Milwaukee free Press the next day: "This morning Mr. Moha is a world's champion, if that gets him anything." It would be another year before the light heavyweight division, moribund since the reogn of Philadelphia Jack O'brien in 1905, got on firm footing again, with the cunning Jack Dillon gaining wide recognition as champion.

For the duration of his career, which went until 1922, Moha was either the brilliant White Walcott again, as when he whipped middleweight title claimant Eddie McGoorty and future light heavyweight titlist Battling Levinsky with breathless ease (both were officially no-decisions, but all agreed Moha won), or looked like he'd just crawled out from under a rock. Or, more likely, off a chuckwagon.

Two months before he fought middleweight contender Mike Gibbons on December 14, 1914, the 24-year old Moha reportedly weighed 245 pounds. But he worked out frantically, even boxing 12 rounds in the gym the day before the fight in Hudson, Wisconsin, to get down to 160 and show everybody he was ready to make a run at the title again.

He ran, all right, only it was for the door after Moha drilled the Minnesota "Phantom" south of the beltline with an uppercut in the second round that sent Gibbons to the floor and one of Gibbons handlers after Moha with a chair. Disqualified, Moha had to borrow train fare home because the promoter refused to pay him his $944.77 purse.

More upset about that than anything else, Moha sued the Hudson Boxing Club all the way to the Wisconsin Supreme Court. In a landmark decision issued two years after the bout, Cheif Justice J. B. Winslow rules against the Caveman on the grounds that he had "contracted to box 10 rounds under certain rules," one of which (no fouling) "he violated...and as a result thereof disabled his opponent, and this, by his own act made substantial performance (of his contract) impossible. Wether this act was deliberate or not cuts no figure. It was an act which he had contracted not to do and it prevented performance."

Two months after that, Moha tried to take it out on Gibbons' brother Tommy, but with Mike sitting at ringside loving every minute of it, the younger Gibbons, who would eventually challenge Jack dempsey for the heavyweight title, dished out what the Milwaukee Sentinal called "the worst licking of Moha's life" in winning an easy newspaper decision. "Moha has stopped many punches in his ring life," said the Sentinel, "but never so many at one time."

It was an uppercut thrown by former middleweight champion George Chip a month later, on March 12, 1917, that accomplished what nobody else in about 100 professional bouts ever managed against the Caveman. The punch, which landed flush on Moha's jaw in the fourth round, staggered him, and the referee stopped the fight. Moha's alibi was that he'd spent too much time in a Turkish bath the night before, trying to sweat himself down to the 163-pound contractual limit.

"I can whip any boxer in the world today from 158 pounds to 230 and up," Maoha said. He was never loathe to try, either. Joe Cox, who'd once stopped Jess Willard before Willard became heavyweight champion, stood two heads taller than the Caveman and had about 70 pounds on him. But the sawed-off Milwaukeean wowed a New York crowd by shellacking Cox over 10 rounds in 1916. Moha had trouble reaching Cox's head, but the big guy's ribs ached for weeks afterward.

It took future Dempsey foe Billy Miske 10 rounds to earn a newspaper decision over Moha, and it's significant that in several meetings the Caveman gave Harry Greb all he could handle. Yet interestingly enough, considering the notable series he had with Greb, Dillon, Levinsky, and other big names of his era, Moha's most bitter rival was a middleweight who lived just kitty-corner from him on North Breman Street in Milwaukee. Gus Christie split two grudge matches with the Caveman.

"His arms appeared long in contrast with the rest of the body," Christie recalled upon Moha's death on August 4, 1959. "When he came out of his corner and started to move those arms, it looked like three pairs of fists coming at you all the same time."

Walter Houlehan briefly managed Moha, but was more notable as one of the country's top referee's who saw close up most of the great fighters of that time. "Moha was the best in America in his day," Houlehan said in his published memoirs.

(by Pete Ehrmann)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Young Farrell, whose true name may have been Billy Farrell, was very active in California during the state's four-round era (1915-24). He currently has more draws than any other boxer in the BoxRec database (90, 92 if adding newspaper draws). (Draws were quite common during this period throughout California, in part because of the state's use of the Australian Scoring System.)

(boxrec)

http://boxrec.com/media/index.php/Australian_Scoring_System


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A Glimpse of Beau Jack by Robert Mezey

Philadelphia, 1946.

Night. My father and I are walking home
along a pavement raked by swirling snowflakes
wherever the wind kicks up. Having just emerged
from under the beamed shadows of the El
we cross to the Arena, heading home
â€"to mashed potatoes, sisters, downcast eyes,
anger and sullen silenceâ€"past the wall
in which a door stands open and I see
in luminous blackness hundreds of black shapes,
heads and shoulders, the sides of faces silvered
in swirls of smoke, the embers of cigars
glowing an instant and then blacking outâ€"
far off in the black depths the source of light,
the canvas square of ring circled by kliegs
and a slim brown man who has a bigger man
pinned on the ropes, digging blood-red gloves
methodically, like a man chopping wood,
into his ribs, the white skin splotching pink.
Could I have seen at that distance the rocking
and ripple of muscle under the bronze skin
or did I just imagine all of this?
It couldn't have been much more than a secondâ€"
my father was a very impatient manâ€"
but there it is, as radiant as just now.
My arm was jerked hard, I was dragged away
wondering desperately who the man wasâ€"then
there he was on a poster, fists cocked, poised,
smiling behind his gloves. I have forgotten
the name of his opponent but not his name.
I loved him, and I wanted what he hadâ€"
not the jeweled belt, the title, money, fameâ€"
what could they mean to an eleven-year-old?
No, what I wanted was the pride and power,
prowess and speed and grace, and even more,
fearlessness in the face of bigger men.
And that most beautiful of namesâ€"Beau Jack.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 1924


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Fear is the greatest obstacle to learning in any area, but particularly in boxing. For example, boxing is something you learn through repetition. You do it over and over and suddenly youâ€™ve got it. â€¦However, in the course of trying to learn, if you get hit and get hurt, this makes you cautious, and when youâ€™re cautious you canâ€™t repeat it, and when you canâ€™t repeat it, itâ€™s going to delay the learning processâ€¦When theyâ€¦come up to the gym and say I want to be a fighter, the first thing Iâ€™d do was talk to them about fearâ€¦I would always useâ€¦the same example of the deer crossing an open field and upon approaching the clearing suddenly instinct tells him danger is there, and nature begins the survival process, which involves the body releasing adrenalin into the bloodstream, causing the heart to beat faster and enabling the deer to perform extraordinarily feats of agility and strengthâ€¦It enables the deer to get out of range of the danger, helps him escape to the safety of the forest across the clearingâ€¦an example in which fear is your friend.

The thing a kid in the street fears the most is to be called yellow or chicken, and sometimes a kid will do the most stupid, wild, crazy things just to hide how scared he is. I often tell them that while fear is such an obnoxious thing, an embarrassing thingâ€¦nevertheless it is your friend, because anytime anyone saves your life perhaps a dozen times a day, no matter what how obnoxious he is, youâ€™ve got to look upon him as a friend, and this is what fear isâ€¦Since nature gave us fear in order to help us survive, we cannot look upon it as an enemy. Just think how many times a day a person would die if he had no fear. Heâ€™d walk in front of cars, heâ€™d die a dozen times a day. Fear is a protective mechanismâ€¦.By talking to the fighters about fear I cut the learning time maybe as much as half, sometimes more, depending on the individual.

(by Cus Dâ€™Amato)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1992


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The fighter who dethrones a Pugilant Hero has a hard struggle to win popular acceptance thereafter, as readers of Pierce Egan have reason to know. The microcosm is a worshiper of demigods, like the larger world around it. Gene Tunney is belittled to this day, particularly by fans who never saw him, simply because he whipped Jack Dempsey. The names of the conquerors of Hannibal and Terry McGovern are seldom spoken. The cult of Napoleon envelops the globe, but only Tory biographers have a kind word for Wellington. One thing all these victors have in common is that they went into the ring as long shots; the man who demolishes a concept is never popular.

A protracted terra-cotta-colored prizefighter named Sandy Saddler, whose physique and profile remind me of a praying mantis, has labored under this handicap since the evening of October 29, 1948, four days before the Truman election, when he knocked out a quick-moving Italian named Willie Pep, of Hartford, in Madison Square Garden, and won the featherweight championship of the world. Pep was a 1â€"3 favorite going in; Dewey, as I remember it, was 1â€"15. It was to be a week of surprises, and the blushing experts never forgave either winner. Saddler, five feet eight and a half inches tall, was twenty-two and weighed a hundred and twenty-four pounds. Pep, who was twenty-six, is of a height more usual among featherweightsâ€"five feet five. Like Saddler he was under a hundred and twenty-six pounds; he had to be, because that is the class limit. Saddler floored the Hartford man twice in the third round and knocked him out with a left hook to the jaw in the fourth. Pep, after the third knockdown, was the theater of a visible psychomachy, or struggle between body and soul. Body won, and he stayed down. Knowing covesâ€"in Eganâ€™s phraseâ€"who on the afternoon of the fight had coupled Pep and Sugar Ray Robinson as twin pinnacles on the horizon of the Sweet Science, announced after Pepâ€™s defeat that he had been a hollow shell, which is a traditional ex-post-facto metaphor.

They even suggested that he had feigned, although his record made this implausible. He had won a hundred and thirty-four fights out of a hundred and thirty-six.

To me Saddler appeared to be what Egan would have called a first-rate bit of fighting stuff, but he never succeeded in making his detractors admit it. He fought Pep three more timesâ€"in 1949, 1950, and 1951. In the last two annual renewals he knocked the old champion out, but the critics said that the Pep of 1950 was the mere shell of a shell, while the Pep of 1951 was not even that; he was more like the murmur you hear when you hold a shell to your ear. By that time, Pep admittedly was a bit worn between the shoulder blades, but he was still the second-best featherweight in the world. Part of the public reluctance to accept Saddler is attributable to his height, which spectators feel gives him an undue advantage over his opponents. A momentâ€™s cogitation on observed phenomena would tell them the opposite.

(by A.J.Liebling)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

One could imagine Henry McLemore, a staff correspondent for the United Press, rubbing his hands and licking his chops before hitting the keys of his typewriter after the second fight between Lou Ambers and Henry Armstrong. When something gets under a writerâ€™s skin, as referee Arthur Donovan got under Mr McLemoreâ€™s, there is nothing quite so pleasurable as driving home the point with a good old lashing of sledgehammer wit.

Thus Mr McLemore wrote: â€œArthur Donovan is the new lightweight boxing champion of the world. He is a bit fat for the title, particularly in the head. But he won it in Yankee Stadium last night. He won it for Lou Ambers by rendering a decision as questionable as a mongrelâ€™s paternity.â€

Never had Mr Donovan applied the rules of boxing quite so stringently, and a lot of bemused and angry reporters and fans were left wondering why. He took the second, fifth, seventh, ninth and eleventh rounds from Armstrong for fouling, and even Hankâ€™s prodigious industry could not overturn so severe a handicap. Ambers became the world champion again by a unanimous decision.

It was a great pity that the contest was marred by controversy, as it featured two wonderful scrappers staging a magnificent fight. But for the penalties he incurred, Hank would undoubtedly have won. Lou, however, was no less impressive for his clever work and his fighting spirit.

Hank was ever relentless in his attacks, which just kept coming in waves. Yet throughout the terrific milling, Ambers was meeting the champion with a constant output of jabs, hooks and uppercuts.

Armstrong made a slow start to the fight, but found his momentum by the third round and began firing on all cylinders. Lou was all too happy to engage Hank and the two fighters ripped punches at each other at a formidable rate. Their heads banged together frequently in the furious exchanges and Hank picked up an injury to his right eye. He returned the favour when he cut Louâ€™s left eye in the fourth.

Such was the pace of the battle that the two warriors began to show tiredness in the eighth round, although only by their own exceptional standards. The crowd at Madison Square Garden loved what they were seeing. It was a stirring encounter between two naturally talented men whose styles and fighting pride blended perfectly.

There were no knockdowns, but Lou was very nearly felled in the fourteenth round when Hank spotted a fleeting opening and opened up with a terrific volley before Ambers could raise his guard. Armstrongâ€™s sustained assault lasted for very nearly a minute as Lou staggered and tried to find a way out of the storm.

Outside the ring, Al Weill and Hankâ€™s trainer Eddie Mead werenâ€™t content to leave the fighting to their boys. Al and Eddie became embroiled in a heated argument over referee Donovanâ€™s points deductions from Armstrong. Weill finally blew and shouted at Mead, â€œYouâ€™d better watch out if you keep that up!â€

Armstrong and Ambers knew the fight was up for grabs by the time they came out for the fifteenth and final round. Neither man would let up as they dug each other with body shots on the ropes. Lou tagged Henry with a right to the face but took a solid right to the jaw in return.

Ambers suddenly had a phase where he caught Armstrong with a succession of lefts, while Hank misfired and seemed to be losing his way. But the wonderful Armstrong always found something when he needed to. He lost his mouthpiece after taking a couple of stiff rights, but steamed back at Ambers and was winging shots to Louâ€™s body at the bell.

The pro-Ambers crowd had no problems with the decision in their manâ€™s favour, but trainer Eddie Mead was raging about the treatment to his man Armstrong by referee Donovan.

It was gorgeous grist to the mill from Eddie. â€œIâ€™ll blow up boxing in this town,â€ he threatened. â€œArmstrong was penalised for every low tap, but Ambers was elbowing and thumbing throughout the fight and wasnâ€™t even given a warning.â€

Meads, of course, didnâ€™t blow up boxing in New York. The old Empire State continued to flourish, the Garden continued to bloom and Henry Armstrong went on to become a living legend.

(by Mike Casey)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Barbados Joe Walcott


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1923


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Boy, didn't that Argentine meat head have delusions of grandeur? Oh well, probably was a waste of Lil' Artha's time anyway.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1946


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

RARE Original Plates & documentation for Bruce Woodcock vs Bert Gilroy II

http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Megga-rare...item35e174a13d

and about a half dozen others.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Aside from there being a whopping 65 losses on his record, â€œThe Croat Cometâ€ Fritzie Zivic, was one of the â€œdirtiestâ€ boxers in ring history, perhaps the dirtiest, even though, as the record shows, he was never disqualified. As a result, his reputation suffered. Everyone understood what Zivic was about. Tough, canny and clever, he was a master at the dark art of errant elbows and well-timed head butts, discreet low blows and painful thumbs to the eyes. Zivic didnâ€™t try to deny it either. As far as he was concerned, this amounted to standard procedure. Pugilism was a rough business and when it came to foul tactics, boxers had to be ready to both take it and dish it out.

â€œIâ€™d hit guys low,â€ admitted Zivic. â€œChoke â€˜em or give â€˜em the head. My best punch was a left hook to you-know-where.â€

Zivicâ€™s career began in 1931 and by 1940 he had yet to earn a title shot, his inconsistency preventing the public from viewing him as a legitimate threat. But a big win over Sammy Angott set him up nicely for a chance at Armstrongâ€™s welterweight crown. And Zivic began dreaming about that big Cadillac he always wanted. With Henry Armstrong having already established himself as one of the greatest fighters in boxing history, a triple division champion with 18 straight defenses of his welterweight title, Fritzie was a big underdog. The day of the fight, Zivic went down to the Cadillac dealership to check out the latest models and give himself some extra motivation for the battle to come.

But the first several rounds of the match were not good for the challenger. The aggressive Armstrong looked as strong and capable as ever and seemed to be cruising to a record nineteenth successful title defense. Zivic, his reputation preceding him, sought to be extra careful about any unseemly tactics, and appeared inhibited.

â€œThat night Henryâ€™s givinâ€™ it to me pretty good,â€ recounted Zivic... â€œAnd I can see that Cadillac rollinâ€™ farther and farther away from me. Henryâ€™s givinâ€™ me the elbows and the shoulders and the top of the head, and I can give that stuff back pretty good, but I donâ€™t dare to or maybe theyâ€™ll throw me out of the ring.â€

Zivic in fact was pacing himself, as he had never gone 15 rounds and knew he had to have something extra for the late going; stopping the tough Armstrong inside the distance was simply not a realistic prospect. So entering the middle rounds, the challenger began to pick it up. He used hard uppercuts to perfection, nailing Armstrong repeatedly. And then he got the break he needed.

â€œIn the seventh round I give him the head a couple times and choked him a couple times and use the elbow some, and the referee says: â€˜If you guys want to fight that way, itâ€™s okay with me.â€™ Hot damn! I told Luke Carney in my corner: â€˜Watch me go now,â€™ and from there out I saw that Cadillac turn around and come rollinâ€™ back.â€

The bout turned into a bloody alley war. And while Zivicâ€™s uppercuts were his prime weapon, his thumbs and laces to the championâ€™s eyes also took their toll. Going into the final rounds, the bout was deadly close, but the challenger closed the show. He battered a hurt and exhausted Armstrong mercilessly and with seconds left in the fight, put â€œHomicide Hankâ€ on the deck. Weâ€™ll never know if Henry could have beaten the count; the bell rang to end the fight before he had the chance. Zivic took a close but unanimous decision.

It was a huge upset, but Fritzie Zivic didnâ€™t hold the title for very long. He defeated Armstrong in a rematch and then lost the crown to Freddie Cochrane just six months later. But he held on to that big Cadillac for many years after.

(by Michael Carbert)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jimmy Slattery - he danced on his toes like a ballet dancer, his arms dangling at his sides, rifling fast and accurate punches through the tightest of defences.

In 1925, the year he fought for the World Light-Heavyweight Title (in September), he fought 19 fights - in that year alone...the year he turned 21 years old.

In the end he was another who was badly beaten by John Barleycorn.

...........................

He came out of Buffalo's old First Ward, starting as a long rangy kid in the Broadway auditorium, to become one of the smoothest, most efficient fighting machines in the world. The first pair of green trunks he ever wore in the ring were made by his mother; the bathrobe slung carelessly over his broad young shoulders was borrowed. He fought him, first professional fight for $40. Yet in a few swift ears, Jimmy Slattery's murderous left had clouted him a straight path to Madison Square Garden, where he eventually became the light heavyweight champion of the world and a heavy weight title contender. In his hey-dey, he was like the hero of some ancient Irish fable-a ring wise, black haired Irish imp who carried man made lightening in his gloves.

He was only 20 years old when he fought his first fight in the big time. Hoarse-voiced thousands that night in 1924 watched this dancing will-o'-the-wisp out-box. out-guess and outfight the veteran Jack Delaney. Yet within that same year the same Madison Square Garden crowd watched, agonized, while Paul Berlenbach, a huge hunk of ex-wrestler, belted Buffalo's golden boy all around the ring. The referee stopped the fight in the eleventh round after Berlenbach had smashed Slats to the canvas three times.

Despite this beating, though, he lived to win the title five years later when on February 10, 1930, he won a 15-round decision over another Buffalo fighter, Lou Scozza, in the Broadway Auditorium. But those were five fast years that only served to grease the skids for Slattery's ride bloom hailed a cab on Eighth Avenue and rode it nearly four hundred miles to a training camp up in the Adirondacks.

The vanishing act was another of his pet tricks; he'd drop out of sight regardless of circumstances. His manager, Red Carr, once lined up a big fight for Slats only to find that Slats was nowhere around. For five days he was gone. Police at Elkhart, Ind wired to Buffalo that he had been arrested for vagrancy. Another time-in New York-Slats told Carr he was going out to buy a hat. He was gone for half a week before he came back without the hat.

Once Slattery turned up missing in Venice. His companions were getting ready to have the canals dragged when they found him at 4 a. m., floating aimlessly around in an appropriated gondola.

Anyone could put the "bite" on him. That was another of his weaknesses That staunch heart of his was brimming with too much kindness. A buck? Sure. A fin? Sure. Fifty? Hell yes! He made more than that a second. So the gang hung on. Used his cars, his liquor, his money and used him for all he was worth. Once a delegation of 28 home-town pals dropped into his New York - hotel after a fight. They had spent all their money. How were they going to get home? Slats snapped his fingers. "Nothing to it," he said, and picked up the phone and ordered 28 Pullman berths for Buffalo.

What caused Slattery's rapid downfall as a fighter, as meteoric as his rise to fame? Maybe the trouble was too much too soon. Maybe it was a case of "too many parties and too many pals." One guess is as good as another. Slattery himself perhaps had the answer to the ride down. He once said that he'd give up fighting in a minute if he could play the piano. However, be never learned to play anything but the harmonica. Before Slat's first 15-round fight with Paul Berlenbach, the late Tex Rickard went to his dressing room with the idea of soothing, the nervous youngster. He found Slattery stretched out on the rubbing table trying, to play his harmonica with gloved hands.

But for a fighter who preferred music to mayhem, he made-and lost -a tidy fortune. In a career of 126 fights he earned and flung away $438,000. He could have been heavyweight champion of the world, according to most sports experts who saw him in action in his prime. Gentleman Jim Corbett made it a point to see every Slattery fight because, according to sports writers, he saw his own greatness mirrored in the lean Irishman. Gene Tunny has called him the greatest natural boxer of those times.

Slattery boxed frequently with Tunney when the latter was getting into shape for his second Dempsey fight during one furious session, Slats sent Tunney sprawling through the ropes. Newspaper stories said Tunney "slipped," but Slattery's followers have always maintained that it was a clean punch that nearly knocked the heavyweight champ out.

Slattery fought his last professional fight on August 22, 1932 in Offermann Stadium. He was knocked out in the second round by Charley Belanger, Canadian light-heavy weight champion.

(by Ed Dunn)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

21 Jan 1948 - Joe Louis and Gene Tunney Sharing a Meal Together


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> 21 Jan 1948 - Joe Louis and Gene Tunney Sharing a Meal Together


dougie, I'd love to know what they were talking about...Gene's really wrapped up in it, isn't he?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The confusing Joe Gans v Jimmy Britt World Lightweight Title story...
....................

In both the 'Ring Record Book' and 'The Ring: Boxing The 20th Century' it is found that Gans relinquished the title in November 1904, â€œbecause of difficulty making the weight.â€ No exact date of the forfeiture is given in either source. The reason for this omission is simple â€" there is no date because there is no record to be found in any newspaper account of his era quoting Gans as saying that he gave up his lightweight title.

In an 'Illustrated History of Boxing' (Fleischer and Andre p 300) it is found that â€œJimmy Britt claimed that Gans had declined to make weight and thereby forfeited his title.â€ The problem with Britt's claim is that Gans clearly did make the weight. Press accounts prove that Gansâ€™ weight was a big issue in the days preceding the fight, but the fight nevertheless took place on Oct. 31, 1904, in San Francisco, as a lightweight championship match. The Oct. 28, 1904, San Francisco Chronicle reported that â€œLast night along the line there were all sorts of discussions upon this weight problem â€¦it is the consensus of opinion that the colored lad is in for a hard time trimming off the surplus poundage. This being the first fight Gans ever made at 133 pounds, ringside.â€ The weight of 133 pounds, however, should not be considered as set in stone for the lightweight limit as the Frank Erne-Gans title fight of two years previous the combatants had agreed to a higher weight limit. Nat Fleischer wrote, (BD, 153) "The contest was for world lightweight championship and the men agreed to scale at 136 pounds." This fact is backed up by newspaper accounts; the Chronicle May 13, 1902 reported, "The weight for the bout was 136 pounds ringside." The now accepted weight limit of 135 pounds became standard a few years later, after Willie Ritchie won the title in 1912.

The Oct. 21, 1904, Chronicle reported the two fightersâ€™ managers would meet at Harry Corbettâ€™s to â€œdiscuss the question of the referee of the championship battle between Gans and Britt.â€ The Oct. 23 Chronicle wrote â€œTo the casual visitor to Gansâ€™ camp the lightweight champion looks a trifle drawn.â€ Gans himself said in the same issue â€œIf Britt wins from me I hope he will abandon all his talk about the color line. If I am beaten the lightweight championship goes to him.â€ Clearly both the press and Gans considered himself champion going into the Jimmy Britt fight.

The controversy over Gansâ€™ record seems to result from the way Gans won the fight with Britt â€" Britt fouled Gans in the fifth round and was disqualified. Britt was warned throughout the fight several times for fouls, including hitting low. The Nov. 1 Chronicle quoted referee Eddie Graney as saying, â€œHe hit Gans three times while he was on his knees and there was only one thing that could possibly be done,â€ i.e., disqualify Britt.

Gans, then, retained the title by foul. At no time did Gans say he relinquished the title. After the fight, Gans told the Chronicle (Nov. 1, 1904) â€œI shall not give him a return match for two reasons. His fouls were so open that he is not entitled to another match, but besides that I am convinced I cannot be strong at 133 pounds, ringside.â€ Though admitting he was weak, he never said he gave up the title. He merely said that he couldnâ€™t be strong at that weight, excusing what was reported to be an admittedly weak performance against Britt. But performing badly does not mean he lost, as we will see later on. But despite his performance, the Nov. 2 Chronicle had Gansâ€™ manager, Al Herford, making this offer: â€œI will match Gans against Britt at 134 pounds ringside and will guarantee a purse of 15,000 at Baltimore.â€

The November newspaper clippings on microfilm reveal that at no time did Gans abdicate the lightweight title or say he will no longer campaign at lightweight. There is no evidence whatsoever that Gans ever relinquished the title. The Nov. 19, 1904 National Police Gazette reported "Joe Gans and Jimmy Britt May be Matched Again for a Purse and The Lightweight Championship." If Gans was no longer going to fight at lightweight then why was he trying to negotiate a second Britt fight for the title?

The idea that Gans gave up the title in November 1904 seems to come from Jimmy Britt, who sought to rewrite the record books and erase his loss by appealing to the sentiments of the white press. Britt took Gansâ€™ statement to mean that he could no longer make 133 pounds, leading Britt to believe he was to be the rightful champion. Britt claimed this because he believed publicly that he was the better man in the fight and â€œshouldâ€ have won. This fact is backed up in Nat Fleischer's 'Black Dynamite' (172) "Britt and his adherents refused to yield. They declared the action of the referee was unwarranted and Britt in the eyes of the Californians was still the champion.â€

The British Boxing Board of Control Boxing Yearbook 2002 on page 230 seems to quote Fleischer with the following reference:
â€œ1904. 31 October Joe Gans W Dis 5 Jimmy Britt , San Francisco, USA. For over two years Britt had disputed the title, firstly drawing the 'colour bar' and later claiming that Gans was incapable of making 133 lbs. However, while Gans proved he could make the weight for this one it obviously left him weakened, something that was painfully exploited by Britt. The only thing that saved Gans was Britt's impetuosity. Having downed the coloured man twice in the fourth round, Britt was excused hitting him after the bell because of the din but there was no excuse in the fifth and he was finally disqualified after hitting his rival who was in the act of rising from another knockdown. Britt continued to claim the title on the grounds that the action of the referee was unwarranted and that, in the eyes of most Californians, he was still the champion.â€

The first indication of this in the Californian press is the Nov. 19, 1904, edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, where Britt is attempting to negotiate a match with former featherweight champion Young Corbett, whom he bested once before. Britt was quoted as saying to Corbett â€œYou must remember that when we fought before you were the championâ€¦I want you to know that I am the champion nowâ€¦â€

The Britt and Young Corbett fight in November didnâ€™t materialize. Instead, Battling Nelson fought Corbett and knocked him out in the tenth round. Britt and Nelson then agreed to meet in a battle of premier lightweights, it was first called the "lightweight championship of America" in the Dec 19, 1904 Boston Globe. The question now becomes â€œHow did the Britt-Nelson fight on Dec. 20, 1904, in San Francisco, come to be regarded as a contest for the â€˜world lightweight championshipâ€™ in the official Ring, IBHOF, and British Boxing Board record books?â€

The answer is found in the Dec. 20, 1904, edition of the Boston Globe: â€œBritt is the acknowledged lightweight champion of America. The decision Gans got over him, on a foul, is not considered seriously. The greater number of sporting men are convinced that the fight was a fake, and giving the decision to Gans did not help the colored boxer any. Britt showed that he was Gansâ€™ master and that was enough. The fight tonight, therefore, is for the lightweight championship.â€ The San Francisco Chronicle in the Dec. 21, 1904, issue reiterates this claim: â€œIn the opinion of the sporting men at ringside. The victory (of Britt over Nelson) carried with it the lightweight championship of the world. Gans showed in his fight with Britt that it is an impossibility for him to make 133 pounds ringside and remain strong. The lightweight limit is 133 pounds ringside. Before last nightâ€™s bout it was generally agreed that Britt and Nelson were the best men in the world at this weight.â€

Not only is the above statement unfounded and unjust, other newspaper accounts make it clear that while the press was upset with Gansâ€™ win over Britt in the short term, in the long term they came to grips with Gansâ€™ victory and continued to recognize him as champion. The Jan. 17, 1905 San Francisco Chronicle says of Gans â€œhis claim on the lightweight title has placed him in a position to dictate weight to prospective opponents.â€ This demonstrates by newspaper accounts that Gans was still considered as lightweight champion at the beginning of 1905 even by the Californian papers. After his second fight with Mike â€œTwinâ€ Sullivan, Gans said in Jan 20, 1906 Chronicle, â€œI will make 133 poundsâ€ against Jimmy Britt, â€œI can do that nowâ€ proving he still considered himself lightweight champion, which means he never gave up the title.

The Feb 4, 1905 'National Police Gazette', which is considered an authority on fistic matters reported, "Nelson and Gans Will Fight For Title" this is barely over 3 months after the Gans-Britt fight and about 6 weeks after Nelson lost to Britt in December. The Gans-Nelson fight didnâ€™t come off at that time but the Police Gazette continues to report Gans as the champion. It seems Britt is claiming that he is the champion also, although Gans is still the recognized champion, note the following headline, Mar. 18, 1905 Gazette, "Jabez White is Here to Fight Jimmy Britt, or Joe Gans for the Worlds Lightweight Title."

Gans made the weight against Britt in their Oct 31, 1904 fight. He won and kept his title. For Britt or anyone else to claim â€œGans can no longer make the lightweight limitâ€ is guesswork. Do we strip champions of titles for guessing that they may not be able to make the weight the next time they fight? Clearly not. In fact, Gans made weight for subsequent lightweight championship fights, including Gans-Nelson bouts one through three, a rematch with Jimmy Britt (which incidentally Gans won by knockout) and other post 1906 bouts.

The press and public continued to recognize Joe Gans as lightweight champion. The racist â€œwhite lightweight championshipâ€ as it is referred to in The Boxing Register on Nelsonâ€™s record, between Britt and Nelson, was not taken seriously at the time. Consider the statement of San Francisco fight promoter Jim Coffroth, (Ring Magazine May 1943), "Gans greatest misfortune was that he lived in the low purse days of pugilism, and that he was sadly mismanaged. I can cite no better illustration of this than to point out in 1906, when Gans, then champion of the world, agreed to take a $10,000 guarantee of a $30,000 purse, agreeing that Battling Nelson, the challenger, was to get $20,000."

The argument that the Britt-Nelson affair was for the worldâ€™s lightweight championship is just not true. First, the idea that Gans couldnâ€™t make the weight so he gave up the title comes from Britt, and is clearly false. Secondly, the notion that Britt â€œshouldâ€ have won is absurd; what we are discussing is the official record, and the official record clearly shows that Britt was disqualified for hitting Gans while he was down. Consequently, the Britt-Nelson fight should be recorded in record books as nothing more than a â€œtitle claimantâ€ bout, a bout where a white fighter claims a title that justly belongs to a black champion. When The Boston Globe referred to Britt as the "lightweight champion of America" as in the Dec. 19 edition, what it really means is the "white lightweight champion." The Boston Globe admitted that Gans was the true champion before the first Gans-Nelson fight. One must realize that Joe Gans was the first African American to hold a world championship. This was over 40 years before Jackie Robinson broke through in major league baseball.

(By Monte D. Cox)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

I remember when Lionel Rose arrived in Los Angeles. I was 16-years-old at the time and had read a lot about Rose and wanted to watch him train. I had no idea that less than a year later I would have a chance to spar with Rose while he trained for his last title defense.

Chucho Castillo was the Mexican Bantamweight Champion and had defeated Edmundo Esparza, Jose Medel, Memo Tellez and Jesus Pimentel. You have to understand that in Mexico, being the Mexican Champion is more important than being the world champion. Often the Mexican Champion was, or would become, the World Champ. When Chucho Castillo stepped into the Forum ring to fight Rose for the title, he had the support of thousands of Mexican's who had spent hard earned money to travel to Los Angeles from below the border. They expected Castillo to return home with the title, and he almost did.

Rose and Castillo put on a great battle for 15 rounds. Rose boxed brilliantly, using his darting left jab and sharp counter punches to hold off the charging Castillo. Castillo landed the harder blows and in the 10th round floored the Australian which drove the Mexican fans crazy. "Chucho, Chucho, Chucho"" the fans chanted. However, Rose made it to his feet and went right back to his original plan. He held off the furious attack of the Mexican and continued to box. At the end of 15 rounds ring announcer Mario Machado read the verdict. Lionel Rose was awarded a split decision victory over Castillo. The Mexican fans went crazy and literally tore apart the brand new 18,000 seat Forum.

I had attended the match with one of friends, amateur heavyweight Al Boursse. This was one time Al and I were glad our seats were nowhere near the ring. After the decision was announced there was booing, then cups of beer were tossed toward the ring from way back. Then cherry bombs began to explode and fights started breaking out everywhere. Cushioned seats were slashed open and the stuffing set afire.

After Rose and Castillo left the ring, featherweights Dwight Hawkins and Fernando Sotelo were set to fight in a ten rounder. However, the crowd was so unruly the fight was halted after the third round to protect the fighters from all of the debris being tossed into the ring.

Al Boursse and I had come to see our stablemate Hawkins or we'd have left quickly after the title fight. When they stopped the Hawkins-Sotelo bout, Al and I headed up the aisle, away from all all the missiles being thrown down. People were pushing and shoving each other trying to escape. As we passed through a tunnel toward an exit we ran into another one of our stablemates, Ruben Navarro. Navarro said he knew of a short cut so Al & I followed Ruben back down to the floor and slipped out through the dressing room area. As we headed up the ramp to the parking lot we saw Canto Robledo, an old trainer who was totally blind. Robledo had been separated from his guide and had been hit with several bottles and was bleeding. Navarro took Canto by the arm and led him away from the trouble. Outside, cars were being tipped over and the riot squad was arriving just as we pulled out of the parking lot. All over a close decision.

Eight months later, in August of 1969, Rose returned to Los Angeles for another title defense. This time he would take on one of the greatest bantamweights of all-time, Ruben Olivares.

(by Rick Farris)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept. 1906.

A highly touted fight, held in the Nevada hinterlands to escape anti-boxing laws, had the box-office appeal of pitting a fan-favorite boxer, Battling Nelson, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, Joe Gans. Gans was black, and any interracial boxing match was big news in those days. Nelson was considered to be over-matched, but Gans was coming into the twilight of his career, and may have already been ill with tuberculosis (he would die of the disease just a few years later). The grueling fight lasted 42 rounds, and was finally won by Gans on a foul, a low blow by Nelson. The foul call was amazing because black fighters were rarely given the benefit of a clean fight in those days. Referees made it a habit to turn a blind eye to dirty tricks by white fighters against black fighters.

(by Allan Holtz)

Gans literally killed himself to make the lightweight limit for this bout, Nat Fleischer stated in "The Three Colored Aces." As a result of his extremely light diet and strenuous training in the Nevada heat, Gans would feel the effects of tuberculosis shortly afterward. Nelson's manager Billy Nolan allegedly set extremely unfair standards, as Champion Gans received only $11,000, compared to Nelson's $34,000 (or $22,500, depending upon the source). And when Gans did make it down to 133 pounds, the lightweight limit at the time, Nolan announced that he must enter the ring at the same weight or the fight would be called off. Gans, who allowed all this just to reportedly "bring home the bacon" for his family, still had a vicious combatant to face in the ring.

United States President Teddy Roosevelt's son Kermit was in the audience.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

There are many great and exciting fighters that have missed out on securing a crack at the ultimate prize their profession offers but Art Hafey has to be remembered as one of the most unfortunate of them all.

Hafey fought in arguably the greatest era of assembled featherweights in a series of fights from 1972 to 1976, appropriately and affectionately dubbed â€˜The West Coast Featherweight Warsâ€™. During the aforementioned time period Hafey fought an incredible 43 times against such legends as Ruben Olivares, Octavio Gomez, Alex Arguello and Danny Lopez, not to mention the countless public sparring wars he engaged with Bobby Chacon. It was indeed a very special era for boxing in general when venues like the Forum in Inglewood, the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angles and the Coliseum in San Diego were regularly sold out. It was also the era in which Hispanic boxers emerged onto the scene to dominate the lower weight divisions and Hafey being a white crowd pleasing brawler was in the thick of it all. The then 22 year-old Canadian of Irish decent was feared so much by his peers, Hispanic boxing fans often referred to him as â€˜The Executionerâ€™ because of the way he regularly destroyed their heroes.

(by Clive Bernath)

Ring Magazine had Art rated the best featherweight in the world for four years running. In fact, during Art's time, Ring Magazine always rated him above the world champion. That's just a small measure of the esteem in which Art Hafey was held by those in the know in the world of boxing.

Art Hafey had his last professional fight aged 25.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On the afternoon of September 22, 1922 fight fans packed the Buffalo Velodrome in Paris, France to see Georges Carpentier defend his light-heavyweight title against Battling Siki.

Nicknamed the â€œOrchid Manâ€ for the corsages he often wore with his tailored suits, Carpentier had been fighting professionally since he was 14. Although he was coming off a failed attempt to win Dempseyâ€™s heavyweight title, heâ€™d helped secure boxingâ€™s first million-dollar gate. Fighting again as a light-heavyweight, the Frenchmanâ€™s future was still brightâ€"so bright that Carpentierâ€™s handlers were taking no chances. They offered Battling Siki a bribe to throw the fight. Siki agreed, under the condition that he â€œdidnâ€™t want to get hurt.â€ What followed was one of the strangest bouts in boxing history.

Although Siki later admitted that the fight was rigged, thereâ€™s some question as to whether Carpentier knew it. Early in the first of 20 scheduled rounds, Siki dropped to a knee after Carpentier grazed him, and then rose and began to throw wild, showy punches with little behind them. In the third, Carpentier landed a powerful blow, and Siki went down again; when he got back on his feet, he lunged at his opponent head first, hands low, as if inviting Carpentier to hit him again. Carpentier obliged, sending Siki to the canvas once more.

At that point, the action in the ring turned serious. Siki later told a friend that during the fight, he had reminded Carpentier, â€œYou arenâ€™t supposed to hit me,â€ but the Frenchman â€œkept doing it. He thought he could beat me without our deal, and he kept on hitting me.â€

Suddenly, Battling Sikiâ€™s punches had a lot more power to them. He pounded away at Carpentier in the fourth round, then dropped him with a vicious combination and stood menacingly over him. Through the fourth and into the fifth, the fighters stood head to head, trading punches, but it was clear that Siki was getting the better of the champion. Frustrated, Carpentier charged in and head-butted Siki, knocking him to the floor. Rising to his feet, Siki tried to protest to the referee, but Carpentier charged again, backing him into a corner. The Frenchman slipped and fell to the canvasâ€"and Siki, seemingly confused, helped him get to his feet. Seeing Sikiâ€™s guard down, Carpentier showed his gratitude by launching a hard left hook to Sikiâ€™s head just before the bell ended the round. The Senegalese tried to follow Carpentier back to his corner, but handlers pulled him back onto his stool.

At the start of round six, Battling Siki pounced. Furious, he spun Carpentier around and delivered an illegal knee to his midsection, which dropped the Frenchman for good. Enraged, Siki stood above him and shouted down at his fallen foe. With his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken, the Orchid Man was splayed awkwardly on his side, his left leg resting on the lower rope.

Siki returned to his corner. His manager, Charlie Hellers, blurted out, â€œMy God. What have you done?â€

â€œHe hit me,â€ Siki answered.

Referee M. Henri Bernstein didnâ€™t even bother counting. Believed by some to be in on the fix, Bernstein tried to explain that he was disqualifying Siki for fouling Carpentier, who was then being carried to his corner. Upon hearing of the disqualification, the crowd unleashed a â€œgreat chorus of hoots and jeers and even threaten the referee with bodily harm.â€ Carpentier, they believed, had been â€œbeaten squarely by a better man.â€

Amid the pandemonium, the judges quickly conferred, and an hour later, reversed the disqualification. Battling Siki was the new champion.

Siki was embraced, just as Carpentier had been, and he quickly became the toast of Paris. He was a late-night fixture in bars around the city, surrounded by women, and he could often be seen walking the Champs-Elysees in a top hat and tuxedo, with a pet lion cub on a leash.

(By Gilbert King)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Pittsburgh Press - December 1910


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1916


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

December 1948

World Heavyweight Champion Joe Louis helps to load Christmas presents on to an aircraft In New York.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1960.

Archie Moore gives a scathing opinion of Ingemar Johansson...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A 1941 Interview with Jack Blackburn...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Shortly after Floyd Patterson had defeated Eddie Machen in 12 rounds of boxing that would never frighten Cassius Clay back into training, Floyd received two visitors in his Stockholm dressing room. One, wearing a neat, gray Ivy League suit, was Ingemar Johannson. "You too nice, Floyd," said Ingemar. The other, wearing a jaunty bow tie, was Nat Fleischer, the publisher of Ring magazine, who announced triumphantly that Floyd Patterson had moved up, that he was now the No. 2 challenger for the heavyweight championship.

Both were right, of course. Floyd is a nice man, too nice to be a professional fistfighter, but despite this he is also unquestionably superiorâ€"just as he has always beenâ€"to the five men over whom he had just leapfrogged from his old ranking down in seventh place: Doug Jones, Zora Folley, Cleveland Williams, Ernest Terrell and Machen. It was a little difficult to understand, however, why Floyd was so cheered by Fleischer's statement. For one thing, still above him stand Clay and Sonny Liston, and exactly why Floyd should ever want to fight either of themâ€"he has plenty of money and his healthâ€"is a question that not even Patterson can adequately explain. Beyond that, his sudden rise in Ring's form chart had no more relation to reality than his precipitous drop from the top to his place behind Jones, Folley, etc. immediately after his back-to-back and back-on-the-canvas first-round knockouts at the hands of Liston. He was no worse a fighter after his losses to Liston than he had been before, and he is no better a fighter now after his wins over Machen and Sante Amonti, the inept Italian heavyweight he defeated on points in Sweden last January. He is still fast and strong and gameâ€"but he still is easy to hit. He still is acutely aware of helplessness, in himself or in others, including those he hurts in the ring. He still lacks the egocentric concentration of the true athlete, the single-minded aggressiveness of the great fighter, the consuming need to conquer or destroy everything in his way.

In the 11th round of the fight last Sunday he caught Machen against the ropes and hit him with a powerful right hand that sliced open Eddie's face and sent him to his knees. The mandatory eight-count rule, which requires that fighters knocked off their feet must take a count of eight before resuming battle, had been waived for the meeting, and Machen popped back to his feet at once, though dazed and with blood streaming down his face. It was an opportunityâ€"an opponent momentarily helplessâ€"that would have been capitalized on immediately by a Rocky Marciano or a Cassius Clay or a Sonny Liston. But Patterson stood quietly by and waited, looking at Machen with a curious half smile on his face. He did not move in for the kill, and Machen quickly recovered.

This was the maneuverâ€"or rather, the nonmaneuverâ€"that upset Johansson. "You take a step back when you should not," he told Patterson in the dressing room. "You had him hurt maybe five, six times. Why you don't move in? You must take a step forward, Floyd." Patterson looked at him enigmatically and did not reply. Later, however, Patterson said, "I was winning the 11th round when I hurt him, and I looked in his face and I saw hurt and defeat. This is a man who has had a hard life. He has been broke and in a mental institution. Should I knock him down further for my own good? I was winning. I didn't have to hurt him." Then he added, "He fought a good fight. He deserves a shot at Clay more than I do. He's broke and he's been down, and he deserves it."

This kindliness of Floyd's, a reflection of his hunger for friendship, for approval, for recognition, has its counterpart in his fear and resentment of disapproval, his touchiness, his moodiness. Before the fight in Stockholm (from which he earned $100,000, as a crowd of 40,000 damp Swedes paid approximately $300,000 dollars to watch on a rainy northern evening), Floyd annoyed even his enthusiastic Scandinavian admirers by sequestering himself like a moody Garbo in a small resort town 300 miles from Stockholm. He strained the abundant friendship most of the Swedish press has for him by making himself very hard to find for interviews. "I spent three days in Ronneby trying to talk to him," one Swedish reporter said, "and finally I got to see him for 20 minutes. Is this the Patterson we liked so well? I do not think so."

"He misses Cus D'Amato," said a man who is close to Patterson, referring to Floyd's first and longtime manager, from whom he is estranged. "He tries to do everything himself nowâ€"run the camp, worry about the money, take legal advice, everything. D'Amato used to do all that and keep him away from everyone so that he could concentrate on fighting. And then you have to remember that he was raised by Cus. When Cus first got him he was just a kid who didn't know anything about anything. All he knows and all his attitudes he got from D'Amato, including his suspicions and prejudices and his quickness to resent. He's got all of D'Amato's craftiness without D'Amato's background and intelligence."

In one of his rare colloquies with a member of the press, Patterson said, "I have to prove something. If I could preview a fight and see that I would be destroyed I would still fight. If I had to fight every day for seven days I would do it to prove myself." He focused all of his attention on the task at hand: beating Machen, proving himself. Although his brother Ray, who served as a sparring partner in his camp, could have had a fight on the card with Floyd and Machen, Patterson turned thumbs down on the grounds that he had to give his entire concentration to his own bout and did not want to have to worry about his brother at the same time.

(Sports Illustrated - July 1964)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The crowd noise was at fever pitch as I walked the pathway to the ring. The closer I got, the more my friends and fans shouted encouragement. I was moved. I climbed the steps and entered my corner of the ring.

As my manager and trainer gave me last minute instructions, they had to yell over the shouts of the crowd. I looked at the people sitting ringside, recognizing many of them. All were waving, smiling and screaming words of encouragement as I sat waiting for the referee to call us to the center of the ring. I told myself that, with Godâ€™s help, I wouldnâ€™t disappoint the fans. I was ready. This was the moment that I had worked for all of these years. It was almost surrealistic.

