Anybody see "Assault in the Ring"? About the Billy Collins-Luis Resto fight. Pretty heavy stuff. It should be showing all month long. Look for it. Man, Resto has been carrying around guilt, heavy guilt for a lot of years.
Randy
Classic American West Coast Boxing
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
I will have to check that out Randy.
Anyone see the fights on Showtime tonight?
I didnt, but I just read that Junior Witter quit in his corner. Spit the bit.
Something about a sore elbow and being frustrated.
Another guy that isnt gonna make anyone forget Carmen Basilio.
Anyone see the fights on Showtime tonight?
I didnt, but I just read that Junior Witter quit in his corner. Spit the bit.
Something about a sore elbow and being frustrated.
Another guy that isnt gonna make anyone forget Carmen Basilio.
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Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Nate Campbell basically quit after a head butt. Bradley outgunned him and was gunna lay a whipping on him had it gone any longer.Expug wrote:I will have to check that out Randy.
Anyone see the fights on Showtime tonight?
I didnt, but I just read that Junior Witter quit in his corner. Spit the bit.
Something about a sore elbow and being frustrated.
Another guy that isnt gonna make anyone forget Carmen Basilio.
Afterwards, Don King & Cambell in the ring whining, blaming, blah, blah. Just another day of crap boxing in the California Desert.
In the first fight, what a pair of over-rated amateur caliber boxers.
-Rick Farris
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Bobbin & Weavin
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 213
- Joined: 08 Nov 2007, 23:33
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Randy,Randyman wrote:Anybody see "Assault in the Ring"? About the Billy Collins-Luis Resto fight. Pretty heavy stuff. It should be showing all month long. Look for it. Man, Resto has been carrying around guilt, heavy guilt for a lot of years.
Randy
I saw it and my wife and two daughters watched it with me, we all agreed how hard it is to watch a man humbled to tears, how hard it is to consider the magnitude of the loss to the Collins family, they didn't just lose their son, they loss the star of the family, plus you have to imagine that the senior Collins has to struggle with "could I have seen it, could I have prevented it?" Once again it was about money, about some cocain dealer wanting to put down a huge bet and make more money and of course they walked away scott free. Panama Lewis made us all sick but it is what we expected from him. His sentance should have included a restraining order of 100 yards from any boxer, boxing gym or boxing arena for life.
Bruce
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Collins2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 4175
- Joined: 06 May 2002, 06:13
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
I'd much rather read a dispassionate realistic account of a fight than agggressive simplistic rantings.bennie wrote:Before the fight. His after-the-fight accounts are too tame, in my opinion. He sits on the fence.Collins2000 wrote:Always fair though.bennie wrote: Houston is one of those 'least offence' writers - a pussycat.
The best post I EVER saw in this forum was from Frank Baltazar.
That granberry character was screaming how boxing was totally corrupt and wanted Frank to go along with him. He used the fight mentioned above involving Frank's son and seemed to think Frank was gonna start chanting along with him.
Frank, like the true gentleman he is, simply said something like "I have no desire to roll in the mud with you".
Absolutely brilliant response.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
From The Big Fight by Dave Hannigan
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Here is a picture of Vic Grupico from the program of the 1971 S.F. Golden Gloves Tournament. Vic was a constant figure at Newman and Herman's Gym in San Francisco as a trainer. He was one of the best liked people in the gym. Vic spoke with a raspy voice and I was told that his voice was like that because he was punched in the throat once. Vic always had a story and was always yelling so he could be understood. I believe he was a Teamster and may have been an officer in the Teamster Union, that I can double check.
Bruce
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
L.A. THEN AND NOW
The chili's gone but the restaurant-size bowls remain
Jim Heimann
The first Chili Bowl was opened by Art Whizin in 1931 on Crenshaw Boulevard. He sold his wife’s wedding ring, among other things, to get the business going.
In 1931, Art Whizin opened a restaurant shaped like a chili bowl, and 22 others followed. The popular dish is long gone, but a few of the circular buildings are now serving up something different.
By Steve Harvey
The way Art Whizin told the story, he was sitting at the counter of a downtown burger joint called Ptomaine Tommy's, trying to visualize the restaurant he wanted to build.
Then a truck-driver friend next to him slid over a chili bowl and said, "Here, Whizin, do something with this."
And that's how Whizin, the one-time amateur boxer, decided in 1931 to construct an eatery in the shape of a chili bowl. Why not? Merchants were putting up businesses that resembled ice cream cones, tamales, coffee kettles and sundry other objects -- all trying to catch the eye of passing motorists.