After introducing several celebrities in the audience, the ring announcer, Freddie Russo, said in his booming voice, â€œLadieees and gentlemen, tonight we have a fifteen round fight for the Welterweight Championship of the World.â€ As is customary, he introduced the challenger first, â€œWeighing in at 145 Â½ pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger with a record of forty-five wins and six defeats, the Flame and Fury of Fleet Street, Tony Demarco!â€ The cheering was deafening and seemed never to end. When Johnny Saxton, the reigning champion was introduced, the cheering for me had not yet subsided.

Mel Manning, the referee, gave the instructions to each of us before we went back to our corners to wait for the bell. We stared at each other from our respective corners. It seemed as though our eye contact brought us closer and closer to the middle of the ring. We were both eager for the fight to start.

The bell finally rang and we charged on one another, hurling leather. This was the defining moment. Immediately I threw punches to Saxtonâ€™s head and body. I seemed to get the best of him with my body punches. The fact is that body punches donâ€™t knock you out but they have a devastating effect on your stamina. It was certainly the case with this fight.

Between rounds my trainer, Sammy Fuller, told me to keep using body punches and not to let up. I continued to throw body punches at every opportunity. We went back and forth, round after round, but the body shots on Saxton were finally taking their toll. Whenever I could, I threw left hooks and continued until I could see that they were hurting Saxton.

Johnny was a devastating puncher, and believe me, he was inflicting some real punishment on me, but I began to wear him down.

The excitement mounted with every round. It got to a point where Saxton and I walked to the center of the ring and just stared each other down until the bell rang to start the round. My adrenaline was off the charts, and I was throwing shots that were coming from left field. A couple of times, Mel Manning, the referee, had to come between us to make sure we didnâ€™t throw any punches before the bell rang.

For the first thirteen rounds, the fight seesawed back and forth between the two of us. At the beginning of the fourteenth round everything changed. I hit Saxton with a combination of punches ending with a vicious right that sent him to the canvas. He was hurt and the crowd went wild. Saxton struggled to his feet before the count of ten. Looking back at his condition at that point, I think it would have been better for the Champ if he hadnâ€™t tried to stand up. He was helpless and defenseless as I attacked with punch after punch. I caught the Champ with a relentless array of left hooks and right crosses that were devastating. I hit him with a total of twenty-four consecutive punches that were right on the mark.

The crowd was amazed at the amount of punishment the Champ was capable of taking. Many in the crowd shouted for the referee to stop the fight before it was too late.

After those twenty-four punches, Johnny Saxton, the champion of the world, was dead on his feet. The Champ was helpless and the referee stopped the fight. I, Tony DeMarco, Leonardo Liotta, had reached the top of the mountain. I was the new undisputed Welterweight Champion of the World.

(by Tony DeMarco)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A superb article on the great Bantamweight Battle of Britain - a rematch between British & Commonwealth Champion Walter McGowan from Scotland and Liverpool's Alan Rudkin on 13th May 1968 at The Kings Hall in Manchester.

Written by our very own Greg Paterson @GPater

......................................................

On the 6th of September 1966, two fighters embraced as the bell rang and waited anxiously for the referee to make a decision on who had won.

In one corner was the slick Scottish flyweight from Burnbank, Walter McGowan (left) who was WBC world champion. The other was Liverpool's reigning British and Empire bantamweight champion, Alan Rudkin. Rudkin's titles were on the line.

The decision was given. McGowan had won a controversial decision, most believing Rudkin had taken it, although respected veteran broadcaster Harry Carpenter believed McGowan had just done enough. There were calls for a rematch that seemed inevitable. However, Rudkin felt hard done by, believing he'd had his titles stolen from him.

22 months later the fighters re-entered the ring in the long awaited rematch. It was a natural to sell; the first fight was an epic and close fight and ended with a disputed decision. And here it was.
McGowan had lost his flyweight title to the great Chatchai Chinoi in a war but eventually his eye gave out and he lost on cuts. In the rematch he was ahead on the cards before his left eye fell to pieces and again he lost on cuts. He took eight months out before signing to fight Rudkin again.

Rudkin on the other hand was quite successful in the interim with six wins including two stoppages. However he had lost on points in a fight for the European bantamweight crown but still longed for his British and Empire titles. After the defeat by Mimoun Ben Ali (for the European title) he rebounded with a brilliant second round KO of the touted American Ronnie Jones, landing a perfect right hand to lay Jones out.

The action got under way.

The early rounds were close with McGowan the pure boxer he was landing fast jabs but Rudkin fought back well with the harder shots and edged these early rounds. Both fighters produced beautiful boxing of the highest quality.

As the fight wore onto the middle rounds Rudkin hit fine form in the eighth; he turned up his pressure and McGowan started to struggle as Alan forced himself forward with hard straight punches to the head and brutal body shots. He continued this in the ninth causing TV commentator, Harry Carpenter, to a liken him to a â€˜Bulldogâ€™. A few seconds later Alan seemed to floor Walter with a wicked right hand but legendary referee Harry Gibbs ruled it a slip, which was highly plausible as the ring was very slippy. But, Alan turned it on believing Walter to be hurt and really bullied the Scotsman for the rest of the round. In the tenth Rudkin kept up the pressure and looked to be in complete control with the average card being 8-2 to the scouser and Rudkin was keeping a ferocious pace.

Walter sat down on his stool after the tenth, his right eye was shut and in the last round Rudkin had opened a cut over his left cheek bone. Looking at him you wouldnâ€™t have expected what was about to happen.

The bell for the eleventh rang. McGowan, sensing the need for a big push in the late rounds, got up on his toes and started to land beautiful combinations and fast jabs on the advancing Rudkin. No one could believe it. Walter looked to be fading in the last few rounds but had started this amazing comeback. Could he keep it up?

As Walter came out for the twelfth round he walked onto a brilliantly placed shot by Rudkin that seemed to shake the Scotsman. Watching it, I had the feeling this could be the end for the Scotsman as he tied up Rudkin to avoid his follow up attacks. As they broke Walter got up on his toes and proceeded to box as he had done in the last round but this round he was landing with authority and landed a precise right uppercut onto the onrushing Alanâ€™s chin, forcing him back. This brilliant comeback continued in the thirteenth as Walter boxed brilliantly but Alan was always forcing the pace. Now the solid lead for Rudkin had evaporated and now the fight was in the balance but all Rudkin needed to do was win one of the last two rounds to secure victory.

The penultimate round commenced and Alan tore straight into McGowan with punishing body shots. The tide started to turn as Rudkin found the target more and more with hard accurate shots. Commentator Carpenter commented that Rudkin had â€˜savage intensityâ€™ which summed it up brilliantly, Alan wasnâ€™t going to be denied of his titles that he believed rightfully belonged to him. Alanâ€™s â€˜savage intensityâ€™ caused a horrific cut over the cut-prone McGowanâ€™s left eye.

â€˜Seconds out, fifteenth and final round!â€™ shouted the timekeeper.
Both men rose from their stools Rudkin cut over his left eye and McGowan with both eyes shut and cuts above and below his left eye. You knew these guys had been in a fight. They got to centre ring and touched gloves and proceeded to tear into each other like hungry dogs. Rudkin landed furiously to the body making sickening 'booms' every time they landed. Walter threw fast flurries to the body back in an attempt to keep Alan off him but he couldnâ€™t as they both kept trading. McGowan had to give ground and he did, as Alan stalked him landing bloodying combinations as McGowan leaped in with fast flurries in a brilliant last round.

As the bell sounded both men embraced tightly and Walter planted a kiss, instead of a hook, on the cheek of Rudkin, which summed up the love and respect each guy had for each other. In a fight of such savagery they could embrace like this was a testament to their sportsmanship.

Harry Gibbs walked over to Rudkin and raised his hand; he had scored it to Rudkin by a round or half a point â€" the closest it could be!

Rudkin was delighted he had redeemed himself and won back his treasured titles. The look on Rudkinâ€™s face showed it all he was full of relief and joy for winning as he was raised onto someoneâ€™s shoulders and paraded around the ring as the crowd cheered for his and McGowanâ€™s amazing performance. Oddly there was some booing but this writer believes it to be of fans' disagreement with the decision but the booing was minimal.

Thus concluded the greatest, most savage yet superbly skilled fight to take place in the British ring. Many would say that one of the Kevin Finnegan vs Alan Minter trilogy, or Jamie Moore vs Mathew Macklin.

But for me this honour belongs too the incredible fight between two of the almost forgotten greats of the British ring in Alan Rudkin and Walter McGowan.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In a marvellous battle of former champions, Tony Canzoneri met Jimmy McLarnin for the first of two bouts on May 8, 1936 at Madison Square Garden, New York.

Canzoneri was actually cut after he got into the ring, and before the first bell, after being stunned by the overhanging microphone during the referee's instructions.

................................

Tony had started out as a pro in 1925, Jimmy in 1923. Both men were nearing the end of their glory days, yet still mustered magical reserves to serve up one of the most thrilling fights of a golden era.

People had their hearts in their mouths that night as Canzoneri dug deep and rallied back from the precipice of destruction. He was nearly swept away in a frantic opening round as he teetered on the edge of the first knockout defeat of his career.

Tony was staggering and tottering drunkenly after being hit by three terrific right hands in succession by McLarnin. Jimmy, who always tried for the early knockout and was a merciless finisher, struck Canzoneri yet again and sent him into the ropes. McLarnin surged in for the kill, firing with both fists. Tony sought refuge in a clinch, but was soon rocking and reeling again as Jimmy ripped punches to the body and drove Canzoneri into a corner. The bell rang but it seemed that Tony had only bought himself a brief stay of execution.

Not so. One could never make such assumptions where Canzoneri was concerned. His comeback in the second round was a ferocious microcosm of everything he was. McLarnin, sensing an early night, picked right up from where he had left off and drilled Tony with a jolting left. More blows followed, but then Canzoneri sprang back to life like a sleepy man thrown under a cold shower. A left-right combination halted Jimmyâ€™s march and three more lefts suddenly reversed the roles and cast Tony as the hunter. A right to the cheek forced McLarnin to hang on, but shelter was hard to come by as Canzoneri kept shelling him. A left-right combination dropped Jimmy to one knee as the crowd roared. People were jumping and jigging and throwing imaginary punches as they watched Canzoneri turning the tide and turning back the clock.

McLarnin, with his trademark pluck, refused to take a count. He needed to. He was quickly sucked back into the maelstrom and took a sustained pounding for the remainder of the round.

Thereafter, Tony Canzoneri was a man inspired who never lost the initiative. The pace of the fight remained exceptional right to the end as two of the ringâ€™s greatest mechanics fired away at each other. Canzoneri had perhaps the smallest fists of any fighter of his day, yet possessed tremendous punching power. In the last minute of the ninth round, he unleashed one of his Sunday best and caught McLarnin flush on the jaw. Jimmy was all over the place and nearly out as Tony followed up with another big salvo.

McLarnin, as tough and as gutsy as any man who ever stepped into a ring, simply would not go under. But Jimmy was in a sorry state as he came out for the tenth and final round, the left side of his face swollen and bruised. Canzoneri was too tired by that stage to apply the finishing touches and cap a brilliant performance with a knockout. But it really didnâ€™t matter. He was the hero of New York City.

(by Mike Casey)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The curious tale of Henry 'Slaughterhouse' Baker...

........................

Boxer Henry Baker's legend persists from beyond the grave

Henry Baker lived to fight another day after future heavyweight boxing champion James J. Jeffries figuratively handed him his head in the most important match of Baker's career in 1897.

The mystery is, how did the Milwaukee boxer manage to go on living after the wheels of a freight train lopped Baker's head clean off -- literally -- 11 years later?

Once hailed by the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper as "the coming heavyweight champion," the man known locally as "Heine" Baker had a downtown tavern and was a boxing instructor at the Milwaukee Athletic Society. A stint in the Chicago stockyards accounted for his fighting nickname, "Slaughterhouse" Henry.

Baker was "a real fighter," recalled Jeffries in his memoirs. "He was built like Tom Sharkey [another rugged 1890s heavyweight], but more smoothly muscled, and his weight, like Tom's, was 185 pounds. He was one of the most confident men I ever saw."

Heine earned his first notoriety in 1894 by whipping Denver Billy Woods in Chicago. A year later, Baker boxed an exhibition match with then-middleweight (and future heavyweight and light heavyweight) champion Bob Fitzsimmons at a Milwaukee theater, and "was not only aggressive all through the bout," reported The Journal, "but his protection was strong and effective."

Real prizefighting was illegal in Wisconsin, and many of Baker's fights were bootleg events. On June 9, 1895, he and Lem McGregor were supposed to fight in some woods south of Milwaukee. When less than $100 was put in the hat passed around by the 60 spectators for the winner's purse, McGregor refused to fight. "Baker called him a coward, but that did not stir his Southern blood to boiling," reported The Evening Wisconsin. A spectator named George Curtis agreed to fight Baker for $50, and was knocked out in four rounds for his trouble.

A month later, just as Baker and a Chicagoan named Michael Brennan squared off in a dance hall on the city's southern outskirts, a posse of county sheriff's deputies busted in and put everyone under arrest for violating the state statute against prizefighting. "Consternation seized the crowd and there was the liveliest kind of a scramble for the freedom of adjacent fields," reported The Evening Wisconsin.

Baker and Brennan were the first ones charged with violating the anti-boxing law in Milwaukee County in eight years. They could have gotten up to five years in jail and a fine of $1,000, but the boxers were fined only $10 each plus court costs.

A week after that, a fight at a North Side Milwaukee tavern on July 22 between Frank Klein and Louis Schmidt ended when Schmidt was knocked out in five rounds. Schmidt died at the scene. Klein was arrested for murder, and Baker, his cornerman in the fight, was also indicted. Heine skipped town, but a week later was arrested in Grand Rapids, Mich. and extradited to Milwaukee. This time the fine was stiffer, and Baker departed Milwaukee for good.

On the West Coast he helped prepare Bob Fitzsimmons for a match against Tom Sharkey in San Francisco. "The fact that Bob Fitzsimmons has selected Henry Baker of this city to assist him in training for his bout with Tom Sharkey goes to show that the Milwaukee boy is well thought of by the middleweight champion," said The Evening Wisconsin. "There has never been a 'Dutchman' who has displayed more gameness in the roped arena than this same Henry Baker."

"Baker Is Expected To Win," proclaimed The Milwaukee Journal hopefully when Heine fought Jeffries in San Francisco on May 18, 1897. It was scheduled for 20 rounds, and "the prediction is freely made by the Chicago sports that if Baker manages to land either glove on Jeffries, the latter's gallop toward the championship will be stopped."

Baker had his moments. He "did some pretty footwork for half a dozen rounds, and once or twice managed to land left and right on the Los Angelan when the latter least expected it," according to the San Francisco Examiner's report of the fight.

Jeffries himself later recalled, "I must say that the stockyards champion gave me good, hard work to do. As soon as we began he rushed at me and swung on my jaw with all his might. It was a great punch. He kept on swinging and tearing at me. He surely was a husky, tough fellow.

"I began nailing him with lefts and rights, and as the fight went along I measured him and knocked him down half a dozen times. In the seventh round, I remember, I hit him so hard that his heels flew up in the air and he turned a complete somersault."

They stopped it in the ninth, after two left hooks from Jeffries made Slaughterhouse Henry woozy as a cow whose next stop is the hamburger factory.

Because the confident Milwaukee fighter had bet his entire end of the purse on himself, he ended up with nothing and had to scrounge money to pay for an expensive oyster dinner he promised friends after the fight.

Baker fought until 1903, and then went to work for the streets department in Kansas City, Mo., and was out of the news until Oct. 10, 1908.

Under the headline "Heine Baker Dead," the Milwaukee Free Press reported, "The headless body of Henry Baker, one of the best known heavyweight boxers in the country at one time, was found on the railroad tracks near the Union depot" in Kansas City. "It is thought he was run over by a Burlington train." The Kansas City Star reported that services were held at Stewart's Chapel a few days later, and that Baker was laid to rest in Union Cemetery. He was 42.

"Baker was a big, good-natured German and he had many friends here," eulogized The Evening Wisconsin. "He was never considered a clever man, but was as strong as a bull and (was) always picked out for the big fellows when they wanted a real try-out."

Apparently Slaughterhouse Henry was stronger than any bull, because he didn't let losing his head keep him from living a very long life.

In April of 1951, a San Francisco Bay area newspaper ran an item announcing a sports program for residents of the Livermore Veterans Home. "Among participants," it said, "will be Sailor Tom Sharkey and his former sparring partner, Henry Baker, who contributed so much to Sharkey's standing as a heavyweight 50 years ago."

Ten years later, another West Coast newspaper reported, "Henry Baker, who was Jim Jeffries' third San Francisco opponent in 1897, died here last week of a kidney ailment. Close friends say he was 91. Baker appeared on the old Orpheum circuit at various times with Jim Jeffries, Jim Corbett and Tom Sharkey."

Jeffries and Sharkey both died in 1953, and haven't been heard from since. They were merely human after all, lacking the true indestructibility that Milwaukee's slaughterhouse champion had, apparently, up the Heine.

(By Pete Ehrmann)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

via - https://www.facebook.com/pages/West-Coast-Boxing-Hall-of-Fame/1439182726321176

West Coast Boxing Legend, Jose Napoles . . .

"I Can See Clearly Now"
by Roger Esty

I decided to walk across the old bridge into Ciudad ,Juarez from El Paso. I was looking for my favorite fighter Jose Napoles. In my hand was the portrait I made of him some years ago. I get these impulse and need to follow through with them. I had read various articles recently that he lived in Juarez and had a gym. He was struggling financially and physically. He had a wife who looked after him. Friends,and even a figure like Carlos Slim the billionare,made sure he wasn't put out in the street.There was enough money there to make ,in my vision,life tolerable for the greatest fighter I ever saw do combat in the ring. But I wanted to see for myself.

I attempted to look for him on Saturday afternoon. I walked across the bridge with my painting noticing that there weren't many people crossing the bridge into Juarez.Unlike the heavy foot traffic that crosses into Tijuana from San Diego,there was only an old Mexican couple holding hands slowly walking up the sidewalk of the bridge ahead of me. The sun was bearing down and the heat made me sweat profusely.After turning the curve on the downslope,I saw a female Mexican immigration officer searching a man's backpack. There was no anxiety in her motions nor with his reaction. She was working alone. Her efforts were probably an excuse for her to show that she was doing something. After reaching the otherside I became aware of the quietness. The heat.The glare. The slow movements of the few people in the area made me think that this city couldn't be the murder capital of the world. It would take too much energy to kill somebody.

At the bottom of the ramp I asked a soldier where I could find a taxi. He politely motioned for me to walk to the traffic light and cross the street.The light was red ,but there were no cars at the intersection. I saw three taxi cabs parked at the corner. I didn't see anyone sitting inside the cabs.As I neared the taxis and old gray haired man wearing a crumpled fedora limped out from behind a tree and asked if I wanted to go somewhere. I asked him if he knew where I could find Jose Napoles.I showed him the painting. He shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I do not know,but if you walk to the corner on the next block,he has friends there that know him.They are also taxistas."
I continued my walk. I was sweating and my hip was giving me trouble again. I thought that afternoon my efforts were going to wash out. At the corner I saw a man taking something out of the trunk of his taxi.Holding out the painting ,I tried again.
"Por favor amigo. Estoy buscando for Mantequiila Napoles."
The taxi driver looked at me and then the painting.
"I know him. He has a gym,but he doesn't go there on the weekends."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"We can go to the gym.Maybe someone there knows where he lives."
As we drove around a maze of streets,the cab driver asked me where I was from. I told him that I lived in San Diego.The taxista told me his name was Javier.He had a friendly face and was relaxed.I asked him if he knew who Jose Napoles was and he said that he knew of him,but was too young to recall any of his fights.

After turning many corners,the cab driver pulled in front of a big white building. The front of the building was dirty and there was graffiti on the front wall. A hand painted sign near the top of the wall said"Salon de Belleza y Gimnasio Roma."The neighborhood was rundown and empty.I couldn't see anyone around.Some cars were parked along the street.

We walked inside a spacious front room with a concrete floor. A young woman sitting behind an old wooden desk smiled at us.She was a little overweight and very pretty.
"Donde esta Mantequilla? Este senor tiene un regalo para el,"asked Javier
The young woman looked at my painting. She asked me if I had painted it.
"Yes,I want to give this to Mantequilla. Will he be here today?"
"No,"she replied." He doesn't come here anymore."
I had read that he had some physical issues.
"Is he sick?"I asked as my hopes for seeing my idol were dwindling.
"He gets confused,"she said. "His wife takes care of him."
"Where is his gym?"
"It's upstairs,but it is locked."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"He used to live around the corner.You can ask in the street if anyone knows where he lives."
Javier took my painting and put it on the back seat of the cab.I got inside the passenger side. I had a hard time swinging my sore leg inside the cab. Javier quickly got out of his seat to help me.
"No,no. I can do it ,"I said.
I finally managed to get my leg in and we proceeded around the corner. There were three men working under the hood of an old car.Javier pulled the taxi next to the men working on the car.The three men looked at us. I could tell from their expressions that they knew Javier.
"Mantecas vive in la colonia todavia?"asked Javier with a laugh.
"No," answered a voice. "He used to live on that house at the corner,but he moved. You could always see him walking around the street smoking his cigar."
"Ask if any of them know his phone number,"I tried another option.
Javier asked the three men.None of them knew the phone number.
"His wife has a phone," said one of them."But it is a Nextel. Nobody around here has a phone like that."

Javier drove back to the gym.I didn't want to give him the impression that there was desperation in my quest,but now I was hoping for some luck to break my way. The young woman at the desk said that maybe the janitor that was cleaning in the backroom might be of assistance. As she was motioning us to the backroom,a young fellow holding a mop walked out.
"I know where Mantequilla lives. I can give you directions."
I felt a rush and a sense of some relief. Javier and the janitor where talking ,but I couldn't pick up on their conversation,Javier told me to get inside of the cab. He put my painting on the back seat. We drove off.
"I can find him,but I'll need to ask for some directions."

After turning more corners,Javier stopped the taxi at a corner across from a church.
"Wait here,"he said. "I need to ask someone."
I didn't see were Javier went,but when he got back inside the cab he was looking straight ahead.
"I know where he lives. We need to go around the block."

Javier steered the taxi around the corner onto a small back street.The small stucco houses all looked the same. Rectangular with flat roofs.The only thing that distinguished them was that they were painted in different pastel colors. The street was narrow. So narrow that two cars could not navigate in opposite directions.In order for cars to get through the street the parked vehicles had their driver's side wheels parked on top of the curb. When the taxi cleared the corner,we could see Jose Napoles sitting on a chair under the shade of a tree. There was no one else in the street. He stood out as big as life. There was no doubt. Javier sped up the taxi and stopped quickly in front of him. Mantequiila puffed on a cigar and smiled.
"Campeon,"I said to him.
Still smiling he held up his fist. Javier parked the taxi up on the curb.He took my painting from ther back seat and handed it to me.
"Mantequilla,"I said excitedly."Este cuadro es para ti. Yo pinte."
Mantequilla didn't reach out for the painting. I held it out in front of him to see.Javier walked to the side and leaned against a wall. Mantequilla stared at the painting studying it. Then he extended his hand to me.
"This is where I live,"he said. "This is my wife's house."
Mantequilla never got off his chair. I asked him if I could take some pictures. He puffed on his cigar again,but it had gone out. Javier quickly took a lighter out of his shirt pocket and relit the cigar.
"How are you feeling?"I asked the ex champion.
"I feel very good. My wife is not here. She went shopping.She will be back soon."
"I was your number one fan,"I said. "I saw many of your fights."
Mantequilla was down to the end of his cigar. I put the painting against the wall of the house.
"You see this truck?"asked Mantequilla pointing.
There was a big four wheel drive truck parked with the wheels on the curb in front of the house next door.The truck was caked with mud.
"This is my wife's truck. She went shopping."
"They say you don't go to the gym anymore,"I said."We looked for you there."
"Oh no.I go.If I want to go my wife drives me."
Mantequilla looked at the corner of the street. A little boy walked out of the abarrotes holding a bottle of soda. Mantequilla waved and smiled at the boy,but the boy didn't notice him nor did he look his way.
"Many people see me everyday,"he said. "I have many fans.My wife went shopping with my mother in law."
"How did you meet your wife?"
"I was sitting here smoking my cigar and she waked by with her mother."
"Isn't she you third wife?"
Mantequilla burst out laughing.
"Oooo,I had many wives. Many wives."
"You're like Pancho Villa."
Mantequilla continued laughing. It was a subject I could tell he like to relish in.
"Then you have many ninos tambien."
"Muchos."
"And many mother in laws."
"No,no.I have only one mother in law."
"Dime Mantequilla.Puedes coher todavia?"
Now he was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
"But at our age screwing isn't that important,"he remarked. He tried to inhale on what was left of his cigar.
"Having a wife that cooks is more important,"I said.
"Seguro. Hay muchas que le gustan a coher. Pero una mujar que puede a cocinar? Es magica."
I told him my wife was Mexican born in MichoacÃ¡n and that she was back in California.
"When my wife gets home from shopping I invite you and your wife to eat dinner with us."
Mantequilla then turned to Javier who was still leaning against the wall.
"Why don't you talk?"asked Mantequilla.
"I enjoy listening to the two of you."
'Mantequilla,didn't you know Ciro Morisan?"I asked.
"Ciro?The most beautiful boxer who ever lived."
"Didn't he commit suicide when he couldn't leave Cuba?"
Mantequilla didn't say anything. Then he started up again.
"My wife went shopping.She will be back soon."
"Campeon,did you know that you are going to be inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame in October?"
"I am?Then I will go with you."
"Give me your phone number.We can make arrangements"
"My wife knows it.She went shopping."
I gave him my card with my personal information .He took it and studied it. He then played with the card with his hands.
"A few years ago I talked with Emile Griffith,"I said.
"He comes by to see me all the time."
"He passed away last year."
Mantequilla tried to puff on his dead cigar.
"My wife is with her mother. They will be right back."
"I never saw a fighter who was as smart as you,"I said.
"I was always in tremendous physical condition. I ran through out the whole city up in the hills."
"You always knew what you were doing in the ring."
"I would look shoulder to shoulder,"he said pointing at my shoulders."My left foot was always in front."
"How many fights did you have in Cuba?"
"Thousands,"he said laughing. "My uncles would throw me in the street with the older boys and then bet that I would win."
"Did you win?"
"I had to or I had to fight my uncles."
"You had a good trainer with Kid Rapidez. Tell me. Do you ever hear from Angelo Dundee anymore."
"He comes by almost everyday to see me."
"Have you ever been back to Cuba?"
" I went one time. You see this truck? It belongs to my wife."
"Who is the best fighter in Mexico today?"I went on.
"There is this kid who lives near by. He used to come to the gym,but I don't see him anymore."
"I saw you after you retired with your band at the Rancho Grande Bar in Tijuana. Your wife sang and you played the trumpet."
"Musica tropical."
"Didn't you have a few bars? Didn't the police try to shake you down in your place in the Zona Rosa in Mexico City?
"We beat them up and threw them out into the street with no clothes."
As we talked that day,I couldn't help see the old scars crisscrossed on Mantequilla's eyelids.That fragile tissue around his eyes. He even tried plastic surgery to correct the problem.Visiting the track more than trying to sweat off the late nights in the gym.Age and some brutal fights at the end. By the time he lost to Stracey he wasn't running through the hills in the city.

I waited around. Mrs. Napoles never showed up .In a way I was glad she didn't I didn't want to hear the truth. Mantequilla Napoles is happy.He sits outside his wife's house smoking his cigars and waves and smiles to anyone who wants to stop by and listen to his stories.Maybe he stretches the truth,but the truth is nothing more than what it is at the moment.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept. 28. 1912

For the first time in his life Battling Nelson has declined to be interviewed. This time the subject of the proposed interview was matrimonial, not pugilism. "Is it true that your rumored engagement with Miss Fay King of Denver is all off?" Nelson was asked.

"The only match I know about is the one my Chicago representative is trying to clinch with Packey McFarland," replied Nelson, "and he is pretty slow about it, too."

Miss King says she loves you like a brother, but that she has not considered you for a husband," Nelson was informed.

"If McFarland thinks he can lick me, now is his chance," replied Bat.

"Didn't you and Miss King go up on Pikes peak and engage a minister to marry you? And didn't the minister fail to show up?" were the next questions.

"I'm not going to talk about marriage," said Bat. "I am leaving the matter up to her. What she says is right, no matter if she's wrong." Then Nelson got serious.

"There's no use in my talking marriage," he said. "Any man who says he's going to marry a woman is crazy, unless he has her right at the altarâ€"and even then he's liable to be fooled. She may not like the color of his necktie and call off the match. Miss King is a fine cartoonist, and she'd make a fine wife for anybody. If I'm the lucky fellow at the finish I'll be tickled to death, that's all. But I'm not saying a word one way or the other on the time, the place or the girl."

.......................................

January 22, 1913.

Oscar Matthew Nelson, once famed as the lightweight champion pugilist 'Battling' Nelson, and Miss Fay Barbara King, a Denver cartoonist, were married today at the fighter's home in Hegewisch. The ceremony was brief, but as the final words fell from the minister's lips the bride, overcome by the nervous strain, swayed and toppled over into her husband's arms, sobbing violently. "Bat" soothed his bride, and pretty soon she smiled and said, "I feel much better after my cry."

Rev. W.E. Pearson, a Lutheran clergyman of Moline, performed the ceremony. "Jack" Robinson, manager of the fighter, was best man, and Miss Ida Nelson, sister of the groom, was maid of honor.

Outside a brass band burst forth into "Moonlight Bay." A report said there was to be a double wedding. Miss Ida Nelson, it was said, was to have been married to a young man of the town immediately after her brother's marriage. The story run that at the last minute the young man, fearing bad luck if he married on the twenty-third, insisted upon a postponement. Miss Nelson denied the story.

"I'm the happiest guy in the world." Bat said. Asked about his wife's future, the groom said:

"She'll probably devote her time to illustrating my map. But I'll stay in the ring. I've got to, as that's the only way I have of making a living."

The couple came to Chicago after the ceremony and a wedding breakfast was served at the Wellington hotel.

The trip downtown to "Bat's" home was a gala affair. A special car on the Illinois Central was chartered and a band hired.

On the train Miss King drew a cartoon of the pugilist. The moving picture men were clamoring for some pictures and set up their machines before, the happy pair. The band played and "Bat" leaned over and (kissed his bride to be twice, and the picture machines got it all.

A big crowd turned out at Hegewisch to greet "Bat" and his fiancee. There were vigorous cheers as the party stepped from the train. The band played as the long line of friends, townsmen. newspaper men, moving picture operators and photographers started for the Nelson home behind the bridal party in a big automobile.

Tonight the couple entertained friends at a theater.

.........................................................

February 28, 1913.

Nelson's Wife Says Pugilist Kidnapped Her
Former Lightweight Champion Will Be Met at Denver by Summons in Divorce Suit

Battling Nelson, financier of Hegewiseh and erstwhile champion lightweight prize fighter, will be met with a summons in a suit for divorce when he arrives in Denver March 5.

This announcement was made tonight by friends of Mrs. Nelson, better known in Denver as Fay King, a cartoonist on the Post.

That she was kidnaped by Battling Nelson on the night of January 20 for her marriage three days later at the fighter's home will be the charge which the suit will be based.

Fay King remained three days as Nelson's wife. She left for Denver on the Sunday night following the marriage and then went on to Portland. Ore., to visit her parents before resuming her work on the Post.

"Nelson heard of my reported engagement to a Denver man and ho stopped his fighting engagements to come here for me." said Miss King tonight. "He took me by storm after I was weak and a nervous wreck from resisting him and his proposals he forced me into a taxicab and rushed me off to the station.

"I realized that I had made a mistake the day of the wedding and the first opportunity I got I hurried back to Denver. I will go right on working on the Post as though the affair had never happened.

"The marriage must not and will not stand."

.....................................

May 6, 1913.

Couple back together.

Fay Has the Say and Battler Will Retire

Battling Nelson, hero of many ring battles, the receiver of many a lacing, ''â€¦and former lightweight champion of the world, today announced the date of his retirement from the ring. Bat is going to quit. There's no idle boast connected with the announcement. It may not be the wish of the once durable Dane to put the gloves on the shelf, but it is the request Mrs. Battling Nelson, Fay King, and Fay has the say. Labor day will be the Dane's last fightâ€"this because it will be the eighteenth anniversary of his fighting career. He would quit now but for that. There will be no fights between now and September, however. Nelson and his wife are now in Bedford, Va., resting up. Bat plans on settling in the far west.

...........

Years later Nelson sued King for divorce as reported in Cartoons Magazine, March 1916. A divorce was granted later that year.

Fay King's name was not found in the 1940 census. Battling Nelson passed away February 7, 1954.

The Oregonian newspaper , February 9, 1954, reported that the funeral expenses were to be paid by King.



















Battling Nelson died February 7, 1954 at the age of 71 in the Chicago State Hospital where the rugged old battler was committed; his death was attributed to senility. Fay King preformed a very gentle and gracious act when she hears of his death. Fay was truly a kind person. She defrayed the funeral expenses so he could be buried in Chicago next to his second wife, â€œwhom he loved so much,â€ who had died just 2 months before, December 26, 1953.

Fay had been married to Bat over 40 years before his death and yet, when she was told her response was. â€œHe was such a noble, honest man he did not deserve such a tragic end.â€ Fay had not seen him since 1919.

(from - WHO WAS FAY KING by Marilyn Slater)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Schmeling carried Stribling to his corner after the KO"


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

From Dec. 1980...


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

A great year for this greatest of all threads...Happy New Year ahead for ye doug.ie!!arty


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Happy New Year ahead for ye doug.ie!!arty


back at ya brother :thumbup:


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1938


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Tony Janiro - Rocky Graziano


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The Hurricane

â€œI donâ€™t like it here,â€ Jackson said. â€œI want to go back to the mountains, shoot a mouse. No mouses here.â€ â€œYou canâ€™t go back now,â€ Freddie Brown said in a soothing voice. Then he turned to me. â€œHurricane found a new interest,â€ he said. â€œHe shoots rats with a twenty-two. He calls them mice.â€ â€œMouses,â€ the fighter corrected him. â€œI shoot them between the eyes.â€ He seemed depressed. â€œHe finds them on the dump,â€ Freddie said. When Jackson saw that Freddie wasnâ€™t going to take him back to the mountains, he wandered away and sat down, morosely staring at his feet.
â€œI donâ€™t know where he gets the energy,â€ said Freddie, who looked underweight. â€œThe hardest worker I ever seen before him is Marciano, but Marciano works steady and then he rests good. Also he eats good. Jackson donâ€™t sleep enough and he donâ€™t eat enough. These boys that ainâ€™t used to good food, it donâ€™t agree with them.â€ â€œWhat kind of food is he used to?â€ I asked. â€œHe wants hot dogs,â€ Freddie said. â€œAnd also ice cream and pie. We got him to accept hamburgers as a substitute, but you got to watch him all the time. He fell out of a canoe which I had told him not to get into it, and he canâ€™t swim good. He wants to ride a horse, he thinks he is Eddie Arcaro. And he could easy shoot himself instead of them rats.â€ Freddie shuddered.










14th July, 1954 -

****** Bimstein, Freddie Brown, and Lippy Breidbart all came into the ring with their primitive. Jackson weighed a hundred and ninety and a half, which indicated that he had overdone his self-induced training sessions. Nino Valdesâ€™s weight was announced as two hundred and four, which showed that he had done more work than customary, but not too much. In the first round Valdes, boxing straight up, moved forward methodically and punched at Jacksonâ€™s body. Jackson, fidgeting about, did not accomplish anything.

Jackson stood up in his corner halfway through the one-minute rest period and did what gym teachers call â€œrunning in place,â€ at the same time waving his arms. When the bell rang, he rushed out to meet Valdes, dabbing and slapping. Valdes took aim like a bowler and knocked him through the ropes, at which point, since Jacksonâ€™s body was very nearly horizontal, the referee should have started a count, in my opinion, even though the lower strand prevented the animalâ€™s body from touching the canvas. Valdesâ€"â€œmucho nice boy,â€ as he would have saidâ€"turned and went to a neutral corner. The referee disentangled Jackson and upended him, and Valdes knocked him down again a couple of times. Each time Jackson fellâ€"he did even that grotesquely, landing once sitting, once kneelingâ€"he bounced up at the count of two or three. But the referee, because of a fairly new rule of the New York State Athletic Commission, had to stand in front of him and count eight before permitting the opponents to resume action. According to a collateral rule, if one boxer knocks the other down three times in one round, the referee has to stop the fight.

By my reckoningâ€"and I was not aloneâ€"the second knockdown was really the third, and the referee, Al Berl, should consequently have stopped the fight there if he was going to be a precisionist. But Berl let them go to it again. Jackson was fluttering like a winged bird, making a difficult though harmless target, and Valdes, conscious of the three-knockdown rule, was following him about, eager to bring him down, even for a half second, before the round ended. Valdes has had many fights, has always finished strong, and was in good condition, but he seemed at this point to be heaving. Perhaps it was merely emotion, for he could not have anticipated a chance to knock off work so early. Several times he aimed as deliberately as if he were about to hurl a sack of sugar at a toad but missed. Finally he missed Jacksonâ€™s head with his right fist and, in recovering, hit him on the back of the neck with his forearm, as big around as a normal collar. He may simply have been trying to keep himself from falling. Anyway, Jacksonâ€™s knees hit the floor, and Berl, perhaps to compensate for the time he hadnâ€™t counted, flung his arms wide in token of a technical knockout. Jackson promptly jumped up. In Pierce Eganâ€™s time the victor might have offered to knock the loser out again to satisfy him, but that was before the Athletic Commission. (I know an old boxer who was awarded a fight on a foul because the other fellow was biting him. My friend was enjoying himself, so he said he would go on with the match if the fellow would promise to stop biting. The opponent promised, but he didnâ€™t keep his word. â€œMaybe he hadnâ€™t ate lately,â€ my man says.) They towed Valdes into the corner of the ring farthest from Jackson and, snuggling against his flank, make him hold up his right hand for the benefit of the photographers, who got a picture like one of those circus shots taken under the elephantâ€™s trunk. From the way Valdes was grinning, he had a pretty good program lined up for the rest of the evening. Meanwhile Jackson was standing in his corner, shaking his head and refusing to leave the ring. He demanded the privilege of being hit some more. I could see ****** and Freddie and a policeman arguing with him. At last they persuaded him to leave.















The show had drawn forty-five hundred cash customersâ€"possibly six thousand in all, including deadheads, but even that is only a third of the Gardenâ€™s capacity, and there was no trouble getting around. The evening seemed so incomplete that I decided to visit Jacksonâ€™s dressing room, off the corridor on the north side of the arena, to hear the losing factionâ€™s story. There were perhaps twenty colored people outside the door, including several attractive girls. As I approached, the door flew open, and Jackson, dressed and carrying a suitcase, dashed through the group and ran up the stairs that lead to an exit on 50th Street, about midway between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. â€œTommy, come back!â€ one of the girls yelled. I followed Jackson out, not knowing quite what he might do, and ran slap into a storm, of which I had been unaware. It was a short, intense squall that had just hit the city, and it seemed to me an exaggerated reaction to the defeat of Tommy Jackson. To him, however, marching off into the rain, it may have seemed a fitting recognition of the occasion. He turned south on Ninth, and my curiosity was not strong enough to draw me more than a short distance into the rain after him. Then I began working my way back toward Eighth, taking advantage of intervening marquees and saloons for cover. At Mullerâ€™s, on the north side of the street, they have MÃ¼nchner beer on tap, and I sheltered there longer than at any other place. By the time I got around to the main entrance of the Garden the storm had died to a drizzle, but there were still a couple of dozen fight people under the big marquee talking about the nightâ€™s events. I saw a second named Izzy Blanc, who had worked a pair of the minor bouts, and asked him if he knew what had happened to Jackson. â€œHeâ€™s walking around the Garden in the rain,â€ he said. â€œHeâ€™s been around ten times since Iâ€™ve been standing here.â€ We waited, and within a minute Jackson swung byâ€"silent, head forward, looking like a priest who has found he has no vocation or like an actor hissed from the stage. I asked Izzy if he had seen the disputed knockdown, but he, a diplomat, offered a good alibi. â€œAfter the second knockdown I was on my way to the dressing room,â€ he said. â€œI had the emergency.â€ He meant he had been engaged to second one of the boxers in the final four-rounder, and he had sensed that it was going to be needed earlier than anybody had expected. â€œI had my back to the ring,â€ he said. The rain was easy to ignore now, and Izzy said he was going to walk up Eighth, stopping by a couple of bars where he might meet other fight people. â€œWeâ€™ll probably find ****** at the Neutral Corner,â€ he said. The Neutral is a bar on the southwest corner of 55th and Eighth, and when we got there, ****** was on a stool smoking a cigar and having a glass of beer. â€œIf they want to rune boxing,â€ he said, â€œthatâ€™s the way to do it. He wrastled him to the ground just when the kid was hitting his stride.â€ â€œHis what?â€ I said â€œSure,â€ Bimstein said. â€œHe was just beginning to come on good.â€ â€œHow about the first three knockdowns?â€ I asked. â€œThere was only one knockdown,â€ ****** said. He rejected my proposition that Berl had let the animal off the time he got knocked through the ropes. â€œAnd the second thing he called a knockdown, that was a push, too,â€ ****** said. Heppeared calm, not bitter, and acted as if it were a matter of little moment to him if the Commission wanted to take the bread out of its own mouth. â€œHe was just sizing the fellow up,â€ he said. â€œAnd the fellow trips him, and boom, Berl stops the fight.â€ I began to suspect we hadnâ€™t seen the same fight that evening.

(A.J. Liebling)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Very interesting article on Patterson-Moore.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Very interesting article on Patterson-Moore.


thanks fella....you're my only customer through this 'bits and pieces' door....thank you


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When he broke camp five detectives rode shotgun with him to New York, underlining how serious they had taken the many death threats to his life. He didn't say much, said one, and he "looked so distant we joked that he was sitting there waiting for us to give him the menu for his last meal."

There were only a handful of people in Frazier's room that night - Durham, Futch, an assistant, Les Peleman, and a Philly cop bodyguard. Joe was gloved and ready. Durham took him to the far corner of the room, put his hands on his shoulders, looked him straight in the eye and in his signature voice said: "Well, we're here. I want you to know what you've done, boy. There will never be another Joe Frazier. They all laughed. You got us here. There's not another human who ever lived I'd want to send out there, not even Joe Louis. Win tonight, and the road will be paved with gold.

Joe knelt in the corner of the room and prayed aloud: "God, let me survive this night. God protect my family. God grant me strength. And God...allow me to kick the shit out of this mothafucker!."

............................................................

A more just world would have celebrated Frazier's victory that night. From the beginning, however, careful observers knew that the story wasn't going to play out like that. "Joe's such a decent guy," veteran trainer Futch said of Frazier before the fight, "but when he beats Ali, Joe is going to be to go down as one of the most unpopular black champions of all time."

The next day Ali was public again, the X-rays were negative. He wanted his legions to know that he didn't lose, it was a bad decision, and that he had only trained for a six-round fight. He had shown remarkable heart and endurance, now with cameras grinding he was trying to steal the fight back from Joe, issuing some subtle, dippy call for a referendum, and he was succeeding. Privately, he was of another mind: "We been whupped. Maybe I'll get some peace now. We all have to take defeats in life." Joe watched on television at the Pierre, had Ali's comments read to him as he lay in bed. "It's not like I even won," he said. "He's robbin' me. Like nothin' changed!" He struggled to his feet. He tried to lift the TV set, to hurl it across the room. He was too weak. Durham guided him back to bed, saying: "Now, now, Joe. You know he aint got any sense." Nevertheless, Frazier continued to seethe. A commission doctor came by, suggested he be moved to a hospital in the Catskills. "What?" Joe said. "So he can make more headlines, show how he beat me so bad I gotta be put in a hospital?" Joe slipped out of the Pierre, to St Luke's Hospital in Philly. For twenty-hours, Dr James Guffe had him lay in a bed of ice. Joe dreamed a spirit had taken his hand, said he would be okay. "I could feel his touch. He was right there." They told him the next morning there had been no visitors.

His life hung out there for several days. His blood pressure was in another galaxy, and he had a kidney infection. Day and night, every five minutes, doctors scurried in and out of his room. They thought they would lose him to a stroke. Durham was in London on business, and quickly hustled back. But for a time, only Joe Hand, a cop and stockholder, sat out the nights with him.

"Let him live," Joe said to no one in particular. Joe stayed in a deep sleep, almost a coma. When he awoke, he mumbled over and over: "Don't say a word, Joe. Don't let Ali find out I'm here." At one point, four doctors lingered ominously over his bed. He awoke one time, and said: "All the money I made for people, and you're the only one here, Joe." Hand tried to comfort him, what could he say to a man on the brink? Finally, Joe broke through, like he had through Ali's mechanized jab, and he began to stabilize. One doctor sighed and said: "It was close."

Joe Frazier stayed in St Luke's hospital for three weeks.

(by Mark Kram)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> thanks fella....you're my only customer through this 'bits and pieces' door....thank you


Don't worry Doug.ie,...it's the first stop for me whenever I log onto CHB....:good


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

How I wish that Joe Frazier had retired right after FOTC,...he'd have been right up there in interstellar space with just a handful of elites. I don't think there ever was a man so driven to winning...to defeat an opponent.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

It was vicious. It was bloody. It was grueling. And it was fantastic.

Each man forced the other to fight harder and dig deeper than at any other point in their lives, much less their boxing careers. One was forced to climb off the canvas while the other was driven toward it a number of times. The fightâ€™s cuts were so deep and so pulsating that the crimson covered their torsos and made portions of the canvas sticky. The blood-letting was only exceeded by the Mexico City crowdâ€™s desire to crown a new champion.

25-year-old Chartchai Chionoi, 46-10-2 (31) was making the third defense of the WBC flyweight title he won from Scotlandâ€™s Walter McGowan via cut-induced ninth round TKO in front of his home fans in Bangkok. Since then he had fought five times and won them all, four by KO and two in defense of his title (KO 3 Puntip Keosuriya and another cut-marred TKO 7 over McGowan). Chionoi wasnâ€™t the most skilled boxer but he used his iron will and phenomenally heavy hands to carry him to the very top of his profession. The Torres fight marked only the second time Chionoi ventured beyond the Far East and because of what happened the first time around â€" McGowan led on points in their London rematch at the time of the stoppage â€" one had to doubt whether the Thai would walk out with the title still strapped around his waist. Another point of concern: Chionoi, who normally struggled to make the 112-pound limit, scaled a stunningly light 109Â¾, two full pounds less than Torres and 15Â¼ pounds lighter than his non-title go against Mimoun Ben Ali just 51 days earlier.

Efren Torres, 48-4-1 (32), was a dangerous hitter, especially early as 23 of his knockouts had occurred in four rounds or less. His last three losses signified his quality as he lost two fights to Hiroyuki Ebihara (12-round split decision, KO by 7) and, in his first title opportunity 13 months earlier, pushed 72-1-6 WBA king Horacio Accavallo to the limit before dropping a close decision to the Argentine under an unusual 20-point must scoring system (Torres lost by scores of 297-294 twice and 298-293). The 24-year-old challenger had won four straight since then, including a five round KO over Octavio Gomez and, most recently, a 10-round points nod over perennial contender Joe Medel in a bantamweight contest.

The terms of battle were established right after the opening bell. Torres sportingly extended his left glove to touch Chionoiâ€™s but the defending champ ignored the entreaty and unloaded a wild overhand right that missed the target badly and threw him off balance. From there they probed for openings and it was clear that the circling Torres was far more nimble than the flat-footed Chionoi. Torresâ€™ quicker combinations and sharper punching enabled him to shade a close first round.

The second saw Chionoi accelerate the pace and unleash his full assortment of uniquely angled power shots. The Thai won a brief but explosive mid-ring exchange and moments later a thudding right to the jaw floored Torres along the ropes. Up at two, Torres quickly wiped his gloves on his trunks and brightly stared into referee Arthur Mercanteâ€™s eyes as he administered the mandatory eight. The visage that Mercante assessed also included a nasty cut over the left eye, a gash that would spill untold crimson on the canvas and would require 15 stitches to close. Determined not to let his circumstances get the best of him, Torres eagerly waded back into the fire and got in several effective hooks and crosses before the bell.

Chionoi again fanned on the big right to start the third but hit the target with his deceptively fast hammers as Torres moved and searched for openings. Less than a minute into the session the pair engaged in a vigorous toe-to-toe exchange that moved to all parts of the ring. Torres mixed his attack well between head and body while Chionoiâ€™s attention was locked on worsening the cut. A huge right gonged off Torresâ€™ chin but this time the Mexicanâ€™s legs held firm. As the round neared its end Torres connected with his own sweeping right that caused the champion to lean his torso back but little more.

The fourth started with another big exchange at ring center and this time Torres hit pay dirt as a compact right caused Chionoiâ€™s right knee to buckle and the crowd to erupt in joyful waves. A double hook to the body and jaw drove the Thai to the ropes, sparking a torrent of blows from the challenger. Torres pelted Chionoi from every angle imaginable but the championâ€™s chin, legs and composure managed to remain strong. As he passed by Mercante glanced at Torresâ€™ cut, whose byproducts now covered the challengerâ€™s face, but chose to let the action continue unabated. Realizing the fight might be stopped at any time, Torres increased the pressure even more and worked over Chionoi with a succession of hooks to the head and body. Through it all Chionoi remained unflappable and near roundâ€™s end he landed with a tightly arced hook to the chin that served to stop Torresâ€™ advance momentarily.

Chionoi missed with another overhand right to start round five â€" why he continued that tactic remained a mystery â€" but he fared better when he maneuvered Torres to the ropes and landed a good body-head combo. The faster Torres continued to pepper Chionoi with sharp punches that piled up points but unfortunately for the challenger the cut continued to bleed. A heavy one-two twisted Chionoiâ€™s head but improbably ignited an energetic counterattack that prompted Torres to cut his surge short. Still, the blows prompted notice to the left side of Chionoiâ€™s face, which was swelling noticeably.

Round six was a big round for Torres as he buzzed Chionoi twice with fusillades of close-range punches, some of which worsened the bulge above the championâ€™s left eye. Chionoiâ€™s situation worsened early in the seventh when, following a fantastic mid-ring exchange, a Torres hook to the jaw sent him reeling toward the ropes. Under todayâ€™s rules his stumble would have been ruled a knockdown but here it just allowed Torres to swarm him uninterrupted. Only a championâ€™s pride kept the Thai on his feet.

With every passing round the blood cascading from Torresâ€™ face became more of an issue, especially when the bout moved to long range in the eighth and ninth rounds. The taller Chionoiâ€™s jab stabbed Torresâ€™ face, which was now a bright red mask, but Chionoiâ€™s growingly misshapen visage, which now saw blood coming out of the nose, wasnâ€™t much better. The crimson covered both menâ€™s torsos and trunks and one had to wonder how much longer either manâ€™s body would hold up. At the start of round 10, a Torres corner man was seen wiping the blood off the sticky canvas.

Sensing time might be running out for him, Torres summoned a surge in the 11th that had Chionoi cut over the left eye, tottering about the ring and bent at the waist. Once again, the ultra-tough Thai survived without hitting the floor but that said, he still absorbed a frightful beating.

That beating continued throughout the first two minutes of the 12th. But in between taking bombs Chionoi slipped in enough punches to keep the blood flowing from Torresâ€™ face. A stupendous hook-cross to the face caused Torresâ€™ legs to buckle, forced the challenger into instant retreat and quieted Torresâ€™ boisterous fans.

Entering the 13th the scoring couldnâ€™t have been more divided. Mercante had Torres a huge 116-107 winner while one judge somehow had Chionoi up 115-111. The third jurist had neither ahead as the tally read 113-113. As the fighters prepared to answer the bell they looked as if they had spent the afternoon at a slaughterhouse.

Chionoi jolted Torresâ€™ head with a tightly delivered hook early in the round but an even shorter hook caused the champion to pause. Seconds later Mercante stared into Torresâ€™ face and didnâ€™t like the damage he saw. He led the challenger to a neutral corner and summoned the ring physician, who briefly dabbed the blood with a tissue before waving his arms and stopping the contest at the 1:15 mark of round 13.

The instant Chionoi realized he had won he ran toward Torresâ€™ corner, dropped to the floor and wrapped his arms around the challengerâ€™s shins, which may well have been a gesture of humility and respect for a fight well waged.

â€œHeâ€™s the toughest man I ever fought,â€ Chionoi said through an interpreter. â€œHe is definitely the second best flyweight in the world.â€

Torres probably begged to differ, for it appeared that had he not been cut he would have had a good chance of lifting the title. The only way to settle the score was to have a second fight, and perhaps a rubber match.

Thatâ€™s exactly what happened. Thirteen months later they returned to the El Toreo in Mexico City and this time Torres benefited from a Chionoi injury. A horribly swollen left eye slammed shut, prompting Mercante and the ring doctor to stop the contest in round eight. Thirteen months after that, they met in Bangkok, where Chionoi regained the title by close but unanimous decision.

(by Lee Groves)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

" 'Oh Johnny, leave me alone. I've got work to do.'. She started toward a cupboard in the kitchen. John said 'All right, I'll leave you alone..' then grabbed for her, whipped out his .32 caliber revolver and fired at her several times. Then he shot himself in the head."

continue reading here..

http://classicboxingsociety.blogspot.ie/2015/01/blog-post_5.html


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Don't worry Doug.ie,...it's the first stop for me whenever I log onto CHB....:good


tom mcmoustache...also in the historical forum (why?)...is beating this thread on a reply ratio of about 5,000 to 1 
ah...no matter...onwards..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

One of the great non-world champions, Lew Tendler ('Lefty Lew')...a man responsible for making southpaws more acceptable than any other boxer before, battles and loses a close decision against the great Benny Leonard, a man regarded as highly as Sugar Ray Robinson in his day. Maybe the greatest fight between jewish boxers ever.

Reuters Telegram covered the fight: â€œSixty thousand people saw Benny Leonard defend his Lightweight Championship against Lew Tendler. The latter had the best of the first 5 rounds and gave a splendid exhibition. Leonard, who was groggy, began to recover in the 7th round and thereafter had the best of it, in the opinion of the newspapermen, some of who favored awarding a draw. The bout was officially 12 rounds and a no decision.â€ The ringside press called it a NWS12 loss for Tendler. But many felt Lew dominated Benny throughout the fight.

The Vancouver Journal had a more revealing take on this fight: â€œIn the 8th round Leonard was nearly out on his feet. His knees sagged and his eyes were glazed but he was still able to talk.â€

Talk? Yes, Leonard talked Tendler out of a championship. Leonard whispered, â€œYou are not winning,â€ the Journal reported. â€œYou will miss the next one,â€ the champion hissed through a hole in his jaw where a tooth had just been knocked out. Tendler was badly rattled and tore in another left hook which missed. Leonard then went into a clinch, and in the next round took the lead.â€ Others at ringside claimed that Leonard spoke to Tendler in Yiddish (an Eastern European dialect which fused German, Hebrew, Aramaic and Slavic languages) which broke Lewâ€™s concentration.

.........................

The gate was $450,000. Leonard the champion got $190,000. Tendler the challenger received $90,000.

A year later on July 24, 1923, the two men fought again. There was a great demand for the rematch and a great deal of money to be made. The second fight took place at Yankee Stadium. The â€œHouse That Ruth Builtâ€ was packed. A crowd of 60,000 paid over $452,650 to watch the rematch. It was the first championship fight to be held at the new ballpark.

The fight turned out to be anticlimactic. The champion wisely chose to not mix it up with Lew. Benny carefully boxed the hard punching Tendler. He used all of his skills and coasted to an easy UD15.

(By Norman Marcus)

...........................

In the rematch, Hype Igoe wrote, "Leonard worked in circles around and toward the back of Tendlerâ€™s southpaw left so that Tendler was always shifting to get set again.â€ Leonard kept the southpaw off-balance and then countered effectively. â€œIt was the finest job from any angle of boxing that this writer ever sawâ€¦and I donâ€™t expect to see it duplicated.â€ Leonard walked away with a clear-cut 15 round decision.




















also found this on youtube....not 1923 like labelled and intro'd as...but first fight in '22...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A small collection of 1937 'Boxing' magazines (UK) from the humble shed archives here...these were given to me by my grandfather who was a big boxing fan too....i have taken snaps of the inside and a few articles etc....for anyone reading interested, follow this link to see them...

https://www.facebook.com/classicbox...5623215123/567444800067204/?type=1&permPage=1

('Boxing' became what is now known as the 'Boxing News' magazine in the 1940's)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> tom mcmoustache...also in the historical forum (why?)...is beating this thread on a reply ratio of about 5,000 to 1
> ah...no matter...onwards..


I can't fathom why that is...actually, this forum moves so slowly...with so few new threads...it's like it's constipated or something. Tom McMustache isn't something that belongs in the historical forum...there needs to be a more comical."free for all" type forum for something like that. I have a couple of oldie but goodie Gene tunney tribute threadsthat nobody has looked at...I dunno, maybe they just don't like Tunney, but they may be suprised at the hisrtorical interest that's in each one. ESB may have it's share of outright dumbass newbies and trolls, but there's always some interesting thread topics in the classic section. New stuff all the time...and it moves along, I might add.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> One of the great non-world champions, Lew Tendler ('Lefty Lew')...a man responsible for making southpaws more acceptable than any other boxer before, battles and loses a close decision against the great Benny Leonard, a man regarded as highly as Sugar Ray Robinson in his day. Maybe the greatest fight between jewish boxers ever.
> 
> Reuters Telegram covered the fight: â€œSixty thousand people saw Benny Leonard defend his Lightweight Championship against Lew Tendler. The latter had the best of the first 5 rounds and gave a splendid exhibition. Leonard, who was groggy, began to recover in the 7th round and thereafter had the best of it, in the opinion of the newspapermen, some of who favored awarding a draw. The bout was officially 12 rounds and a no decision.â€ The ringside press called it a NWS12 loss for Tendler. But many felt Lew dominated Benny throughout the fight.
> 
> ...


Leonard was a genius..my respect for and interest in him grows every day.


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

hey doug.ie do you have any articles on a guy called Billy ''Gipsy'' Daniels please post if you do


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jdempsey85 said:


> hey doug.ie do you have any articles on a guy called Billy ''Gipsy'' Daniels please post if you do


gone through these old magazines of my grandfathers.....daniels won a fight on jan 25th 1937 in derby and the 'boxing' (boxing news) magazine of jan 27th has pages dedicated to reports from around the uk and the derby card isn't reported on at all...sorry.

amazes me the amount of boxing that was on each weekend (and mondays) in the uk those days....cards all over the place


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Pick Tunney, and you can't miss" - Harry Greb


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> gone through these old magazines of my grandfathers.....daniels won a fight on jan 25th 1937 in derby and the 'boxing' (boxing news) magazine of jan 27th has pages dedicated to reports from around the uk and the derby card isn't reported on at all...sorry.
> 
> amazes me the amount of boxing that was on each weekend (and mondays) in the uk those days....cards all over the place


Cheers thanks for looking


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

By the time that they stepped into the ring, under the lights of Madison Square Gardenâ€"the mecca of boxing's golden ageâ€"the grudge between the two had been played out in newspaper interviews for months. Saddler and Pep despised one another, and it was palpable. From the opening moments of the bout to the conclusion, their mutual hatred and desperation not to lose to the other was painted across the ring canvas in perhaps the wildest, dirtiest title fight in boxing history.

The style of Willie Pep was something to behold. Against the average boxer or puncher, Pep would circle the ring, normally to his left, and wait for his opponent to follow. When they did, Pep would step in and land a stiff punch on their snout. It was simple, but he turned it into an art form. A great deal of Pep's best offence actually came from the southpaw stance, in an era when switching stances was seen as almost obscene.

The problem was that Sandy Saddler was perhaps the best ring cutter of his generation.

Saddler didn't have an awful lot of class at rangeâ€"he had a stiff jab, but didn't combination punch. What Saddler aimed to do was to check his opponent's hands, jump in with a hard punch, then grip behind the head and go to work with one hand.

After two rounds of solid boxing from Pep, Saddler was able to trap Pep in a corner, get a grip behind his head, and start uppercutting.

The beauty of Saddler's uppercut was that if an opponent did manage to stand up straight enough to not be pulled down onto it, he would deliberately miss the uppercut and elbow them in the face. The upward elbow is a nasty trick because it is exceptionally good at creating cuts and hard to spot in a boxing match.

Willie Pep was not known for his fightâ€"he had brittle hands, rarely knocked anyone out, and was far more of an artist than a finisher. But in against Saddler, knowing it was his last chance to show that he could beat his rival, Pep showed a kind of venom on his punches which he had never shown up to that point.

But Saddler, in addition to having a head like a cinder block, was smart to Pep's game. He'd been in with Pep through three fights already, that's a masters degree in boxing however you look at it. In between taking series of five or six hard punches on the dome and just walking through them, Saddler would make Pep miss, tie him up, and start hitting from the clinch.

Saddler's dirty infighting made Pep turn dirty to get away from it. Where the cross face, with the forearm in front of the opponent's neck or face, is permissable in boxing, using the heel of the palm (sometimes known as heeling) is not. Pep repeatedly thrust his palm into Saddler's face as he desperately tried to create room to move and to work.

The bout rapidly descended into a street fight. Saddler began cranking on the overhook in every clinchâ€"remembering that it was a shoulder separation which took place in one of these clinches which forced Pep to retire from their previous bout.

In retaliation, Pep began tripping Saddler. Then Saddler got behind Pep and started punching from the back. The two consistently refused to separate at the referee's instructions, and at one point the referee was thrown to the floor. It will come as no surprise that after this bout both Pep and Saddler had their boxing licenses suspended indefinitely (though with both being such fan favourites this didn't last long).

Saddler continued, throughout the bout, to have difficulty cornering Pep. Against a boxer with excellent ring craft, swinging as they circle out just doesnâ€™t work. Every time Pep circled, Saddler tried to greet him with a hook, and Pep ducked clean under it.

Against an elite out fighter, it is almost always best to cut them off with a body hook because, while your head can change levels, there is no removing the body from the line of fire along the ropes. Once Saddler began to use body hooks more liberally, he found himself with Pep against the ropes more and more often. If some of these body shots happened to go low, Saddler wouldn't complain.

At the end of the ninth round, the fighters returned to their corners and the doctor hurriedly inspected Pep's eye. His right eye had been cut open by Saddler's constant barrage of lefts in the second round, and since then it had only been getting worse. Pep couldn't see out of one side, the only side which Saddler really threw any offence, being a converted southpaw, and was forced to concede defeat.

(by Jack Slack)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1952


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Following is a piece forwarded to CBS from friend of the page Charlie Norkus Jr which gives a brief insight into, and around, everyday life in the classic Stillman's Gym, New York, in 1957.

...........................................

Stillman's Gymnasium at 919 Eighth Ave., New York City, is probably the best known institution for the training of professional practitioners in the Manly Art of Modified Murder in the world today. With good reason, it is called the "Eighth Avenue University" by the New Yorker's A. J. Leibling, one of the wisest boxing writers today.

Honolulu boasts two colleges where similar instruction is offered â€" the Hawaiian Pine College, where Stan Harrington is at the head of his class and his manager Ted Kawamura is something like president and maybe dean of men combined, and the Armory College, where many visiting professors, such as Ramon Fuentes, hold forth from time to time.

We had not paid a visit to Stillman's university for about 10 years, tout when we dropped in one day this week at noon we found very little change. The bare beams that hold up the roof of the ancient structure and the scarred dark walls look as though they have not had a coat of paint since our last visit, or for that matter since our first, about the same year "Tobacco Road" was starting its long run on Broadway.

But if you're inclined toward such matters, you'll notice that something of the culture of Stillman's, and to an even greater degree that of Madison Square Garden four blocks down the avenue, has permeated the area. From 49th St. to 55th, along Fee Avenue, there are many signs of the cauliflower industry. Two bars in the area are Mickey Walker's "Toy Bulldog" saloon, in which we understand the former Bulldog no longer has a financial interest, and the "Neutral Corner," where Lou Stillman holds forth in the afternoon between noon and evening seminars at the gymnasium. Then there's the Ring Magazine office on 49th St.

Pets for Fighter

Not so easily recognizable by the uninitiate, but just as closely related to the fight game as the pictures of pugs in the store windows, are two pet shops in the same block as Stillman's, one of them next door to the entrance. There you can buy a nondescript pup, or black racer snake for $5, or a monkey for considerably more. You can also buy a white mouse for considerably less. The old fad among fighters, for having pets has come back and the rating and opulence of a young battler is judged among his fellows, to some extent, by the kind of pet he -keeps. It would take someone who gets TV fights pretty often, for instance, to afford the upkeep of a good sized monkey, together with paying for the wreckage he might cause, but nearly any preliminary boy could maintain a white mouse in the style to which it is accustomed, if Although it is now in revival, there is nothing new about the fad among fighters, the most famous pet, perhaps, being the "tame" lion kept by Rudy Robert Fitzsimmons, when the Australian was heavyweight and he also liked to scare the daylights out of unsuspecting sports writers by turning him loose among them without any advance notice.

Workouts at Stillman's come twice daily, at 12 noon, lasting till about 2:30 p.m., and at 5 p.m. until about 7 p.m. The second seminar is held largely for fighters who have daytime jobs such as longshoring or trucking, and come in for their instruction and training after work.

Part Time Fighter

This category includes a good many able scrappers. For instance, Jimmy Archer, a favorite at St. Nick's Arena, said to be the oldest boxing club in America, is a longshoreman and the dockers turn out en masse to see him. Two of his recent battles have been close decisions over Tony Decola, who was a warehouseman in Brooklyn until recently when he moved to California. Both these are welterweights and both look like able opposition for Stan Harrington, any time Honolulu promoter feel like bringing them.

We attended, a noon workout, that being the time most of the "names" appear, and found a fair complement of practitioners present. There was Johnny Bus-so of Brooklyn, presently ranked ninth among the lightweights. There was Lulu Perez, also of Brooklyn, who was ranked near the top a year or so ago, and there was Charlie Norkus, a heavyweight who upset several promising title hopes a couple of years ago and who seems to have gone to fat somewhat since being dropped from the national ratings.

Also present was tall, ascetic-looking Eddie (Pigeon) Lynch, a lightweight who has no national rating, but whose appearances at St. Nick's have occasioned much excitement. The furor over Lynch is not. altogether because of the boxing, though Lynch has proved an eager mixer, but because his many followers from the West by turning loose pigeons all over Side celebrate his appearances the place. Lynch, you see is a pigeon-fancier.

At the last Lynch showing, the police department and the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals turned out in full force after warning Lynchs followers someone would get pinched if any pigeons were turned loose. None were, but the hoots and catcalls caused almost as much disturbance as the pigeons. Began in Tenements Pigeon-owning and flying, it should be explained, is not related to the current fad among fighters for pets, but rises rather from New York's tenement district where rooftops afforded the only space for entertainment. Some of New York's livelier element, such as "Owney the Killer." Madden, once top man in the underworld, have been pigeon-fanciers.

This day, however, Eddie Lynch confined his activities to shadow-boxing with a bathrobe on and punching the bags in the back room. He is recovering from an attack of the Asian flu, and anyhow, Stillman's is a very chilly place this time of year. One doubts that they bother to turn on any heat until, there's maybe a foot of snow being scraped off the New York streets.

The boys at Armory and Hawaiian Pine Colleges don't know how good they have it by comparison. The management at Stillman's operates a loudspeaker system spasmodically toy which it informs casual customers, such as your correspondent, who pay 50 ' cents to watch the workouts, just who's fighting whom in which of the two rings. But even without the speaker, it would be fairly easy to tell who the "names" are.

Novices Work Hardest

As for years past, fighters who are well known or rated nation-ally conduct a sort of running horseplay with Lou Stillman and the other old-timers, while a boy whose shirt proclaims him a winner of the "Kansas City Star Golden Gloves," sticks earnestly to the business of shadow-boxing, doing weird calisthenics and waiting his turn in the ring.

Once they're inside the ring, the recognized practitioners work with a maximum of skill and a minimum of violence. Usually, though not always, they are treated with much respect by their sparring/partners. Charlie Norkus went three rounds with a square-built ***** and the exertion and punishment were hardly more than one would get from shadow-boxing.

Johnny Busso took it nice and easy with Harry Bell, a boy who has fought a few main events, concentrating largely on a long left hook and short combinations to the body.

But two long-limbed unknowns from Harlem Tattled each other with such punches that the horseplay with Lou Stillman stopped for the moment and, everyone watched. Nobody went down, however, and when the gong sounded, the two tapped each other in a show of good will as they climbed out of the ring.

At 2:30, Lou Stillman left the place for his assistants to lock up and stopped in at the "Neutral Corner" to regade an audience with how he introduced Jack Demp-sey to his best trainer, "Jerry the Greek."

(By Edward Rohrbough - Honolulu Record)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

If Victor Perez's story ended with his boxing career, it would still have been rather notable. The Tunisian-born Jew became the youngest world champion in boxing history when he took the flyweight crown shortly after turning 20.

He didn't stay on the top for long. A love affair with a French actress and a hard-partying lifestyle derailed his career. He soon lost his title, and couldn't regain it.

When World War II came, Perez thought that he would be safe in Paris. He was sadly mistaken, as the Nazis caught him and sent him to Auschwitz.

And this is when the storyline veers. When the Nazis found out about Perez's boxing past, they forced him to fight for their amusement, often against boxers twice his size. He kept emerging victorious, using the food he won to feed his fellow prisoners. When the Nazi defeat became all but certain, Auschwitz's prisoners were taken on a Death March. Four months before the war would end, Perez was caught giving bread to another prisoner. He was shot on the spot.

..................

From www.boxrec.com:

Perez was arrested by local police on October 10, 1943, and deported to the Auschwitz death camp in Poland. According to reports, Perez was forced to fight in the bi-weekly boxing matches at the camp. The fights were bet on by the Nazi officers in command of the camp. The winners of these matches were awarded with bread and soup, while the loser was executed.
Perez's first fight in the camp was against a German-Jewish heavyweight (inmate) named Iorry. Even though his opponent was over a foot taller, and 50 pounds heavier, Perez scored a knockout. Perez went on to fight twice a week, every week, for the next 15 months, reportedly scoring 140 straight knockout victories.

In 1945, Perez was evacuated from the camp. It was reported that on the road near a camp called Gleiwitz, Perez attempted to pass bread through a fence to another inmate, and was shot and killed by Nazi guards. Some sources list his death in January 1945, others in March.

...........................

Perez was a fighter who was full of energy; He was not a power hitter but was a non-stop puncher; He lost only 28 of 134 bouts and scored 27 knockouts; During his career, he won the NBA Flyweight Championship of the World, the IBU Flyweight Championship of the World and the Flyweight Championship of France

Victor defeated such men as Frankie Genaro, Emile Pladner, Valentin Angelmann, Nicolas Petit-Biquet, Eugene Huat, Kid Francis, Aurel Toma, Vittorio Tamagnini, Kid Socks and Carlos Flix

Perez was inducted into the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame in 1986


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> If Victor Perez's story ended with his boxing career, it would still have been rather notable. The Tunisian-born Jew became the youngest world champion in boxing history when he took the flyweight crown shortly after turning 20.
> 
> He didn't stay on the top for long. A love affair with a French actress and a hard-partying lifestyle derailed his career. He soon lost his title, and couldn't regain it.
> 
> ...


A real tragedy among tragedies, IMO,..it would have been great if he had been able to go back to Tunisia instead of France...the Nazis had been driven out of Tunisia...and even before, when they were occupied, Tunisia's Jew weren't ever rounded up for murder....even though they didn't have it good either, being Jews.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Dec 4, 1961

Sonny Liston vs. Albert Westphal
Convention Hall, Philadelphia

The fight was delayed because the gloves provided for Liston were too small for his hands.

Liston put Westphal down for the count in round one with a right to the jaw. It was the first time Westphal was ever floored.

"Do you think your performance tonight scared Patterson?" a reporter asked Liston. "How long have I been the No.1 challenger?" Liston asked. "About a year and a half," someone volunteered. "That's how long he's been scared of me," Liston said.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Dec 4, 1961
> 
> Sonny Liston vs. Albert Westphal
> Convention Hall, Philadelphia
> ...


Sonny should have gotten a shot at the title in 1959....those versions of hin vs Ali werent the real Sonny Liston....no sir.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Splat.....Liston dealt with Wesphal like a man swatting a mosquito.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When Archie Moore beat Joey Maxim for the World Light-Heavyweight title in 1952, Maxim earned $100,000 - while Moore's end amounted to....$800 !!


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> When Archie Moore beat Joey Maxim for the World Light-Heavyweight title in 1952, Maxim earned $100,000 - while Moore's end amounted to....$800 !!


Man, I didn't know that Moore busted up Maxim that badly....at least it looks bad.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1953


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1953


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Shelby.

The fight was nothing to write home about. Dempsey bored in, bobbing and weaving. He tried to land squarely on Gibbons face but he was rusty and his timing was off.

After the fight Jack said, â€œNailing him was like trying to thread a needle in a high wind.â€ Gibbons stated in his biography â€œPunches That I Have Takenâ€ that â€œPeople couldnâ€™t seem to understand how I could take so much from Dempseyâ€¦All I did was slip this way and thatâ€¦Brother Mike, he taught it to me.â€

The challenger also clinched and held a lot. Tommy tried to land punches to Jackâ€™s body but Dempsey was too fast for him. Gibbons opened a cut under the champâ€™s right eye in the 2nd round that bothered Jack throughout the fight. Dempsey seemed to have Gibbons in trouble in round 7 but couldnâ€™t put him away. At the end of the 15th and final round referee Jim Dougherty raised Dempseyâ€™s hand in victory. Gibbons did not protest.

He stated years later in his biography, â€œI could have licked him in Shelby if I had been thirty, but I was thirty-twoâ€¦ I never got so tired of a man in my life.â€ He was tired but happy. He had gone 15 rounds with Jack Dempsey and would live to brag about it.

Years later Tommy told a reporter for CBS Radio that â€œDempsey could beat anybody he could hit. The only reason he couldnâ€™t do anything with fellows like Tunney or Greb or myself was he couldnâ€™t hit us.â€

(by Norman Marcus)

(image courtesy of rockyssplitnose)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1946


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

May 14, 1953


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## NoMas (Jun 7, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> If Victor Perez's story ended with his boxing career, it would still have been rather notable. The Tunisian-born Jew became the youngest world champion in boxing history when he took the flyweight crown shortly after turning 20.
> 
> He didn't stay on the top for long. A love affair with a French actress and a hard-partying lifestyle derailed his career. He soon lost his title, and couldn't regain it.
> 
> ...


Wow thats a real tragedy, I cant believe I haven't heard that story before, thanks for posting.. The guy was a real hero, I cant believe theres not a documentary or movie about him...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Before Joe Louis KO'd Max Schmeling in one round in their rematch...the unheralded Gypsy Daniels from Wales did the very same thing earlier in Schmeling's career..and in Schmeling's back yard !!

...............................

His swarthy complexion and dark eyes and hair would open up some unlikely avenues to success. The story that grew up is that Daniels walked into the New York office of legendary boxing manager Jimmy Johnston, who said: â€œSay, son, are you a gypsyâ€.

The Welshman denied this, but a promotional idea was born, and Johnston is said to have taken him across the street to Woolworths to buy a brightly coloured bandana and curtain rings for ear-rings.

Photographers and the press were then invited to meet Billy â€˜Gipsyâ€™ Daniels, King of the Gipsies, who had been imported from Wales to become the next heavyweight champion of the world!

Despite the colourful story, there is evidence that Daniels had used the Gipsy nickname before he crossed the Atlantic, but the angle was certainly pushed during his time in the States.

The hyperbole was backed up by the Welshmanâ€™s performances in the ring as he impressed in seven US bouts, including two at Madison Square Garden.

Daniels decided to come home in 1923, though, where he would compete at middleweight, light-heavyweight and heavyweight in the highest class across the UK and Europe.

He would find great popularity and success, including a series of epic fights against Frank Moody and a 20-round victory over Tom Berry that won him the British cruiserweight title.

The most famous name on the Welshmanâ€™s record, though, was surely Max Schmeling.

Daniels lost a December 1927 fight against the German in Berlin, but in a rematch two months later claimed the greatest â€" and most surprising â€" win of his career.

Schmeling rushed out in the first round of their 25 February, 1928, bout in Frankfurtâ€¦ and walked straight into a stunning KO punch from the unfancied â€˜Gipsyâ€™!

Daniels failed to capitalise on the remarkable win, though, as â€" for unexplained reasons â€" his career went quiet.

He was fighting less, the losses were mounting, and â€" perhaps over-playing the Schmeling result â€" he seems to have turned into more of a knock-out expert than a boxer.

There was one more huge domestic clash to come, though, as â€" on 4 August, 1930 â€" he met old rival Moody for the third time.

Both men were past their best, but 15,000 turned out to see them at the Welsh White City on Sloper Road, Cardiff.

The fans were rewarded with a superb fight, Pontypridd great Moody emerging as the victor.

Daniels would keep fighting, including in the boxing booths where he helped to mentor a young Freddie Mills.

(welshboxers.com)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Elmer (Violent) Ray was the #1 ranked heavyweight contender in early 1947. He lost that ranking and a potential title fight with Joe Louis, when he was defeated by Jersey Joe Walcott on March 1, 1947. Ray would subsequently go on to defeat future champion Ezzard Charles on a split decision, before Charles knocked him out in the 9th round on May 7, 1948, ending his title hopes for good.

...............

In the years before he became a famous professional boxer, he rose to prominence in the southern battle royale circuit- battle royales being a fight game from that time period in which 10 competitors would be put into the ring with each other and have an "all-against-all" throw-down until only one was left. Ray won 61 battle royales and supposedly once knocked out nine opponents with one hand behind his back during a match in New Orleans, earning himself the title "King of the Battle Royale."

According to the Traverse City Eagle, March 11, 1946 -
"Ray had a system that let him win 61 of those free-for-alls. In these bouts, the usual order is for the little guys to gang up on the biggest man and down the batting order in that manner. Elmer simply dropped to the floor when the bell sounded, crawled to a corner, placed his back against the ropes and took the whole gang as it came at him."

He also had a reputation as an alligator wrestler. When he held camp near his home town in Florida, he would scare his manager to death by going out into the mud and wrestling 'gators, often to entertain tourists. In fact, he was so comfortable around them that he was known to casually play with them and let them eat out of his hand.

"Elmer (Violent) Ray has the extraordinary distinction of being the only man Joe Louis wouldn't even meet in an exhibition*. Louis boxed Dan Merritt of Cleveland instead, and stood watching as Ray, a crowding weaver and bobber with the speed of a swift middleweight, ironed out Claudio Villar, a Spaniard, in 29 seconds flat.â€

"Arturo Godoy and Tami Mauriello rejected guarantees to square off with Ray at Madison square Garden, Lee Oma the Violent One's share of the swag in addition to his own. Joe Baksi and Lou Nova refused. Melio Bettina will have nothing to do with the Hastings Hammerer. Jimmy Bivins turned down the chance to march front and center with him in Los Angeles, where the terror recorded 19 knockouts in a row. The current Joe Walcott will have no truck with him in Baltimore... Currently he is drawing and at Miami's ***** ball yard, Dorsey Park, while putting the slug on such as Dan Merritt and Al Patterson, the latter a slatty character out of Pittsburgh. "It's better than wrestlingalligators and fighting nine guys at once," beams Violent Ray."
-The Coshocton Tribune, March 8, 1946

*Louis and Ray would meet in exhibitions later as detailed below.

"None of the near-name heavies wants any part of Ray, who in a New Orleans battle royal knocked out nine opponents with one hand tied behind his back."

"...in doing so he made of Elmer Ray a modern Sam Langford. You remember the Boston ********. He was a guy heavyweight champion Jack Johnson dodged and dodged during the six years he held the title some three decades ago. Langford tried desperately to get a bout with the champ, but Johnson never would have a part of him. Louis is that way with Ray. Itâ€™s silly to say that Louis, the man who has made so many valiant defenses of the crown, is afraid of Elmer. But it is a fact that he wonâ€™t fight the burley puncher from Hastings, Florida."
-Middlesboro Daily News, July 26, 1947

(by MarcianoFrazier)

................

July 25, 1947 - 
"The gallery gods went into ranting hysterics last night when the burly ***** who once wrestled alligators for a living smashed the myth which was Ezzard Charles. The boxing bigwigs, who had been grooming Charles for a fight with Joe Louis, laughed. Once more they had given Joe Louis, the heavyweight champion, an excuse to dodge the violent one. For from 10 rows back it looked like Charles all the way. He danced and jabbed and landed a lot on Ray's bobbing pate and Elmer's busy elbows. But inside 10 rows you could see the devastation wrought by Ray's jarring hooks, blasts which raised the sheaf of Ezzard's cheek. â€œNo holding,â€ was the continual admonition of referee Eddie Joseph. But Ezzard, of the winged retreating feet, had to hold for his life, and in doing so he made of Elmer Ray a modern Sam Langford."
(Middlesboro Daily News)

.....................

May 7, 1948 -

"Hammer-fisted Ezzard Charles racked up a knockout over Elmer Ray today and called for a shot at light heavyweight champion Gus Lesnevich. The fast moving Charles hanged the aging Ray right out of heavyweight boxing with a left hook at 2:43 of the 9th stanza." 
(United Press)

....................

March 29, 1949 -
Elmer Ray apparently returned to Palatka Florida and annouced his retirement from the ring there to the newspapers 
March.28. 1949,and also addmited that he had suffered a slight brain concussion in being KO'D in the third exhibition match with Joe Louis .
He announced that he was quitting the ring "While I still had my health" and was going to go back to Minneapolis,Mn, were he has a home(he had moved to Minneapolis in 1945) and that was going to open "A Package Shop" there.
(Hartford Courier)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 1959


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Ed Beattie, who had heart surgury when five fights into his professional career...and then went on to continue that career with fourteen straight wins including winning the Canadian Lightweight Title in 1960.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Fantasy Radio Heavyweight Boxing Tournament

This fantasy tournament in full is available for all followers of this page to listen to here via the Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel...

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj7mLeOOtohnkuPSTX9BLCVa5BFJ01AgE

(very highly recommended, regardless of views on fantasy boxing matchups....the production of this is outstanding)

..................

In 1967, the radio producer Murray Woroner had the idea of determining the all-time great heavyweight champion of the world in a series of fantasy fights between boxing champions of different eras. Woroner sent out a survey to 250 boxing experts and writers to help determine which boxers would be used in the imaginary fights. Woroner picked the first round of fantasy matches to be:

Jack Dempsey vs. Gentleman Jim Corbett
John L. Sullivan vs. Jim Braddock
Bob Fitzsimmons vs. Jack Sharkey
Jim Jeffries vs. Jersey Joe Walcott
Joe Louis vs. Jess Willard
Max Baer vs. Jack Johnson
Rocky Marciano vs. Gene Tunney
Muhammad Ali vs. Max Schmeling

.










an example from it...


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Before Joe Louis KO'd Max Schmeling in one round in their rematch...the unheralded Gypsy Daniels from Wales did the very same thing earlier in Schmeling's career..and in Schmeling's back yard !!
> 
> ...............................
> 
> ...


:good


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

NoMas said:


> Wow thats a real tragedy, I cant believe I haven't heard that story before, thanks for posting.. The guy was a real hero, I cant believe theres not a documentary or movie about him...


http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098513/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_88

Similar story


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jdempsey85 said:


> :good


you sowed the seeds there


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## NoMas (Jun 7, 2012)

Jdempsey85 said:


> http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098513/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_88
> 
> Similar story


It says a fact based story based on a Greek Olympic fighter, but doesnt actually name the fighter there... It sounds just like the story of of Victor Perez, have you seen the film???


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

NoMas said:


> It says a fact based story based on a Greek Olympic fighter, but doesnt actually name the fighter there... It sounds just like the story of of Victor Perez, have you seen the film???


Ye it looked dated,turned off after 20mins.Didnt really give it a chance to be honest


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## NoMas (Jun 7, 2012)

Jdempsey85 said:


> Ye it looked dated,turned off after 20mins.Didnt really give it a chance to be honest


I'll give it a swerve then haha


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

NoMas said:


> It says a fact based story based on a Greek Olympic fighter, but doesnt actually name the fighter there... It sounds just like the story of of Victor Perez, have you seen the film???


when i first seen clips of that film, i thought about harry haft's story


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1965


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Bits & Pieces from 1967


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1961


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Chicago, 1922: a metropolis rife with the trappings of 1920s culture. Skyscrapers and traffic. Shoppers, flappers, gangsters. Mass transit, art deco architecture, jazz, The Loop â€¦

In the first three months of the year, Bud Taylor divided his time between Terre Haute and the mega-city 180 miles due north. In Chicago, his managers Kane and Long pitted him against the best available competition. More importantly, the co-managers hired Jack Blackburn to train Taylor and Sammy Mandell.

Blackburn had nearly reached age 40 and was winding down his own fight career of 20-plus years. He had been a talented boxer at various weights, back in the days when fights lasted as long as 40 rounds and a fighter would be lucky to clear $35 a bout. Blackburnâ€™s specialty had been his left, which he used to jab and hook in flashes, and about which he would impart his wisdom to understudies Taylor, Mandell and later, Joe Louis.

Outside the ring, Blackburn liked to aim his lefts and rights to his own lips with bottles of beer, transforming an otherwise pleasant man--one who loved dogs, fishing and playing cards--into a belligerent drunk. Blackburn shot three people in 1909, one died, and he served four years of a 15-year prison sentence.

Not surprisingly, a lot of people were afraid of Blackburn. Even in street clothes, he looked menacing, a balding man with a weathered face marked with a knife-scar lengthy enough to impress a pirate--the remnant of a bar fight. But inside a roped ring, the man was in his element. Blackburn knew boxing and he taught it tactfully. For example, he avoided criticizing fighters in the presence of other fighters, instead taking them aside to confer.

Blackburnâ€™s tutelage suited the promising young talent before himâ€"and more the greener Taylor than Mandell. Bud had considered his left-hand punch merely a setup for his â€œsweetheartâ€ right, but Blackburn laid the groundwork to change that thinking.

Eddie Long liked what he saw in the progress of his newest acquisition. â€œHeâ€™s title bound, thatâ€™s all there is to it â€¦â€ he boasted about Taylor to a Terre Haute sportswriter early in 1922.

The grooming to place Taylor in such contention continued Jan. 13, 1922, against George Corbett, a south Chicago brawler. The fight took place inside what the newspapers referred to only as a â€œsuburban arena,â€ its site undisclosed presumably to protect the principals from arrest.

Corbett was a popular fellow among the stockyards crowd, and Taylor heard the strains of a hostile audience as the pair volleyed in the early rounds. The bout met its abrupt end in the middle of the third round, when Taylor rocked Corbett with a punch that broke his jaw in three places. The injury disfigured Corbettâ€™s face, but the wounded man gamely continued to flail away with his mouth open while the crowd yelled wildly. Boxing writer Ed Smith, refereeing the fight, saw that the front teeth of Corbettâ€™s lower jaw had been smashed back into his palate. When Smith heard Corbett making what Smith later described as â€œinarticulate sounds,â€ Smith stopped the fight.

In those days, a broken jaw ended a fighterâ€™s career. The injury forced Corbett to retire from the ring, the main source of his income. A month later, Corbettâ€™s friends organized a benefit boxing exhibition/party for him in the visitation hall at 54th and Peoria streets, Chicago. The event raised $1,000 for the disabled fighter. Taylor traveled to Chicago to box in the exhibition, paying for his own way and that of a sparring partner, winning many friends by his kindness.

(Excerpt from 'The Terror of Terre Haute, Bud Taylor and the 1920s' by John D. Wright)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I'd have to say it's a toss-up between Ted Kid Lewis and Harry Greb. Both were great. Lewis could box and hit. Greb was not as other men; he started his fights at a fast pace and accelerated as the fight went on." - Augie Ratner, when being asked to choose the best man he ever faced.

From 1967...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1969 article discussing the career of 19-year old George Foreman and his aspirations as a pro...


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> "I'd have to say it's a toss-up between Ted Kid Lewis and Harry Greb. Both were great. Lewis could box and hit. Greb was not as other men; he started his fights at a fast pace and accelerated as the fight went on." - Augie Ratner, when being asked to choose the best man he ever faced.
> 
> From 1967...


Great article Doug:good


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

It's January 24th, 1976. George Foreman stands in the ring across from Ron Lyle, a massive, powerfully built man with a record of 33-3-1.
This is the first time that Big George has challenged a credible opponent since October of â€˜74, when he was famously stopped by Muhammad Ali, after battering the former heavyweight champion mercilessly for seven straight rounds.

To Foreman's mind, it wasn't Ali that beat him. It was exhaustion. Something must have been wrong with him, the way he sees it, and he is determined to prove that he is still the greatest heavyweight on earth. In 1975 he traveled to Toronto to challenge five men in one night. His opponents--Alonzo Johnson, Jerry Judge, Terry Daniels, Charley Polite, and Boone Kirkman--were journeymen, most of them with losing records aside from Kirkman, who had nonetheless experienced four straight losses leading up to the bout. Foreman beat every one of them with ease, sadistically mocking his victims as he sent blow after thundering blow crashing against their chins. Meanwhile, Ali sat ringside, and mocked Foreman just as viciously, loudly advising his opponents to lay on the ropes and tire the big man out, just as Ali himself had done six months before. This infuriated Foreman, and he took out his rage on his hapless opposition. By the end of the night, Foreman was holding his hands high as the crowd hurled their derision--in the form of jeers and empty bottles--into the ring.

The "experiment" was supposed to have proved some point about Foreman's endurance, but all it really did was reveal how highly he thinks of himself, and how little he cares for losing. This is not a man who learns lessons from his losses. This is a man who thinks himself incapable of suffering true defeat.

This man thinks he is invincible, and Ron Lyle is about to test that.

Two minutes in, and Foreman looks confident. He moves around Lyle, not quite dancing as he did in Toronto, but not picking the shorter man apart either. For a man who became heavyweight champion of the world by knocking out Joe Frazier in two rounds in 1973, this is strange. Years later, Foreman would admit that he had feared Frazier--even proclaiming that had the great Philly fighter looked down, he would have noticed Big George's big knees quivering. Now, however, it's clear that Foreman doesn't fear Lyle in the slightest. He doesn't even respect him.

With twenty seconds remaining in the first round, Lyle flashes his jab and lands a thudding overhand right that shakes Foreman's foundations. The giant stumbles, but refuses to go down. Held up by pride, he clinches, trying to tie up the arms of his aggressor in order to make it out of the round.

When the bell rings, Foreman is still on his feet. Wobbly, he returns to his corner, looking almost baffled by the turn of events. How could this man--this Ron Lyle--possibly hurt him? Not even Ali had truly been able to hurt him. No one could hurt George Foreman.

As the referee orders the seconds out, Foreman remains on his stool, his eyes fixed on the man across the ring. Just a man, and nothing more. Not invincible like himself. He chews his mouthpiece, tensing his unbreakable jaw in preparation for the work to come. Lyle is just a man, and in his seven years as a professional Foreman has knocked out 31 other men just like him.

The bell rings. Foreman rises, and resolves to do it again.

Foreman is hitting, hitting, hitting, but Ron Lyle is still fighting. In round two, Foreman had forced his way back into the bout. When, at the end of the round, Lyle got in with a counter, Foreman locked eyes with him. "That won't happen again," he seemed to say.

Now it's round three, and Foreman is determined to finish Lyle for good, the shame of the first round driving him on. Big George lands combinations of three and four punches apiece, but Lyle keeps responding. He's not throwing as much as George, no, but he's not quitting either. After every Foreman left hook he answers, sending that same right hand over the top and into Big George's face. Foreman keeps throwing.

Finally a shot manages to stagger Lyle, but the big man throws back all the same. And again. Foreman refuses to back down. One, two, three. They trade right hands, then left hooks. And again. Foreman is throwing everything he has into these blows, nearing upending himself in the process. This isn't boxing anymore. This is war.

At last, Lyle stumbles to the canvas, ending up in an awkward heap at Foreman's feet. The former champion walks to his corner, his chest heaving from the effort. Finally, he thinks to himself, he has done it. No one can withstand his power.

In center ring, Ron Lyle rises to his feet.

Foreman can't believe it, but Lyle is still conscious. More than that, he's fighting back again. His opponent's back to the ropes, Foreman smashes away, each punch more desperate than the last. His skills are waning as he grows weary, but his furious pride fuels him on. Lyle bulls into him, returning the fight to center ring. Foreman sticks his left into the enemy's chest, preparing to unleash another barrage. Ron Lyle musters his strength, and counters.

There's no holding on this time, as Foreman plummets to the canvas face-first. The big man crawls, child-like, to his feet. He is dazed, hurt, and enraged like never before. As the referee finishes the count, Foreman looks straight past him, at the man who dared to knock Big George Foreman down. The round is over, and in the commentary booth Howard Cosell mentions that there is no saving by the bell in this fight.