The 25-year-old entrepreneur opened his first Chili Bowl on Crenshaw Boulevard near Jefferson Boulevard after raising $1,200 by selling, among other things, his wife's wedding ring and his roadster. The couple moved into a house nearby.
"Because he sold his car, he had to have his business within walking distance," explained Jim Heimann, author of "California Crazy & Beyond," a study of offbeat roadside architecture.
Whizin told Heimann in a 1978 interview that he sketched the design of the restaurant on the corduroy pants he seemed to always be wearing. Perhaps he didn't want anyone else to get their hands on the plans.
Or perhaps "he was embellishing the story," Heimann said with a laugh. "He was an interesting character."
The Chili Bowl had no tables, just a 26-stool circular counter, and Whizin bragged that his young workers, most of them college boys, could "flip a pat of butter from the center of the counter to the edge of any of the 26 plates."
The place was an immediate success with its specialty dish called the chili size, an open-faced hamburger smothered with the homemade goodness.
The restaurant was so popular, in fact, that the owner painted a "Pat. Pending" notation on the outside, thinking his design was unique enough to be patented. Instead, he drew fan mail addressed to "Pat Pending."
Before the decade was out, Whizin had built 22 more Chili Bowls, including one on Florence Avenue in Huntington Park that, he recalled, was the only structure on the block that was undamaged by the 1933 Long Beach earthquake.
"It's because of the circular shape," he told the Times in 1985. "It gave evenly in all directions. The place was full and all 26 customers ran outside. After a couple of minutes, they peered inside the window, saw everything was OK and came back and finished their chili."
The outside bathrooms were lighted with blue lights and became a running joke on the radio, with comics such as Fred Allen talking of plans to take his wife "out to the Blue Room at the Chili Bowl."
Whizin liked jokes too, one of his slogans being, "We cook our beans backwards -- you only get the hiccups."
During World War II, Douglas Aircraft in Santa Monica asked him to keep his Chili Bowl on Pico Boulevard near Bundy Drive open 24 hours a day for aircraft workers on the late shift.
But with the end of the war, Whizin became tired of the business. College men no longer wanted to work the counter, he told Heimann, a cultural historian whose other works include "Car Hops and Curb Service -- A History of American Drive-in Restaurants (1920-1960)." Whizin converted several of the buildings into Punch & Judy Ice Cream Parlors but later closed those.
He built a mall in Agoura Hills that still bears his name, though he had sold it long before his death in 1994 at the age of 88. It, too, has a distinctive shape -- a pyramid on one roof is a familiar sight to drivers on the 101 Freeway.
Today, four Chili Bowls survive in various forms.
One serves up sales talk. It houses a used-car business, the Valley Dealer Exchange, on San Fernando Road in Glendale.
Another old Chili Bowl, the one in Huntington Park that survived the 1933 quake, now withstands nightly musical vibrations as the Guadalajara Nightclub.
The third is a Chinese restaurant, Kim Chuy, on Valley Boulevard in Alhambra, and the fourth is the Pico Boulevard one that fed so many Douglas workers during World War II. It's called Mr. Cecil's California Ribs.
The circular counters of the last two have been replaced by individual tables and booths. But their old-time look remains, and diners seem to like it
"The place is a hole-in-the-wall full of goodness," Anita W. of Monterey Park said of Kim's on the yelp.com dining site.
Jason W. of Venice marveled of Mr. Cecil's Ribs on the same site. "It feels like you are eating in a mechanical garage in the '50s. The bathrooms are even outside."
Some of the glamour is gone, though. The bathrooms no longer have blue lights.
Like Whizin more than seven decades ago, these four businesses have done something with a chili bowl, a much larger chili bowl. At least they didn't have to consult Whizin's corduroy pants.
[email protected]
The chili's gone but the restaurant-size bowls remain
Jim Heimann
The first Chili Bowl was opened by Art Whizin in 1931 on Crenshaw Boulevard. He sold his wife’s wedding ring, among other things, to get the business going.
In 1931, Art Whizin opened a restaurant shaped like a chili bowl, and 22 others followed. The popular dish is long gone, but a few of the circular buildings are now serving up something different.
By Steve Harvey
The way Art Whizin told the story, he was sitting at the counter of a downtown burger joint called Ptomaine Tommy's, trying to visualize the restaurant he wanted to build.
Then a truck-driver friend next to him slid over a chili bowl and said, "Here, Whizin, do something with this."
And that's how Whizin, the one-time amateur boxer, decided in 1931 to construct an eatery in the shape of a chili bowl. Why not? Merchants were putting up businesses that resembled ice cream cones, tamales, coffee kettles and sundry other objects -- all trying to catch the eye of passing motorists.