George Foreman knows otherwise. Beating the count, he returns to his corner, shooting a glance over his shoulder on the way. As he sits on his stool, he looks over his cornermen's heads and stares, hatefully, at Ron Lyle. Foreman's mouth is open, and he gasps for air. Just a few more seconds in the round, he seems to think, and I would've had him.

Foreman is hitting, and getting hit. Lyle refuses to quit of his own accord, but he is breaking. George can feel it. He hammers his foe against the ropes, just like he did to Ali back in Zaire. Lyle covers up, but the punches are getting through, one after the other. He won't stand for much more. He can't. No one can survive Foreman's power.

One, two, three, four--Foreman hurls left hook after left hook at Lyle's head. Lyle counters over some of them, but the counters don't hurt anymore. Nobody can punch like Big George. When the lefts alone don't do the trick, Foreman, adds in the right hand, mindlessly swinging, left-right, left-right, left-right. Every blow is landing. Lyle is breaking. Foreman keeps punching.

Finally Lyle collapses forward, leaning into the chest of the man who continues pounding at his skull. He falls to his knees, exhausted, and nearly unconscious. He can't take anymore. He can't even stand. The referee counts him out, and it's all over.

Foreman walks to the ropes. The audience is screaming, cheering--men and women jumping up and down in wild celebration of his great victory. He is too exhausted to raise his arms, so his gathering entourage does it for him.

Looking into the crowd, he smiles. They came for blood, and he gave it to them.

And all it took was one more punch.

(By Connor Ruebusch)

.................................................. .................

The above article is curated from excerpts from a larger article by Connor Ruebusch (UFC Boston - Conor McGregor: The Puncher's Path), which also contains animated gif's to compliment the article and can be read here...

http://www.bloodyelbow.com/2015/1/1...rs-path-mma-technique-boxing-gif-poirier-lyle


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Oct 13, 1973 - Forum, Inglewood, California, USA

"Mexico's Rafael Herrera retained his WBC bantamweight title Saturday night by scoring a split decision over Thailand's Venice Borkorsor in a punishing 15 round fight at the Forum. Herrera had the shorter Borkorsor on the canvas in the 7th round for the fight's only knockdown. However, at the end, Herrera could barely see from both eyes while Borkorsor, the former WBC flyweight titleholder, was unmarked."
(United Press International)

There was a good little southpaw out of Thailand in the early 1970s named Venice Borkhorsor. He won the flyweight title and then met Rafael Herrera for the bantamweight title. It was a war! Borkhorsor built up a big lead but Herrera came on down the stretch to pull out a disputed decision and retain his title. Herrera looked like the loser as his eyes were battered and almost closed.
(by Jim Amato)

It was a dirty fight. Borkorsor started butting me about the 2nd round on. I will give him credit, though, he hits very hard.
(Rafael Herrera)

It was a very good fight, but I feel it was a bad decision.
(Venice Borkorsor)

There is no chance he can fight Romeo Anaya this year. Maybe in January or February.
(Cuco Cuate, Herrera's manager, when asked if Herrera would be ready - healed - to unify the title before the end of the year.)

The split decision win for Herrera, who fought the last five rounds almost totally blind, was almost as absurd as the reluctance on the part of Referee Larry Rozadilla to take points away from the Thai fighter for continually head-butting Herrera.
(Craig Doolittle, of the Pasadena Star-News.)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

by our own @Flea Man -

.....................

The mean streets of Philadelphia were kinder to George Benton than the shadowy alleyways of the boxing business. He never received a shot at the World Middleweight Championship in 21 years as a proâ€Ÿ. He was avoided, suffered setbacks that forced him into a brief retirement, and rarely given a shot at the top men in the division due to his penchant for springing upsets and his immeasurable class and ability in the ring.

Benton could hit, but was known for his incredible defensive boxing. Notorious for his ability to adapt to and time his opponents offence so that it rarely landed clean, he was a brilliant combination puncher with a hurtful left hook and a sharp right hand, who could break his man down or dominate with his jab and counter punching. He learned on the job, and by sparring in the renowned Philadelphia gyms that could break a man in half upon entering the door of any one of a dozen sweaty holes that housed ace warriors of all shapes and sizes. It moulded him into a man who could make or break anothers career, a â€œPolicemanâ€Ÿ whose biggest opportunities came when facing other black fighters who showed promise. Benton received little in the way of opportunity when he beat them. He was so good that only two white contenders were matched with him in his ring life.

Bentonâ€™s active career, between 1949-1970, also spanned some of the deepest and most competitive Middleweight eraâ€™s in history, which added to his struggles to break out of the pack. Some of the greatest 160 lb. fighters held the undisputed title during Bentonâ€™s best fighting years: â€œSugarâ€Ÿ Ray Robinson, Dick Tiger, Nino Benvenuti, Joey Giardello and Emile Griffith . Despite beating many fighters in The Ringâ€™s top ten rankings, Benton was not regularly in the top ten himself going into a new year, bar their end of year rankings for 1962. Great Welterweights such as Carmen Basilio, Kid Gavilan, Emile Griffith and Luis Manuel Rodriguez also infiltrated the top end of the division, lessening Bentonâ€™s chances at the top even further.

With no junior or super middleweight classes throughout most of this time (154lbs was inducted into the title canon in 1962) this followed the trend of fighters who didnâ€™t mind spotting their opponents some weight either north or south of the divisional border. The title was never fractured during Bentonâ€Ÿs window of opportunity, and despite this, the division was so competitive it changed hands no less than 19 times, bookended by Champions of the highest calibre, Ray Robinson and Carlos Monzon. The contenders that staked their claim for supremacy read like a â€œWhos Whoâ€ of brilliant middleweights, and some got their hands on the belt, and some got a shot. Many languished in the who needs â€˜em club and fought each other.

George Benton was rarely even in this club.

Whilst the likes of Charley Burley, Cocoa Kid, Holman Williams, Lloyd Marshall, Ezzard Charles and Archie Moore were no longer terrorising fighters around this weight, there was still a legitimate â€œMurderers Rowâ€ of talent operating during different stages of Bentonâ€™s middleweight pursuit. There were boxers, devastating punchers, sluggers, swarmers, wiley veterans, spoilers, astute counter punchers and defensive specialists during Bentonâ€™s time. Some, like Benton, were great at one or more things. Most were good at everything. The likes of Holly Mims, Charley Josephs, Carl â€œBoboâ€Ÿ Olsen, Ralph â€œTigerâ€Ÿ Jones, Randy Turpin, Gil Turner, Gene and Don Fullmer, Eduardo Lausse, Del Flanegan, Freddie Little, Joey Giambra, Florentino Fernandez, Laurent Dauthuille Henry Hank, â€œSpiderâ€Ÿ Webb, Rory Calhoun, Paul Pender, Terry Downes, Yama Bahama, Rubin â€œHurricaneâ€Ÿ Carter, Denny Moyer, Neal Rivers, Joey Archer, Dave Sands, Bennie Briscoe, Laszlo Papp, Gomeo Brennan, Rocky Castellani, Milo Savage, and many more battled it out to try and get in a position to make money and earn acclaim. More often than not, Georgie Benton was struggling to gain employment, let alone break through ranks as dense as these.

Seeking a way to transfer his hoodlum energy into a positive means of making money, Benton took up boxing at age 13 and by 16 was a pro, lying about his age. He defeated a good mix of trial horses like Lester Felton and Bobby Lee, and talented contenders such as Holly Mims and Charley Josephs in his first few years in the paid ranks, impressive wins over men that would be seen amongst the cream of the crop in the coming years.

Josephs, who would go on to feature in The Ringâ€Ÿs ratings for two years, was beaten well in his first two meetings with Benton. The Ring magazine of March 1953 said Benton â€œthe decision rather easily and (scored) two knockdowns in the process.â€ In their second meeting in 1958, Benton landed the cleaner punches and won a unanimous decision, although Joseph turned the trick in their third meeting a few months later.

In 1959, Benton took on Bobby Boyd, who just a few months earlier was ranked number seven in the World. In a risky fight, Boyd had faced number three ranked Ellsworth â€œSpiderâ€Ÿ Webb, a mainstay of the upper echelon and a tough, hard punching contender. In an incredible shootout lasting less than a round, Boyd staggered Webb, only to be brutally stopped himself

Benton was unranked going into his fight with Boyd, but showed his quality against a top contender who was looking to bounce back and further his claim for a high ranking. Whilst only a few rounds of footage from the fight are available, reports from the time indicate Benton won well in an upset. He was â€œconvincing in shellacking the 10th-ranked middleweight from Chicago with a headhunting attackâ€Ÿ and that was amply demonstrated in the 10th round, where Benton hurt his man.

In the footage, Benton shows his ability to slip and counter from close range, often continuing his assault as the quality Boyd tries to fight back. Benton has his man hurt a few times, and looks a competitor of the highest calibre, a slick counter puncher in the mould of â€œSweet Peaâ€Ÿ Whittaker and even showing flashes of what makes Floyd Mayweather such a lauded competitor: Catching, parrying, and deflecting shots with his gloves and shoulders, and landing accurate sharp counters. His head and upper body movement is a sight to behold.

Benton was also very strong and an adept inside fighter. His next bout would see this aspect of his game given a strong workout. He was about to take on a man he had beaten before, the brilliant Holly Mims. Mims could box, he could hit, and he was a crafty and experienced fighter who had given Ray Robinson great difficulty, and who could be relied to trade upon his rock hard chin in his opponents back yard.

Benton had beaten Mims via eight round decision seven years earlier, when Benton was far less experienced. In the years that had followed, Mims had gained more experience than Benton, because he had less trouble getting fights. Mims had plenty of opportunities to wear the â€œhandcuffsâ€, which explains his low K.O. percentage (he was not supposed to knock out white guys, and was regularly unchained to do his worst against the black contenders of the day to stop them progressing, and would continue to be used as such for many years).

It spoke volumes that a fighter as talented as Mims was not deemed as much a risk to book as Benton. It was fine for these talented fighters to be near the top, but never at the top.

A UPI article leading into the fight describes Benton as â€œabout as popular as the tax collectorâ€Ÿ and that Benton may have already been a pro â€for a decade but, he has trouble finding men willing to enter the ring with him.â€Ÿ His number of fights was lambasted as well: â€œHe has fought only 41 times during the decadeâ€Ÿ, and whilst Mims had 57 fights in the same time span and was ranked seventh by The Ring, Benton wasnâ€™t ranked because he â€œwasnâ€™t fighting regularlyâ€Ÿ. However, that was one year that it wasnâ€™t a fair criticism: Benton had fought five times in the 12 months leading into this fight, and had gone 3-2. Mims had only fought twice, and had lost a decision to Bobby Boyd, the man Benton had beaten easily just a few months before! Mims was a slight favourite due to Bentonâ€™s â€œreputation being higher than his rankingâ€Ÿ, and it was thought the winner might have an outside chance at getting a shot at the World title.

Bentonâ€™s manager, Herman Diamond, hoped a decisive win for Benton might give him a higher ranking and get him more fights. It was not to be.

A competitive bout, with Mims a clear winner, one headline reading, â€œMims bottles up Bentonâ€™s attack, wins with easeâ€Ÿ. Mims used short right uppercuts to help take a unaminous decision, and was said to have smothered Benton in a hard bout, not giving Benton much room to punch. Mims was a wily and diversely skilled fighter and Benton found it hard to figure him out for most of the bout.

Using his familiar inside tactics, veteran middleweight Holly Mims, 155 3/4, carved out a unanimous decision over George Benton, 159 1/2, Wednesday night in a nationally televised 10 round fight. Mims outclassed his younger opponent with a close-in aggressive body attack and good combinations. He staggered Benton with a left-right flurry midway through the 7th round and pressed his foe throughout. Mims forced Benton to fight his style throughout the contest. Only in the 10th did Benton succeed in scoring with stiff punches from long range.â€ -United Press International

But the AP release said that whilst â€œMims Clobbers George Bentonâ€Ÿ he also â€œStill Fears â€˜imâ€Ÿ with his manager Nick Trotta feeling this performance would be detrimental to Mimsâ€™ standing, and quipped cynically, â€œâ€I was afraid of this guy Benton. He was the most feared middleweight around. I suppose now that weâ€Ÿve beaten him we wonâ€Ÿt get any other fights for 10 months.â€

Benton and Mims would then both take on fifth ranked Henry Hank, another stupendously tough competitor, who fought the cream of the crop at both Middle and Light Heavyweight, and was only stopped once by the great puncher Bob Foster. A classic counter puncher both inside and out who blended offence and defence seamlessly and could scrap it out as well, he had some degree of inconsistency but mixed at the very highest level for years. Hank beat Mims by 12 round decision, and then beat Benton via ten round decision, doing good work in the fourth and seventh rounds, and maintaining his attack into the 10th, where he had defensive specialist Benton holding onto the ropes!

Benton bounced back with a close decision win over future junior middleweight champion, the thunderous punching Freddie Little, who was not yet at his peak, but was still a dangerous fighter. Film of the devastating 2nd round K.O Little scored defending his unified 154lb championship in 1969 against Hisao Minami gives an indication of what Benton wouldâ€™ve been up against.

Little punched hard, and was being brought up like a prospect, beating trial horse Charley Cotton and knocking out Australian middleweight champion Clive Stewart. Benton, a 2-1 underdog, won a tight one with cards of 5-5, 5-3-2 and 5-4-1, coming on strong late with combinations, bloodying Littleâ€Ÿs nose. To Littleâ€™s credit, he had Benton cut badly over the eye in the 10th and final round (UPI) Little would bounce back after his loss to Benton with a win over Charley Josephs.

Benton then travelled to Scotland, losing a decision to the toughly matched and talented hometown fighter John McCormack. Benton would retire after this bout and work in a factory, not seeing action for another year.

But times were tough, and Benton could get more money boxing as well as working his day job. He came back to the fight game, and came back with a vengeance, the year off seemingly revitalising him and seeing him enjoy a purple patch. He would go 9-0(7) over 3 years, including a brilliant win over future champion Joey Giardello. Giardello, a fellow Philiâ€Ÿ fighter, also came up the hard way and was known for his gameness, but being white and fan friendly, had a lot of opportunities to overcome his inconsistency before finally reaching the pinnacle of his division. Here are highlights of a hard-fought victory over top contender Rory Calhoun.

Bentonâ€™s run had seen him rank 10th, whilst Giardello was ranked fourth (and was actually promoted to number two by the NBA a few hours before the bout). This did little to dissuade Benton, who promised a K.O going into the fight: â€œHe wonâ€™t be able to avoid my hooks, jabs jars and joltsâ€Ÿ.

Benton Whips Giardello: 10th ranked George Benton, hammering away with short left chops and long looping left hooks, scored a unanimous decision over No.2-ranked middleweight contender Joe Gardelloâ€¦In the 6th Benton backed Giardello into a corner and had him sagging on the ropes with a series of punches. At one point Giardello fell outside of the ring but it was not scored a knockdown â€" Associated Press

George Benton has emerged from oblivion after years of frustration with a victory over no.2-ranked Joey Giardello. Now he wants a shot at the titleâ€¦.Meanwhile Benton, despite earning $9,611-his largest purse ever-isnâ€Ÿt quitting the job heâ€Ÿs been working in manufacturing plant at Fairless Hills, Paâ€¦. Benton, a masterful boxer, kept the pressure on his opponent with a left jab, left hooks and combinations. â€" Charleston Daily Mail

Benton, forcing the fight all the way, completely outclassed Giardello in the opening three rounds. He had Giardello bewildered with jabs and right and left crosses and opened a cut over the favoriteâ€™s right eye in the 3rd round. But Giardello wouldnâ€™t quit. He took the offensive in the 4th through the 7th rounds, delivering a bruising body attack that forced Benton to miss with his potent jabs. The bout was headed for a photo finish when Benton exploded in the final two rounds â€" United Press International

Omnipresent and influential trainer, manager and promoter Lou Duva was on hand to make sure it was Giardello, and not Benton who got a shot at middleweight champion Dick Tiger (which he won) and to ensure Benton never got a crack at the title, against a man he had already â€œwhippedâ€Ÿ and had no intention of facing him again.

Yeah, I screwed George out of his shot. He didnâ€™t even know about it till I told him many years later. â€" Lou Duva

An article in The L.A Times painted Benton (now ranked third by The Ring) as a brilliant operator and criticised Giardelloâ€™s avoidance of Benton after their first encounter.

Georgie Benton may be the best box-fighter in the world today. The clichÃ© is to say pound-for-pound, but when Georgie and Sonny Liston sparred in a Philadelphia gym a few years agoâ€¦â€Liston couldnâ€™t hit him with a bulletâ€ Georgie slipped so far out of Listonâ€™s ponderous reach and blows that sometimes the punches and the target werenâ€™t even in the same time zone. He whipped Joey Giardello in 1962, but when Bentonâ€™s handlers came looking for a shot, Joey demanded, â€œWhoâ€Ÿd he ever lick?â€Ÿ â€" L.A Times

In 1963, Benton faced off with the infamous puncher Rubin â€œHurricaneâ€Ÿ Carter. Carter was coming off a cut stoppage loss, but had beaten Holly Mims, Gomeo Brennan and devastated fellow massive puncher Florentino Fernandez in the first round. Carter often gets underrated nowadays due to him being grossly misrepresented in the media (in depictions in both song, Bob Dylanâ€Ÿs â€œThe Hurricaneâ€Ÿ, and on screen in the motion picture of the same name) but he was a rugged, strong puncher who was not entirely unskilled, as he demonstrated in his fight with Benton. After this ten rounder he would go on to starch all-time pound-for-pound great Emile Griffith inside a round. These displays of brutality were of the highest order, but would not happen to Georgie Benton.

Benton lost a split decision in what at the time was a minor upset. Dick Tiger, then Middleweight champion, was on hand to watch the contest. It was a bout that could have gone either way, with brilliant work done by both on the inside and both gaining the others respects with their punches. Benton displayed his dynamic footwork and positioning early on in the bout, fired off fluent combinations, and dug well on the inside when that failed to nullify Carter.

With the loss, Carter was in and Benton was out, and it would be â€œHurricaneâ€Ÿ who got the shot at the new champion, Joey Giardello. Benton was once again dismissed as a threat to the top guys, who wanted nothing to do with him. His time at the top had never begun, but his time chasing the pot at the end of the rainbow was over.

Bentonâ€™s next two fights were wins, a 10 round decision over Allen Thomas, where Benton had his man figured out after two rounds and went on to boss the fight, hurting Thomas whenever he cared to, and hard-punching John Henry Smith, where he scored a second round knockout. Both fights were filmed and survived until today, and display Bentonâ€™s talents in punching and ring generalship.

He would then split two fights with Johnny Morris for the Pennsylvania State title. Morris was a â€œstylishâ€Ÿ boxer who overcame the favourite by utilising a stiff jab and a set of limber legsâ€Ÿ. In their return, Benton overcame his younger foe and some miscalculated scorecards to take the decision, hurting Morris in numerous rounds to take the 12 round decision and the State championship.

Benton then picked up with, in hindsight, a very impressive 10 round decision win over Jimmy Ellis. He â€œlanded the only heavy punches of the slow-moving fight in the ninth round, when he stunned Ellis with 3 lefts to the headâ€Ÿ. Whilst Ellis was finding his feet as a middleweight contender, he wouldnâ€™t lose for 12 bouts, five years and one Joe Frazier after this, finding victories over Floyd Patterson (Floyd was robbed), Jerry Quarry, Leotis Martin and Oscar Bonavena (dropping the iron-chinned Bonavena, a feat Joe Frazier couldnâ€™t pull off) to take half of the Heavyweight crown in Muhammad Aliâ€™s absence.

But Benton was nearing the end of his 21 year career. Still never dropped, he suffered the first technical knockout loss of his career, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, the Cuban pound-for-pound great, Luis Manuel Rodriguez.

Referee Pete Tomasco halted the fight because Benton was bleeding badly from a deep cut over his left eye. The 151 lb. Rodriguez opened the cut in the fifth with his left jabs. Ringside observers said it appeared both fighters had boxed evenly through the first eight rounds.

He suffered another TKO loss, this one to all-time-great middleweight puncher Bennie Briscoe, who would be one of the top middleweight contenders of the following era. Briscoe â€œcame on strong at the end to wear down his opponentâ€Ÿ, according to the Associated Press. On Doctors advice, the bout was stopped before the 10th round could begin. He had still never been off his feet.

Benton then went 8-1 against lesser opposition, but regardless of his chances to turn things round and crack the big time after 21 years in a hard business, he was shot in the back by someone whoâ€™d been smacked around by Bentonâ€™s brother earlier in the day for making advances on their sister. Benton valiantly head butted his attacker until he dropped his weapon.

This saved his life, but with a bullet lodged in his spine he couldnâ€™t save his boxing career.

Benton was in and out of the hospital for two years. The discharge from his bowels infected his spine, and it was as if his body were being consumed in flames. He wore a body cast and went from 165 pounds to 105. â€" Sports Illustrated

However, his knowledge of The Sweet Science would set him in good stead even though his physical state was depleted. His services would come to be in demand in the 70s. He trained under Eddie Futch to hone his craft as a teacher. Benton was revered (and feared) as a fighter in his physical prime, but his mental facets hadnâ€™t degraded despite two decades of tough competition, a testament to his defensive ability. He was about to expose the next generation of fighters to his massive boxing brain.

Joe Frazier would visit and ask Benton to help him develop his right hand. And in a strange twist of fate, Lou Duva, the man who had screwed Benton years before for a shot at the middleweight title, sought him out to train some of his greener fighters in the art of defence.

Early successes included coaching Leon Spinks to his upset victory over Muhammad Ali for the World Heavyweight championship, but with the party life the Olympic and proâ€Ÿ champâ€Ÿ Spinks was living he turned up unfocused for the rematch, and Benton, dismayed at his young charge for listening to the hangers-on he had accumulated rather than him, walked out mid-fight.

Benton would have his greatest successes as a teacher in the 80s, working with three brilliant Olympians: Evander Holyfield, Meldrick Taylor, and Pernell Whittaker, who seemed the perfect fighter to be moulded by the defensive master Benton.

He teaches them jabs and feints and pivots and parries, all those little tricks nobody bothers to learn anymore. Twist your head. Scatter your jabs. Step on his toes. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they donâ€™t and break his heart. But, hey, baby, as he would say, heartbreak is part of boxing-the one guarantee-and if the kids stay with him long enough, he will teach them something about that, too, something about surviving in a business that turns people into predators, that traffics in false friends, that encourages poor men to kill you with gloves while rich men kill you with paper and pencils â€" Sports Illustrated

He got Holyfield, who had hit a brick wall in his fight with the veteran great Larry Holmes to make an adjustment that saw him ease off the pedal, and gave arguably his most renowned sound bite when asked why Holyfield stopped going all-out on the offensive in that fight: â€œLike my trainer used to say: â€˜Win this one. Look good in the next oe,â€™ Benton said.

In 1989 and 1990, Benton was named â€œTrainer of the Yearâ€ by the Boxing Writers Association of America and in 2001 he was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. He died of pneumonia in 2011.

(by Kyle McLachlan)










a lot of kyle's recent articles, covering all combat sports, can be read here...
http://www.sbnation.com/users/Kyle McLachlan/blog


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"At about seven o'clock in the evening on Monday, December 14, his wife met him on the stairs to their flat on West Forty-second Street. The house they lived in still stands, a house of dingy brick with ten walk-up apartments, two on each of its five floors. He told Mrs. Siki he was going "out with the boys" and would be back in time to help her pack for a trip they were making next day to Washington, where Siki was to appear in a theater. Shortly after midnight on the morning of the fifteenth, Patrolman John J. Meehan, of the West Thirtieth Street station, walking his beat along Ninth Avenue, had a brief encounter with Siki, whom he knew by sight. Siki, wobbling a little as he turned under the "L" tracks from Forty-first Street, called to Meehan that he was on his way home. The patrolman told him to keep going that way. At 4:15 A.M., Meehan walked past the intersection of Forty-first Street and Ninth Avenue again and saw a body lying about a hundred feet east of the corner in the gutter in front of 350 West Forty-first. Approaching it, he recognized Siki. The body was taken to Meehan's station house where a doctor pronounced the fighter recently dead from internal hemorrhage caused by two bullet wounds. Detectives examined the deserted block of Forty-first between Eighth and Ninth avenues. In front of No. 346, some forty feet east of where Siki had died, they found a pool of blood on the sidewalk. It seemed to them that Siki might have been trying to crawl home after he was shot. They could not tell just where the shooting had taken place. The gun, a vest-pocket .32-caliber pistol, was lying in front of No. 333, on the other side of the street. Only two bullets had been fired from it. An autopsy showed that these had entered Siki from behind, one penetrating his left lung and the other his kidneys. The autopsy showed something else which surprised Siki's neighbors a good deal when they heard of it: he had suffered from an anemic condition.

At his wife's request; Siki was given a Christian funeral service at the Harlem funeral parlors of Effie A. Miller. The Reverend Adam Clayton Powell delivered a eulogy. However, seven Mohammedan pallbearers in turbans carried his body to the hearse, chanting prayers as they did so, while a crowd of three thousand people looked on. The body was clothed in evening dress, as Siki would undoubtedly have wished. His estate, estimated at six hundred dollars, was awarded to his wife in Surrogate's Court after Levy made out an affidavit in her favor. The words of the affidavit while perhaps not strictly accurate in point of fact told the broad truth about Siki's place in the world better, I think, than the editorial that spoke of Achilles, Siegfried, and "natural man." To the best of his knowledge, Levy said, Siki left surviving "no child or children, no father, mother, brother, or sister, or child or children of a deceased brother or sister." He lived as a man without kin or country, roots or guides, and that, it seems to me, is a hard way to do it.

Siki's murder was never solved. There was an abundance of suspects, but none of them suited the police at all until one day in March 1926 a young man of eighteen who lived a block or two from Siki's house was arrested and booked on a homicide charge in connection with the killing. Detectives disguised as truck drivers had heard him making incriminating remarks, they said, over a telephone in a bootleggers' hangout at Tenth Avenue and Fortieth Street. On being arrested, he allegedly signed two statements which gave two different accounts of the crime. One said that Siki had staggered into a coffee pot at Eighth Avenue and Fortieth Street in the early morning of December 15 and had thrown a chair at the eight men, including the deponent, who were gathered there. Deponent ran out of the place in alarm and heard shots fired in the restaurant behind him. The other statement, which fitted the physical facts of the killing a little better, said that a short while after the throwing of the chair, he, the young man under arrest, lured Siki to Eighth Avenue and Forty-first Street on the promise of buying him a drink. At the corner they were joined by two other men, one of whom, as the party walked west on Forty-first, shot Siki in the back. The young man was held in the Tombs for eight months, until the fall of 1926, and then was released by the court without trial, presumably because the state was not satisfied with its case. I might add that in May 1927 this same young man got five to ten years for second-degree robbery, committed in April in the vicinity of Ninth Avenue and Forty-second Street against a tourist from another state. That was clearly the wrong part of town for a tourist to go to."

(by John Lardner)

.........

Battling Siki (September 16, 1897 â€" December 15, 1925), aka Louis Mbarick Fall, was an American-Senegalese light heavyweight boxer born in Senegal who fought from 1912â€"1925, and briefly reigned as the lineal light heavyweight champion after knocking out Georges Carpentier.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

McFarland, Cleverest Boxer of All Time, Proved Champions Aren't Always Best
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Edgren Says Chicagoan at Official 135 Today Would Be Kingpin.
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Packey, Success in Ring, Showed Same Sagacity in Business World.
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By ROBERT EDGREN. (1934)

Packy McFarland, now a State Athletic Commissioner in Illinois, was the cleverest fighter I ever saw in the ring, bar none, at any weight. Like a lot of others, Packey started his career with a long string of knockouts. He knocked out 14 of his first 15 opponents. In his first four years he had 42 fights, and won 33 with knockouts. But he developed amazing speed and skill, and after that knocked his men out only when he had to. He had a lot more fun making them look foolish in the ring.

I first heard of McFarland when a New York friend of mine, Mart Waterman, who missed very few good fights while taking business trips around the country, dropped me a line from Chicago.

"I've just seen the greatest lightweight I ever looked at," he wrote. "His name is Packey McFarland."

On returning to New York he told me the story. Mart went to see Battling Nelson, lightweight champion, who was showing in Chicago, in a theater near the stockyards district. Among the boys who wanted to put the gloves on with the champ was a tall, lean, curly-haired youngster, who volunteered for a couple of rounds. Bat asked Mart to come up back of the scenes and hold the watch on his bouts. Nelson was a great endurance fighter, rugged, tough, furiously aggressive, not much of a boxer. He sailed into Packey intent of scoring a quick knockout. But Packey wasn't waiting to be socked. He went into a whirling attack himself, all around Nelson, dodging the champ's flying gloves with ease, picking at Nelson, jabbing his head back, stopping his rushes with swift counters.

Nelson was surprised, annoyed and finally enraged. He couldn't lay a glove on the youngster, and he was getting his head nearly punched off. He was cut, jarred, bruised, humiliated and he couldn't do a thing. A fine exhibition for a champion. The crowd was up on the seats, yelling, and Waterman was so interested in the fight he forgot he was holding the watch. Nelson finally grabbed Packey, wrestled around near the timekeeper and snorted: "Call time, you big bum! Whadda ya think this is, a Marathon?" Mart glanced at his watch. The round had gone five minutes. He yelled "time."

During the rest Bat Nelson tried to catch Mart's eye, but Mart wouldn't look at him. The second round started. It was worse than the first, for Nelson was getting winded. In fairness to Bat, he had been on a theatrical tour and was in no condition for a fast fight. Packey clipped and banged him all over the ring. Nelson was bleeding and his eyes were puffing up and he was panting as he never panted in a fight. He snarled at the timekeeper and made various threats, but Waterman didn't call time. He was enjoying the fight too much to stop it, and it was too good a joke on Bat. Finally Nelson called "time" himself and made a dive for the timekeeper. But Mart discreetly slipped the watch into his pocket and hopped off the stage into the crowd. He gave Bat plenty of time to cool off before going to the dressing room to return the watch. Bat was just having a talk with his manager, Billy Nolan.

"Billy," said Bat, "you get hold of that kid McFarland right away and sign him up to an ironclad contract. We'll manage him together. I want him in the same stable where I won't have to fight him." Nolan failed to sign McFarland. Packey was fully as smart as Nelson. He was sure he could beat Nelson and he wasn't going to sign away his chance. But he never could get Bat into a match. That was one of the reasons why the cleverest of all lightweights in that or any other day never became champion.

In another year or so Packey was finding it hard to make 133 pounds. He could do 135, but Nelson, naturally a 130-pound lightweight, demanded ringside weight in full fighting costume--and that was that.

Today, at the official 135, Packey would be kingpin of them all. The cleverest exhibition I ever saw any boxer give was by McFarland in the Jack Britton bout in New York in 1913. Packey had boxed a no-decision eight-round bout with Britton in Indiana, and one paper had given Britton the "Newspaper decision." Britton went to New York and Dan Morgan became his manager. Morgan got a large number of copies of the paper mentioned and distributed them through New York sport departments, meanwhile taking a blue streak--Dan is one of the most entertaining talkers I ever listened to--about Britton's "victory over McFarland." Of course, we had all seen Packey fight and considered him a marvel.

The beauty of it was that under Morgan's coaching Britton was becoming the sensation of the New York rings, winning fight after fight and showing quite amazing speed and skill and a wicked punch that furnished a lot of fighters with plenty of class.

So New York sent for McFarland, and Packey came.

Just before the fight Packey said to me: "I'm not going to try to knock Britton out. I'm just going to show him up and get even with that manager of his for saying he beat me in that eight-round fight."

The fight started like a whirlwind, Britton attacking swiftly and confidently. And Packey, grinning, never let go a hard punch, but just circled around Jack with a rapid fire of short, light taps that tipped him off balance and kept his head bobbing back. As it went on round after round Britton, who was as game a fighter as ever lived, went at Packey in plunge after plunge, throwing everything he had into a wild flurry of punches, and never landing anything! I remember Jack desperately tearing after Packey, and Packey, stopping and standing still, ducking or blocking Jack's blows without once moving his feet, meanwhile shutting off Britton's vision by holding one open glove across his eyes and working on him with the other hand.

Used to seeing Britton outboxing other fighters almost as easily, we at the ringside could hardly believe it. And I think we were all sorry for poor Jack when, in sheer exasperation over his inability to land a punch on the teasing McFarland or to make headway against Packey's constant tap-drumming of light hits, Jack went into a crying rage. Like a small boy in a street fight, he tore after Packey with wild swings, tears running in streams down his cheeks. I think Packey was a bit sorry for Jack after the fight. He had had his revenge, and more. Anyway they made peace and became good friends. And Britton proved his real class by twice winning the welterweight world's championship and holding the title for five busy years without ever dodging a challenger.

Packey earned a fortune in the ring and retired. Two years after that they persuaded him to come back and fight Mike Gibbons, who was one of the cleverest and most dangerous of all the good middleweights of that time and claimant of the middleweight championship. Always smart, Packey fixed the weight a notch low for Gibbons. Mike burned himself out getting down to it, and Packey got a majority of the "newspaper decisions." This was in the no-decision period of New York boxing, back in 1915. Packey retired for good and went into business, and just to show how smart he was, aside from boxing, he was one of the few fighters who ever tolled up a million dollars outside the roped arena.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

â€œI donâ€™t have to think twice about the man who gave me my hardest fight. As long as I live I will never forget the licking I received at the hands of Ever Hammer. He made me wish I had never laced a glove on my hands.â€ -Benny Leonard, Lightweight Champion

â€œI can think of a lot of so-called world beaters that I would sooner take on than this Hammer guy.â€ â€"Lew Tendler, Lightweight Contender

Ever Hammer, the durable Swede from Chicago, stormed out of the Windy City in the early 1910s and quickly proved every bit as tough as his name implied. He was born on October 30, 1894 on Chicagoâ€™s North Side to Swedish immigrants. As a teenager he worked as a driver and a delivery boy for a local grocer when he decided on boxing as a career. At that time the hometown competition was fierce, with top ringmen like Packey McFarland, Battling Nelson, Johnny Coulon and Harry Forbes regularly plying their trade in Chicagoâ€™s rings and gyms. Undaunted, Ever turned pro in 1913 and was soon dialed in to the local pugilistic scene, making an immediate impact by scoring kayos in half of his first eighteen bouts. His rugged, give-and-take approach to fighting quickly endeared him to fans and he became a popular attraction throughout the Midwest.

Despite his stellar record and increasing popularity, Hammer seemed unable to secure bouts with the top lightweight contenders and voiced his frustration to Chicago Cubsâ€™ shortstop Joe Tinker, an acquaintance made famous by Franklin Pierce Adamsâ€™ poem â€œTinker to Evers to Chanceâ€ and would later be enshrined in baseballâ€™s Hall of Fame. Tinker, a fervent boxing fan, advised the young fighter to get himself a good, â€œwide awakeâ€ manager, which Ever had not had up to that point. Taking the tip, Hammer sought out Howard Carr (aka Kid Howard), a former prizefighter who was running a nearby gym and managing fighters. Howard gave Ever a tryout and was impressed enough to take him on.

Under Carrâ€™s guidance Hammer was able to make great strides in his career in a short period of time. He made his first impression on the world lightweight ranks on March 2, 1916 in Kenosha, Wisconsin when he pounded out a 10-round newspaper win over top contender Joe Welling. It was an important victory, one that brought him his first national notices in the press. But his performance against a faded but still dangerous Ad Wolgast three weeks later in Racine is what made him a star. With heavyweight king Jess Willard and Battling Nelson at ringside, Hammer tore into the former lightweight champion, winning the newspaper decision in a bloody, hard fought 10-round battle. The Racine Journal-News was suitably impressed, calling it â€œthe meeting of the two greatest action-lads of the class.â€ Wolgast himself was taken by this young blonde tiger who had a style that so mirrored his own in bygone days; so much so that he undertook to train Hammer for his next fight, which was to be in Milwaukee on April 24 against the reigning lightweight champion, Freddie Welsh.

Wolgast, known as the â€œMichigan Wildcatâ€, had fought Welsh on numerous occasions and knew his style well. In fact â€œThe Welsh Wizardâ€ had beaten the old champion several times, so Ad received no small measure of satisfaction in watching his youthful protÃ©gÃ© subject Freddie to an unmerciful 10-round beating that left him with a bloody mouth, a torn ear and a closed eye at the final bell. Hammer was unmarked as he smiled at the roaring crowd. The fight was declared a No-Decision but the newspapers unanimously agreed that young Ever had dominated the Welshman and that if the title had been on the line there would be a new champion. An attempt by the Welsh camp to take the luster off the Chicagoanâ€™s victory by blaming the champâ€™s poor performance on an injured hand was dismissed contemptuously by many sportswriters. Welsh himself admitted that Hammer had given him the hardest fight of his career; high praise coming from a man who had battled the likes of Benny Leonard, Johnny Dundee, Packey McFarland, Jim Driscoll, Abe Attell and Willie Ritchie.

Hammer next made a stop in East Chicago, Indiana to face off against yet another great fighter- the fabled â€œScotch-Wopâ€ Johnny Dundee. Slick, fast and talented, Dundee had fought them all from Benny Leonard and Freddie Welsh to Willie Ritchie and Johnnie Kilbane. Like Welsh he had a huge advantage in experience over his younger foe. But Johnny quickly realized that he had his hands full on this night. It took all the skill he could muster and every trick in his vast repertoire for Dundee to quell the tearaway rushes of the mad Swede and secure a newspaper decision. Some reporters thought that a draw would have been the correct verdict. All agreed that it was a hard fought battle which saw Hammerâ€™s stock rise even higher in the lightweight ranks. A hotly contested rematch in Kansas City, Mo. two months later was won by Dundee on points in fifteen rounds, but it was so close and action packed that neither fighter lost face with the press or public.

Ever Hammer and Benny Leonard Prefight Photo
Ever Hammer and Benny Leonard Prefight Photo
All the commotion surrounding this newcomer didnâ€™t go unnoticed by Benny Leonard, who had been blazing his own brilliant trail through the lightweight ranks. The two contenders were soon matched in an eagerly anticipated bout which saw a sellout crowd pack the Convention Hall in Kansas City on Oct. 18, 1916 to watch Benny play matador to Hammerâ€™s bull. Ever tore out of his corner at the sound of the first bell and proceeded to give Leonard a calculated pounding. Benny later recalled the experience:

â€œHe never gave me a chance to lead and not even time to think. He was right on top of me after every clinch, pasting away with both hands all the time. He varied his attack and I was forced to take about as fine a tanning in three minutes of one-sided battling as ever I received before and since I became champion. Two cruel rights to the mouth opened a cut from which blood flowed freely. I was a sight when I returned to the corner. He cut me to pieces. Between rounds Gibson and the boys were kept busy cleaning away the blood and refreshing me for the next melee. It was awful.â€

Hammer continued his relentless attack round after round, pounding the body and ripping uppercuts to the head of his bewildered opponent, all the while taunting him with comments like â€œWhat kind of guys are you New Yorkers? Come on and fight!â€ By the mid-rounds Bennyâ€™s nose was bleeding along with his mouth. Even worse, his opponent seemed oblivious to his best shots and continued to bore in, whaling away with both hands. Realizing that heâ€™d better do something and fast, Leonard began to use feints, jabs and speedy footwork in order to check the rushes of the Swede. The tide slowly began to turn and near the bell ending the ninth round Benny nailed Ever coming in with a perfect punch right under the heart. The blow was the turning point of the battle and wasnâ€™t unnoticed by Leonard, who watched the Chicagoan stagger to his corner and slump on his stool.

At the start of round 11, Hammer rushed at Leonard and straight into a right uppercut that detonated off his chin. Benny stepped back expecting Ever to fall forward as so many others had done before. Instead, his blow was answered immediately with a vicious left hook leaving the New Yorker dazed and hurt. Smelling blood Ever swung madly at his retreating opponent, who danced and jabbed until his head could clear. At the break of a clinch in round 12, Benny nailed Hammer again under the heart followed by a perfect one two, dropping him. Howard Carr had seen enough and stopped the bout, the referee awarding Leonard with a TKO. After the contest Billy Gibson, Leonardâ€™s manager, said that â€œHammer hurt Leonard more in that one bout than 100 other opponents had done.â€

The loss to Leonard began a low period for Hammer. In the space of just over six months he had fought four future hall of famers- Wolgast, Welsh, Dundee (twice) and Leonard- and a few top contenders to boot, but such a hectic schedule coupled with his reckless fighting style were bound to take a toll. His career hit a slump over the next four years- though he was never stopped- and he won only seven of 24 fights. As bad as it was Ever, who had gotten married to his childhood sweetheart shortly after the second Dundee bout, had to keep fighting to put food on the table. He took fights whenever and wherever he could as returning to the paltry paydays of his delivery boy years was simply no longer an option. He was a professional prizefighter now and fighting is what he would do to provide for his family.

When the 1920s dawned Ever headed west and caught a second wind. He beat top contender Phil Salvadore and battled tough Willie Robinson to a draw right in their own backyards. But Hammerâ€™s most notable bout was when he faced a streaking local hotshot named Dave Shade in Stockton, California. Shade would later be considered one of the greatest fighters to never win a world title, becoming a top welterweight and middleweight contender and battling on even terms with welterweight champion Jack Britton and light-heavyweight champion Maxie Rosenbloom twice each and double-crown champ Mickey Walker three times. But on this night Hammer nullified Shadeâ€™s speed advantage with crowding and fierce infighting. Being the local favorite, Shade was given a draw by the judges, but the Stockton Daily Evening Record decried the hometown verdict, scoring it as a clear win for the Chicago battler.

As for Hammer, he returned to the Midwest refreshed and with a vengeance, reeling off ten straight victories. This included newspaper wins over top contenders Richie Mitchell and Charley White as well as gaining revenge on several of the pugs who had beaten him during his earlier slump. It seemed as if Ever Hammer was back in business.

It all came crashing down when he decided to again challenge the great Benny Leonard, now lightweight champion of the world. On August 8, 1922 in Michigan City, Indiana Leonard won a clear cut newspaper decision in ten rounds over his game foe, but it was clear to Benny and everyone present that this was not the same Ever Hammer who given him such a tough go six years earlier. This was a faded pug that years of tough give and take fighting had finally caught up with. Ever further hastened his exit from the scene the following month in Philadelphia when he faced the second greatest lightweight of the era, the southpaw Lew Tendler. Hammer sparred regularly with the slick former welterweight and middleweight titlist Jimmy Clabby in preparation for the bout, but it proved to be to no avail after the first bell rang on September 11. Tendler, who weeks earlier had given Benny Leonard all he could handle, was in his prime and beat Ever soundly in winning an eight round newspaper decision.

The last nail in the coffin came shortly afterward in a clear case of history repeating itself. Hammer went to Omaha, Nebraska where he was thrown in against Ace Hudkins, a youthful tiger who had a style and attitude eerily similar to his own in younger days. A decade earlier Ever held a similar position when he was matched against Ad Wolgast, except now it was he who was the aging veteran being served as cannon fodder for the up and coming slugger. The â€œNebraska Wildcatâ€ tore away at Hammer from the start and it took all of the old Swedeâ€™s savvy to survive. Apparently the referee didnâ€™t agree with his tactics and Hammer was disqualified in round seven for â€œstallingâ€.

Hammerâ€™s career was essentially bookended by two wildcats- his star had risen in beating Wolgast, the â€œMichigan Wildcatâ€, and had now descended in losing to Hudkins, the â€œNebraska Wildcatâ€.

Not content to end his career on a losing note, Ever took a year off and then came back to reel off four more victories before retiring from the ring in 1930. He gathered up his family, which now included a young daughter, Oma, and returned to California, the site of his career resurrection as a bona fide contender in the 20s. He was employed at Knotts Berry Farm in Buena Park, where the barn of former heavyweight champion Jim Jeffries had been relocated and turned into a makeshift boxing museum. Ever worked at the museum, where his job was to greet and answer visitorâ€™s questions. In sharp contrast to fellow give and take contemporaries Battling Nelson and Ad Wolgast, both of whom suffered greatly from pugilistic dementia in later years, Hammer suffered no ill effects, his mind remaining sharp and his memories lucid. He spent his remaining years living in Anaheim, where he died on September 13, 1969.

(by Douglas Cavanaugh)










to read more of Douglas Cavanaugh and learn more about his upcoming book...visit...
https://www.facebook.com/pittsburghboxing


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He was hard to forget: Granite chin, massive hands, broad shoulders, that combined, said it all, â€˜donâ€™t mess with me.â€™ Even then stories were doing the rounds about the antics he had got up to. Some of them were true.

He also played the double for Victor Mc Laglen in the movie, The Quiet Man, in 1951, after hustling himself into the part by claiming cousinship of John Ford. Between filming, he went on a wild session one evening and night with John Wayne. Later, as the drink loosened the tongue and stiffened the courage, John Wayne challenged Thorton to a fight, telling him that only one would survive it. Thorton did not accept the challenge because he knew it would not be Wayne. It was also no coincidence that the character that Wayne played in the movie was called Sean Thorton.

Then there was the talk that he threw a fight when he was a professional boxer, betting on himself to lose, and having to skip his beloved and native Galway for a few years until things quietened a bit.

When there is talk of champions, Joe Frazier, World Heavyweight Champion in 1971, came to Connemara and met Thorton. â€œYou may be heavyweight champion of the world Joe,â€ Thorton told him, â€œbut I am the heavyweight champion around here.â€

(by Barry Clifford)

.............................................

Mairtin Thornton (died 1984) was an Irish heavyweight boxer in the 1940s. He was nicknamed the "Connemara Crusher".

Thornton was a native of Spiddal, Connemara, County Galway.

Thornton was the Irish Heavyweight Boxing champion in 1943. He fought Bruce Woodcock for the British Commonwealth Heavyweight title in 1945.

He boxed from 10 January 1938 until 23 April 1949. He won 14 bouts and lost 8.

When he retired from boxing he ran a pub in Spiddal, County Galway. He died in 1984.










.....................................

An irish tv report, including an interview with Thornton, from 1974, starts at around 3.50 in this video...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1954

A shock-haired little Zulu, with the fighting heart of his warrior ancestors, has become the bright light in Britain's gloomy boxing scene.

His name Is Jake Tuli and he ranks right behind champion Yoshio Shirai among the world's flyweight fighters.

It is on him the British fight fans are pinning their hopes for a world title.

British, you say? A Zulu? 'Sure he comes from Johannesburg,' says the Cockney fight fan. 'But that's in the British Commonwealth, ain't it? And Tuli is British Empire flyweight champ, ain't 'e So 'e's British, just as much as the lad from Manchester, Sheffield or Glasgow. And no one can say he ain't' - What's more, say Britain's title-hungry fans, Tuli boxes out of Britain, so he's part of the British boxing picture, no matter what his birthplace.

Tuli (22) goes into the ring as fit and strongâ€" at his weightâ€" as world heavyweight champion Rocky Marclano. He's the old Henry Armstrong whirlwind type, soaks up punishment like a sponge and dishes it out with two fisted efficiency.

Tuli's climb into the world class makes fighting men compare him with the great Battling Siki - the Senegalese ***** who knocked out the idol of France, Georges Carpentier, In the sixth round in 1922 to win the light-heavyweight championship of the world.

But little Tuli, with his mop of shock black hair, is a very different man to the Battling Siki who was stabbed to death in a New Tork street brawl, once he is out of the ring. Tuli Is a modest, soft-spoken man with deeply religious ways. He lives with a priest in a London clergy house and helps to serve Mass three times a week.

'It Is a pleasure to handle such a fine fighter and a good living boy,' manager Jim Wicks said. 'He is a manager's dream."

Tuli came to Britain for the first time in September, 1952. That's when he took the British Empire flyweight championship from England's Teddy Gardner.

'That win gave Tuli four titlesâ€" and after only 10 professional bouts.' Wicks said. 'He held the flyweight title European flyweight and Bantamwelght title of South Africa. The Empire title makes it four - He still holds them!"

Tuli has lost only one fight out of 24 contests. That was when he climbed out of his class to meet European bantamweight champion Robert Cohen last December. Tuli lost on points over 10 rounds and boxing writers named it the "Fight of the Year".

(Townsville Daily Bulletin - April 1954)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 1989


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Right here and now, I want it understood that when I win the championship from Jack Dempsey, I am going to draw the colour line." - Gene Tunney


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

....


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 17, 1945 - Bruce Woodcock vs Jack London: The British & Empire Heavyweight Championship - White Hart Lane (Tottenham FC), Tottenham, London.

When the gong sounded for round one, Bruce began the fight cautiously enough, avoiding close encounters with the much heavier London by dancing away from him, following the game plan Tom Hurst had worked out with him. But London seemed far from confident, crouched and lumbering with ponderous swings which Bruce evaded easily. As the film commentator noted, Bruce was â€˜more upright, gloves well up, chin well tucked inâ€™, and snapping straight lefts in reply that jabbed Londonâ€™s face and sent his head back. According to the reporter from the News Chronicle, it was then that Bruce winked over Londonâ€™s shoulder across at Nel Tarleton in his corner. Tarleton said afterwards: â€˜It meant Bruce knew that the fight was his from that moment. I gave him that one-two punch. He possesses it naturally. I saw its possibilities when he came to me one day in my gym and I showed him how to develop it.â€™ Bruce tried it a few times in the opener, but the killer one-two was another five rounds away.

In the second, Bruceâ€™s lefts kept jabbing with insistent regularity. He evaded a dangerous hook from London and scored a right cross in retaliation, backed up by another straight left. London tried to get Bruce into clinches which the referee had to break up. The same patterns recurred in the next two rounds, and the crowd must have begun to think they were in for a long haul.

But things hotted up in the fifth, which was the closest Bruce came to trouble. London rushed from his corner into the fray, seemingly determined to nail his opponent. London kept harrying him with attacks to the body and caught him with a big left punch to the side of the face, leaving a cut to the nose, followed by a left to the mouth, swelling his lip. London sensed his chance and followed through by driving Bruce into the ropes, and was still attacking to the body as the bell went. It took some of the wind from Bruceâ€™s sails, slowing him up such that he looked tired going back to his corner, and even more so sat on his stool while his team worked on him. But we can see Tom Hurst talking fervently as he helps Bruce to a much needed swig of water, and whatever he said, it worked.

The climax came out of the blue two minutes into the sixth round. Bruce took the fight straight back at London, catching him with two heavy right hooks. And then he caught London with two short rights that sent him down on his back over the bottom rope, out of the ring, and although he got back up immediately, he was obviously hurt and dazed. Bruce knew it was his moment, and he took it: he hit London hard, a left and right, two lefts to the face, and then twice, with lightening right hooks on the chin, sending him crashing to the canvas. The crowd were already on their feet; the noise was unbelievable. London struggled to get up, even as far as his hands and knees, but the count beat him - he would say later that he couldnâ€™t hear it for the roaring of the crowd.

(by Bruce Woodcock Jnr)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1920


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1927

"Wiggins was under the shower in the dressing room for a few seconds after the workout, when he received news of this awful indictment. He went through the roof, and then he went through the door, clad only in a dressing gown."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In one corner sat 'Peerless' Jim Driscoll.

Driscoll was known as â€˜Gentleman Jimâ€™, but his quiet and unassuming manner belied his skill and strength as a boxer. Despite his short and slim figure, he had boxed in fairs in his youth, and it was there that he learned the trade and honed his skills.

The fight was to be Driscoll's challenge for the British lightweight. Driscoll had been British featherweight champion since 1906 and had challenged for the world title in 1910 but failed to secure the 'knock-out' and thus did not win the crown.

In the other corner sat Freddie Welsh (aka the Welsh Wizard), who was the Welsh, British and European lightweight champion.

Born Frederick Thomas, he had made his name in the United States. He had boxed in fairs for money and had developed a rugged and unruly style.

At only 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing only 9 1/2 stone, Welsh would crouch and duck, clinching and punching the opponents' kidneys and head, tactics considered 'ungentlemanly' in his native country.

His fight to claim the European title in 1909 had drawn a crowd of 15,000 in Mountain Ash, the largest crowd to watch a boxing match in Wales up to that time.

It was not long before the bout degenerated into a street fight as Welshâ€™s tactics prevented Driscoll from using his notorious left arm and showing his style.

In the tenth round of a scheduled twenty, Driscoll finally lost his cool and butted Welsh under the chin across the ring forcing the referee to disqualify him.

Boxing fans rioted in Cardiff for days. There was never to be a rematch.

............................

While Welsh was from Pontypridd and Driscoll hailed from just 14 miles away in Cardiff, the pair were from very different backgrounds, had taken vastly different career paths, and represented boxing styles that were split by 3,000 miles of Atlantic ocean.

Welsh, whose real name was Frederick Hall Thomas, came from a relatively wealthy background as an auctioneer's son whose grandfather had been a renowned mountain fighter .

At the age of 16 he travelled to North America seeking work and adventure, the first of many jaunts across the Atlantic.

As he chased a shot at the world lightweight title his skill in the ring was matched by a flair for publicity that saw him play on his vegetarianism, plan to take part in a trans-Atlantic balloon race, and concoct a story to the press that he had been kidnapped in Mexico!

He had returned to Britain in 1909 and received a huge welcome in Wales, but his ring style courted controversy as it was felt that he fought in an 'American' manner that emphasised in-fighting and valued controversial kidney punches.

Driscoll, meanwhile, who had Irish heritage, had fought himself out of a life of poverty in Cardiff Bay with an upright, classical style that has been described as "the boxing textbook come to life" and that took him to the British title.

His vast experience, learnt in the boxing booths, had endowed him with formidable skills including an artistic left hand, and he proved a huge hit on a nine-fight tour of the United States in 1908/9.

Driscoll dominated world featherweight champion Abe Attell in their showdown in New York, but the no-decision rule meant that he would have needed a knock-out to claim the title.

The Welshman's manager, Charlie Harvey, knew the clamour that could be built for a rematch under Championship rules.

But Driscoll boarded a ship for Britain the day after the Attell fight in order to perform his annual piece in a charity show for Nazareth House Orphanage in Cardiff.

"I never break a promise," was Driscoll's simple reply to Harvey's howls of dismay, and the fighter received a hero's welcome back home.

With the two local heroes now back in Wales and seeking worthy opponents for a major fight, the clamour built for a showdown.

While the two had been firm friends, bad blood had allegedly been built since a lively 1907 meeting in a boxing booth.

"I thought I'd let [Welsh] see that I was a better goat than he was"

Newspapers helped to hype the rivalry, with arguments emerging over details of the bout including the weight, referee, size of the gloves and the Driscoll camp's insistence on clean breaks.

The bickering delayed the showdown, but was quickly put aside when the Welsh Sports Club put up a record purse of Â£2,500, Â£1,500 for Driscoll and Â£1,000 for Welsh.

Despite poverty caused by the ongoing miners strike, a sell-out crowd of over 10,000 was packed into the Westgate Street arena.

The huge, corrugated iron building adjoining the Arms Park - dismantled in 1919 and rebuilt in Mill Road, Ely, only to be demolished in the early 1920s - had been opened in 1908 as the venue for Cardiffians to learn to waltz on roller skates as a brass band played.

But with the atmosphere at fever pitch the styles of the two protagonists failed to gel.

The bigger and stronger Welsh controlled the early stages, avoiding Driscoll's straight left, clinching and roughing up his opponent.

Driscoll had come into the bout with a festering wound above his ear that became a favourite target for his opponent, but the Cardiff man was more angered by Welsh's alleged boring with the head, his verbal jibes and his kidney punching.

The referee Peggy Bettinson - who officiated from a ringside seat - did little to curb the growing anger of Driscoll and the crowd, while the imperturbable Welsh wore an innocent smile throughout the entire fight.

After a disappointing, dirty fight, the usually unflappable Driscoll lost his cool in the 10th round as he aimed a series of blatant head-butts at his opponent, forcing Bettinson to step in and disqualify the Cardiff man.

Contemporary newspaper reporter James Butler said: "It was the only time I saw Driscoll not in control of himself in the ring.

"So bitter was the hatred by the 10th round that the finest boxer this country has ever produced was rushing in red-eyed like a man gone berserk."

A distraught Driscoll burst into tears, saying: "The referee allowed Freddie to butt me till I couldn't stand it any longer. I thought I'd let him see that I was a better goat than he was."

Despite his head-strong action, Driscoll found sympathy with press, public, and even the referee who had disqualified him.

"I can't say that I ever worried much about what people thought or said of me" - Welsh

"Welsh, I admit is a most exasperating man to fight, and I can fully sympathise with Driscoll in losing his head," said Bettinson.

Welsh himself said later: "I can't say that I ever worried much about what people thought or said of me.

"I like to be liked, and have often wished that I could be as much loved as Jim Driscoll, say, but I have never been able to bow down to rules and regulations."

The war of words and opinion was not the end of the controversy, though, as opposing seconds Boyo Driscoll and Badger O'Brian began a scuffle.

Members of the audience were dragged in and the brawl spilled out onto Westgate Street, police intervention needed to break up the carnage.

The frustration of the crowd summed up the mood of the night, with the question left open as to which of the two fighters was the greatest.

Speaking in a 1977 BBC Wales interview, former Welsh bantamweight champion Billy Eynon - an ex-sparring partner of Driscoll's - came down in favour of the Pontypridd man.

"Driscoll was a great classical boxer, but Welsh was the best," said Eynon.
"He was winning every round easily. He needled Driscoll who lost his head and butted Freddie.

"Driscoll was the classical boxer but he was a dirty boxer as well. He was an idol in Cardiff and had the Cardiff people behind him."

But Driscoll was arguably already past his best in 1910, ill health and the Great War meaning he would fight just six more times.

He died of pneumonia on 30 January, 1925, at the age of 44, and over 100,000 lined the streets of Cardiff for the funeral.

Welsh's long pursuit of the world title continued and was eventually fulfilled in 1914 when a huge purse guarantee tempted champion Willie Ritchie into the ring.

After outclassing his opponent over 20 rounds, Welsh reigned for three years but damaged his considerable reputation by exploiting the no-contest rule to keep the crown.

Unfortunate business decisions, high living and health problems meant that his life was also cut short, and he was found dead in his Manhattan apartment in 1927, at the age of 41.

"Welsh and Driscoll would be outstanding and would beat all of today's fighters, they were a different class of boxer altogether," said Eynon in his 1977 interview.

("Wales and its Boxers: The Fighting Tradition" - Peter Stead and Gareth Williams)



















....................

In this video Billy Eynon, a former british bantamweight title contender, speaks about the fight between Driscoll and Welsh, as well as touching on his own career which included being a sparring partner for Driscoll.
Also, an interesting part of this video, Eddie Thomas (former british and european welterweight champion) speaks of Eynon having fought in front of a crowd of 200,000 !!...





....................

this video shows both in fights not against each other (vs packy mcfarland and frank robson respectively)....notice here, as mentioned in a previous post, the referee sitting outside of the ring, and a few rows away from the ring, during the boxing...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jersey Joe Walcott v Harold Johnson - Philadelphia, 1950.

Walcott knocked Johnson out in three rounds....14 years previous, Walcott had knocked out Harolds father, in the same town...also in three rounds...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1961


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jack Mcauliffe, who retired as undefeated lightweight champion of the world in 1896, once had a monkey that rode his neck when he did roadwork.
Twenty miles was customary in those days - they trained for finish fights - so the monkey and McAuliffe saw a lot of territory together.

"The Monk would hold on with his legs around my neck, and if I stopped too fast he would grab my ears to stop from falling off" McAuliffe said years later.
*'The Monk' (as McAuliffe referred to him)

McAuliffe in his glory had been a great friend of John L. Sullivan and of a bantamweight named Jack Skelly from Yonkers. The three were engaged to perform in a Salzburg festival of the sweet science promoted by the Olympic Club of New Orleans in September 1892.
On September 5, McAuliffe was to defend his lightweight title against Billy Myer. On the 6th, Skelly would try to win the featherweight championship from the incumbent George Dixon. And on the third climatic night, the great John L would annihilate an upstart from San Francisco named Jim Corbett.

"I thought the monkey would bring us all luck" McAuliffe said "He started good. When I knocked Billy out in the fifteenth the monk was up on the top rope as the referee said 'Ten!' and hopped off on to my shoulder before the man got my hand up. I took him and threw him in the air and caught him, I was so happy...."Oh, you jewel of a monkey!" I said, and when I was on the table after the fight he played in the hair on my chest like I was his brother.....Then Skelly fought Dixon, and when Dixon knocked him out I thought I noticed a very peculiar look on the monkey's face, like he was glad to see Skelly get it. I said to myself 'I wonder who you are.' I gave him the benefit of the doubt, but when Corbett stopped Sullivan, I grabbed the monkey by the neck and wrung it like a chicken. I've often felt bad about it since. God help me, I have a very bad temper."

(A.J. Liebling)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

This chapter from "The Sweet Science" describes the scene on the day of the Sugar Ray Robinson v Randy Turpin rematch, and the scene at the arena before the fight started...describing the various characters and fans of each side who Liebling met that day at the Polo Grounds, New York in 1951...and of course the fight itself..


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

JOHN HENRY LEWIS - JOCK MCAVOY OFFICIAL PROGRAM (1936)











On March 13, 1936 at Madison Square Garden in New York world light heavyweight champion John Henry Lewis defended his title against Jock McAvoy in the main event. Lewis successfully defended his title winning a unanimous 15 round decision. Lewis "had little difficulty ... wagering a careful, systematic battle in which he left few openings for the fast-punching Englishman, Lewis fought his way home to victory in convincing style but his triumph was far from popular with the crowd. Most of the 15,000, who paid $37,712 to see the battle, were swayed by the brave showing made by the fighter from the little isle and vociferously booed the decision" (New York Times).


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I began to take on a lot of confidence, and I made up my mind that I would put down a bet on myself the next time I started, if a good chance was offered and I could keep my mother from finding it out. It came quicker than I expected.

William Rosser, a lightning fast young lightweight, and at that time the pride of West Pullman, and a boy who had been defeating every Chicago fighter who dared to come into his bailiwick, sent me a challenge after I had stopped the Cyclone. With a large party of my Hegewisch friends and backers we journeyed over to Harvey by buses, buggies, automobiles and in every manner imaginable. We were about 250 strong.

About a week previous to the fight while training at my White House Club at home, Frank Reiger, one of those talkative fellows, dropped into the club rooms and asked me what I thought of my chances in the coming fight. I jokingly said, "Why, I'll knock him out in a round." Reiger, who had been continually belittling my ability as a fighter, at once offered to bet me $40, to $4, or $10 to $i, that I wouldn't knock him out in a round. I, thinking it was only a bunch of hot air, dug down in my jeans and took up the bet. Reiger immediately appointed George Wickham as stakeholder and handed him the $40. Of course, I put up my four, thinking he would try and crawl out of the bet any moment. But the stakeholder forced him to keep his coin up.

Now that the bet was made and the money posted it was up to me to figure out ways and means to win that fight in a gallop.

I immediately made up my mind to get that one-round money if I never fought again. I notified my backers that I would show the Harvey sports three minutes of the fastest fighting they ever saw in their lives, if Rosser lasted that long.

Having that forty dollars in view all the while, I made up my mind that I wouldn't allow him to get a start. When we were called to the centre of the ring for instructions I had the scheme figured out. Instead of retiring to my corner, as is customary, I decided to take a step toward his corner.

The trick worked like a charm. As the timekeeper rang the bell Rosser raised out of his chair, and he was just within nice hitting distance. The bell had not ceased ringing before I shot a terrific right-hand swing flush on his jaw. He tottered a step forward and fell in the centre of the ring. Rosser tried hard to get up and made two futile efforts to rise, but only got to arm's length, and by the time the referee had tolled off seven seconds he dropped on his face and turned over on his back and remained for the full count, only to be carried to his dressing room by his handlers.

My only punch was so well directed that it was hours before he regained consciousness."

(by Battling Nelson)

..................

*The Two Second Fight. April 5th 1902.

Battling Nelson knocked out his opponent, William Rossler, two seconds into the first round making this the shortest bout in history to date. It would be equalled 13 years later by the Billy Weeks v Romeo Hagen bout of Dec.18, 1915.


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## Jdempsey85 (Jan 6, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> ....................
> 
> In this video Billy Eynon, a former british bantamweight title contender, speaks about the fight between Driscoll and Welsh, as well as touching on his own career which included being a sparring partner for Driscoll.
> Also, an interesting part of this video, Eddie Thomas (former british and european welterweight champion) speaks of Eynon having fought in front of a crowd of 200,000 !!...
> ...


Great documentary that is,follow the links at the bottom of the page for more videos

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/boxing/9028172.stm


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 1981 - Detroit, Michigan (non-title middleweight fight)

"I get comments on this fight all the time. â€˜Cavemanâ€™ Lee and John LoCicero. It was in the early Kronk gym days, in the Twenty Grand Showroom in Detroit with no air conditioning. It was August and amazingly hot. In the fifth round, John LoCicero and Caveman Lee put on a round of boxing that was just beyond belief. First, LoCicero went down, got up, and hit Lee with like twenty-five unanswered punches. It was ridiculous. LoCicero ultimately got knocked out in that round and it was about as exciting as anything Iâ€™ve ever seen." 
- Al Bernstein






*Caveman Lee weighed in at 161 lbs to John LoCicero's 156 lbs


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 1956 - Madison Square Garden, New York

The winner of this bout would face Archie Moore for the World Heavyweight Title left vacant by the retirement of Rocky Marciano in April 1956.

"21 year old Floyd Patterson of Brooklyn won decisively before 11,255 at MSG for his 17th straight victory. But his triumph was tarnished slightly by a strange split decision. Surprising most of the fans and writers at ringside, Referee Harry Kessler favored Tommy 'Hurricane' Jackson of Far Rockaway, NY. Patterson had Tommy in trouble from rapid-fire left hooks and leaping right leads in 8 of the 12 sessions. Although the Hurricane stalked after the smaller Patterson in every round, he was staggered in the 2nd,3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 8th, 11th and 12th. Tommy almost hit the deck in the 4th and 12th. But he continued to fight back persistently. His best rounds were the 7th and 9th." -United Press

"That Jackson is a tough man. Now I know I can go 15 rounds if I have to because I wasn't tired after 12, even though I landed more punches than I ever threw in my life." -Floyd Patterson

"This boy's not as tough as Bob Baker or Dan Bucceroni. If he fights Moore in September, Archie'll kill him." -Tommy 'Hurricane' Jackson

*Floyd Patterson weighed in at 178 lbs to Tommy Jackson's 193Â½ lbs

.......................

July 1957 - Polo Grounds, New York

Patterson has beaten Archie Moore eight months previous to become the World Heavyweight Champion and makes his 1st defence against Jackson. Floyd weighs in at 184 lbs to Jackson's 192.5 lbs.

Unable to cope with the speed of the championâ€™s punches, Jackson's nose was bloodied and he was put down by a combination of rights and lefts to the head just as the bell rang to end the opening session. It did not get any better for Jackson in the second round when Patterson spun him around and dropped him to a knee from a right to the jaw. Named â€˜The Hurricaneâ€™ due his fighting style, Jackson bravely punched away, but it was Patterson who was doing all the scoring. By the sixth it was apparent that the end was drawing near, but Jackson, his left eye almost closed, would not hear of it and although he was dropped by a pair of body blows and left hooks in the ninth and took a terrific left to the jaw immediately prior to the bell he came out fighting in the tenth. With the brave Jackson just walking into punches and refusing to go down it was left to the referee to save him from taking further punishment, the finish being timed at 1.52. Jackson went to the hospital five hours after the fight to be treated for a bruised kidney. He was kept for several days for observation. Patterson visited Jackson in the hospital three days after the bout.

"Jackson kept telling me in the clinches to come out and fight. He called me a bum. That's a funny way to describe a man who's winning the fight." - Floyd Patterson

From Patterson's biography by W.K.Stratton -
Within hours of the boutâ€™s finale, Jackson began urinating blood. His mother took him to a Long Island hospital, where he was admitted with what was reported as kidney contusions, the result of the many body shots heâ€™d taken from Patterson during the fight. The doctor who examined him diagnosed him as â€œfairly sick, but not dangerously so. He needs rest.â€ The doctor advised Jackson to remain in the hospital for a few days. The hospital staff admitted only one set of visitors â€" Floyd and Sandra Patterson, who arrived with Cus Dâ€™Amato. Jackson was shocked that the Pattersons came to see him. The mercurial Hurricane shook hands with the champ and wished him luck in his upcoming fights. Patterson left knowing that the tragic man-child Jackson was likely finished as a boxer of any significance.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Lew Tendler retired from the ring in 1928. Because he was a great storyteller, he became an after dinner speaker. Years later, he opened a restaurant on South Broad Street in Philadelphia called â€œLew Tendlerâ€™s Steak House.â€ The place was a landmark and gathering spot for sports fans and local politicians for decades. (he later opened a second restaurant in Atlantic City).

"I thought I knew where Lewâ€™s restaurant was, and wouldnâ€™t ask anybody the way. I soon got tired of walking, though, and ate in a place called Mike Bananaâ€™s. A minute after I had finished and left, I found Tendlerâ€™s, but I saw I couldnâ€™t have eaten there anyway. I couldnâ€™t even have got as far as the bar, it was so packed. The sidewalk on Broad Street in front of the restaurant was jammed right out to the curb, and gentlemen with embossed ears were struggling to keep from being pushed under taxicabs. Everybody who goes to Philadelphia for a fight meets at Tendlerâ€™s and tries to put the lug on somebody for a free ticket." - A.J. Liebling


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

August 30, 1937 - Yankee Stadium, New York

Left to right: Jack Johnson, James J Braddock, Sixto Escobar, Ceferino Garcia, Fred Apostoli, Benny Leonard, Lou Ambers, Barney Ross, Pedro Montanez, Jack Sharkey (face covered), Mickey Walker, Gene Tunney, Jack Dempsey, Marcel Thil, Max Baer, Max Schmeling, Johnny Dundee.

(The night that Joe Louis outpointed Tommy Farr in his first world title defence)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of the first meeting between heavyweight champion Max Baer and, unknown to him, Joe Louis.

"Say, kid, if i'm keeping you up, let's both go to sleep." - Everybody laughed, except Joe.


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

The thread that keeps giving :cheers

What are you going to do when you run out of material mate?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Spider said:


> The thread that keeps giving :cheers
> 
> What are you going to do when you run out of material mate?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1955


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

this was too big for the scanner, so this was just a photo taken with my phone....the full resolution image is here for anyone interested, although still not very clear...

click on image to enlarge when it loads...

http://i.imgur.com/QDc0kJI.jpg


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> August 30, 1937 - Yankee Stadium, New York
> 
> Left to right: Jack Johnson, James J Braddock, Sixto Escobar, Ceferino Garcia, Fred Apostoli, Benny Leonard, Lou Ambers, Barney Ross, Pedro Montanez, Jack Sharkey (face covered), Mickey Walker, Gene Tunney, Jack Dempsey, Marcel Thil, Max Baer, Max Schmeling, Johnny Dundee.
> 
> (The night that Joe Louis outpointed Tommy Farr in his first world title defence)


edit : some other images of this meeting i found and scanned...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Billy Fox speaks in 1981 about his life in boxing as well as the infamous Jake LaMotta fight and it's aftermath for him...

(best of my knowledge he is still alive today....91 years old.)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Some of the top personalities in boxing pay respects at the grave of middleweight great Stanley Ketchel on March 8, 1913, more than two years after he was murdered. A hired hand shot Ketchel at a ranch where he was staying in Conway, Mo., and the fighter died that night in Springfield. Ketchel was only 24. Pictured at Ketchelâ€™s grave, at Holy Cross Cemetery in Grand Rapids, Mich., are (left to right) Jimmy Dunn, the manager of featherweight Johnny Kilbane; middleweight Jimmy Clabby; Kilbane; bantamweight Johnny Coulon; heavyweight Luther McCarty; and manager Billy McCarney.


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## GPater (Sep 18, 2012)

awesome thread


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"One afternoon, Jack Dempsey strolled quietly into Stillman's gym on eight avenue and after passing the time of day with several old pals, he walked up on to the balcony while "Two Ton" Tony Galento was going through the motions of working out. Galento was fatter than ever, hopelessly out of condition and quite obviously doing nothing about it.

Anyway, he didn't see Dempsey and continued waddling lazily around the ring, clowning wisecracking and grinning as he fooled with his sparring parthers. After watching a couple of rounds Dempsey came down to ringside. He was wearing a beautifully cut light grey suit, tan and white shoes, and white silk shirt and when Tony caught a sight of him, he waved a glove at the ex champ.

''Hiya Jack" he grinned. ''You look like a million bucks dis afternoon'' Dempsey gave him a mean look, ''never mind how I look, you big bum" he said "lets see you do some work''

Galento must have thought he was joking, because he made no attempt to speed up his work and carried on ambling around until Dempsey blew up. ''Have you a pair of Gloves Ray?" called out Dempsey. Then taking off his coat, he stripped right down to his white silk, monogrammed underpants and vaulted into the ring.

''Now Tony'' he said ''it's you and me. I'II show you how we used to do it'' He began huming a little tune - and old Dempsey mannerism- and then, as Galento backed away, he flashed into action. Jack was 40 years old, but his body was lean and tanned, and for three memorable minutes he was the old Dempsey, the murderous, tearaway Manassa Mauler of the 1920's.

He ripped punches into Galento's podgy torso from all angles, split his lips with a terrific left and sent the blood spurting from his nose. ''Lay Off Jack'' Galento gasped as he staggered backwards vainly trying to cover up. But Dempsey showed him no mercy, he chased after him until time was called.

Still breathing easily Dempsey ducked under the ropes and began to dress, while Galento stood shaking his head in a semi daze and trying to wipe the blood from his face with the back of his gloves.

When dressed, Dempsey gave him one contemptuous look. ''That's how we used to fight!!" "

(Ray Arcel: A Boxing Biography)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1912


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

After retiring from boxing, Kid Berg became a movie stuntman, working mainly in Westerns, this gave him a wardrobe for life. He smoked cigars incessantly â€" Optimos that were sent to him from New York.

All his defeats apart from Canzoneri, Berg put down to the effects of womanising, which he believed weakened his legs, but which he said he couldnâ€™t resist. He was particularly defiant about his defeat by Billy Petrolle, who had him down seven times - but only because, Berg insisted, â€œI was messing around with this particular broad.â€ Most of his big fights took place in the United States, and he had a penchant for the American vernacular. He finished boxing in 1946 at the age of 35, with an extraordinary record of 157 victories (with 61 knockouts), 26 losses, and nine draws. Known for his prodigious punch-rate, Bergâ€™s moniker was â€œThe Whitechapel Windmillâ€ or, in America, â€œWhirlwind.â€

He was managed by Frankie Jacobs and trained by the late Ray Arcel, that most distinguished and honourable of trainers, who saw off the Mob in the form of Frankie Carbo et al and regarded Berg as almost a son and his favourite fighter, even though Arcel trained many other champions, including Roberto Duran. Berg had arrived in his custody off a boat from England in 1928, when he was 18 and, according to Arcel, â€œLooked like a little girl.â€ Arcel was soon disabused of such notions. â€œNot only could he fight,â€ Arcel once recalled. â€œBut he thought he was Godâ€™s gift to the ladies. You had to watch him like a hawk.â€

Berg once said he was convinced one of his cornerman had been stabbed on the way to the ring to face Kid Chocolate.

In his last year or so Berg moved to the Essex coast. His wife Morya died before him. So did Ray Arcel. To the end he followed his usual routines. He remained friends with Kid Lewisâ€™ son, Morgan, to the last, believing he had a protective duty towards him, and still went to Soho.

Despite his age Berg was still an active driver in his little red car, which he drove extremely aggressively, indeed specialising in curb side confrontations. He had been arrested for chinning another, much younger motorist, but turned up in court in a borrowed wheelchair and was let off.

Berg went to New York for the 90th birthday party of Ray Arcel. There, among a stellar cast that included Holmes, Graziano, Zale, LaMotta and Pep, as well as contemporary champions such as Breland and McGirt, Berg stole the show with an emotional speech about how much Arcel meant to him. On the way out, I was collared by an octogenarian former fighter who, pointing at Berg, announced, â€˜Forget all the others. This is the guy. This guy is really the one.â€™
Coincidentally there was a musical named â€œLegs,â€ about the â€˜30s gangster Legs Diamond, playing on Broadway at the time. Berg knew Diamond well, having once been threatened with death by him for attempting to chat up Diamondâ€™s girlfriend at the Harding Hotel, where Berg lived one floor beneath Mae West. â€œWe had to do a lot of fast talking to get out of it,â€ was Arcelâ€™s recollection. Berg had also been au fait with Harlem nightlife, and was a regular at the Cotton Club, whose benefactor, Owney Madden (played in the movie by Bob Hoskins) had been a big Berg fan.

Once Berg took an interest in a Jewish fighter called Gary â€œKidâ€ Jacobs from Scotland, a useful welterweight apparently named in the tradition of Kid Lewis and Berg. Jacobsâ€™s management did not know what they had let themselves in for by adopting this marketing strategy. Berg trailed him like a protective bloodhound, saying â€œGary is the new me.â€ Jacobs, who was sensible enough to play along with it, asked Berg if he had any specific tips. â€œLay off women before a fight,â€ Berg replied. â€œJust remember what happened with me and Billy Petrolle.â€

He was someone who resolutely refused to countenance the banality of ordinary life, and was determined to live a mythic one, visiting again and again its landmarks. He himself had established them, after all.

(by Jonathan Rendall)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 31, 1950

"Tony Janiro laughed at the 12-5 odds against him last night as he fought former middleweight champion Rocky Graziano to a 10 round draw in MSG. In the 1st Janiro almost floored Rocky with fast lightning lefts and rights to the head. The New Yorker weathered the storm and was holding his own at the end of the round. After that it was a slambang battle for four rounds as Tony countered the former champ's round swings with dazzling left-right combinations to the head. Janiro lost his steam in the 6th and Rocky handed him a severe beating through the next three frames. In the 10th Janiro surprised with a blazing spurt that befuddled the ring rusty New Yorker." -Associated Press (April 1)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Muhammad Ali v Jack Johnson - Fantasy Fight Report

"Come out here and fight!" Johnson yells to Ali
Muhammad is careful blocking shots, but unable to counter effectively, Jack's speed is obviously bothering him...
Johnson is landing jabs to Ali's face..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 1939

57 year old former lightweight champion, Battling Nelson and 50 year old former bantamweight champion Johnny Coulon compete in a three round exhibition in Chicago.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The before and after story of Carmine Vingo's brutal battle with Rocky Marciano which left him in a coma fighting for his life...


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## Ted Spoon (Aug 13, 2013)

Johnson beats Ali by 7th round knockout!? That's some prediction.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Owen Moran pictured in 1909


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> After retiring from boxing, Kid Berg became a movie stuntman, working mainly in Westerns, this gave him a wardrobe for life. He smoked cigars incessantly â€" Optimos that were sent to him from New York.
> 
> All his defeats apart from Canzoneri, Berg put down to the effects of womanising, which he believed weakened his legs, but which he said he couldnâ€™t resist. He was particularly defiant about his defeat by Billy Petrolle, who had him down seven times - but only because, Berg insisted, â€œI was messing around with this particular broad.â€ Most of his big fights took place in the United States, and he had a penchant for the American vernacular. He finished boxing in 1946 at the age of 35, with an extraordinary record of 157 victories (with 61 knockouts), 26 losses, and nine draws. Known for his prodigious punch-rate, Bergâ€™s moniker was â€œThe Whitechapel Windmillâ€ or, in America, â€œWhirlwind.â€
> 
> ...


:happyAnother great article in your steady rolling great thread doug.ie...I salute you again....and Optimo's back then were really good cigars!!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Jack Dempsey (Jun 4, 2013)

Nice piece on Berg although he didn't outlive Arcel as the article states, Berg died in '91 Arcel in '94

Heres Bergs 'This is your life'


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sept 23, 1948 - Yankee Stadium

Despite being rated the number-two challenger for the title with just three losses in 50 contests, Jesse Flores (134Â¾) was unable to offer much of a threat to Ike Williams (134Â¾), being content to box on the back foot. Finally catching up with his rival Williams dropped him twice in the fifth and eighth rounds before Flores, trying to avoid the punches coming his way, took a count of â€˜threeâ€™ after slipping over in the ninth. In the tenth it was all over at 2.04 of the session after the elusive Flores was felled by a right to the jaw and counted out after being set up with jabs and a tremendous left hook to the body.

Overshadowing this title bout, was an exciting fight on the undercard between Sugar Ray Robinson and Cuban Kid Gavilan. Gavilan, a future world champion, hurt Robinson several times during the fight, but Robinson was able to control the final rounds with a series of jabs and left hooks giving him a controversial 10 round decision.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"During my training (for Fireman Jim Flynn - 1912) Harry Wills appeared on the scene, seeking a place as a sparring partner. I engaged him, but he remained only for a few days. He proved wholly unable to stand the grind and was compelled to acknowledge that the ordeal was too much for him. He returned to New Orleans." - Jack Johnson


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1932


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

January 1947 - Chicago

Still in good shape at 65, Oscar 'Battling' Nelson, one of the all time great prizefighters, tosses packages at his job of clerk in Chicago's main post office. Nelson won the world's lightweight championship in 1908, was for years before and after at the top of the division.


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

Baksi vs Mills


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## johnmaff36 (Aug 3, 2012)

i dont believe johnson 1 iota


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

Best thread on the forum Doug:happy


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sonny Liston - Ulster Hall, Belfast, Northern Ireland - Sept 1963..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of Bernard â€œSuperbadâ€ Mays, described as the best boxer of his era by those who knew him, and yet a talent wasted and a name unknown to many boxing fans.

A record of 200 amatuer bouts with only 1 defeat, and 40 pro bouts with only 1 defeat in the last fight of his career.
By 16 he was an alcoholic and in 1994 at aged 33 he died penniless from the effects of that alcoholism.

Mays trained at the famous Kronk boxing gym in Detroit in the 1970's, a gym that was in the process of producing some of the greatest champions of the following decade, and for a while unsung Bernard Mays was the daddy of them all.

Speaking of his amatuer fights, legendary Kronk trainer Emmanual Stewart said "the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays"

Multiple weight World Champion Tommy Hearns said of him â€œBernard Mays was the king. I almost gave up boxing because I dreaded going to the gym every day. I knew Iâ€™d have to get in the ring with Bernard.â€

........................................

The following piece was written by Fred Girard (The Detroit News)....

Best of all

â€œHe was the most talented Kronk boxer of all,â€ Steward said. â€œHe was like a legend, really.â€

Kronk boxers says Steward is not exaggerating.

â€œIt gives me chills just to talk about him,â€ said Robert Tyus of Detroit, one of the original Kronk team, winner of two amateur national titles. â€œSuperbad Mays was like Sugar Ray Robinson â€" he had it all.â€

â€œSuperbad Mays was the awesomest fighter I ever saw â€" he could devour you,â€ said John Johnson of Detroit, who won a national amateur title under Steward. â€œSpeed is power â€" itâ€™s the punch you canâ€™t see that knocks you out â€" and Bernard had a wicked left hook that would just take the breath from your body.â€

Tournament winner at 14

When he was 14, Mays swept to victory in the 106-pound class of the national Junior Olympic tournament. Two years later, he repeated in the 139-pound division. He fought more than 200 times as an amateur, losing only once, and at every fight, Steward said, the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays. 
But, â€œBernard started disappearing on me,â€ Steward said. â€œHeâ€™d always been quiet, but he got moody, stopped showing up at the gym regular.â€

Sixteen-year-old Superbad Mays had become addicted to Colt .45 malt liquor.

â€œBernard and I had been drinking and smoking since we were 14,â€ acknowledged Eric Williams. That was also about the time, family members say, Prince Milton left and stopped being any influence on his young sonâ€™s life.

Former world lightweight champion Jimmy Paul said that at the 1977 Ohio State Fair national tournament â€œIâ€™d be in bed sound asleep the night before every fight, and Bernard would be out drinking beer with the ladies all night, then come in and absolutely destroy everybody else in the tournament.â€

"Tommy Hearnsâ€™ first loss of deep significance came in a sparring match with Bernard â€˜Superbadâ€™ Mays. At the time Hearns was confident, flush with amateur success. He would eventually amass an amateur record of 155-8 and win the 1977 National Amateur Athletic Union Light Welterweight Championship and National Golden Gloves Light Welterweight Championship.

This day he was literally broken and remade.

Mays crushed Hearnsâ€™ nose. Some young men would have quit the ring. Hearnsâ€™ reacted with disgust and determination. He returned to the gym a different fighter, and the change was evident to everyone present. From that day the effects of that punch showed like a badge on Hearnsâ€™ face."

Turned pro in 1978

When he turned professional in 1978, Mays parted company with Steward, who had hounded him about his drinking. His next manager, Chuck Davis, tried just as hard, and had just as little success.

Mays hired noted Oakland County attorney Elbert Hatchett to break his contract with Davis. After he did so, Hatchett, who fought as a kid and followed the game all his life, decided to manage and promote Mays himself.

â€œWe lost a ton of money,â€ Hatchett said. â€œBernard fought like Joe Louis. He was a middleweight, a classic boxer, just classic. He was the first guy (who) I saw knock somebody out hitting him in the side. But he would drink beer all the time.â€

Roland Scott, Maysâ€™ last trainer, said. â€œThat beer just tore him up. He would get absolutely smashed.â€

Won 40 straight

At the age of 31, Mays had fought 40 times as a pro and won them all, when everything caught up with him in a bout in California. An opponent hit Mays hard and staggered him badly, costing Mays the fight. The next day Hatchett had him in a hospital.

Maysâ€™ alcohol-damaged pancreas was dangerously inflamed.
The doctor told Hatchett, â€œLook, this condition has progressed to such a point that he takes his life in his own hands if he decides to fight,â€ the doctor told Hatchett.

Superbad Mays would fight no more.

He stayed with his mother for a time, and after she died, a broke Mays entered the New Light Nursing Home in Detroit.

â€œHe walked in here under his own power,â€ said administrator George Talley, and stayed for nearly a year.

In the final weeks his condition deteriorated rapidly. â€œWhen I saw him there at the end, his stomach was so swollen it looked like he was pregnant,â€ trainer Scott said.

On March 1, 1994, at 9:55 p.m., Superbad Maysâ€™ heart stopped, unable to fight any longer against the crushing load of diabetes, chronic pancreatitis and chronic malabsorption syndrome.

He is buried in an unmarked grave â€" Section 4, Row 18, grave No. 36 â€" in Mt. Hazel, a small cemetery on Detroitâ€™s far west side that has been closed for years.

Maysâ€™ sister, Esther Farley of Ypsilanti, signed the death certificate.
â€œIt was a painful thing to visit Bernardâ€ in the nursing home, she said. â€œHe was always a real charmer, a sweetheart â€" who knows where his life miht have led?
â€œBut alcoholism is a terrible disease.â€


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Decy said:


> Best thread on the forum Doug:happy


ah...its not 

i need to update all the early posts in the thread...got dead image links....made a schoolboy error by linking to the facebook images instead of from the blog.....i'll fix this thread up next week.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 11, 1953 - Detroit

Kid Gavilan, the welterweight king from Cuba who wants a crack at the middleweight title, looked back with regret today on last night's easy victory over Italo Scortichini.

The 27 year old champion spent most of the 10 rounds trying to catch Scortichini, a stocky youngster from Milan, Italy, who has been campaigning in the United States for six months and can't as yet speak english.

Gavilan felt that the crowd of 5,000 at the Olympia didn't get its money's worth.
"It too bad," Gavilan said "He disappoint crowd. He Disappoint me. Maybe he scared? Maybe he hear bad things about me? I don't know. But it too bad."

Scortichini, who claims to be the Italian welterweight champ, fought it out with Gavilan only briefly during the early minutes of the non-title bout. After that, the 24 year old boxer kept back-peddling until the final bell.

The fight was so one-sided that judge Al Goodman scored it 60-40 in favourr of Gavilan. That means Scortichini didn't win a single round in Goodman's opinion. Referee Clarence Rosen wasn't quite as drastic, he favoured Gavilan 58-42 and judge Jack Aspery saw it 57-43.

Scortichini, in suffering his sixth ring reversal, held an advantage of more than three pounds over Gavilan. He weighed 155 while the 'Keed' scaled under 152.

(Reading Eagle)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"The Battle of the Z Boys"

In one corner, you had the 23-year old World Boxing Association champion, who not only hadn't lost a fight but has never had to have a decision rendered in 28 professional fights, the immovable object, Alfonso Zamora.

In the opposite corner, carrying the World Boxing Council colors was a 25-year-old with 45 straight wins, 44 by knockout, the irresistible object Carlos Zarate.

This fight mightâ€™ve featured the highest combined knockout ratio in the history of big-fight boxing. The Mexicans had a combined record of 74-0, with 73 knockouts, going into the fight.

All the ingredients for a class confrontation were there, all, that is, except one. Instead of meeting for undisputed possession of the bantamweight boxing championship Zamora and Zarate were simply battling for bragging rights in Mexico.

"This non title bout wasn't my idea. It doesn't make any sense for two champions to fight and, when it is all over, both are still champions," said Zarate. "One of us will lose, but what will he lose? Some pride, some respect, his undefeated record, but not his title. I think it's time we stop this foolishness and settle this business of two champions."

However Zamora's braintrust â€" particularly his father Alfonso Sr.â€" were more than happy to collect $125,000 for a non title, over-the weight clash. "We fight Zarate for the money and the other contenders for the championship," explained the elder Zamora.

Although there was no bad blood between the boxersâ€""We are friends and visit each others houses but on this occasion I'm prepared to forget that," said Zarate

Having won titles both Zamora and Zarate were essentially based out of Los Angles, the Inglewood Forum under the direction of Don Fraser often hosting their fights. When Zamora began to fight outside of Inglewood, Fraser sought to bar him from fighting there again. In the end though it was Fraser who was able to sign the two fighters to a contract - for April 23, 1977 - but to the dismay of fans neither the WBC nor the WBA sanctioned the fight as a unification championship bout. The fighters were nevertheless guaranteed championship money - $125,000 a record sum for bantamweights. In 10 rounds or less the matter of whom the dominant bantamweight would have to be settled. Bad blood, managerial betrayal and personal vendettas made for a pre-fight chemistry that seemed to make certain that 10 rounds would not be necessary anyway.

Between a drunken man jumping into the ring in the first round and the epic battle that followed between the boxers, it would be just another wild night at the Fabulous Forum.

(Ring / Boxing Illustrated / Patrick Kehoe)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I was way behind, and I knew it. But I also knew I had him if I didn't run out of rounds." - Joey Maxim


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> "I was way behind, and I knew it. But I also knew I had him if I didn't run out of rounds." - Joey Maxim


In a negative sense, Maxim contributed to that victory just by surviving and being his usual defensive self. This was speculated on by some old boxing mag article where the writer said that if he did indeed use this strategy, it was "diabolically clever".


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Sonny Floyd, of Trenton, knocked out of the ring by middleweight slugger Eugene 'Cyclone' Hart, of Philadelphia, on May 19, 1970.
The stoppage came at 58 seconds of round 1.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On April 18, 1940, Norman Selby checked into the Hotel Tuller in Detroit, took an overdose of sleeping pills and bid the world adieu.

"To Whom it May Concern: 
For the last eight years I have wanted to help humanity, especially the youngsters who do not know nature's laws. That is, the proper carriage of the body, the right way to eat, etc. â€¦ To all my dear friends, I wish you the best of luck. Sorry I could not endure any more of this world's madness. 
The best to you all."

In an apparent last attempt to drop his professional moniker, the note was pointedly signed as, "Norman Selby"

He left the world as he came into it â€" as Norman Selby, but in between he lived his life as boxer Charles "Kid" McCoy. In the boxing ring, he was clever, devious, a notorious cheater and his flamboyance could rival the best in professional wrestling. His problem, however, was out of the ring â€" with women. Between his eight and ninth wife, he murdered his girlfriend.

Selby was born Oct. 13, 1872, in the Rush County community of Moscow, Ind., to Francis and Emily Selby. His early life was spent hopping freight trains with friends to Cincinnati and getting into rail yard scraps so often that it toughened him as a fighter.

At the age of 18, Norman Selby became a professional fighter and changed his name to Charles McCoy, which he allegedly acquired from a burlesque number featuring exploits of safecrackers, Kid McCoy and Spike Hennessey.

In the first three years of his boxing career, McCoy was undefeated in 20 fights and most of those were by knockout. He developed a corkscrew punch similar to a left hook with a twist at the end. His cat-and-mouse style of boxing that led to the eventual dismantling of his opponents gave him the reputation of being a vicious fighter.