The 25-year-old entrepreneur opened his first Chili Bowl on Crenshaw Boulevard near Jefferson Boulevard after raising $1,200 by selling, among other things, his wife's wedding ring and his roadster. The couple moved into a house nearby.
"Because he sold his car, he had to have his business within walking distance," explained Jim Heimann, author of "California Crazy & Beyond," a study of offbeat roadside architecture.
Whizin told Heimann in a 1978 interview that he sketched the design of the restaurant on the corduroy pants he seemed to always be wearing. Perhaps he didn't want anyone else to get their hands on the plans.
Or perhaps "he was embellishing the story," Heimann said with a laugh. "He was an interesting character."
The Chili Bowl had no tables, just a 26-stool circular counter, and Whizin bragged that his young workers, most of them college boys, could "flip a pat of butter from the center of the counter to the edge of any of the 26 plates."
The place was an immediate success with its specialty dish called the chili size, an open-faced hamburger smothered with the homemade goodness.
The restaurant was so popular, in fact, that the owner painted a "Pat. Pending" notation on the outside, thinking his design was unique enough to be patented. Instead, he drew fan mail addressed to "Pat Pending."
Before the decade was out, Whizin had built 22 more Chili Bowls, including one on Florence Avenue in Huntington Park that, he recalled, was the only structure on the block that was undamaged by the 1933 Long Beach earthquake.
"It's because of the circular shape," he told the Times in 1985. "It gave evenly in all directions. The place was full and all 26 customers ran outside. After a couple of minutes, they peered inside the window, saw everything was OK and came back and finished their chili."
The outside bathrooms were lighted with blue lights and became a running joke on the radio, with comics such as Fred Allen talking of plans to take his wife "out to the Blue Room at the Chili Bowl."
Whizin liked jokes too, one of his slogans being, "We cook our beans backwards -- you only get the hiccups."
During World War II, Douglas Aircraft in Santa Monica asked him to keep his Chili Bowl on Pico Boulevard near Bundy Drive open 24 hours a day for aircraft workers on the late shift.
But with the end of the war, Whizin became tired of the business. College men no longer wanted to work the counter, he told Heimann, a cultural historian whose other works include "Car Hops and Curb Service -- A History of American Drive-in Restaurants (1920-1960)." Whizin converted several of the buildings into Punch & Judy Ice Cream Parlors but later closed those.
He built a mall in Agoura Hills that still bears his name, though he had sold it long before his death in 1994 at the age of 88. It, too, has a distinctive shape -- a pyramid on one roof is a familiar sight to drivers on the 101 Freeway.
Today, four Chili Bowls survive in various forms.
One serves up sales talk. It houses a used-car business, the Valley Dealer Exchange, on San Fernando Road in Glendale.
Another old Chili Bowl, the one in Huntington Park that survived the 1933 quake, now withstands nightly musical vibrations as the Guadalajara Nightclub.
The third is a Chinese restaurant, Kim Chuy, on Valley Boulevard in Alhambra, and the fourth is the Pico Boulevard one that fed so many Douglas workers during World War II. It's called Mr. Cecil's California Ribs.
The circular counters of the last two have been replaced by individual tables and booths. But their old-time look remains, and diners seem to like it
"The place is a hole-in-the-wall full of goodness," Anita W. of Monterey Park said of Kim's on the yelp.com dining site.
Jason W. of Venice marveled of Mr. Cecil's Ribs on the same site. "It feels like you are eating in a mechanical garage in the '50s. The bathrooms are even outside."
Some of the glamour is gone, though. The bathrooms no longer have blue lights.
Like Whizin more than seven decades ago, these four businesses have done something with a chili bowl, a much larger chili bowl. At least they didn't have to consult Whizin's corduroy pants.
[email protected]
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Watching a good 'ol Bud Abbott/Lou Costello movie, the boys meet Frankenstein, also starring Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney 
, they don't make movie like they used to.... 
, they don't make movie like they used to.... Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?dagosd2000 wrote:kikibalt wrote:Great James Brown song Roger, its been years since I heard itdagosd2000 wrote:CEMENT FLOOR
After practice with the Ghetto Messangers at Ocean View Park that had no view of the ocean down in Logan Heights in Southeast,we'd go to a neighborhood bar and get an edge on.
The black neighborhood didn't offer anything fancy in the realm of watering holes. Cement floor,a bar with wood stools,some booths. Not much light. They were beer and wine joints. I remember one called Uncle Sams.I don't think Sam ever checked an ID.