McCoy would feign illness prior to a boxing bout and then beat his opponent leaving some to question "Is this the real McCoy?" Other accounts have the expression originating when in a saloon tussle with a drunk. "Beat it, I says, I'm Kid McCoy." And the drunk answers "Yeah? Well, I'm George Washington." McCoy then pops him in the jaw and he hits the floor. Once the drunk comes to, he says "Jeez, it was the real McCoy!"

McCoy, who was boyish in appearance, stood at 5 feet 11 inches and weighed 160 pounds. McCoy would often appear weak and ill in the ring, sometimes using makeup to fool his opponents. McCoy would also claim to not train, however he would hide away at Cedar Bluffs, his farm outside Saratoga, N.Y., and train like a madman.

McCoy never defended his titles, choosing to advance to other divisions despite his size. McCoy defeated Tommy Ryan in March 1896 to win the world welterweight title. This victory was under rather shady circumstances however. McCoy told Ryan he was dying of consumption and needed the money for doctor bills. Ryan didn't train and was willing to lay down. McCoy, however, was in top shape and took Ryan in the fifth round. In December 1897, McCoy won the world middleweight title with a 15th round knockout of Dan Creedon and despite his slight build, chose to enter the heavyweight division. He defeated the likes of Peter Maher and Gus Ruhlin and took on "Gentleman Jim" Corbett, but was defeated in what was considered one of the most staged fights in boxing history.

Against a deaf boxer, he pointed to the man's corner, indicating that the bell had ended the round. It hadn't. When the man turned away, McCoy knocked him cold.

The last fight of McCoy's career was against British Petty Officer Matthew Curran in London in 1914. At the 12th round of the 20 round bout, McCoy was failing badly. A timekeeper sitting by the ring placed a whiskey and soda at his side, McCoy hit the mat, downed the drink and finished the fight, defeating Curran. McCoy lost just 6 of his 166 career fights.

As successful as McCoy was in the ring, his life outside the ring was fraught with disappointment. He married his first wife, Lottie Piehler, in 1895. That union did not last, nor did any of his marriages as most had thoughts of reforming him, "and that was their mistake" he would say. He married nine times - three times to the same woman.

McCoy had a number of business ventures, a saloon, auto dealership, jewelry store and various other enterprises, but those would soon begin to lose money or fall victim to scandal.

Following his boxing career, McCoy entered the service of his country. Some accounts say he served with the National Guard along the Mexican border and as a recruiter, while other accounts have him in the Army as a boxing instructor. With eight divorces behind him â€" and an empty bank account because of them â€" McCoy moved to Hollywood and landed a few bit parts in silent movies courtesy of his friend D.W. Griffith. He also found a friend in actor Charlie Chaplin.

But as his fame dimmed, his temper rose and he found himself in many a bar room brawl. So there he was in the early 1920s â€" a broke, alcoholic, former boxer and actor. But what he did have was a romance with the wealthy wife of an antique dealer. And that was surely not going to end well.

Theresa Mors was an attractive 30-year-old woman who was smitten with McCoy and was filing for divorce from her husband, Albert. McCoy and Mors moved into a Los Angeles apartment under and assumed name. Following one of the many confrontations by the divorcing couple, McCoy said he was headed to New York for a break. McCoy and Mors had their own fight. The next day Mors was found by a janitor in the apartment. She had been shot once in the left temple. A .32-caliber pistol lay nearby and allegedly a photograph of Kid McCoy was on her chest.

The following day McCoy went on a wild crime spree holding 12 people hostage at the antique shop owned by Theresa Mors. McCoy left the store, shot the first three people he met before being apprehended by police in a park.

During the trial, McCoy claimed Mors shot herself, which was rebutted by the prosecution. His acting career must have served him well during his defense as news accounts report McCoy's vivid details of that night. The charges were reduced from murder to manslaughter and McCoy was sentenced to San Quentin. McCoy was a model prisoner and had one of the cleanest records in the prison history. Because of his celebrity status he was visited often by his old Hollywood pals, Lionel Barrymore and Al Jolson. There was even a campaign to "Free McCoy" supported politicians and actors alike.

McCoy served eight years of a 24-year sentence. Working on a chain gang near San Simeon, he saved an injured pilot from the wreckage of a plane that crashed nearby. That led to a better job as a tour guide at San Quentin.

Paroled in 1932, Selby made a living as an athletic director for the Ford Motor Co., as an occasional gardener for Henry Ford and as a lecturer on the evils of strong drink and wild women.

(Dawn Mitchell / Cecilia Rasmussen)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Captain Bob Roper


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I had watched him continue his career as mine slipped away. Whatever he achieved I still felt he didn't deserve to be world champion, rolling in dough and glory. I keep seeing the big picture in my head of June 1972 and Duran is jumping about the ring with my title. I go white-hot with anger...nothing can cool me down.

All I ever wanted was a return fight but Duran stayed well ouut of my road. Every time I was in position to ask for a title fight there was some excuse...so here I am working as a joiner more than 20 years later and I can't take it. Any time I have tried to talk to another person about this, they just tell me, "Ken, it's just one of those things".

But it's not just one of those things. For the rest of the world it might be just one of those things, but for me it is the thing. And by now I am old enough and ugly enough to know that it has to be dealt with. If I had a pound for every time somebody asked me if I would have beat Duran [in a rematch] i'd be a millionare. And every time I got asked that question my heart broke just a little bit further.

I flew from Edinburgh to London...I got a flight to Kennedy Airport...to be honest it felt like it was just the day before I was fighting Duran. When we landed in America my heart was pounding. I was looking out the taxi thinking, what was I doing? One man in a city of ten million trying to find another single human being amongst the those ten million.

We arrived in Harlem where the bed and breakfast was. I got out of the cab and caught a few people loooking at me. But that didn't bother me. Nothing much frightens me at all now...the door opens and this woman pokes her head otu. She's about five feet nothing in her socks.

"Yes?"

"I phoned from the terminal. You said you had me a room for a couple of weeks."

"But man - you is white!"

"Jesus - you're the second person today to tell me that!"

"You're white!"

"Yes brilliant, Christ, I know that."

I smile, she smiles, and she lets me in. She takes me to Mrs. Wells restraunt up the street. Up the stairs we go and people are looking. She opens the door and we go in. The place falls silent. Not a fork or a knife s****ing a plate. Mouths are hanging open. There is a white man in the doorway...but I didn't give a **** - to be honest there are times in your life when nothing matters, and I think people pick up on that.

After about ten days looking for Duran in all the gyms and bars, I decided I was never going to find him...So after two weeks in Harlem I went back to Scotland..."

(Ken Buchanan)


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

Kenny ended up for a time in my home town of Coatbridge, Scotland, which I had left as a kid, although I was back there at different intervals living and reaffirming my Scots roots... Buchanan was shacked up with his bird, a local and that's what brought him there. he lived in Kirkwood or Kirkshaws and drank at a local pub there, the Woodend Bar among others. 

the place was a notorious 'no go' place and Kenny added a few L's to his record over the course of that period. Brits here will know full well the British Hardnuts and crazies I'm talking about and you had to be connected in such area's or you eventually came into dealings with one of these _uckers or another.

I met Buchanan many times years later, had a pint or two with him and always left him feeling good about himself, but I don't think he ever recovered from the belief he was robbed of that Duran fight. a fight he was clearly beat in, which is evident in the fight footage, but at the same time I don't think he hated Duran, just the thought of the Title loss and foul that close to the end of the fight.

Oddly though, I sold the above book when I sold my whole collection, and the book wasn't signed by Buchanan but by Michael Spinks... live is strange sometimes, but Buchanan was OK when not a bitter drunk, which I think he has since beaten that opponent too. God Bless him.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Al Capone poses with Jack Sharkey - Miami Beach, Florida - Feb 13, 1929 (Day before the St. Valentine's Day Massacre) - Sharkey was in training for his bout with Young Stribling.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

One night in 1950 Sugar Ray pranced out to listen to the referee's instructions before a 10-rounder with a tough middleweight named George (Sugar) Costner. Earlier in the week Costner had been popping off about howâ€"when he wonâ€"he would be the Sugar. Now, as Robinson stood in the ring, wearing a blue satin robe and his face hooded in a towel, he peered at Costner. When the referee was finished, he said, "Listen, Costner, there's only one Sugar. And that's me. So let's touch the gloves now because this is your last round."

Sugar Ray caught him with a left hook and a straight right hand and Costner was on his back. KO 1, it reads in the book.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On January 9th 1900 Terry McGovern, the former world bantamweight champion, became the first boxer to win a world title in the 20th century when he beat defending featherweight champion George Dixon, sending him to the canvas eight times. McGovern was also the last boxer to win a world title in the 19th century when he won the bantamweight title when he knocked out Pedlar Palmer in one round - the first queensberry rules bout to end inside one round.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

From The Scottish Daily Record - Mar 8, 2001

ROBERTO DURAN will finally break the longest silence in sport later this month by paying tribute to Ken Buchanan, the man whose WBA and WBC lightweight titles he took back in 1972.

Promoters Ian McLeod and Michael Antoniou are holding a testimonial dinner for Scotland's greatest boxer at Glasgow's Moat House Hotel on March 22 and Duran is hoping to bury the hatchet on one of the fight game's most enduring feuds by praising him.

Duran ended Buchanan's reign as world champion in controversial circumstances at Madison Square Garden, felling the Scot with a low blow in the 13th round.

Many believed the challenger should have been disqualified but instead he took the belts.

An all-time great following memorable bouts with Sugar Ray Leonard, Thomas Hearns, Marvin Hagler and Davey Moore, Duran has always maintained that Buchanan was his toughest opponent - which is presumably why there was never a rematch.

Buchanan was so desperate for a second crack at him that he once flew to New York on spec in an attempt to goad him into another fight. But his efforts were in vain.

Incredibly (and sadly), he is still active at 49 but following negotiations with his lawyer, Antonio Gonzalez, McLeod is confident the great man will send his best wishes by way of a video message on the night.

It looks like being one of the highlights of a star-studded evening and it all came about due to a chance meeting with the Panamanian legend on McLeod's honeymoon.

The former Commonwealth super-featherweight champion was in Las Vegas with new wife Fiona when he bumped into Duran.

McLeod said: "I'd gone along to a Press conference for Erik Morales' fight with Guty Espadas and I'd been chatting with Wayne McCullough and Emanuel Steward when there was this huge commotion.

"Duran had turned up and brought the place to a standstill. Everyone wanted to speak to him or get an autograph.

"When I managed to introduce myself to him through his lawyer, I let him know I was from Scotland and Ken's name cropped up.

"Duran said he didn't think Ken liked him and I replied that if he'd punched me where he punched him then I wouldn't like him much either."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

18th Oct 1948. Jersey City, New Jersey.

Tippy Larkin (L) watches as Dr. Harry Cohen, physician for New Jersey State Athletic Commission, puts the stethoscope to Charley Fusari during the physical examination for their bout here on Oct 21st. The bout's winner has been assured a crack at welterweight champion Ray Robinson's title.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 1, 1958 - World Featherweight Title - Wrigley Field, Los Angeles, California, USA

Hogan 'Kid' Bassey (Champion) vs. Ricardo 'Pajarito' Moreno (Challenger)

As soon as the bell rang a wild brawl ensued, instigated by the Kidâ€™s bull rush. Moreno quickly rattled, hurt and cut Bassey, but the slick Nigerian who possessed superb foot movement survived and quickly changed tactics, fighting more circumspectly. Soon he was controlling matters and began battering Pajarito seemingly at will with long and well-leveraged rights; one potshot after another. Finally a hard right hand caught the dazed Moreno flush on the chin and that was that. Though Moreno struggled in vain to get up, referee Tommy Hart finished the count with two seconds left in the round but he could have counted to 100. Basseyâ€™s first title defense had been a violent one that featured non-stop aggression against a pressing and always dangerous opponent.

(Ted Sares)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Upon seeing Tommy Loughran at Mass, Da excitedly asked at the breakfast table, â€œDid you notice who received Holy Communion today? Tommy Loughran, Philadelphiaâ€™s best fighter, thatâ€™s who,â€ answering his own question before anyone else.

â€œPaddy, do you know why he is the best fighter?â€

â€œNo, Da.â€

â€œBecause he thinks, thatâ€™s why. He uses his head,â€ Da said. â€œWhen he broke his right hand, years ago, he taught himself how to use his left hand. Now he can lead with either one. Furthermore at the end of every round, he maneuvers the other fighter into his corner. That way, Tommy just sits down while the other fellow has to walk across the ring. Eight or nine rounds of walk can tire a fighter out. Thatâ€™s how Tommy beat Tony Marullo last Monday night. The exhausted Marullo could hardly stand on his feet at the end of the fight. I know because some fellows who saw the fight told me,â€ Da said.

â€œHeâ€™s a model Catholic as well, did you see how proud he looked receiving Holy Communion? Whenever he intends to receive Holy Communion the next morning, Loughran refuses to take a drink of water following a fight. Thatâ€™s a fact. He said so himself. Let that be a lesson on being a good Catholic.â€

â€œWhy does he go to our church?â€™...Does he live around here?â€

â€œNo, he owns in a big house in Chestnut Hill where the rich people live. When he comes to our church, he always receives Holy Communion from Father Smith. Do you know why? Because Father Smithâ€™s the son of Tommyâ€™s trainer, thatâ€™s why! I predict that some day, Tommy will be the heavyweight champion of the world.â€

Da proved to be partially right in his prediction. In October, Tommy Loughran defeated Mike McTigue to win the light heavyweight championship. However, there were some who disputed his claim to the title. Shortly after being crowned champion, Loughran came home to Philadelphia to defend his title against Pat McCarthy, a fight that Da attended. â€œLoughranâ€™s a true champion,â€ Da proclaimed when he got home that night. â€œHe always led with a series of left jabs, then followed up with a combination of lefts and rights. McCarthy had no skin on his face by the end of the eighth round because he got hit that often.â€

Da, along with the entire sporting world, eagerly awaited the return match between Dempsey and Tunney. The challenger, Jack Dempsey, planned to enter the ring in the best shape of his life after preparing for his opponentâ€™s style by training with Philadelphiaâ€™s Tommy Loughran. Originally a Tunney supporter, Dempseyâ€˜s association with Loughran gave Da second thoughts. He didnâ€™t know who to root for, so he planned to settle in his easy chair and listen to the bout on the radio along with sixty million fight fans. â€œI intend to hear the fight Thursday night, and I donâ€™t want to come home to a broken radio,â€ Da said, commanding his flock to take care of his prized possession.

Successful in defending his Light Heavyweight title against Mickey Walker and Jim Braddock, Tommy faced a formidable opponent as he attempted to move up in class. Loughran believed that his sparring experience with Jack Dempsey prepared him for heavyweight opponents, but he soon learned otherwise. His first bout against Jack Sharkey ended in a knockout. Tommy was the one knocked out. He kept his heavier opponent off balance with left jabs; however, Sharkey hit Loughran with a solid right hand in the fourth round which stunned the Light Heavy Weight Champ. The referee declared Tommy out on his feet and awarded the bout to Sharkey.

â€œHeâ€™ll be back, just you wait,â€ Da proclaimed whenever anyone asked him about Loughranâ€™s ability to fight the â€œbig boys.â€

Fighting once again became the dominant conversation in the Oâ€™Donnell household. This time it concerned a professional bout between Philadelphiaâ€™s Tommy Loughran and the Italian giant Primo Carnera. Da opposed the fight, not because of the size of the Italian, but because it was rumored that he had mob connections, and Da thought the fight might have been fixed.

............

I shuddered as I sat at ringside and watched the Alpine Mountain Man lumber across the ring to touch gloves with the polished boxer, Philadelphia-born Tommy Loughran. â€œThere is no possible way the 184-pound Irishman could get near the Italianâ€™s chin,â€ I said to myself and to anyone near me who would listen. Loughran fought a valiant fight, but he couldnâ€™t lay a glove on any vital part of the 6 foot 5 inch, 270-pound monstrosity.

To add to the insult, early in the fight Carnera stepped on Tommyâ€™s foot and broke one of his toes, whether accidentally or on purpose.

Tommy plastered his hair with a foul smelling additive to prevent the Italian giant from leaning on him during the clinches. He pushed his head under Carneraâ€™s nose every time the Italian tried to wrestle rather than fight. I salute you, Tommy, for lasting the full 15 rounds. I never thought you would make it past the first.

(Patrick O'Donnell / James Francis Smith)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

This is a photograph of the $30,000 gold coin purse that was offered to the winner of the Joe Gans vs. Battling Nelson fight on September 3, 1906.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

A devastating right flattened Green. He almost made it to his feet before the count was completed, but most spectators and Referee Ruby Goldstein said that he didn't quite make it, and he was counted out. Harold then lost his temper and a free-for-all broke out. Green apologized afterward, but still received a year's suspension. Attendance was 18,592 paid, a sellout.
"Behind on points, Rocky nailed Green flush on the chin with his murderous right in 1:49 of the fatal 3rd. Harold fell face forward to the canvas, then rolled over flat on his back. As referee Ruby Goldstein completed the count of ten, Green jumped to his feet, yelling that Rocky had hit him illegally on the break, and tore after Rocky in a neutral corner. Goldstein threw his arms around Green and led him to his corner. There, Green suddenly eluded Goldstein and tore across the ring to Rocky's corner. Irving Cohen and ****** Bimstein, Rocky's co-manager and trainer, saw him coming and threw themselves before Rocky. By this time Sol Gold, Freddie Brown and Charles Duke, Green's corner, had followed Green across the ring and joined in the shoving and pushing. Graziano threw his robe away and the two struggled to reach each other. But it was not until the police entered the ring that order was restored." - Associated Press

(Sept 28, 1945 - Madison Square Garden, New York - 3rd fight in a trilogy between both boxers)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1929.

Paulino Uzcudun with his arms extended to show the muscles developed chopping down trees. This picture was made at his training camp at Hoosick Falls, New York, where he is making ready to meet Max Schmeling in the Milk Fund battle at the Yankee Stadium, New York City, June 27th.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

REFEREE ALMOST ACCUSED OF MURDER

On 5 October 1982, Belfastâ€™s Hugh Russell and Davy Larmour clashed at the Ulster Hall for the Irish bantamweight title. The fight, which was also a final eliminator for the British title, was a truly bloody affair that went the full fifteen rounds. Russell was awarded the narrowest of decisions by referee Mike Jacobs in a ring that resembled a butchers apron. On returning to London, Jacobs left his white shirt in to be dry-cleaned. However, when he returned to collect it he was handed an official letter from the girl in the shop asking him to report to the local police station. Once there, Jacobs was taken into a room and asked by CID how his shirt had come to be covered in so much blood? A simple explanation that he had refereed a boxing match in Belfast duly resolved the matter with the police. It seemed that the owner of the dry-cleaners had become suspicious when he was handed in the shirt and phoned police as he was convinced that Jacobs had been involved in a bloody murder.

(Eamonn Magill)


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> REFEREE ALMOST ACCUSED OF MURDER
> 
> On 5 October 1982, BelfastÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Hugh Russell and Davy Larmour clashed at the Ulster Hall for the Irish bantamweight title. The fight, which was also a final eliminator for the British title, was a truly bloody affair that went the full fifteen rounds. Russell was awarded the narrowest of decisions by referee Mike Jacobs in a ring that resembled a butchers apron. On returning to London, Jacobs left his white shirt in to be dry-cleaned. However, when he returned to collect it he was handed an official letter from the girl in the shop asking him to report to the local police station. Once there, Jacobs was taken into a room and asked by CID how his shirt had come to be covered in so much blood? A simple explanation that he had refereed a boxing match in Belfast duly resolved the matter with the police. It seemed that the owner of the dry-cleaners had become suspicious when he was handed in the shirt and phoned police as he was convinced that Jacobs had been involved in a bloody murder.
> 
> (Eamonn Magill)


Great story. Looking at the ref's shirt who could blame the girl at the drycleaners thinking the worst and the reporting it to the police?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Oct 28, 1920.

Harry Greb, light-heavyweight of Pittsburgh, won the newspaper decision over Mickey Shannon of Newark N.J. in their ten round bout here Thursday night. Greb scored a knockdown in the ninth round, but Shannon recovered and was able to stay the limit." (Decatur Daily Review) The Pittsburgh Post reported that Greb went in and simply traded blows with the heavier Shannon, making little effort at defense. Shannon held his own in the first round and clearly won the second. Greb handed out a lot of punishment in the next four rounds. Shannon rallied in the 7th, but Greb fought back and cut his eye. Greb socked Shannon all over the ring in the last three rounds, flooring him for a 3-count in the 9th. Shannon was badly marked at the end.

And these are the gloves that Greb wore...


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

Good to see this back Doug.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Decy said:


> Good to see this back Doug.


ah...thank you brother


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

May 25, 1939 - Harringay Arena, London, England.

Ernie Roderick v Henry Armstrong

"Ernie is the best fighter I ever fought" - Henry Armstrong


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Counted out on the 13th day of the month...in the 13th round...at 13 minutes past the hour.

Tommy Farr said it was the best fight he had ever seen.
..........................

October 1937.

At Shawfield Park (Glasgow, Scotland), capacity packed with 40,000 and thousands more unable to get in, it was vintage boxing, the likes of which a man would see, if he was lucky that was, only once in a lifetime.
It was Peter Kane at his greatest - unbeaten in 42 professional fights - and Benny Lynch at his pinnacle - and the best man won.
Peter Kane was a youngster of nineteen and had been a pro since he was sixteen - although he had been fighting long before that as a youth in the booths around the market towns of the North of England. Some scoffed at the idea of such a young fellow taking on the likes of Lynch. Nevertheless, Kane was unbeaten.
The English were convinced he was their answer to Benny Lynch.
Tommy Farr said it was the best fight of any weight he had ever seen. Elky Clark, former British flyweight champion, rated it the greatest flyweight match of boxing history. And Victor McLaglen, the former heavyweight boxer turned sucessful actor, picked him up in his arms to announce to everyone that he was holding the Jack Dempsey of the small men. â€œOh boy, what a fight,â€ he said. In his commissioned report of the fight he enthused even more...
"Itâ€™s the most exciting fight of its weight I have ever seen and although Kane was the aggressor until about the ninth round, Lynch seemed to have his measure all the time. . . . You would notice that Kaneâ€™s punches had little effect on your boy who seemed as fresh as paint after the fight. Indeed, I was surprised when I met him in Mr Russell Morelandâ€™s office afterwards to see how little bruised he was. How Kane weathered the twelfth round I donâ€™t know. Lynch had him at his mercy . . . it wasnâ€™t a knock out in the accepted sense. Kane was too weak to get up in the thirteenth . . . the gamest loser I have ever seen. And what a clean, fair fight it was. If you can promise me another fight as thrilling and sporting as this one then, boy, Iâ€™m certainly coming back to Scotland."
No one ever offered that promise.
And there never was another fight like that night at Shawfield Park, although other Scots were to win world titles. It was the fight men were to speak about for the rest of their lives. It was the fight the fifty-bob fighters, the men who knew and suffered their industry, said they never thought they would see the likes of, for they never thought two men could fight like that. Some of them had seen Jimmy Wilde. But no one had ever produced what they said was the ultimate in the sporting science called pugilism that Benny Lynch produced that night.

(by John Burrowes)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

May 28, 1950

Jersey Joe Walcott visits Europe to fight German heavyweight champ Hein ten Hoff. On a rainy evening at Mannheim Football Stadium, ten Hoff surprised everyone in the boxing world by losing to Walcott on a split decision over 10 rounds.

The promotor expected a 80,000 crowd. 31 special trains were on the rails to transport fans from all over the country. Yet "only" 25,000 showed up. The rain was one reason, the 70 DM price for tickets another.

In the second, ten Hoff's nose started to bleed. It was later reveiled that his nose had broken. Still he jabbed effectively into Jersey Joe's face. The American moved in fast on ten Hoff with series of hooks to the head and body. In the 4th he shook ten Hoff, but skidded on the wet canvas and the German recovered. ten Hoff had Jersey Joe against the ropes in the 5th and scored with three rights in a row. In the 6th both men slipped in the pouring rain. The 7th and 8th had occational right hand hits from ten Hoff, but Walcott was now in command, scoring at close range with series of hooks and uppercuts. His win was not controversial with the crowd.


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## johnmaff36 (Aug 3, 2012)

doug.ie said:


>


Carr looks a bit like quick Tillis here


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Only a minute into the fight, Walcott rocked Marciano with a straight right hand that forced Rocky to clinch. As soon as the two were separated, Jersey Joe gifted Marciano with his first knockdown at the end of a short left hook. Rocky got up at the count of four, ignoring the roars of his corner to stay down for an eight-count, and tried to redeem himself...


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## johnmaff36 (Aug 3, 2012)

Spider said:


> Great story. Looking at the ref's shirt who could blame the girl at the drycleaners thinking the worst and the reporting it to the police?


their 2 fights were smashers


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"It was cold and snowy, and I walked all day and couldn't get a job or a meal. So that night I was standing there at the lunch counter when my friends came in again. "Billy Elmer will give you five dollars to fight tonight," they said. I was too hungry to stand it any longer. Five dollars meant a thick steak and some browned potatoes and a piece of pie and a cup of real coffee. I stood there and thought with my mouth watering. And then I went upstairs and I won my fight."

â€" Freddie Welsh describing the moment he took his first paid fight.


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## NoMas (Jun 7, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> "It was cold and snowy, and I walked all day and couldn't get a job or a meal. So that night I was standing there at the lunch counter when my friends came in again. "Billy Elmer will give you five dollars to fight tonight," they said. I was too hungry to stand it any longer. Five dollars meant a thick steak and some browned potatoes and a piece of pie and a cup of real coffee. I stood there and thought with my mouth watering. And then I went upstairs and I won my fight."
> 
> â€" Freddie Welsh describing the moment he took his first paid fight.


Haha what a legend!!!


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> "It was cold and snowy, and I walked all day and couldn't get a job or a meal. So that night I was standing there at the lunch counter when my friends came in again. "Billy Elmer will give you five dollars to fight tonight," they said. I was too hungry to stand it any longer. Five dollars meant a thick steak and some browned potatoes and a piece of pie and a cup of real coffee. I stood there and thought with my mouth watering. And then I went upstairs and I won my fight."
> 
> â€" Freddie Welsh describing the moment he took his first paid fight.


Wow..


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

January 1945.

Robert Earl is flattened by a young Johnny Bratton in Chicago Stadium. Earl got up to continue fight until his seconds ended the bout.










...and Johnny Bratton in the 80's...










(credit to my man @Theron for the second, older bratton pic there)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

30 years ago today (part 1)...
.....................

The ringside scene is total chaos, as Hearns' mother can be heard sobbing at ringside and needs medical attention. One of the men in Hearns' entourage carries him across the ring the way you would carry a child, and places him on his stool. Meanwhile, Hagler's handlers are carrying him around the ring as he holds his gloves up in victory. "Am I the greatest?" Hagler asks Bernstein at the post fight interview. A disappointed but proud Hearns comes over to congratulate the still Middleweight Champion of the World. "We gave em' a hell of a show, we gave them their money's worth", said Hagler. No argument there. Bernstein asked Hagler if he was hurt in the first round. "No, it only made me madder. I was the champ, but I had to fight like the challenger."

(David McLeod - KO Digest)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Rocky Marciano was retired at the time - this must have been '64 or '65 so he'd been retired seven or eight years - and Rocky and I had been friends for a while and we were in a favourite hotel of ours in Miami. Rocky said to me, 'I want to get back in shape. I want to fight this guy Cassius Clay.' Well, Rocky was nearly 40 years old, but he didn't like Clay, I think he really didn't understand where he was coming from. Rocky was this very patriotic and humble guy in many ways, and Clay at that time was the opposite.

So he's saying, 'I'm going to get back in shape. I'm going to take him on.' And I said, 'Rocky, don't do that. You retired the undefeated champion of the world. You never lost a fight. You're going to have a beautiful life now, you never have to fight again.' Rocky said, 'Well, I don't like this guy. He breaks all the rules and he is just unethical.' I talked to Rocky for an hour. I said, 'Don't you dare try to get back in shape for this guy. Can you imagine losing after winning all those fights and retiring with an unbeaten record? You'd have to whip yourself into some shape to beat this kid. This kid is great.' And I meant that, because I thought and still think Ali was wonderful, both in and out of the ring.

'Get the hell outta here,' Rocky said, 'I can beat this kid.' And he told me how strong he still was, because Rocky was an immensely strong fighter - he didn't have a lot of finesse, but my goodness this guy was strong and could punch. So again I said, 'You're doing the wrong thing. You have a great life. You have free time to spend with your family and lots of endorsements. Forget the whole thing.' So I leave the room and I go out for a while, and when I get back Rocky isn't there. So I go up to the exercise solarium which they had on the roof to look for him, and they had this sandbag which was fastened to the wall, which was kinda like a heavy punch bag. Anyway it wasn't there anymore, the bolts had come loose and the sandbag was about ten feet away on the floor, and there was dust on the floor and everything.

Two of Rocky's friends were up there and I said, "What the hell happened? Where is Rocky?' They both shrugged and said, 'I don't know. He came up here real mad about an hour ago and punched that thing and broke the wall.' I guess Rocky was mad because he knew he could never fight Clay. Which was perhaps as well, at that time, because I loved 'The Rock' but I think he didn't need it and I'm not sure he would have won that fight.

(by Tony Bennett - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Bennett )

(via Matt Hamilton)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

i must say, i'm a little skeptical about what bennett says there ^^ ....as it was around the time when marciano was calling for a ban on boxing and preaching about the harm it does.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Feb 7, 1949

Rinty Monaghan sang "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" in the centre of the ring after a decision loss to future world flyweight champion Terry Allen at the Harringay Arena, London .


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

What happened was, as soon as the fight was over, Cosell called me over to the side of the ring and he said "as soon as they announce the decision come down here." Well, he knew I won. So, I was excited, I thought, you know, here I am, a small town kid from Minnesota, and Cosell is going interview me, this is cool. And then they announced the decision saying Johnny Boudreaux's name and they announced it in such an odd way. I mean it wasnâ€™t like they brought us to the middle of the ring or anything. If you remember, they just said "Johnny Boudreaux wins", trying to shuffle it by. At first, I thought they were just saying "hey, give a hand to Johnny Boudreaux" and I turn around and his arms are up in the air. I'm like "what"? Then I went over to Cosell and started screaming "this is the time, Howard, you have to tell it like it is, you're going to have to tell the truth!".

By this time, he had brought Boudreaux down to interview him and I'm yelling at Cosell "tell it like it is, I beat this chump and you know that!" Then Johnny Boudreaux called me some names, something to do with my mother of course, and that's when I tried to kick him in the mouth. I kicked out at Boudreaux and, when I did, Boudreaux jumped back and got his foot entangled in the head set and Cosell's toupee went right off with the headset. I have it on tape and, when I feel low some nights, I put that on and run it back and forth, back and forth. Then, I feel better.

(Scott LeDoux)


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

we know this goes on the sport has a history of it, yet so many fighters get excused for the help they 'received' along the way.

I can't remember for sure if I watched this fight, but I vaguely remember Howard losing his wig, though that might also have been when Ali watch threatening him and attempting to knock it off. poor Howie.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

From the Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel...

Original blow-by-blow radio broadcast of the heavyweight fight between Joe Louis and Al Ettore.. fought on Sept 22, 1936 at the Municipal Stadium, Philadelphia.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He must have wondered where the tornado had come from. He marched from his corner full of confidence at the opening bell, looking relaxed and assured as he fired off punches at his thicker-set challenger. Cerdan, protecting himself ably, waited for a pause in the storm and then erupted with a two-fisted attack that staggered the champion and forced him on the retreat. Zale never got back into the fight. Bewildered by the speed and accuracy of Cerdanâ€™s crashing right hands, Tony was sometimes outpunched by a ratio of three or four to one as the steady beating from Marcel became more intense with the passing rounds. Cerdan would frequently feint with the right, causing Tony to shift into the firing line for the left hook.

Zale never did lose his withering look of the cold assassin. Nor did he stop punching back. He simply couldnâ€™t make any progress. Those of his punches that were not slipped or blocked were unable to check Marcelâ€™s progress. The Frenchman had set a torrid pace and Tony began to wilt. Mustering all his old know-how, the brave champion had no option but to clinch and muddle his way through the rounds, confining his replies to brief and ineffective bursts of punching.

By the eleventh round, Tony was holding and hustling desperately when a right uppercut finally unhinged him. In one of the most poignant vignettes ever seen in the boxing ring, Zale tried heroically to remain on his feet as he slumped against the ropes. Then sheer exhaustion cut his strings and he collapsed to his knees as his handlers rushed to his aid.

It was four oâ€™clock in the morning in Paris when Cerdanâ€™s many fans received the news that their man was the new middleweight champion of the world. In the Montmartre section of town, a big crowd gathered and celebrated joyously. In nightclubs and little street cafes, Cerdan was toasted. People poured onto the streets to discuss the fight after hearing the broadcast on French radio.

In the Roosevelt Stadium, Cerdan was dazed and uncertain how to react as the stunned pro-Zale crowd gradually drank in the greatness they had seen and gave a roar of appreciation for the new monarch.

(by Mike Casey)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The story of the first meeting between heavyweight champion Max Baer and, unknown to him at the time, Joe Louis.
"Say, kid, if i'm keeping you up, let's both go to sleep." - Everybody laughed, except Joe...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

March 21, 1941 - Detroit, Michigan

Heavyweight champion Joe Louis, with both feet off the ground, lands a left to the head of the much larger Abe Simon in the 15th defence of his title - the last heavyweight title fight scheduled for 20 rounds.










Joe Louis Stops Abe Simon in Thirteenth Round
Associated Press, March 22, 1941...

The impossible didn't quite happen tonight but it came close enough to throw a substantial scare into Joe Louis and his fistic family before the Bomber was able to do his work.
With just a whale-sized heart and a dazzling left hand, the New York giant, Abe Simonâ€"the big target who wasn't supposed to have one chance in a million of lasting more than three roundsâ€"gave Louis a "helluva" fight of it for 12 full heats before running afoul of the Brown Bomber's big guns in the thirteenth.
With the greatest indoor crowd in Detroit's fistic history jamming the Olympia and gasping in amazement at Simon's sensational showing, Abe gave just about as good as he received until the thirteenth. Then, floored twice by heavy-duty right hand shells, he got up and staggered helplessly into the ropes near his own corner. There, Referee Sam Hennessey rushed in and halted the bout with Louis a tired technical knockout winner at 1 minute, 20 seconds of the thirteenth.
A total of 18,908 fans bulged this big arena at the seams and hung from the rafters to see the hometown champion, and Promoter Mike Jacobs said some 3,000 who couldn't even crowd into the packed standing room sections, were turned away. The gross gate was $56,605.10.
But, although he locked his world heavyweight championship in the safe successfully for the fifteenth time, the great Louis was slightly less than a ball of fire. After it was over, the "experts" agreed he was mighty lucky not to have had to face the speed and left hand of a Billy Conn tonight.
He finished up with a "mouse" under his left eye and the optic half closed and he left the definite impression behind that he is no longer at his peak, although at 202 pounds tonight his handlers insisted he was "in the pink."
Altogether, Louis floored Abe four times during the 13 rounds this scheduled 20-rounder lasted. In the first roundâ€"in fact the first punch he threwâ€"Joe whistled a right off Abe's "wiskers" that dropped him near a neutral corner. He was up without a count, however. In the third, another of the same sat Abe down in another corner, and be stayed grinning on the seat of his pants until the referee reached nine.
Then, although Abe was hurt three times afterward, he didn't go down until the thirteenth. For several rounds before that Joe had been stalking the mountainous Manhattanite, obviously holding his fire until he had an open shot.
He got it in the thirteenth. A smashing right dropped Abe near his own corner for nine. He got up as Joe rushed in sensing the kill. Three more rights dropped Abe in almost the identical spot, and again he took nine before climbing to his feet. Joe raced across the ring once more, but this time "our Abe," as Manager Jimmy Johnston calls his gladiator, was helpless and through. He staggered blindly into the ropes and it was all over.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Robinson went down hard.

His head seemed to hit the canvas before the rest his body. When he rose, just before referee Joseph could reach eight, his legs were unsteady and it was apparent his head wasnâ€™t quite clear.

Joseph gave Robinsonâ€™s gloves a quick wipe on his shirt and backed off. There were a full two minutes left in the round - an eternity for a shaken fighter.

Described by one writer as being elated but incredulous to the upturn in his fortunes, the blood rushed to Ohio sharpshooterâ€™s head, as he stormed after Robinson. Ripping hooks and right crosses, all intended to finish matters on contact, Bellâ€™s punches became a little looser and wider. Robinson immediately back pedaled, desperately ducking and dodging the frenzied attack before holding on tight when Bell got too close.

The fans were on their feet, urging the underdog on. With Robinson in full scale survival mode, Bellâ€™s chased. With a little more composure, Bell might have been able to capitalize further, but slowly Robinson became steadier, and a little surer, and when the final bell rang was not just surviving, but gamely firing back.

Trying to capitalize on the events, and test Robinsonâ€™s resolve, Bell came out intent to keep the pressure on. Having rediscovered the composure that eluded him during the frantic push to end matters moments earlier, Bell mixed his attack nicely, using his jab, and going hard to the body.

Robinson tried to re-establish himself in the fight with his jab and keep the action as a comfortable distance, but Bellâ€™s pressure was unyielding. Shaking off whatever Robinson threw; he kept coming forward, and just before the round ended, landed another hard left hook. The punch shook Robinson, but there was no time to follow up.

The next two rounds were also carried by the determined efforts of Bell, who kept shuffling forward, letting his hands go while never taking a backwards step. He once again managed to stagger Robinson, this time near the end of the fifth round with a right cross to jaw.

With a third of the fight in the books, Bell had a clear upper hand â€" however a slight shift of momentum took place in the closely contested sixth. Robinson managed to bloody Bellâ€™s nose, which bled freely for the rest of the bout. Still Bell had his moments, and just before the bell, landed a grazing left hook, followed by a clean right hand.

Then came the decisive seventh round.

After being forced onto his back foot for much of the fight, Robinson went on the attack. He met Bell head on, and unleashed his full repertoire of dazzling offensive skills, including a relentless hooking assault to the body. Those whip like hooks, digging into Bellâ€™s midsection, finally cracked the Ohio manâ€™s resolve to not move backwards. Sensing his chance, Robinson drove Bell into the corner, where a left right combination late in the round buckled Bellâ€™s knees and had him holding on.

When Bell left his corner out for the eighth, some of the fire appeared to be gone, but he still came out pressing the attack. Softened up and a little slower, but still willing and determined, he was easy pray for Robinsonâ€™s punishing counters, and soon was being hammered all over the ring. At one stage, the besieged Bell slipped to the canvas after ducking to avoid a left hook.

In the ninth round, Bell used his jab to good effect, and managed to back Robinson off a little with two hooks to the body. It was only a momentary respite however, as Robinson quickly resumed his assault, and Bell continuously got the worst of the exchanges.

Finally, in the eleventh round, after landing several damaging hooks, Robinson followed up a double left hook combo, with a crunching right hand. The barrage sent Bell toppling to the canvas.

Bell struggled to his feet at the count of 8, but by all accounts, looked a thoroughly beaten man, and Robinson went all out for the finish. He battered his unsteady rival all over the ring, but when the bell rang, Bell was still on his feet.

The twelfth was a one sided barrage.

Just about everyone in the Garden felt Robinson would finish matters, as he unloaded his full arsenal on the exceedingly game, but near helpless Bell.

Robinson wailed away in a bid for the knockout, ripping hooks and right hands to the body and head, as he sent his tottering opponent staggering all over the ring. Through it all, Bell somehow stayed upright. He clutched and grabbed and used his jab as best he could to fend Robinson off, prompting one reporter to refer to Bell's amazing survival act as a miracle of ruggedness.

Coming out for the thirteenth, Bellâ€™s face was a gory mess. His lower lip and nose swollen and bleeding, and his eyes puffy from the pounding heâ€™d received. Robinson looking fresh by comparison was not completely unscathed, sporting cuts around both eyebrows.

Barely able to maintain his footing through the previous three minutes, most expected Bell to resume his survival tactics, yet he discarded the jab and grab of the previous round, choosing to crowd Robinson on the inside, while winging hooks to the body. There was nothing sharp or precise about what Bell could muster, but it was stirring, gutsy stuff that brought the crowd to its feet, and won him the round on the scorecards of many ringside observers.

Bell followed up his effort of the thirteenth, by continuing to bore in and swing away, while Robinson responded with the more precise return fire. Opinions were split on who won the round, with some preferring Bellâ€™s haphazard aggressiveness to Robinsonâ€™s accurate counters.

While both men were running on fumes heading into the fifteenth, Robinson hadnâ€™t absorbed close to the same amount of punishment, and had a little more snap in his shots. He again seized control of the battle, catching Bell repeatedly throughout the round. He just didnâ€™t have enough left in the tank to amp up the power on his punches, and couldnâ€™t put Bell into further duress. As the two exhausted fighters battled to the final bell, the appreciative crowd roared their approval.

The crowd applauded, as the two fighters received congratulations from their camps, while awaiting the official result. In the minds of most observers, there was not much doubt over who the winner was, but as with all competitive fights, thereâ€™s still a palpable tension in the air while the scores are being tabulated.

â€œIâ€™m the champ, George.â€ Robinson said to Gainford as they stood in the corner. Gainford warned him not to be so certain.

After a few minutes, the cards were handed to ring announcer Harry Balogh, who read the verdict.

Referee Joseph and Judge Arthur Schwartz both had Robinson ahead by scores of 10 rounds to 5, while Judge Jack Oâ€™Sullivan had Robinson in front by 8 rounds to 6, with one round even. Loud cheers greeted the unanimous decision, although a few scattered boos could also be heard.

The ringside press was in complete agreement with Robinson winning the decision, and with the sentiment that Bell had performed courageously in defeat.

As congratulatory cries rang down from the balcony, tears welled up in Robinsonâ€™s eyes.

Heâ€™d finally done it. The king now had his crown.

(by Andrew Fruman)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The day Ike Williams conquered Wales.

In 1946 tough Welsh Lightweight Ronnie James was desperately looking for a World Title shot after a long career fighting many of the best fighters around his weight from the UK and overseas.

The then powerful UK promoter Jack Solomans thought he had found just the opportunity for his fighter when he was ringside for Ike Williams fight against Bobby Ruffin in New York. Ike won by TKO in the 5th but Solomons still felt that Ike Williams was nothing special and that his fighter Ronnie James was just the fighter to beat him.

Straight away Solomons entered into negotiations with the Williams camp hoping to land a title fight in Wales for his fighter. As is often the case in Boxing these negotiations proved long and at times very difficult, with many arguments taking place between the two camps. Eventually Solomons managed to get all the contracts signed for Williams to come to Wales and defend his title (the Williams camp had originally wanted a ten round non-title fight).

The fight was set for 4th September 1946 and would take place in the open air at Ninian Park, Cardiff, Wales. The American Champion Williams would receive 25% of the gate and Ronnie James as challenger 15%.

Ike Williams arrived in the UK in a confident mood and was accompanied by his manager Cornelius â€˜Connieâ€™ Patrick and his trainer Harry Curley. But Jack Solomons problems were not yet over. Ike Williams then started making many demands, mainly about the food he wanted to eat, he was demanding such things like fresh fruit everyday. Solomons tried explaining to the Champion that many of the the foods he was asking for were just not available in the UK (remember this was in 1946 and food rationing was widespread). However Ike Williams wasnâ€™t interested in excuses he wanted his requested food, and fast.

Eventually Solomons managed to cater to his demands through some contacts at the American Embassy. Then there was more problems, about two weeks before the fight it started to rain and rain and rain. Not the best of weather for a big outdoor fight. Despite many around him calling for the fight to be prostphoned Solomons insisted that the fight would still go ahead. Thankfully on the morning of the fight the rain stopped and due to this and a lot of hard work by the men preparing the arena the fight wasnâ€™t called off.

In the weeks leading up to the fight the reports from the respective training camps was that Ronnie James was looking fantastic but Ike Williams was looking sluggish and less than motivated, this coupled with the fact that the Champion was still a few pounds over weight on the morning of the fight gave even more hope to the Welsh fans that their fighter would be lifting the Championship belt later that day.

But then the fight began, Ronnie James was a fine fighter but he was no match for the superb Ike Williams who just tore the brave Welsh fighter apart with a vicious body attack. Ronnie James hit the canvas six times that night and showed tremendous heart and bravery but in all truth he was never really in the fight and was stopped in the 9th.

Jack Solomons had made a terrible mistake, Ike Williams was indeed a great fighter who just crushed the pride of Wales that night.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Apr 24, 1953
Boston, Massachusetts


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

I can see that left hook as if it was yesterday, he didn't go down but I heard the 'aaggh!' and saw his face and from then on I knew I had him.

Once my gloves went on I was in warrior mode. The home crowd for McKenzie never bothered me â€" I would have fought in Vietnam because it was just me and the opponent in the ring.

After that left hook he knew that I could take him out with one punch, or at least I could hurt him, so that changed everything. Suddenly he realised he was in a fight.

He got so desperate that he tried to butt me in one of the rounds and got a warning from the referee, Randy Neumann. I managed to get out of the way but that could have not only ruined the fight but my career because it would have just opened me up.

I knew I had won, but in boxing you are never sure and Mickey Duff was lifting McKenzie and walking around the ring with him. But if they had given it to McKenzie it would have been one of the worst decisions in history.

When I heard 'and the new world champion' it gave me a feeling like I have never had before... when my hand was raised it was just indescribable.

Boxing is brutal and I remember when my mindset to the sport changed. It was the night Barry McGuigan won his World title at Loftus Road in 1985. I was fighting Bobby McDermott in a British title eliminator and I remember hearing from his corner 'Kill him, kill him Bobby, kill him Bobby and I could see the trainer out of the corner of my eye... that changed my mindset about boxing because to me it was just a boxing match. But it's more than that.

I remember before the fight all that the media was interested in was Duke, and my dressing room was like a ghost-town while you couldn't get near his for journalists. Afterwards it was the reverse, as you could not move in mine and his was empty. I slipped out to see duke to commiserate and I could just not believe the difference that there was, all because he lost the fight. But that's boxing for you - losing is a hard medicine.

(Dave 'Boy' McAuley)

*June 7, 1989 - Dave McAuley w pts 12 Duke McKenzie - IBF World flyweight title - The Arena, Wembley, London, England


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The thing about him was his charisma and connection to the fans. Perhaps it had to do with his Pryor-like style which consisted of amazing hand speed and footwork. He swarmed his opponents with a relentless style and accurate volleys one after another. And, of course, typical of so many other Korean fighters of that era, he was a rough guy who would use head butts and elbows if necessary.

Arguably, had he fought in the U.S. during his reign, Jung-Koo Chang's popularity would had rivaled that of Aaron Pryor, from whom he took his nickname. He went 37-1 in his first 38 outings. In 1983, he avenged his first loss by icing Hilario Zapata and capturing the WBC light flyweight crown. Amazingly, "The Hawk" then established what then would be a world record for the most defenses as World Light Flyweight champion, defending the title successfully 16 times between 1983 and 1988. Chang's record for successive title defenses in the 108 pound division would fall to Myung Woo Yuh who successfully defended his WBA Jr. Flyweight Title 17 times in his first reign between 1985 and 1991. Among those "The Hawk" swooped upon were rugged Mexican bomber German Torres (thrice), a young Sot Chitalada, Francisco Montiel (twice), Hideyuki Ohashi (twice), and the great Isidro Perez. Chitalada later avenged his loss with a MD win in 1990. The following year, he lost to Muangchai "J-Okay" Kittikasem and then retired

Chang was incredibly popular in South Korea and became the first Korean boxer to ever be ranked in the top 10 P4P by Ring Magazine. He also became one of the few champions from the lower weight classes considered as the best fighter pound for pound.

A party type of guy, not unlike the great Carlos Monzon, he drew the attention of young females. By the time he flew to Japan for a rematch against the number contender Hideyuki Ohashi who he had previously stopped in five rounds, his reflexes were not what they once were. In what was one of the great closet classics, He staggered Ohashi in the opening round. In round 3, he sent Ohashi to the canvas three times, but the challenger somehow got back up, hurting the champion with a counter punch before the round ended. Then, Ohashi began to come on strong knowing that he was badly behind on the scorecards. The two exchanged savaged shots without regard to their welfare and without any semblance of defense. Finally. "The Hawk" halted Ohashi after decking him twice in the eight canto. It was one for the books and one few ever heard about.

Had he retired there and then, it would have been a perfect ending, but boxing never promises anyone a happy ending. His wife took off to America with all of his money and, without a high school diploma, he returned to the ring in an all-too familiar story. However, it was within the realm of possibility for Chang to win another world title since he was only twenty-six years old. But he had peaked long before, and his return had the inevitable result as he lost to future Hall of Fame inductee Humberto "Chiquita" Gonzalez and then, in his final bout, to Maungchai Kittikasem of Thailand in a great fight--indeed, another classic in which Chang dropped his younger Thai opponent twice and looked as though he was on his way to become a two-division champion. Going into the 12th and final round, he was leading on all scorecards, but a Kittikasem left hook from hell sent him to the canvas badly hurt. He got up and was knocked down again, this time through the ropes. Though he bravely got up, he was done and the referee had no choice but to halt the fight. Talk about dramatic endings.

"The Korean Hawk" retired for good with a 38-4 record, but he again ended up on the wrong side of the financial ledger. However, he began working with promoters and later came back to the ring as a trainer for WBC Jr. flyweight champion Yo Sam Choi (who later would be fatally injured in a fight he won). Today, he reportedly runs a chain of boxing gyms along with former Jr. bantamweight king Sung Kil Moon in Seoul and he is also involved in promoting young boxers.

(by Ted Sares)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Feb 6, 1983 - Valle d'Aosta, Italy
Ray 'Boom Boom' Mancini vs George Feeney

'One of My Toughest Fights....he's definitely a world-class fighter' - Ray Mancini

...........................................

Mancini fought 10 bruising rounds against Feeney to take home a slim but unanimous decision in his first match since the bout that caused the death of Duk Koo Kim almost three months previous.

The 138-pound Mancini, the World Boxing Association lightweight champion, was cut above the left eye in the seventh round of the nontitle bout and was seriously rocked in the eighth by the durable 134-pound Briton. ''Scary,'' Mancini muttered with undisguised relief as he was led out of the packed, 1,500-seat arena with his victory.

After the fight, Mancini did not shy from the subject of Kim's death. ''With everything that happened, I was under a lot of pressure,'' Mancini volunteered. ''I'm very happy it's over, very relieved. I need mental relaxation now. I had a lot on my mind before this fight.''

'One of My Toughest Fights'

Throughout Mancini's training here, his manager, David Wolf, insisted that Feeney, the British lightweight champion, was a worthy adversary who would provide a real test despite his 15-8 record. It seemed like the typical hype, but the bout proved Wolf right. Feeney took Mancini's left jabs to the body and his sharp combinations to the head and responded in kind, never really looking shaky himself until the very end of the final round.

''That was definitely one of my toughest fights,'' said Mancini, who brought his record to 26-1, ''and I hope nobody's surprised. I said from the beginning that this man was tough and would bring out the best in me. He's definitely a world-class fighter. He definitely has a champion's heart.''

The three judges scored the fight 98-96, 98-96, 98-95, respectively. With the victory, however slim, secured, Wolf said he was pleased it had been such a trying contest. ''This was the fight we prepared for,'' the manager said. ''We knew the guy took a tremendous punch. Now we go back to a title defense without any doubts at all. If it had been an easy fight, we'd still have all those questions.''

The questions that Wolf felt were answered dealt with Mancini's reaction to having delivered the fatal blows to Kim in Las Vegas, Nev., last Nov. 13. Would his fighter be reluctant to pursue an advantage, Wolf wondered, if he were inflicting damage to his opponent?

''He finished hard,'' Wolf said. ''He didn't lay off when he had him hurt. We're right back on course.'' But Mancini was hurting in the seventh and eighth rounds. Feeney cut him above the eye in the seventh and landed blows to the head that opened the cut and wobbled Mancini in the eighth.

The fight was a physical spectacle, but the hours before were a different spectacle, with the excitement beginning Saturday night when 125 Mancini boosters arrived from Bagheria, the Youngstown, Ohio, fighter's ancestral home in Sicily. If they were weary from the 25-hour train journey, it was impossible to tell. Until late in the evening, the lobby of the hotel here rocked with accordion music and shouts of ''Boom Boom,'' the only English words the Sicilians knew.

Mancini was at the center of the tumult, hugging and kissing his great uncle and his cousins, signing autographs and posing for photographs. There were also about 50 people from the Youngstown area here for the fight, including Mancini's parents.

Throughout the afternoon, Mancini's handlers tried to send him up to his room for a nap. Instead, he greeted the Ohio contingent, taught his father to say ''mio piacere'' -''my pleasure to meet you'' - and told his mother about attending mass this morning with the Bagheria relatives at an 11th-century church in St. Vincent.

''He's not just a good boxer, he's a good boy,'' one of the waiters told the fighter's parents in halting English. Arena Conditions Protested

Meanwhile, Wolf was pacing the lobby in distress and threatening to call off the fight. The conditions at the arena, he said, were horrendous: The ring unsteady, the ropes too slack and the padding on the floor too thin. His diatribe seemed a bit theatrical, and he conceded he was especially sensitive to potentially unsafe conditions in the wake of the Kim fight.

While Wolf fumed, Murphy Griffith, the trainer, and Bob Arum, the promoter, walked down the snowy hill to check out the problems at the arena. The ropes would be tightened and the ring steadied, they told Wolf. The padding would have to suffice. The fight would go on.

The Mancini supporters turned out early, filling the arena with Italian songs, more accordion music, and constant cheering for their favorite. They did not get the knockout that they were urging with their chants of ''Mancini, Mancini,'' but they were still happily waving their banners at evening's end.

(by Jane Gross)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The boxer on the floor has just been knocked out in a championship contest. A few days earlier he had saved someone from drowning. Did his heroic act cause his defeat?










Frankie Burns was middleweight champion of Australia, a good-looking young man of 21, pleasant and well-mannered....and had travelled to England to futher his career.
â€œI was very shy about boxing in front of a big crowd,â€ he said. â€œBut I am hoping to make good in England, my ambition being to win the Empire middleweight title.â€

After a win against Fred Davies at London's National Sporting Club he got his shot at that title against the formidable Ted 'Kid' Lewis in June 1922.

Four nights before his fight with Lewis (at a large skating rink in Holland Park, near Shepherdâ€™s Bush, in London) he was sound asleep in bed when he was awakened by cries for help. Scrambling out of the blankets, he ran down to the towing path where he saw that two men were struggling in the water beside an upturned canoe.

Without hesitating Frankie jumped in and grabbed one man by the hair as he was sinking. He tried to catch hold of the other without success, so swam back to the bank and managed to pull the half-drowned man out of the water.
He yelled loudly for help then dived in again and searched around for the second canoeist, while his manager danced on the toe-path, imploring him to come out. Only when he knew that there were others to continue the search was Burns persuaded to leave the river.
He was wrapped in a blanket and rushed back to bed. It had been a pretty brave thing for Burns to do, for the Australian had no knowledge of the river currents, nor had he given a thought to the risk he was taking in getting a chill that might seriously interfere with his forthcoming championship fight.

The man he had rescued was Capt. Alphonso Austin Smith who, four years later, was to be acquitted of the capital murder charge in the famous â€˜Stella Marisâ€™ murder case.
The Royal Humane Society awarded Frankie a medal, but he should have got one for facing Lewis, who entered the Holland Park ring in a most warlike and destructive mood.

It was the famous crashing, bashing Kid at his very best and poor Burns hardly got a look in. True, he fought gamely and to the utmost of his ability, but Lewis was in championship form and kept his man on the strict defensive from the opening bell.
Try as he might, Frankie could not keep his aggressive rival at bay. Lewis would wade in, swinging with both hands and once he had got to close range, he would pound at the body in non-stop fashion.
These tactics gave the Australian little opportunity to exploit his boxing skill, moreover, although he met the Kid with some well-placed punches as he came in, there didnâ€™t seem sufficient power to stop the Londoner.

After five rounds Lewis had established a long lead, but in the sixth he slowed down from his own exertions and Burns made up a lot of leeway.
He did well in the next two rounds, making Lewis miss with some clever evasive work. But the Kid came to life again in the ninth and suddenly landed a full-arm left swing to the chin.
Down went the Australian to a yell from the fans that drowned the voice of the timekeeper. Frankie was so dazed that he rose without taking advantage of the count and stood there swaying â€" an open target for a finisher.
In tore Lewis, eager to plant a knockout wallop on his rivalâ€™s unprotected chin. But at that moment the bell rang out to end the round and Burns was saved.

But only temporarily! He managed to coast through the tenth, but Lewis gave him no rest and although he escaped another damaging delivery, he was a very weary warrior as he went back to his corner.
The Kid had made up his mind to finish things off and tore into Burns at the opening of the eleventh, working him into a neutral corner. Here he bombarded the Australianâ€™s ribs with some hefty digs from each hand then, as Frankie brought his gloves down to protect his midsection, the Kid switched to the head.
Bang! Bang! Left and right hooks rattled Frankieâ€™s teeth and he fell forward into a clinch. Lewis wrenched himself free, stepped back and then whipped in a right hook that carried his full power and strength.

The punch had â€˜winnerâ€™ written all over it. Burns staggered three paces sideways, then hit the canvas like a picture falling from a wall. 
He crashed on his back, his legs waving convulsively in the air. Finally, the soles of his boots contacted the ring post and he seemed to be trying to walk up it. Burns was out to the wide, yet instinctively he was trying to get away from his rival while upside-down.
There was never a chance of him beating the count and as he finally slithered to the canvas, the Kid walked to his corner and held out his gloves to be untied. He knew it was all over.

It was interesting to note that while Frankie Burns failed in his effort to win an Empire title, his son George Barnes became welterweight king of the Commonwealth.

(by Gilbert Odd)

exceprts taken from 'Story behind this picture â€" Frankie Burns'...the full story can be read here...
http://blog.boxinghistory.org.uk/2012/06/story-behind-this-picture-frankie-burns.html


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jackie 'Kid' Berg wins "hammer and tongs battle" as Madison Square Garden "rocks with mad cheering.....as mad as anything the Garden ever heard"...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

July 4, 1914 - Daly City, California, USA

George Chip beat Billy Murray by KO in round 15 of 15 (non-title middleweight bout)

George Chip traveled to San Francisco in the summer of 1914 to take on Fighting Billy Murray, who was on a reported unbeaten streak of forty-nine straight victories dating to January 1912.

Chip got off to a very slow start, as he ceded much of the first half of the bout to Murray. Chip became stronger in the second half of the bout, as Murray became more reckless. Chip scored a knockdown in the 11th round, with a left hook to the head. After this Murray appeared to be concerned with reaching the end of the bout, while Chip who was tired was economical with his punching. In the 15th round, Chip landed a powerful left hook to the jaw, followed by another right to the jaw that put Murray down for the count. The photo shows Chip returning to his corner after that sequence. Referee Jim Griffin stated that Murray was winning at the time of the knockout.

(San Francisco Chronicle)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"Steele was consistently ferocious through the fifteen rounds of battle..."

On July 11, 1936, before his own adoring fans at Seattleâ€™s Civic Stadium, Freddie Steele challenged middleweight champion â€œBabeâ€ Risko before a crowd of 27,000. Local reporters described the contest as the biggest fight staged in the Pacific Northwest since Jack Dempsey had outpointed Tommy Gibbons at Shelby, Montana, thirteen years previously.

Steele was ready for the challenge and in peak form as he controlled the fight all the way. But what tough men they all were in Freddieâ€™s day. Fighters shrugged off major defeats with the resigned and philosophical air of a horse flicking away the flies. Seven months before, Risko had stumbled into an absolute nightmare at Madison Square Garden in a non-title bout against the fearsome Englishman, Jock McAvoy, whose nickname of the Rochdale Thunderbolt said pretty much everything about him. The Babe was scuttled by the first punch of the contest, a terrific right, and proceeded to visit the mat a further five times before McAvoy blasted him out of the fight in two minutes and fifty-eight seconds.

Steele threatened to finish Risko in similarly quick fashion. In the first round, Freddie uncorked one of his big left hooks to deck the Babe for a count of seven. The omens were not good for the defending champion, yet thereafter he survived the storms that raged around him with admirable grit and skill.

Steele was consistently ferocious through the fifteen rounds of battle, mounting one withering body attack after another. Lesser men than Risko would surely have crumbled under the savage pummeling. Freddieâ€™s sharp punches to the face so often had the effect of a slash from a saber on his many opponents. One reads constantly of how the Tacoma Assassinâ€™s blows would not merely tear the other manâ€™s skin. They would open deep and damaging cuts.

He opened cuts over both of Riskoâ€™s eyes, but the Babe was determined to hang in there and keep punching. Steele, seemingly tireless, rarely slackened his pace. Risko was stunned again in the tenth round when Freddie doubled up with a left hook to the chin and a left to the body.

But Steele was much more than merely an attacking force. He also displayed excellent blocking skills, preventing Babe from scoring effectively with short lefts to the head.

Risko, showing a world championâ€™s pride, never stopped trying to the end. His work improved in the later stages of the contest as he engaged Freddie in toe-to-toe warfare with some success. But the Babe had given too much away and simply couldnâ€™t overcome the wide points deficit.

The Associated Press was glowing in its summation of Freddie: â€œSteele has done all his boxing on the Pacific coast. Just twenty-three years old, he has the height, reach and hitting power of a heavyweight.â€

(by Mike Casey)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Paul Berlenbach (the "Astoria Assassin"), was born a deaf mute, and remained so until the age of eighteen...then a miraculous event occurred...while working at a disability camp for children, the 18 year old Berlenbach tried to recover a boy's kite stuck at the top of the tree's branches...climbing a pole Berlenbach released the kite from the branches but touched a live electrical wire and was electrocuted, and fell unconscious to the ground...medics were called and worked on Berlenbach frantically and he was revived.
To his amazement his hearing was restored to normal and the 18 year old Berlenbach after a long treatment developed normal speech.
He then became a wrestler, then switched to boxing becoming a LH champion (1925-26) in a golden age of great light-heavyweights all due to a miracle performing a good deed.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1956


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"I'll die before I quit" - Stanley Ketchel


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jan 2, 1930

23 year old Primo Carnera, the giant Italian future heavyweight champion, had just landed in America to make a bid for the crown left by Gene Tunney and was taking on Al Singer (a future lightweight champion) for a few playful rounds in his New York City gym.

The Italian created quite a sensation on his appearance in New York. He stood six feet seven inches tall, wore a size 17 shoe, a 20" collar and swung a 15-pound cane when he went out for a walk. He tipped the scales at 274 pounds.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1953


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1918. Jimmy Wilde in training, paced by his wife.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

For a portion of his career, King Levinsky, the 1930's American heavyweight, was managed and trained by his sister Lena. Known as "Leapin Lena", she was a colorful character who swore like a sailor, and rooted loudly for her brother during his bouts.


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

She looks tougher than him to be fair.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Nov 22, 1935 - Boston Garden, Boston, Massachusetts

Jack Sharkey KO's Unknown Winston...twice...in the same fight !!

Sharkey's first bout in two years.

He kayoed Winston in the first round after two blows but, as there had been "ugly talk" before of a "fix," the fans surrounded the ring shouting insults. Referee Martin tried to assure them that Winston had tried, which was greeted with louder insults. Sharkey suggested they start the bout all over. Martin consulted with the judges, and a few minutes later permitted the bout to start all over again. The fans returned to their seats. In the second round Sharkey caught Winston with a left to the jaw to floor him for an eight-count. He then slammed him with a right to the jaw and Winston was down for good. The fans booed and went home. The State Boxing Commission then suspended Winston for one year for not giving his "best efforts."


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jack Sharkey and wife at their home in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Nov. 24, 1933 - Madison Square Garden, New York
Tony Canzoneri vs. Kid Chocolate (2nd meeting)

"Tony Canzoneri knocked out Kid Chocolate last night in the most spectacular lightweight battle in a local ring since the night Benny Leonard stopped Richie Mitchell... Before 13,000 wildly excited boxing followers in Madison Square Garden, Chocolate suffered his first knockout loss... A right hand punch finished him after 2 minutes 30 seconds of the second round. But more blood and thunder was crowded into that five and one half minutes than has been seen here in years." (New York Times - Nov. 25).


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When Sunnyside Gardens finally closed its doors in the mid '70s, a neighborhood in New York City didn't just lose a boxing arena, it laid to rest one of the most glorious eras in all of boxing.

A wrecking ball unceremoniously demolished the famous boxing arena on Queens Boulevard in Queens, New York in December 1977 and in its place a Wendy's was built - a monument to fast-food lovers and salad-bar fanatics but not fight fans. The kitchen is where the ring once was, and the tables are where the seats used to be. Gone are the dressing room and the bar and the bleachers and all those memories that were swept under the carpet like dirt.

The final show was on June 24, 1977 between Ramon Ranquello and Bob Smith, a couple of out-of-towners from Jersey City and Natchez, Miss. with no connection to New York, maybe 400 fans in the audience, and no clue that the place was about to be replaced by a restaurant whose slogan used to be "Where's the beef?"

"It was a great atmosphere. You could die of lung cancer there," said Bobby Cassidy, a middleweight contender who fought there 26 times and reportedly holds the record for main events at Sunnyside. "I went back there years ago. I parked my car under the El and just walked around the neighborhood. The Chinese restaurant was still there next door. My god, it brought back memories. I never went into the Wendy's, though, couldn't do it. Life goes on, but it hurts a little that they tore it down- all those memories."

Sunnyside was never given a proper burial and closed abruptly when Vic Manni and Nick Annest, a pair of local promoters entrusted with the keys to the building, became the centerpiece of a police investigation concerning gambling in connection with a local synagogue.

By that time the neighborhood rivalries were drying up anyway. People were leaving the city for the suburbs. The gimmicks that matched a police officer against a firefighter were drawing flies, and publicity stunts such as camera night, in which fans could have their picture taken with a famous fighter, were no longer gate attractions.

As a result, the promoters feebly resorted to gambling to pay off the $8,000-a-month rent and their operation was subsequently closed. With that, the guillotine came down on an era that once boasted around 20 fight clubs in New York - almost a show every night - and a boxing scene that was so healthy it seemed it would last forever.

"Sunnyside was the last of the real small, self-sustaining fight clubs," said boxing historian and matchmaker Don Majeski. "After it left, that was it."

Sunnyside was a mythical place, full of charm and imagination, women and cigar smoke and, best of all, fights. Dozens of world champions fought there on their way to bigger paydays at Madison Square Garden, guys like Tony Canzoneri, Floyd Patterson, Vito Antuofermo, Eddie Gregory, later known as Eddie Mustafa Muhammad. Gerry Cooney turned pro there. Heavyweight Bobby Mashburn, who fought Larry Holmes and Ken Norton and was the father of the New Orleans Hornets' Jamal Mashburn of the NBA, appeared at Sunnyside.

"Sunnyside Gardens is an ugly, red-brick relic tucked beneath a trestle for the Flushing line on Queens Boulevard, fighting for survival in a dormant sport," is how Bill Verigan of the Daily News described it on May 11, 1972.

Built in 1926 as a ritzy tennis club by millionaire Jay Goulds, Sunnyside developed into a sanctuary for activities such as wrestling, karate, arm wrestling, bingo nights and eventually boxing when it was sold in 1945. Before then, if you wanted to see a fight you went to Queensboro Arena next to the Queens Plaza station. Primo Carnera headlined there before the wooden stadium was torn down the '40s and Sunnyside became the gathering place for the discriminating sports fan where men recently returned from the service met their wives in the wooden bleachers and businessmen had a drink at the bar in the lobby.

Gamblers in fedoras huddled outside with bookmakers placing bets, and fans couldn't peek into the referee's scorecard before they made a wager like they could in the balcony at St. Nicholas Arena. A seafood restaurant across the street was the pre-fight destination and the neighboring bars like the Merry-Go-Round and Escape were the spots you hit after the fight.

Young kids lucky enough to find seats at the arena stole peaks of what their parents were doing when they weren't at home.

"I was old enough to go to my father's fights, and I was in the audience when a riot broke out," said Bobby Cassidy Jr., a writer for Newsday and son of the middleweight contender. "This fighter named Bobby O'Brien, who was a cop, was in the audience that night; he wasn't fighting and someone just cold-cocked him. He just starts knocking people out, and I'm a 10-year-old kid watching all this."

Sunnyside was around for the confluence of Spanish immigrants in the '50s and '60s who moved into the area and helped fuel famous rivalries, all chronicled in papers like La Prensa and the Long Island Star-Journal that people still talk about today.

A matchmaker at Sunnyside Gardens in the '60s, Gene Moore, now 70, never hesitated to square off fighters with divergent ethnicities. Then he crossed his fingers that the enthusiasm wouldn't boil over into bedlam. When "Irish" Bobby Cassidy Sr. fought Carmelo Martinez, a riot ensued after the decision was announced.

"The place was packed to the pillars with Puerto Ricans and my Irish crew," said Cassidy Sr., "In the seventh round he dropped me. I came back to the corner and my trainer, Jimmy Glenn, slapped me. That was the first time a trainer had ever slapped me before. I came back in the eighth round and landed some heavy shots and he was walking around like a cripple. He was wobbling around and his foot kept kicking up in the air. People were throwing chairs and tossing things into the ring after I won the decision."

The kids who belonged to neighborhood gangs, like Henny Wallitsch ("If you missed me with a punch, I was mad"), a member of the Midnight Boys, trained at local gyms and became instant celebrities at Sunnyside for their neighborhood wars and ability to sell tickets.

"Me and Bobby Halpern had a bloodbath there," said Wallitsch, "They had to move the ringside seats two rows back because of the mess. The Daily News said that it was the greatest fight in the last 20 years."

There was never a dull moment at Sunnyside. The 1965 blackout canceled a show that three busloads of fans from East Rockaway, L.I. came to see.

When the promoter, a vaudevillian character named Broadway George Albert, a retired milliner who always had a cigar in his mouth, booked the same fighters the following week, the fans never came back.

To help brunt the occasional unsuccessful promotion, Madison Square Garden subsidized Sunnyside with $500 a week during Albert's seven-year reign in the '60s. Duke Stephano, Albert's matchmaker, was Teddy Brenner's assistant at the real Garden in Manhattan, and fighters who consistently won at Sunnyside were promoted to the Mecca in Manhattan. Garden publicity chief, John Condon, handled Sunnyside's press for free. General admission was $4, ringside was $8 and it cost roughly $5,000 to put on a fight. If the promoter made a $100 profit, it was considered a moderate success.

"It was a great place," said Howie Albert, George's son who co-managed former welterweight and middleweight champion Emile Griffith. "There wasn't a bad seat in the house. I drive by the place now, and I have tears in my eyes, even though I like Wendy's. There were so many nice times there."

"Before television (changed the way boxing is operated), Sunnyside was the minor leagues of the sport," said Daily News cartoonist, Bill Gallo, who grew up in Astoria and whose father covered fights at Sunnyside for the New York Sun. "It was a popular place, and managers would come from overseas just to try their fighters out at Sunnyside. Some of them became stars, some of them didn't, but Sunnyside was a fun place to be."

Today, Sunnyside is a special word, spoken at Ring 8 meetings in Long Island City at Tony Mazzarella's Waterfront Crabhouse and at New Jersey Hall of Fame gatherings, kept alive in fight posters and ticket stubs.

To old-timers whose memories of their fights are as sharp as a diamond stud, Sunnyside Gardens is a living, breathing entity, capable of turning grown men into hyperactive kids suddenly walking along Steinway Street to the Red Door Bar, not a care in the world following a tough fight at Sunnyside, as Bobby Bartels, a popular welterweight from Astoria in the mid '50s did on more than one occasion. Those were the days.

(by Mitch Abramson)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


>


Question: who had the best chin in this picture?


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

August 31, 1908

One week from now Stanley Ketchel and Billy Papke will fight for the world middleweight championship in Los Angeles.

The fight will be at Jim Jeffries' boxing club, and Jeffries himself will referee.

The populace of L.A. have, in the words of sportwriter H.M. Walker, "gone fight crazy!" At Ketchel's camp, the entrance gates were literally smashed to pieces under the onslaught of between six and seven thousands fans wanting to see him work out. Papke's camp was similarly thronged, with a reported four thousand spectators.

(LA Examiner)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

1980


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Holley Mims

It is written that his fight with a prime Sugar Ray Robinson was a points win for Ray but "..there were scattered boos when the decision was announced" with him cutting Ray over the left eye.....he also beat (an albeit young) future WBA heavyweight champ Jimmy Ellis...lost to Hurricane Carter on points but not before flooring Carter...lost a very tight decision on paper to Dick Tiger (one judge had it a draw)...he beat Johnny Bratton twice...and lost to Joey Giardello on a split decision.
..and after what was to some a dubious split points defeat, when he was an old fighter at that stage, against Joey Archer, he said afterwards - "That's OK with me, I beat Archer even if I didn't get the decision. But that's an old story with me." (A poll of 14 boxing writers had 8 scoring it for Mims, 5 scoring for Archer and 1 called it a draw)

...............................................

"Joey Giardello, blood gushing from a slashed face, thrust himself into the middleweight sweepstakes Wednesday night with a heroic finish that gained him a 10 round split decision over Holly Mims. Giardello rallied from a beating in the 8th round and won the verdict in the nationally televised slugfest. Mims opened a slight cut over Giardello's left eye in the 1st but really tore a gash on the right side of Joey's face in the furious 8th. A left-right hurt Giardello early in the session and a jolting left buckled him near the end. But Giardello, who had to win to stay in the running for the middleweight title stripped from Ray Robinson by the NBA, held off Mims in the 9th and won the chips-down 10th on all three cards." -Associated Press

..................................................

1962.

Rubin Carter was scheduled to meet Gomeo Brennan, but Brennan withdrew the day of the fight due to an illness. Mims accepted the bout at 3:00 p.m. and flew from Washington D.C. to New York City. At 6:30 p.m., Mims passed a physical examination and was cleared to fight.
Carter was a 4-1 favorite.
Mims, who had been fighting since 1948, had only been floored by Sugar Ray Robinson in 1951 and Charley Green in 1955.
Mims floored Carter in the fourth round with a right to the chin. Carter went down on one knee and jumped up at the count of one.
Sugar Ray Robinson, who outpointed Mims in 1951, was in the audience.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

April 4, 1963 - Tokyo, Japan

The 10,000 wildly partisan fans in Kutamae Sumo Arena shrieked encouragement to their little hero, Katsutoshi Aoki. For two rounds, the 20-year-old Japanese challenger had been battering bantamweight champion Eder Jofre with punishing rights and lefts, pinning him against the ropes with flurries of blows. Waiting tensely during the rest period, anxious ringsiders with cameras poised stood ready to capture every detail of what appeared to be a staggering upset in the making.

Jofre, who had just squeezed under the 118-pound limit, moved out cautiously as the bell sounded for the third and for about a minute the challenger continued to rip into him. Then the flashy Brazilian started stepping up the pace. This was more like him. Aoki, 117 3/4, sensed the change and tried to pour it on.

Suddenly, Jofre nailed him with a booming left that sent him crashing to the canvas. The punch was a beauty. It traveled only a few inches but Jofre followed through with a wide sweeping motion - like a pitcher whipping a fireball across the plate. Getting up groggily at the count of five, the surprised Japanese wobbled on rubbery legs while taking the mandatory eight-count and threw a couple of feeble blows at Jofre's head. Stepping back, the champ carefully measured his foe and crumpled him with another sledge-hammer left to the side. The blow knocked the last puff of steam from the game challenger and he was counted out at 2:12.
The spectators sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, then rose to their feet in a frenzy - showering the ring with seat cushions in typical Oriental tribute to a great champion. It was the champion's 14th straight kayo and his sixth defense of the title.

Recovering rapidly from his punishment, the resilient young Japanese shrugged his thin shoulders in disappointment. Later he said he had felt the first knockdown punch, "but I didn't know what hit me the second time. That man has a terrific punch."

(by Tony Petronella)


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

wow, pretty impressive.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

I often wonder whether it was worth it. But I donâ€™t have to wait long for the answer. Every day strangers stop me in the street and say, â€˜Arenâ€™t you Tony Canzoneri?â€™ Lots of times, little kids who werenâ€™t even a gleam in their fatherâ€™s eye when I was fighting, ask for autographs or just to shake my hand. Itâ€™s a wonderful feeling to be remembered after all these years. Sure it was worth it, every drop of blood and every stitch of it. I wouldnâ€™t have it any other way.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He entered the ring wrapped in tallis, the prayer shawl worn in synagogues. Around his right arm and on his head he wore tefilin, the small leather box containing sacred scripture, trailed by leather straps, which is put on by observant jews for morning prayers. He proceeded to go through an elaborate ritual of slowly unwinding the leather straps from around his body, tenderly kissing them, and placing the materials in a gold-embossed velvet bag, which he then carefully handed to his chief second, Ray Arcel. His trunks, as always, were adorned with the star of David.

- Ben Sharav recreating the scene in a 1929 edition of Ring Magazine when Jack Kid Berg made his New York debut in Madison Square Garden.


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

I constantly return to this thread. Fucking brilliant, nothing short of...


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> He entered the ring wrapped in tallis, the prayer shawl worn in synagogues. Around his right arm and on his head he wore tefilin, the small leather box containing sacred scripture, trailed by leather straps, which is put on by observant jews for morning prayers. He proceeded to go through an elaborate ritual of slowly unwinding the leather straps from around his body, tenderly kissing them, and placing the materials in a gold-embossed velvet bag, which he then carefully handed to his chief second, Ray Arcel. His trunks, as always, were adorned with the star of David.
> 
> - Ben Sharav recreating the scene in a 1929 edition of Ring Magazine when Jack Kid Berg made his New York debut in Madison Square Garden.


Fascinating..this thread is priceless.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Loser's Prayer.

Right after his Madison Square Garden bout on Oct 19, 1956, middleweight Gil Turner knelt in his corner to pray as was his custom. Moments later judges awarded the bout to his opponent, Joey Giambra, by a split decision.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He had come up in the morning from New York City in a gray station wagon. In the back seat was a beat-up brown suitcase with a beat-up French Line sticker on it. There were three people with him, his chief adviser and two cornermen. George Gainford, who taught him the moves almost 30 years ago, was in the back seat with John Seymour, Tommy Brockett was behind the wheel and Sugar Ray slid into the front seat. It was shortly before two in the afternoon and they were about to leave the motel for the weigh-in when the proprietor walked over.

"Anything you fellows need?" he asked, leaning at the window. "Your room okay?"

"Fine," Robinson said, "but how do we get to . . . to where the fight's going to be?"

This never used to be a problem. Madison Square Garden, Chicago Stadium, Palais des Sports in Paris, everybody knows how to get there. But Wahconah Park in Pittsfield, Massachusetts?

"Go through town," the motel man said, "and make a left at the hospital. Go a little ways and you'll see a dirt road, an alley like, on your left leading to it. Can't miss it."

The station wagon swung out onto Route 7. Soon it was gliding through Pittsfield. Sugar Ray glanced through his sunglasses at the white colonial homes shaded by tall trees.

"Nice town," he said. "Wonder how big?"

"About 60,000," somebody said.

More people than thatâ€"61,370â€"saw him the night in 1951 that he won back the middleweight title from Randy Turpin at the now-leveled Polo Grounds in New York. Robinson was ahead on points in the 10th round when they banged heads and the blood spurted from a cut above his left eye. It matted the eyebrow and streaked down his face and he was blinking to keep the blood out of his eye.

"I had to do something," Sugar Ray would say later in the dressing room. "I was afraid they'd stop it."

They stopped it, all right. Robinson threw an uppercut and Turpin went sprawling. When Turpin got up, Robinson clubbed him with both hands. The next day, looking at the movies, somebody counted 31 punches in 25 seconds. Turpin lurched back against the ropes. His arms were down and he was helpless. KO 10, it reads in the book. The gate for that one is in the book, too: $767,626 a record for a nonheavyweight fight. At Wahconah Park in Pittsfield he might draw a couple thousand dollars.

"There's the ball park," somebody in the station wagon was saying now. "On the left. Behind those stores."

The station wagon bounced across the ruts in the dirt road leading to an old wooden stadium surrounded by an eight-foot wire fence and a dusty dirt parking lot. It was built when Pittsfield had a Class C ball club in the Canadian-American League. But the league folded after the 1951 season. The ball park is seldom used.

Robinson didn't say anything. Maybe he was thinking he had never appeared in such a dilapidated arena. Or maybe he was thinking of the people who had gathered to greet him. "I love to have people around," he often says. "People make me go." There were about 30 people outside the ball park. There were some kids, but there were middle-aged men, too. Some of them were wearing sport shirts and looked as if they were on vacation. Others wore khaki work clothes and thick-soled work shoes and looked as if they were going to be late getting back from their lunch hour. None of them had Sugar Ray's way with clothes. Few people do. This day he was wearing a nubby beige sport shirt, cuffless lime slacks, brown socks, and brown loafers.

They don't see lime slacks too often in Pittsfield. Maybe there's a dude at the country club who wears them playing golf. But nobody wears them punching the time clock at the General Electric plant, or milking cows on the farms outside this old New England town in the Berkshire Mountains.

When Sugar Ray got out of the station wagon, everybody seemed to notice the lime slacks first. Then they noticed him. He had on sunglasses, but his face looked the way everybody remembers it. Unmarked. Straight nose. Slick hair. Thin moustache. There is a fuzz about the size of a nickel below his lower lip now, but his body is still lean and lithe. And he still has the strong, solid neck. All the great ones, in every sport, have this kind of neck.

"Hey, Sugar," a stranger said, "good to see you here."

"Hi, ol' buddy," Robinson said. "It's good to be here."

It was good, too, for promoter Sam Silverman. He had been sweating out Sugar Ray's arrival. Promoters always do. For one reason or another, Sugar Ray has forced the postponement or cancellation of about 30 fights. In Boston one night three hours before a fight he told Silverman, "I'm not going in," and he didn't. Two weeks earlier Silverman had him scheduled to fight in Pittsfield, but he had begged off. Silverman rescheduled him but the promoter wasn't convinced he'd show. He didn't order any posters.

"I'm afraid to jinx myself with Ray," Sam says. "Every time I order posters when he's fighting, something happens."

Now, standing outside the shabby ball park, Silverman greeted him. "They got some of the prelim kids weighing in now," Sam said, "but I'll get you in there in a few minutes."

As the promoter walked toward the dressing rooms, he said, "See, Roger, I told you he'd show." Roger O'Gara, the sports editor of The Berkshire Eagle came over and introduced himself to Sugar Ray. He wanted to interview the old champion.

Sports writers used to come from all over the world to cover Sugar Ray's big fights. Some of them would arrive a couple of weeks ahead and file stories every day out of Greenwood Lake or wherever he was training. At the weigh-ins with Basilio or Turpin or Maxim, there were more than 100 sports writers crowding around. But for this fight in Pittsfield, Roger O'Gara was the only one covering the weigh-in. He and Sugar Ray sat on folding chairs in the wooden grandstand. All around them were cigarette butts and empty peanut shells from the fight show two weeks earlier. Some of the people outside had followed them, and they stood around listening to O'Gara ask Robinson about his future and his past. When O'Gara was through, a local radioman, Pete Williams, wound up his tape recorder and put the small white microphone in front of Sugar Ray's face. They talked for a few minutes. When that was over, Roger Sala, who was helping Silverman in the promotion, said, "That was important, Ray. It'll be on Pete's show at 6 o'clock. The people will know you're here."

Next to Sala among the bystanders was a wiry little man in a black pinstriped suit. He nudged Sala.

"Ray," Sala said. "Here's one of your greatest fans. George Ely. He never misses your Boston fights."

George Ely owns a gas station in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, but when Sugar Ray Robinson is fighting nearby he takes the day off and gets dressed up as if he were going to a wedding. He could have driven over at night for the fight. But George Ely had to be there for the weigh-in, too.

"My brother," Ely was saying now, "he used to fight on the same card with you in the amateurs in Thompsonville, Connecticut."

"Thompsonvillel" Robinson said, laughing. "The old bootleg fights in Thompsonville! Ol' buddy, that's a long time ago!"

It was 1939. Three or four times a week Robinson and a few other kid fighters in Harlem would pile into George Gainford's car and ride up to a town like Thompsonville, Connecticut. He was the Golden Gloves featherweight champion that year, but he fought in the bootleg shows, too, to make some sneaky money. He was born Walker Smith, Jr., but, as he always explains, "At first I wasn't old, enough to fight but this kid Ray Robinson was, so I took his name. I meant to give his name back but . . ." At one of these bootleg shows, in Watertown, New York, Jack Case, the sports editor of the Watertown Daily Times, told Gainford, "That's a sweet-looking fighter you got there."

"Sweet as sugar," Gainford said.

The next day Case wrote of him as Sugar Ray Robinson. Somehow Sugar Walker Smith never would've had the same ring. "I don't know haw many bootleg fights I had," Robinson says. "Maybe a couple hundred." The fighters weren't supposed to get paid, but they did. "Maybe ten dollars if we won, maybe eight if we lost." And when Sugar Ray reminisces about the bootleg fights, George Gainford always adds; "I made a living with them fights during the Depression."

"Hey, Champ," Gainford was saying, now in the runway at Wahconah Park. "They're ready for you to weigh-in."

"Excuse me, ol' buddy," Sugar Ray said to George Ely. "Good to talk to you. Thompsonville. Imagine that?"

Robinson walked around to a small cement-block office underneath the grandstand. Inside, four members of the Massachusetts Athletic Commission sat at a table.

The four men looked up at him and one of them began to ask the old champ the questions.

"Name?"

"Sugar Ray Robinson."

"Manager?"

"None."

"Date of birth?"

"May third, 1921."

"May third," said one of the men, about 35, "a good day."

Robinson glanced at him.

"That's my birthday," the man said, "but not that year." "Well," Ray said, shaking hands, "May third."

When the questions ended one of the commission members held up a ball-point pen and a pad and said, "Excuse me, Ray, but my son would never forgive me if I didn't get your autograph."

"Glad to," Ray said.

"One more thing," one of the men said with a smile. "You haven't weighed in yet."

"Hey, that's right," Ray said.

On the floor was a green-and-black bathroom scale. Sam Silverman keeps it in the trunk of his Cadillac. Silverman was in the room now, leaning down to read the scale as Robinson stepped on it. Silverman was the only one in the room who could see the numbers.

"One sixty-one," the promoter proclaimed. "Okay, Ray, go over to the hospital for a cardiogram."

The commission members looked at each other but none of them said anything. Each wrote down 161.

Outside Sugar Ray got back in the station wagon and rode over to Pittsfield General Hospital. In the hospital a nurse said, "You'll have to come back later. After three o'clock."

"C'mon, George," Sugar Ray said, "let's get out of here. I don't like hospitals."

Sugar Ray never had to be carted into a hospital after a fight. He went to a hospital after one fight, though, the time he knocked out Jimmy Doyle in Cleveland in 1947. Doyle died and the coroner asked, "Robinson, didn't you realize you had him in trouble?"

"Mister," Sugar Ray said evenly, "it's my business to get him in trouble."

Two months later he boxed a benefit for Doyle's family at the Garden. He was in with a welterweight from the Philippines named Flash Sebastian and he knocked him out with the first good right hand he threw in the first round. Sebastian went back against the ropes, toppled forward on his head and lay very still.

"My God," one of the sports writers said at ringside. "This kid may be dead, too."

Sebastian didn't die, but when Sugar Ray knocked them out in those days people started to worry about them. People today worry more about Sugar Ray. Outside Pittsfield General Hospital, Robinson got back into the station wagon.

"We'll come back later for the cardiogram," he said to Tommy Brockett. "Let's go to the ball park for the physical."

The commission doctor was waiting for him in one of the cement-block dressing rooms underneath the grandstand. The doctor took his blood pressure and put a stethoscope on him.

"I examined you about ten years ago," the doctor said as he finished. "You're in as good shape now as you were then."

Ten years ago Sugar Ray was making his comeback. When he retired after the Maxim fight, he was a rich man with prospects of becoming richer. Dun and Bradstreet gave him a $300,000 rating. He owned three four-story apartment buildings in Harlem. He owned a dry-cleaning shop, a lingerie shop, a barbershop and a cafÃ©. And Joe Glaser, the theatrical agent, was booking him as a nightclub tap dancer for $15,000 a week. Only Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly ever made more with their feet. The night he opened in New York City's French Casino he wore a yellow-and-black plaid dinner jacker with a black cummerbund. He did his dance routine and then he tried to tell a few jokes.

"There are three ways of communication," he opened. "Telephone. Telegram. And tell a woman."

With lines like that, Sugar Ray Robinson didn't need bad reviews. Gradually his price skidded to $5,000 a week. Meanwhile one of his advisers had developed a better act: he was making at least $250,000 of Sugar Ray's money disappear. "By the time I discovered it," Robinson once explained, "the man was dead." Sugar Ray returned to the one thing he knew could make big money for him: fighting. He started out by knocking out Joe Rindone but then he was outpointed by Ralph (Tiger) Jones. He wasn't much better in winning a decision over Johnny Lombardo in Cincinnati. That night he sat on his hotel bed and cried.

Joe Glaser and his manager at the time, Ernie Braca, were trying to convince him to quit. But another adviser Vic Marsillo barked "Don't listen to them. Listen to me. You're 'going to win the title again. One night about eight months later he caught Bobo Olson with an uppercut in the second round. The knockout made him the middleweight champion.

During his comeback, the big paydays with Carmen Basilio and Gene Fullmer and Paul Pender helped earn him close to $I,500,000 in purses. But early m 1962 he lost a decision to a kid named Denny Moyer, and everybody soured on him. He lost to Phil Moyer, too, and to Terry Downes in London. In June, 1963, he had his last fight with a big-name opponent, losing a decision to Joey Giardello in Philadelphia.

Some weeks later Sugar Ray sat down with George Gainford."Try It with me once more," the old champion pleaded. "Just once more. George Gainford is a big, barrel-chested man who is known among boxing people as The Emperor. Except for a few spats, he has been watching over Sugar Ray Robinson since the day almost 30 years ago when Walker Smith, Jr., came in off the street to learn to box at the Salem-Crescent Gym in Harlem.

"Let's go, Robinson," Gainford was saying now in Pittsfield as Sugar Ray tucked in his shirt after the physical. "You got to eat."

They got in the station wagon and Gainford told Tommy Brockett, "We're going to eat. There's a Howard Johnson near the motel."

As they drove, Gainford said, "Turn on the radio. It's three o'clock. Ought to be a weather report." It had been sunny an hour earlier, but now the clouds were gray as they came over the mountains from the west. "Sam say to be there early," Gainford said. "If it looks like rain, he'll put us on first at 8:30."

This is an old gimmick. Once the feature bout is over, the promoter doesn't have to make any refunds.

"The weather," the radio announcer was saying, "tonight, cloudy with a chance of thundershowers."

"Hear that, Robinson," Gainford said. 'We gotta be out of the motel at eight o'clock. No later."

As they left the restaurant Sugar Ray was singing, "'People . . . people who need people . . . are the luckiest people.'" He has been taking voice lessons for about five years. "Richard Rodgers got me started," he was saying. "He heard me one day and he couldn't believe I never had any voice training. My teacher, Jaharal Hall, tells me I've got to sing like I fightâ€"smooth, no apparent effort."

The station wagon stopped at the hospital again. Gainford went in first, Soon he was back. "We're okay this time," he said. "Fourth floor."

Sugar Ray disappeared through the doorway to the stairs. "He never takes elevators," Gainford was saying as he pushed the elevator button. "One time in Brussels he had to walk up 52 flights." When the elevator opened on the fourth floor, Sugar Ray was coming through the stairway door. "When I was little," he explained, "I got sick once in the elevator in the Empire State Building. Never rode in one since. You run four, five miles a day almost every day of your life, stairs don't tire you out." After the cardiogram he walked down the stairs.

At two minutes after eight Gainford came out of the motel room with four pink motel towels over his arm and glanced at the sky. "Looks pretty good," he said. "Not as gray as before. We be all right." Moments later Sugar Ray came out. As the station wagon moved out of the parking lot, a voice near the motel office yelled, "Good luck, Champ," and Robinson turned and waved out the window. They rode through Pittsfield. Outside Wahconah Park the parking lot was almost half filled.

They used to turn this many away years ago when Sugar Ray had a big fight at Madison Square Garden. The mounted policemen's horses would be clamping along the macadam pavement on Eighth Avenue and the people would be getting out of taxis six blocks away to walk through the traffic jam. Now, at Wahconah Park, there were a handful of people around the front gateâ€"the only gateâ€"when Sugar Ray went through.

At the gray wooden ticket booth there were six people on line. There were three prices: $2.50, $2.00 and $1.50. Once, at Yankee Stadium, the ringside seats were $40 a pop when he fought Carmen Basilio the first time. That night he had the big Yankee clubhouse, with its green wall-to-wall carpeting, all to himself. But in Pittsfield now he walked into a small, low-ceilinged dressing room he would share with four preliminary fighters.

The room was crowded. The preliminary fighters were there, wearing their satin robes and sitting on the wooden benches. One of them said, "Mister Robinson" and introduced himself, and Sugar Ray shook hands with him and said, "Good luck, ol' buddy." Three sports writers had followed him in.

Sugar Ray hung his lime slacks on a wire hanger in his unpainted wooden locker. He put his boxing shoes on and then he began to tape his hands, first wrapping them with a few layers of gauze, then with the white adhesive tape.

"You do that yourself?" a sports writer asked.

"Been doin' it for 20 years," Robinson said with a smile.

"One more question," the writer said. "Why do you take a fight in a town like this?"

"You need fights like this," Sugar Ray said. "You can't fight in the Garden all the time."

He hadn't had a fight in Madison Square Garden in more than a year. And he'll never have another one there. The Garden won't use him. It's too obvious an exploitation of a famous name. And suppose he got hurt? Or worse?

"Well," one of the sports writers said, closing his notebook, "good luck in the fight tonight."

When they left, he took off his white net shorts and put on a jockstrap and a white terry-cloth fingertip robe. The sleeves were slit to the elbows. He took a blue bottle out of the suitcase. The bottle contained an eyewash named Collyrium. He poured a capful, tilted his head back and bathed his right eye, then his left. "You ought to do this," he said to one of the preliminary kids, "it protects your retinas." He went into the shower room and shadow-boxed for a few minutes. When he returned, he put on a brown leather cup over his jockstrap. "Had this since the Golden Gloves," he said proudly. "See how it's all taped up. Had to rebuild it several times."

Sam Silverman came into the room and said, "Let's get out there, Ray. They're waiting for you. Let's go, Ray."

Gainford tied the laces on Sugar Ray's reddish-brown gloves. He helped him into a blue satin robe with SUGAR RAY in white letters on the back. He draped one of the pink motel towels over Robinson's head and tucked it inside the lapels of his robe. "Okay," George said, "let's go." Outside the dressing room maybe 20 people were waiting for the old champion, and they followed him out around the third-base end of the stands and watched him jog through the aisle between the ringside seats.

There were maybe 1,500 people in the ball park and they shouted when Ray hopped up the wooden steps and climbed through the ropes into the ring.

This used to be one of the most exciting moments in sports. There always were movie stars and politicians in the ringside seats when Sugar Ray had a big fight. And the old championsâ€"Dempsey, Louis, Tunney, Mickey Walker, Barney Rossâ€"would come into the ring and take a bow after the announcer introduced them. The announcer always wore a tuxedo. But in Wahconah Park the announcer was wearing a brown sports jacket with a golf shirt open at the neck and he was saying, "And now a big hand for the Sweetheart of the Berkshires, Frankie Martin," and a little old lightweight jumped into the ring and waved his hands. Now, for the first time, the people began to look at Sugar Ray's opponent. Clarence Riley, a lanky, loose-muscled middleweight out of Detroit, was standing in his corner looking across at Sugar Ray almost in awe. He has been around since 1951 but out of 30 fights he had only won 14. Even with a seven-pound weight advantage at 168, he was the perfect opponent, as they say in boxing, meaning someone whose ability doesn't give him a chance to win.

When the bell rang, Sugar Ray turned and strutted into the middle of the ring, his slim legs moving gracefully and his white satin trunks shimmering under the overhead lights.

Gainford crouched on the steps behind the corner. "Too wild," he shouted during the early rounds. "Steady as she goes now, steady." In the fourth Sugar Ray threw two quick left hooks and Riley went down. His lips were puffed and bleeding and he was sitting down with his hands behind him. The crowd yelled, and when Riley got to his feet Gainford shouted, "Uppercut him now, uppercut." The bell rang and John Seymour, holding the water pail, nudged the man next to him and said, "You see those left hooks. Like old times. Like old times." In the fifth Sugar Ray put Riley down again with a flurry of body punches and a straight right hand. In the sixth Riley went down again from a left hook. He was up at nine but he was wobbling, and Gainford was yelling, "Stop it, ref, you going to get this kid hurt." The referee put his arms around Riley and the fight was over.

It was in the book now: his 160th victory (his 103rd knockout) against 12 losses. At Wahconah Park the people were yelling, "You're still the best, Sugar," and, "You look great, Champ."

Robinson didn't seem to hear them. He stood in his corner while Gainford wrapped the blue satin robe around him and stuffed one of the pink motel towels around his neck. Then Sugar Ray came down the steps and moved through the crowd back to the dressing room. Inside he sat on the wooden bench and held out his hands for Tommy Brockett to cut the tape off and talked to the sports writers. Off to the side a radioman was holding a tape-recorder microphone up to George Gainford's face.

"Those left hooks," Gainford was saying. "Two left hooks in a row. You don't see that today in boxing. Nobody does that. Nobody but this man."

Half an hour later some of the crowd were waiting for Robinson as he came out of the dressing room. He signed autographs for them, and then he walked into the gray wooden ticket booth to pick up his money from Sam Silverman. It took him 20 minutes. Sugar Ray has always enjoyed haggling with promoters.

"We'll guarantee you a half a million," Admiral John Bergen of Madison Square Garden once told him, "for a third fight with Basilio."

"Admiral," Robinson said, "I got a theater-TV deal cooking that'll get me three quarters of a million. I got to go for that one."

The theater-TV deal went sour. He wound up with no fight and, worse, with no money. In Pittsfield at least he came out of the ticket booth with some cash. "About $700," Silverman said later. Years ago that wouldn't have covered the booze for a victory party in Robinson's Harlem cafÃ©. He doesn't drink, but he would stay up tap dancing and playing the drums. Somebody would bring in the late editions of the morning papers and he'd look at the headlineâ€"SUGAR RAY BY KAYOâ€"and read the stories and look at the pictures. But this fight in Pittsfield didn't even make a paragraph in the New York morning papers.

(by Dave Anderson)

........................................

*On July 8, 1964, (rescheduled from June 24th) at Wahconah Park in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, former World Middleweight Champion Sugar Ray Robinson fought Clarence Riley, a last-minute replacement for Cadillac James, in the main event.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Nov 17, 1954

His left eye puffed shut, a dethroned lightweight champion Paddy DeMarco shows the scars of a terrific beating administered him by challenger and new champion Jimmy Carter. It was the third time Carter won the lightweight title.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Jimmy Carter was a badass...the boxer that is.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Joe Gans, speaking on Young Griffo...as quoted by the Washington Post on July 9, 1899 -

â€œIâ€™ll never forget my experience in the ring with that Kid Griffo. We met in the ring at the Olympic Club at Athens, Pa., and it was agreed that we were to divide the purse, win or lose. I trained for three weeks for the bout, and when I got a flash at Griffo in his corner I noticed that a fold of fat wobbled over his belt. He was in fit condition for a sanitarium instead of a prize ring, and I told Herford [Al Herford, Joe Gans' manager] that I would make short work of the Australian phenom, as they called him. We were to go fifteen rounds, and I thought I could do Griff in about three punches at the wind. I had an idea that he would keep away from me, but thatâ€™s where he fooled me. You would naturally think that a man in his condition would steer away from a punch, but he crowded me from the first tap of the gong.

â€œHe clearly outboxed me, but every time he tapped me I smiled at him. â€˜See here, old chap,â€™ he said, â€˜Iâ€™m out for a draw, and donâ€™t get awfully rude with me because I â€˜av a bloomink pain in me stomach and if you slam me once in the body it will be all off. So donâ€™t get rude, and be a gentleman.â€™ I tried my prettiest to bore a stomach punch into him, but I only caught him on the glove at every trial, and then I switched my tactics and tried for his jaw, but he was inside of me at every punch, and when I led he stepped inside and showered a rain of taps with both hands. He had me tired once, I will admit, and it looked to me as if every one in the crowd was throwing boxing gloves at me. Itâ€™s a pity that a boxer of his talent never took care of himself, as he was the greatest defensive boxer that ever lived, and the most peculiar feature of his defense was that he was up and at the opponent all the time, fighting close on the inside of the guard. They talk about Fitzsimmons as a fighting machine, but as a mechanical boxer Fitz never classed with Griffo.â€


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The furious fights between Stanley Ketchel and Joe Thomas...




























(from Boxing Pictorial Nov. 1974)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

My gang was mainly from my street. Sam Bibbikraut was the leader. Then there was Gussie, Sammy Front, Morrie Greenberg, maybe one or two others, younger brothers. We grew up together. I could lick Sam - I could lick any of them. I was fighting every day, to survive! I had to fight, it was my way, you see - When I was in the street, if anybody hit somebody I knew, I used to shield that person. I never wanted people to take liberties with me. What's right is right, but I never wanted people to take liberties. I always landed the first punch, whatever happened. I'd get in first. If I'm right or wrong, I'm going to hit you, I'm not going to wait until you bang me one. Gangs of gentiles used to sing bad things to us on the streets, often in front of old Jewish people and when we kids used to hear that, well, we didn't like it! Our spirits used to be on fire, we'd burn! We would make a dash for them. We were always fighting. You had to fight! It was part of my nature.

- Jack 'Kid' Berg 'The Whitechapel Windmill' 
Light-Welterweight Champion of the World (1930-31)


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## Decy (Jun 2, 2012)

Love that pic of Berg the East End hardman personified.


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

I have noticed similar strange status information on British fight programs, can you see what the contradiction is?


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Question: who had the best chin in this picture?


Arguably Billy Graham, uncrowned Welterweight champion who was never FLOORED in 126 fights...****** Bimstein his great trainer 
said that " never even seen Graham hurt"...


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Burt Brooks said:


> Arguably Billy Graham, uncrowned Welterweight champion who was never FLOORED in 126 fights...****** Bimstein his great trainer
> said that " never even seen Graham hurt"...


bingo Burt,...that's what i was thinking when I first saw this picture, even with Marciano lurking in the background.


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

Phantom said:


> bingo Burt,...that's what i was thinking when I first saw this picture, even with Marciano lurking in the background.


P,Billy Graham evokes a special memory for me. When I was a youngster my dad and I went to the old St.Nick Arena in NY. We bought tickets in the lobby and waited for the ticket taker to take our tickets when a guy about 18 years old looking like a choir boy, carrying a gym bag walked in front of us and was allowed in the Arena. Well soon after this same young fellow was in the 4 round prelim, introduced as Billy Graham from the East side of New York. Billy became a stablemate of Rocky Graziano, and became a great boxer as a WW with an iron chin...I saw him many times in his career and training at Stillman's gym...


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Burt Brooks said:


> P,Billy Graham evokes a special memory for me. When I was a youngster my dad and I went to the old St.Nick Arena in NY. We bought tickets in the lobby and waited for the ticket taker to take our tickets when a guy about 18 years old looking like a choir boy, carrying a gym bag walked in front of us and was allowed in the Arena. Well soon after this same young fellow was in the 4 round prelim, introduced as Billy Graham from the East side of New York. Billy became a stablemate of Rocky Graziano, and became a great boxer as a WW with an iron chin...I saw him many times in his career and training at Stillman's gym...


Yeah BB,...Graham just amazes me....how a guy can go through a whole career without being decked...what a combination of defensive skills and a diamond chin!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

After the fight he visited Clay. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm done. Never show up other fighters, son. You may be coming down yourself one day."

Clay shrugged him off and laughed.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Yeah BB,...Graham just amazes me....how a guy can go through a whole career without being decked...what a combination of defensive skills and a diamond chin!


was benny valgar ever down ?


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> After the fight he visited Clay. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm done. Never show up other fighters, son. You may be coming down yourself one day."
> 
> Clay shrugged him off and laughed.


funny, I started a Post years ago at the CBZ entitle "was Ali good for Boxing?" or something like that, anyway it was more to do with Ali's vain, proud, arrogant behaviour that destroyed Humility, Honesty and Respect, that would eventually birth a whole slew of vain ignorant unlikeable characters...

now obviously 'life' was moving in that direction and 20 years later we clearly saw the ME or I world that we still live in today, "first pride then the fall..."

I do think ALI in particular along with 'other' media USED & Exploited figures were and have been played to encourage new and prevailing attitudes within society.

and his scoff at Moore indicates early examples of what sadly has become the norm. the Sin of pride and such behaviours has further outreaching implications than we sometimes realise.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> was benny valgar ever down ?


Well doug.ie, you've done me a favor here in that you've prompted me to do some research of this ring marvel who I had never heard of previously. This all the more amazing in that I have had a recent upsurge of interest in early 20th century Jewish fighters like Jackie Kid Berg, Al McCoy, Kid Kaplan, etc.,and I thought that i'd post this link to an article about Valgar written by Mike Silver...and unless I missed it, it doesn't mention whether he was never knocked down, but it does say that he was never stopped or knocked out....and that he was clever as hell...it seems that he didn't know how to slug, he said that he "tried, but my brain wouldn't let me make any mistakes"...my kind of fighter! Thanks for the tip off about this guy doug.ie!
http://www.ibroresearch.com/2008/02/benny-valgar/


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

thistle1 said:


> funny, I started a Post years ago at the CBZ entitle "was Ali good for Boxing?" or something like that, anyway it was more to do with Ali's vain, proud, arrogant behaviour that destroyed Humility, Honesty and Respect, that would eventually birth a whole slew of vain ignorant unlikeable characters...
> 
> now obviously 'life' was moving in that direction and 20 years later we clearly saw the ME or I world that we still live in today, "first pride then the fall..."
> 
> ...


Yeah, class, humility and sportsmanship have sadly taken a beating thanks to Ali....the kind of class exemplified by Floyd Patterson, harold Johnson, Joe Louis, Ezzard Charles, Rocky Marciano and so many others...


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

Phantom said:


> Yeah, class, humility and sportsmanship have sadly taken a beating thanks to Ali....the kind of class exemplified by Floyd Patterson, harold Johnson, Joe Louis, Ezzard Charles, Rocky Marciano and so many others...


So, so true P...Please add Alexis Arguello to great fighters who oozed "class"....Sad that Ali though a great heavyweight, turned boxing into a Wrestling Carnival ...l


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

June 1950.

The fight that got away - Jake LaMotta v Rocky Graziano.










*larger, more readable image here...

http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GIpbGlQt9LI/VU40YD1vUOI/AAAAAAAACYY/zDSi9ft4aY8/s1600/lamotta.jpg

.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Burt Brooks said:


> So, so true P...Please add *Alexis Arguello* to great fighters who oozed "class"....Sad that Ali though a great heavyweight, turned boxing into a Wrestling Carnival ...l


Amen BB!!


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## Burt Brooks (Jun 6, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> was benny valgar ever down ?


Benny Valgar was never stopped in over 200 bouts.He was a stablemate of the great Benny Leonard and Ray Arcel trained Valgar
saying he was as great a boxer as Leonard ,but without Benny's knockout power. Many years ago I met the retired Valgar in the Coney Island area where he lived.
You would never imagine Valgar was an ex fighter with over 200 bouts...Much like the later Billy Graham, Good field, No Hit...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jan 2, 1951 - Archie Moore stops Oakland Billy Smith. (4th fight of 4 between the pair)

Smith knocked Moore down for an eight count in the 6th round with a right hand. After punching himself out in a failed attempt to stop Moore, he coasted in the 7th round. In the 8th, Smith turned to look at his corner and was floored by Moore for a nine count. After he got up, Moore pounded him into the ropes, when the referee started counting for another knockdown. At the count of five, Smith ducked through the ropes and walked to the dressing room.

(Portland Oregonian)


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## johnmaff36 (Aug 3, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> June 1950.
> 
> The fight that got away - Jake LaMotta v Rocky Graziano.
> 
> ...


ya know something? i never knew this.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Muhammad Ali, right, lifts himself off both feet during a sparring session on October 21, 1974 with Roy Williams at the Nâ€™ Sele training center near Kinshasa, Zaire.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In the summer of 1955, while Archie Moore was training for his championship fight with Bobo Olson at the Polo Grounds, he took off 23 pounds, the last few at Ehsan's Training Camp, a dreary, unpainted sweat pit in Summit, New Jersey. His trainers closed the doors and windows of the gymnasium early every afternoon, quickly transforming it into a steam cabinet, and in this suffocating atmosphere Moore, swaddled in a skintight rubber costume, went through his ritual of shadowboxing, sparring, bag-punching, and rope-skipping, giving off sprays of water like a revolving lawn sprinkler. The close air was almost unbearable, but he drove himself furiously, and during the last 24 hours before the weigh-in had nothing to eat or drink except half a lemon. The method seemed extreme, particularly for a middle-aged athlete, but it was effective. Moore made the weight by two pounds and knocked out Olson in three rounds.

('New Yorker' magazine - Nov, 1961)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

George Dixon found himself in the ring with Cal McCarthy at exactly midnight in Boston on Feb 7, 1890.

The fight was scheduled for an earlier time before an editor of a newspaper called "The Record" who happened to dislike the sport tried to delay it by attacking the referee. Finally, when order was restored, the long awaited bout took place. The bout was a vicous, temolteous affair for the 70 rounds it lasted until a draw was agreed by the two exhausted combatents. In the ninth, a big left to the nose of McCarthy forced him to his knees. McCarthy went down once more in the tenth on a right. McCarthy's nose began to bleed from Dixon's assault in the twelfth. McCarthy, a relentless and determined champion, really pressed the fight to Dixon after the battering he took in the ninth, tenth, and 12th rounds and worried all of Dixon's backers including Tom O'Rourke. Wrestling and clutching tactics were also used by McCarthy to try to wear down his difficult challenger. In the 62nd, however, Dixon caught McCarthy with a right which sent him to his knees but when McCarthy arrose, again he wrestled Dixon out of frustration. Only this time referee Al Smith gave McCarthy a warning. It was obvious in the 65th that both men were too weary to put up much of a fight. In the 70th, Jimmy Colville questioned both fighters on whether they wanted to continue and both didn't so this resulted in a draw.

Both men slugged it out for a total of four hours and forty minutes!

(by Nat Fleischer)

* bout fought with "regulation gloves" - 2 oz !!


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel.

Floyd Patterson v. Tommy 'Hurricane' Jackson II - Jul. 29, 1957
Original Radio Broadcast (includes pre-fight introductions of ex-champions)

Polo Grounds, New York

World Heavyweight Title

Unable to cope with the speed of the championâ€™s punches, Jackson's nose was bloodied and he was put down by a combination of rights and lefts to the head just as the bell rang to end the opening session. It did not get any better for Jackson in the second round when Patterson spun him around and dropped him to a knee from a right to the jaw. Named â€˜The Hurricaneâ€™ due his fighting style, Jackson bravely punched away, but it was Patterson who was doing all the scoring. By the sixth it was apparent that the end was drawing near, but Jackson, his left eye almost closed, would not hear of it and although he was dropped by a pair of body blows and left hooks in the ninth and took a terrific left to the jaw immediately prior to the bell he came out fighting in the tenth. With the brave Jackson just walking into punches and refusing to go down it was left to the referee to save him from taking further punishment, the finish being timed at 1.52. Jackson went to the hospital five hours after the fight to be treated for a bruised kidney. He was kept for several days for observation. Patterson visited Jackson in the hospital three days after the bout.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Gabriel â€œFlashâ€ Elorde and Sandy Saddler fought in Manila on July 20, 1955...that night Elorde stunned the boxing world when he out-pointed the world featherweight champion Saddler in a ten-round, non title fight.

It was a fight etched in the memories of many for the sheer gallantry of Elorde against a veteran world champion who was regarded by most as one of the dirtiest boxers in the business.

The late renowned journalist Teddy Benigno didnâ€™t give Elorde a chance against Sadler. When it was over Benigno, in his usual masterful fashion, wrote, "with his legs almost shot from under him â€¦ his face a rucksack of welts, cuts and bruises â€¦ his eyes mere slits â€¦ Elorde would pull that courage from some inner, invisible scabbard and turn the tide."

Elorde won on the scorecards of all three judges. Referee Jade Sullivan gave Elorde 8 rounds and Saddler only 1 while the two other judges had Elorde ahead by 7 rounds to 3 and 8 rounds to 2.

With his new-found confidence and his ranking as a contender, the young Elorde dared to face Saddler in a rematch on January 18, 1956 (poster pictured) with Saddlerâ€™s featherweight title on the line at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. Elorde fought brilliantly and was leading on the scorecards of all the judges when the referee called a halt to the fight in the 13th round because of a nasty cut suffered by Elorde as Saddler laced, poked, elbowed and pawed the young Filipino in an ugly display of viciousness in the ring.

Boxing fans booed Saddler, howled over the stoppage and rained the ring with debris. Philippine Ambassador to Washington, the eminent diplomat Carlos P. Romulo told Elorde "you may have lost the fight, but you won the hearts of Americans by your gallantry."

(by Ronnie Nathanielsz)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Friday 15 May 1914
Broadway Auditorium, Buffalo, New York

http://boxrec.com/show_display.php?show_id=113002


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Mike Tyson walking to the dressing room with Cus D Amato after his pro debut, 1985

(via john scully)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Lou Nova, long after he retired, is coming out of the Garden after the fights one night when this guy with a nine-year-old son approaches him.
"Lou," he says, "You were one of my great heroes. I saw at least 20 of your fights."

Lou did't know the guy from Adam but, particularly in front of the kid, tried to pretend that he did.

"Ah, how'ya?" he says. "How are things going? Are you still working in the same job? How's the wife?"

They exchange a few other bits and pieces of civility and then separate.

As father and son are walking away, Lou overhears the father saying to the son: "I told you he was punchy - he never met me before in his life!"

(Gerry Callan)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


>


The *REAL* Floyd, with Jake and SRL.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Lou Nova, long after he retired, is coming out of the Garden after the fights one night when this guy with a nine-year-old son approaches him.
> "Lou," he says, "You were one of my great heroes. I saw at least 20 of your fights."
> 
> Lou did't know the guy from Adam but, particularly in front of the kid, tried to pretend that he did.
> ...


You get no credit at all for being a nice guy, unfortunately.


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

Phantom said:


> You get no credit at all for being a nice guy, unfortunately.


Yes this is absolutely true.

I naïvely and excitedly thought I was doing British boxing a favour when I researched Gilroy's career. I was thrilled and enthused and fully expectant of great things and so were quite a few people I had met with, corresponded with and presented copies of my work and the material too.

by the time my work was published and more widespread, you'd think I killed Freddie Mills or something, the enthusiasm by others was soon silenced and the support from 'other' powers within the sport and media were suddenly closed... talk about "shooting" the messenger. I was completely confused.

then it was pointed out to me, yes you unearthed a pearl, but you have also brought damn near the whole of British boxing's legitimacy and creditability into serious accountability.

the main thing however, is that you not only have all the reports and material, but you freely handed it out to dozens of others, and that is all that matters. Not only do you know, but they also know with what you provided them with, but they also know, that you know they know!

messenger shoot, but evidence was well distributed and passed around.

Thank God.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

On this day May 20th in 1986...

A snarling Tyson came to the center of the ring literally foaming from the mouth. The ever cocky Green , he always came to the ring sporting a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, barraged Tyson with insults. The action of the bout was to prove anti-climatic, Tyson as always was moving forward, but the 6â€™5â€³ Green managed to tie Tyson up repeatedly. Tysonâ€™s most effective display of offense came in the third round when he landed a blow to Greenâ€™s jaw with force sufficient to dis-lodge a section of bridge work and send it flying several feet to the ring apron. Through it all â€œBloodâ€ Green managed to survive the ten rounds, with Tyson the clear winner.

This was not the last time Iron Mike and Blood Green would meet. In the early morning hours of August 23, 1988, Mike Tyson stopped by Dapper Dans, a Harlem clothing store frequented by a clientele from rap stars to pimps. Tyson was there to pick up a custom made jacket. Mitch Green happened to be in the area and an argument ensued, in which Green threw a punch and Tyson responded with a straight right landing on the bridge of Greenâ€™s nose; requiring five stitches. Although Tyson won this second bout, shades of Walker vs. Greb, he suffered more in the long run. The bare knuckle punch resulted in a fracture to Tysonâ€™s hand causing a postponement of his scheduled first fight with Frank Bruno...


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Within seconds, the crowd of 10,600 had something to cheer as Green discarded caution and charged into Stracey, forcing John back with a furious and continuous assault. It was an opening attack that lacked finesse, the initial onslaught of a man high on adrenaline and relieved to be let loose after weeks of disciplined training.

The punches came hard and fast, most of them directed at the body, and Stracey grimaced as they struck home. John looked worried and confused as he was chased around the ring, and his attempts to fend off his tormentor were swamped by the oncoming flood of aggression.

Although both fighters missed badly as the melee became wilder, Green continued to score heavily with most of his punches, while Stracey struggled to land his first significant blow. John needed a momentâ€™s respite to regain his rhythm and timing, but he was caught in the eye of the storm and could only smother and try to survive.

Green, in his eagerness to maintain the advantage, was twice cautioned by referee Harry Gibbs, but Dave was so engrossed in his mission that he continued to pile forward at a frantic pace. Already Straceyâ€™s left eye was beginning to swell, but he displayed great courage in remaining upright and trying to fight back.

The second round was almost identical to the first as Green continued to steam forward, the tempo so fast that the fighters were still lashing punches at each other after the bell. Stracey remained defiant, though he was still taking a shellacking. By the third round, he at last saw the light at the end of the tunnel and began to score with his own punches. But he was still facing a tough uphill climb as Green applied relentless pressure, throwing punch after punch with his customary ferocity, frequently compelling John to seek refuge against the ropes.

The â€œFen Tigerâ€ was a willing prisoner of that magic trance that grips the top athletes in the heat of competition, when they become oblivious to everything but their opponents. So immersed was he in the job at hand that when referee Gibbs grabbed him by the hair and yanked him off Stracey for a serious lecture about dangerous use of the head in the fourth round, Dave barely seemed to notice. Again and again he swept forward, finding the mark with roundhouse rights to the head and clumping swings to the body.

Yet strangely, it was during that heated and hectic fourth round that Straceyâ€™s revival began to gather momentum. Greenâ€™s punches and the prospect of defeat seemed to spark John into life as he began to counter with some solid blows. This provoked Green into launching another fierce attack in the fifth round, and once again the going was torrid for Stracey as he was buffeted from one side of the ring to the other and denied the chance of mounting any sustained rally.

However, in the sixth and seventh rounds the fight became more evenly balanced as Green inevitably slowed, allowing Stracey to stand his ground more and place his punches. John was suddenly able to use his jab to greater effect and succeeded in checking Daveâ€™s rushes with bursts of fine uppercuts and hooks.

An already thrilling battle thus blossomed into a truly classic confrontation, as Stracey came out of the wilderness to challenge Greenâ€™s superiority and close the points gap. The eighth and ninth rounds were bitterly contested as the battered but rejuvenated Stracey planted himself in mid-ring and gamely traded punches with Green, frequently beating him to the punch. There were brief moments during those rounds when Dave appeared to flag a little, but each time he came blazing back with a fresh assault.

Stracey could never quite cope with the sheer persistence of the â€œFen Tiger,â€ nor his underrated versatility. For Green was more than an unimaginative, slam-bang merchant. He attacked in different ways, sometimes behind ramrod left jabs or clubbing rights, other times by simply mauling his way inside in whatever way he could.

Yet courageous Stracey had reduced Greenâ€™s lead considerably and the fight was now very close. Both fighters were marked around the eyes, but it was Straceyâ€™s injured left eye that determined the outcome. The 10th round was still in its early stages when the eye finally closed, severely hampering Johnâ€™s vision and throwing him straight back into choppy waters again. His desperation was clearly apparent and provoked Green into mounting another vicious onslaught.

This time John could not hold the â€œFen Tigerâ€ off. Stracey was offering only token resistance now and being hit repeatedly by the looping, almost overarm right that Green called his â€œmuck spreader.â€ The deceptive punch seemed to take several trips around the houses before it found its target, yet more than a few good men felt its wallop.

Referee Gibbs stopped the action to ask Stracey if he wanted to continue and John nodded as every great fighter does in that kind of predicament. But he was now defenseless, and after taking further punishment he was rescued by a timely act of compassion from Gibbs.

It was a moment of magnificent glory for Green and one of painful frustration for Stracey. The one bad thing about a great fight is that oneâ€™s joy for the winner is tinged by pity for the loser. The consolation for John H. Stracey was that he finished on his feet, which was typical of the man. In more than 50 professional fights, he was never counted out.

(by Mike Casey)


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

Marcel Cerdan vs Jean Zides - 1938


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He trained in an era that predated water chlorination or even widespread pasteurization. People in those days were afraid of fresh water. For this reason Sullivan drank no cold water (he even showered using salt water), fearing that it could be filled with germs (bacteria or protozoa) that could make him sick. At his meals he drank tea, and his post workout "shake" was boiled beef broth. He drank between 1 and 5 beers per day (Bass Ale) for 3 reasons; first because beer was safe to drink compared to fresh water, second because people of that time didn't realise just how bad for you alcohol was (alcoholism was seen as a weakness of character not a chemically induced disease), and third, Sullivan was an alcoholic, and it may have been prudent to slowly wean him off of it rather than have him quit cold turkey. Delirium tremens (the shakes) can be fatal to an alcoholic who is forced to go cold turkey.

It is often noted that fresh fruit and vegetables were rarely served to old time boxers. Again, this was the fear of food poisoning. A raw peach could be poisoned simply by "washing" it in fresh water. Stewed fruits and vegetables were substituted. The trainers of the day didn't know that they were boiling out the vitamins as well as the harmful germs.

Sullivan, however, made one worthwhile choice that broke the mold - he ate celery. Celery provided him with fibre, as well as additional water. Celery has very few calories. It was Sullivan's preferred snack and he eat as much of it as he wanted.

Sullivan lived intemperately and he knew it. His drinking is well documented, but he was also a smoker (cigars) and he had a prodigious appetite for food and women. He was married but he spent little time at home, and the marriage produced no offspring. The lady with whom he spent most of his time, Lillian Russell, had been married four times in an era when divorce was scandalous, and one of her four husbands was Diamond Jim Brady (an American businessman, financier, and philanthropist with a wealth estimated at $12 million). She was also married during the time she spent with Sullivan.

In order to "counteract" the effects of his intemperance, Sullivan began each training camp with a two week "cleanse". This involved the application of emetics and physics. To be clear, an emetic is a medication that makes you vomit. A physic is a laxative. This is a very dangerous thing to do to yourself as the risk of dehydration is great, especially if you are an alcoholic (alcohol dehydrates and some of the adverse effects of alcohol are linked to dehydration) or if you aren't drinking enough water to begin with (Sullivan met both these criteria), but one would certainly lose weight (mostly water) during these two weeks.

Thereafter his diet was hot oatmeal, well-cooked meats, fried eggs, dry bread and tea, with boiled beef broth and celery between meals. By the end of his camp he was drinking only one Bass Ale a day with his lunch.

The workout was an all-day affair. Sullivan trained before the advent of the internet, TV, movies or even radio. Sullivan could read, play pool, listen to the grammophone, or engage in conversation if he wanted to relax. In other words, spare time was not as coveted then as it is now because there was not as much to do with it. Also, the fight itself could be an all-day affair, so it was best to train all day.

Here's the routine:

0600: Rise and short workout with dumbells (Sullivan used hand weights - 2lbs to 4lbs)
0630: Walk 1 to 1.5 miles from camp and run back as quickly as possible 
0700: Breakfast. Followed by a rest to allow for digestion. Sullivan and Muldoon would also read the paper so they had something to talk about during the next 2 hours of "roadwork".
1030: Two hours of walking and running intervals, cross-country. Sullivan claimed that he covered 12 miles during this two hour period. He also wore a thick belt, like a weightlifter's belt during this phase as he thought it helped to reduce stomach fat.
1230: Shower, towel rubdown, lunch and rest (If Sullivan was training near salt water he would swim 10-15 min before lunch). The towel rubdown was done to keep the muscles supple, but also to clean the body of salt and water.
1430: 1.5-2.5 hours of gym work. "We wrestle, punch a bag, throw a football, swing Indian clubs (weighted bowling pins) and dumbbells, practice the chest movement and such things until suppertime". Sullivan did not spar in these camps. Most of his sparring was done during his hundreds of exhibitions.
After supper, Sullivan preferred to remain active until bedtime so his limbs didn't stiffen up. He would play pool, or go for a walk or, if just hanging out, he would remain on his feet rather than sit.
2100: Bedtime. Sullivan would do another short workout with light dumbells before retiring.

(by Mike South)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Jimmy McLarnin in training with his brother Bob - 1930


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel

Muhammad Ali v Tommy Hearns sparring exhibition clip
1981 - Bahamas - preparation for Ali v Berbick


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

Classic Boxing Society YouTube channel

Muhammad Ali v Tommy Hearns sparring exhibition clip1981 - Bahamas - preparation for Ali v Berbick


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1918, former World Lightweight Champion Ad Wolgast escaped from the hospital where he was being held and lived for a time in the mountains of North Carolina, where he was eventually "discovered" and given over to the care of Jack Doyle, a boxing promoter from Vernon, California. Doyle offered to let Wolgast live and train with him, with the stipulation that Wolgast would never again be allowed to enter a prizefighting ring, and as a result, Wolgast spent the next seven years (from 1920 to 1927) diligently training every day, skipping rope, running, and shadow boxing for a fight that never came. Wolgast trained from sun up to sun down, and would retire exhausted each evening with the belief that his title shot was always a day away. For close to seven years, this ritual went on, with Doyle offering encouragement and keeping Wolgast preoccupied and singularly focused, in a sad re-embodiment of his former self.

(by Aaron Lloyd)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

December 2, 1896

Frontier lawman Wyatt Earp, legendary for his role in the archetypal Western gunfight, "Shoot-out at the O.K. Corral", is called upon to officiate at a $10,000 heavyweight championship boxing match. As he strolls into San Francisco's Mechanics Pavilion to start work, police confiscate the ex-U.S. Marshall's six-shooter.

"Sailor" Tom Sharkey is the underdog against Australian heavyweight Bob Fitzsimmons, "the Freckled Wonder". Sure enough, Fitzsimmons knocks Sharkey cold in the eighth - but referee Wyatt Earp calls a foul and awards the decision to Sharkey, lying unconscious on the canvas! Needless to say, outrage burns in the hearts of 15,000 men present (and the whole city) that the fight had been fixed!

The case went before a judge, and though Wyatt was, if not specifically exonerated, at least not found guilty of fraud.

(San Francisco Chronicle)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

this whole project...'bits and pieces' on the forums...'classic boxing society' on facebook and a blog.....may be coming to an end of sorts soon as i might be taking on a bit of work which will tie me up....but it was fun to do, and i am glad that some people liked it.

I'll still add to it every now and then but it'll be very seldom.


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## thistle1 (Jun 7, 2013)

Thanks for the great contribution, it can be resourced for years to come...

Good luck in your work and hope to hear from you again.

in Boxing, Thistle1.


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## Phantom (May 17, 2013)

Much obliged to you doug.ie!:cheers


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

i'm spending a little more time than usual browsing this forum on these off work days...so i'll give this a cheeky bump..may be some new posters that might find interest in it somewhere


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## Chinny (Jun 10, 2012)

doug.ie said:


> i'm spending a little more time than usual browsing this forum on these off work days...so i'll give this a cheeky bump..may be some new posters that might find interest in it somewhere


Great stuff Doug.ie I definitely haven't been through all this great stuff so thanks for the bump :cheers


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## DB Cooper (May 17, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> Jimmy McLarnin in training with his brother Bob - 1930


Great pic. But unfortunate choice of training attire, including the footwear.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)




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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

He entered the ring wrapped in tallis, the prayer shawl worn in synagogues. Around his right arm and on his head he wore tefilin, the small leather box containing sacred scripture, trailed by leather straps, which is put on by observant jews for morning prayers. He proceeded to go through an elaborate ritual of slowly unwinding the leather straps from around his body, tenderly kissing them, and placing the materials in a gold-embossed velvet bag, which he then carefully handed to his chief second, Ray Arcel. His trunks, as always, were adorned with the star of David.

- Ben Sharav recreating the scene in a 1929 edition of Ring Magazine when Jack Kid Berg made his New York debut in Madison Square Garden.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

a week off work...thought i might revisit this thread 

.....










(*from adam pollocks excellent books on jack johnson)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

When I started earning big purses I promised to hang up the gloves just as soon as I saved a million dollars. I haven't changed from that plan, except that I want a crack at the title before quitting. If I do get the crown, I want to defend it once. After that I'll have my million, and I'll quit the ring, raise a family, and live like any-body else.

Right now I'm paying off my first $200,000 worth of annuities, have an apartment building in Chicago, and another $500,000 in sight this summer.

I never saw Max Schmeling in action, but the movies of his knockout over Young Stribling in Cleveland in 1931 left a lingering impression of a great fighter. I was just a kid then, getting my baptism with gloves at the Detroit A. A., and hadn't been in any real bouts. But I was warming up to the game mighty fast, and saved my pennies to see the Schmeling-Stribling film when it arrived at my neighborhood show. Then I sat with my mouth open and marveled at the way Schmeling slipped under Stribling's piston jabs and countered with short jolts to the body, gradually raised his fire to the chin, and scored a knockout in the fifteenth round. At that time I got the idea Stribling might have done better by drawing away from the German's fists and stepping in with counters.

Now I know just how I'm going to fight Schmeling. I'll let him come winging into me, pull away from his gloves by doing my "backward shuffle," and then step in with counters. If he rushes too fast and furious, I'll grab his arms and spin him before opening up.

I know the "tip" that I'm weak against rushers has spread like a scandal in an old maids' home. That's partly because Adolph Wiater, a mediocre heavyweight, gave me the toughest shock of my career by pushing me back off balance and churning windmill arms. At the time I fought Wiater, which was my first ten-round shindig, I hadn't learned to shuffle in reverse.

Blackburn taught me a system of boxing on balance, as I explained in Liberty last November. At first he showed me how to shuffle forward into an opponent and keep my feet always in position for leverage so I could punch without waste motion. My right foot always is slightly behind the left - not too far, but enough to keep me from falling forward off balance when I strike. Blackburn had me watch a shot putter heave the iron marble at a track meet.

"Push your right cross off the right foot something like that," Jack said. "At the same time hold that right toe against the floor for an anchor to keep from falling into a clinch as you punch. Imagine that toe's a stake holding down the corner of a circus tent."

So I learned to shuffle into an opponent, and quick knockouts resulted. Then Wiater came along, hurtling headfirst into me, and I was fuddled for a couple of rounds, but never in distress.

Blackburn immediately taught me the backward shuffle. I simply moved the same way in reverse gear. I discovered I was at my best when a foe came charging into me, because primarily I'm a counterpuncher. In my first clash with Lee Ramage I shuffled ahead for seven rounds before catching up with the retreating Ramage in the eighth. Then, in our return match, Lee decided to wage a charging fight and take a chance on outslugging me. This time I shuffled out of his range, made him miss, and stepped in with counters that iced Lee in the second round.

Maybe Schmeling will switch from his usual style and wait for me to lead; but I don't think so. The German has forced the fighting in all his bouts and would be foolish to change at this time.

Blackburn says Max drops his left hand when he shoots the right. The first time he drops his left, there'll be a race of right hands, and I think mine will ring the button. I know the Teuton has a cast-iron jaw.

I never expect to hit another man as often with hard punches as I hit Baer before melting his chin, but I expect Schmeling to swing at me plenty. And I expect to get tagged by a few. I am prepared to take as well as dish out the leather poison this trip.

Schmeling is the big hurdle in my path to the championship match. If I can whip him decisively, I expect to leap right into a title shot as the next stop, although we might take on a warm-up bout in midsummer.

I feel that I've got a mission to fulfill for my race - to win the title and then prove that a colored man can wear the crown and still act like a gentleman.

Joe Louis - June, 1936


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

The Chicago Times-Herald, Mar 24, 1900 reported “Baltimore man's eye dislodged from its socket by a head on collision.” ...

Joe Gans was considered as the finest lightweight in the world before he finally got a shot against lightweight champion Frank Erne, who was also considered to be among the best fighters of any weight class at that time. They met on March 23, 1900 in New York. One modern writer mistakenly said Gans was “winning easily when he suffered a cut over his eye and abruptly quit” and “it buttressed the claims of those who said the fix was in.” Not so. According to researcher Arne Steinberg Gans eye was actually protruding from his eye socket! A vicious head butt had left Gans eye hanging on his face. The Chicago Times-Herald, Mar 24, reported “Baltimore man's eye dislodged from its socket by a head on collision.” The San Francisco Chronicle Mar 24, 1900, confirmed that, “Gans eye was started from its socket.” This was also reported by the Boston Globe. With such a horrendous injury Gans had no choice but to quit as one blow to his eye in that exposed position would have left him permanently blind.
It took Gans two years to secure a rematch, in which time he scored 22 knockouts in 32 bouts, including some 6 round no decision contests.
When Joe Gans got his second shot at champion Frank Erne, on May 12, 1902, he wasted no time in gaining the title by scoring a quick knockout. Gans spent a lot of time preparing for Erne’s favorite feint and jab maneuver. Gans proved to be a master at solving an opponent’s style when he countered an intended Erne left with a perfectly timed right that sent Erne crashing to the canvas. Gans won the championship with a sensational first round knockout at 1:40 of the round.

By Monte D. Cox


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

giving this thread its annual bump


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## Trail (May 24, 2013)

doug.ie said:


> giving this thread its annual bump


More than welcome bump at that, Doug.


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

"It was also through Joe Kalick that I met and eventually sparred with Joe Louis, then still heavyweight champion of the world. I was matched to fight an American soldier by the name of Ike Robinson to entertain wounded soldiers in a Naples hospital. 

Louis had arrived in the city just before, and Kalick asked him to referee the bout. It was a helluva fight with both of us covered in blood and practising some pretty dirty tricks on each other. 
Louis just watched us through sleepy eyes and neither of us even got a warning. At the end, Louis lifted my hand, declared me the winner on points, and said a few kind words.
That was that, I thought.

But a few days later Kalick came to me and said: "Kid, how would you like to spar with Louis?" Would I just! To me it was a dream come true. It was arranged that an American heavyweight named Van Parks and I would each spar two rounds against Louis in an exhibition for all the troops in the area. 

At the stadium I was ushered into a big room where the champion was being received by the big brass. I heard a loud American voice telling the world what boxing was really all about, and for a horrible moment I thought it was Joe Louis shouting. 
Then I realised it was George Nicholson, his chief sparring partner, surrounded by a lot of people and doing some real boasting.
A little further away, relaxing in a corner and studying his fingernails with a bored expression was the great champion himself.
I went over and introduced myself.

"Ah, you're the white boy who fought the other night!" Joe said. "Good fight boy, where you from?" 
I told him and we chatted for a few minutes. I must admit I was being quite overawed in his presence. He was so big and yet so quiet and soft-spoken that I could hardly believe this was really the great Brown Bomber. 

Then we left for the dressing room and Van Parks was selected to go the first two rounds. Parks made a fool of himself that night. He was so scared of Louis that he jumped back every time the champion made a move, and once Louis actually held him with one hand, turned him around and whacked him on the backside with the open glove! 

Sitting next to the ring waiting my turn, I realised that I had no hope whatsoever of really doing anything against Louis. 'Johnny, tonight you're going to get hammered' I mumbled to myself, but at the same time I was quite determined not to show any fear, as Parks did. 
I didn't like the way the huge crowd of soldiers had laughed at the poor guy. At last Parks was rescued by the bell and then it was my turn.

Joe came out of his corner jabbing with his left and obviously intent on feeling me out. After all, he had everything to lose and nothing to gain. I soon discovered that I was much faster on my feet than the champion, and by dancing around him I was able to put on a fair show. 
At the end of the first round I was really feeling good, and the shouts of the crowd were like music, but right at the start of the second round our heads accidently collided and Louis stepped back, lifted his glove to his cheekbone, and wiped it. 
I could see him glaring at the glove for signs of blood but thank heavens there was no damage.

Then he moved in on me and I realised that he was going to teach me a lesson. He must have thought I butted him deliberately. I'll never forget the intentness of his eyes as he shuffled towards me. 
The next moment, like lightning, I was hit on the jaw. Don't ask me how many punches. I was told there were four but for all I know it could have been one or ten. 
Suddenly everything went black and I came to, still on my feet, with Joe's right arm holding me upright. 

"You all right boy?" I heard him whisper, and then I realised that this wonderful gentleman had actually held me up to prevent me from falling and being ridiculed in front of my freinds.
That action of Joe Louis' I can never forget, even if I live to be a hundred."

Johnny Ralph (prominent South African heavyweight of the war era)


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## doug.ie (Jun 3, 2012)

In 1935 Jersey Joe Walcott had become a boxing big shot around Camden, New Jersey, although this did nothing to help his financial situation as he was in debt and running out of credit. He and his wife Lydia were being hounded by the grocery store, the milkman and the landlord for immediate payment. Needing money, Walcott agreed to face his old mentor Roxie Allen. Allen had been calling Joe out for some time and had openly challenged him, so a fight was arranged at the convention hall.

Arriving for the fight, Joe was unexpectedly stopped at the entrance by a stranger who wanted to introduce Joe to a small dark man. “Here is the original,” said the stranger “Meet Joe Walcott, the Barbados Demon himself.” Joe was absolutely thrilled and inspired by the incident. After all, Joe Walcott was Jersey Joe’s idol. Although Joe didn’t have a dime to his name to buy a ticket, he managed to get his hero a ringside seat.

The fight started off as a bit of a shock for Walcott. Roxie, in a burst of fury, floored Jersey Joe with a big left hook in round one for a count of seven. Once up, Walcott proceeded to batter Allen without mercy, finally knocking Roxie out in round eight with a left hook. The blow sent Roxie to the canvas, his head hitting the floor of the ring hard enough to make it bounce. Roxie’s body stiffened and Jersey Joe again had the awful feeling that he might have killed an opponent. Roxie was taken to Cooper Hospital. That night Joe prayed for God to spare Roxie’s life. The next afternoon Roxie regained consciousness, but remained hospitalized for ten days. After the fight the Barbados Demon paid Joe a visit in his dressing room, giving him a hug and saying, “Lots of fellers take the name Joe Walcott but you’re the only boy I ever saw I was actually proud to have using it.”

For his victory over Allen, Joe walked away with $375. By the next evening, every cent of it was gone to pay the grocery store, landlord, milkman and a dozen other credits. By the next morning the family were living on markers once again.

(by James Curl)


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