The Messengers were a pretty basic bunch of guys. I was the only white guy,but I never had a beef with any of them. In fact I felt more at ease with those guys than any team I played football with. I remember one time ,Jose Hall threw an elbow at me after a play we were running during a scrimmage. I threw an elbow back and that was it. Jose was the biggest dude on the team and I think it was a test. When I threw back,I passed, and me and Jose became best of friends after that.
We'd all played some serious ball. College and a couple of the fellas' had gone pro. Neal Petties played with the old Baltimore Colts with Unitus. Yeah,we had a good time. On and off the field though the game we really played was having fun. I never laughed so much in my life. We'd travel to games in the Urban League bus we called the Gray Goose. Robert James would drive that thing because he was a garbage truck driver and was best qualified to handle a rig like that.
I played on that team for three years. It got away from me like a lot of things. You get married and the kids come along and you change your routine.
About five or so years ago I ran into Robert James on the street. We recognized each other like it was yesterday.
"Hey Robert,"I shouted. "How's the old neighborhood?"
Robert shook his head,but was still smiling.
"You know Rog,these kids don't know how to have fun anymore."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6CJVmx9O0K0
Bewildered
James Brown.
They were playing James Brown in the Ghetto when only black folks knew of him. This song haunts me. It was on his first album.
Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
I remember passing Whizin's mall and restaurant in the Agoura area while traveling on the 101 Freeway between the L.A. area and Ventura starting in the 1960s. There wasn't much out there back then. There were a number of signs advertizing the restaurant in the vicinity. On the other side of the freeway, there were a some posted homemade signs advertizing bait, a number of them being attached to old cars.
- Chuck Johnston
- Chuck Johnston
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dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.[/quote]
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?[/quote]
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health.
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.[/quote]
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?[/quote]
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health.
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Frankkikibalt wrote:Watching a good 'ol Bud Abbott/Lou Costello movie, the boys meet Frankenstein, also starring Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney
There's something about Abbott and Costello that I love. The comedy is so down to earth. The timing between those two guys was amazing. Yeah,I'll take that stuff any day to what these comedians are doing today. The jokes today are often cruel and at someone's expense.
Like Robert James said to me,"They just don't know how to have fun anymore."
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Chuck, I've never seen one of those restaurants, so much history out there to be seen, if only we got out more often...Chuck1052 wrote:I remember passing Whizin's mall and restaurant in the Agoura area while traveling on the 101 Freeway between the L.A. area and Ventura starting in the 1960s. There wasn't much out there back then. There were a number of signs advertizing the restaurant in the vicinity. On the other side of the freeway, there were a some posted homemade signs advertizing bait, a number of them being attached to old cars.
- Chuck Johnston
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Roger, in my younger days, I was a tequila drinking, cigars smoking kind of guy, still have a shot and smoke a stoogie now and then....dagosd2000 wrote:Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health.
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
ISLE OF MAN
The world of motorcycle racing turns its spotlight on the small island once a year
The nation's charms and history take a back seat to the din of whizzing bikes during the TT.
By Susan Carpenter
August 2, 2009
Reporting from The Isle Of Man -- If I'd been able to sleep on the 10-hour overnight flight, it might have been a good plan. But I didn't, which left me riding a motorcycle on the wrong side of the road in the rain while jet-lagged with no idea where I was going.
My destination was the Isle of Man, a tiny island in the middle of the Irish Sea off the northwest coast of England. It's best known for two things: its status as a tax haven and a 102-year-old motorcycle race called the TT, which is run on real roads by unsung racers who whiz, at speeds approaching 200 mph, within inches of stone walls and spectators.
I planned to catch the tail end of the legendary TT, then enjoy the island in its natural state -- that is, not overrun by motorcycles. I just had to get here, which meant flying to London, renting a motorcycle, biking 250 miles across England and taking a 3 1/2 -hour ferry ride to the port town of Douglas.
It was quite the slog but worth it.
The Isle of Man, a British crown possession, is a mythological place, especially for motorcyclists, who revere this tiny island's embrace of man's need for speed and the talented risk-takers who live for it. Nowhere else in the world does the government shut down 37.73 miles of its roads for two weeks to host a grueling race that probably will result in death; 224 racers have died on the course over the years -- including one while I was here -- yet the race continues.
Its fans swarm the island every year in late May and early June, loading their sport bikes like pack mules to sprint around the island imitating their idols. When I arrived in Douglas in June, the island was in full TT swing. Cars were in the minority. The streets were a cacophony of up- and down-shifting motorcycles.
The parking spaces along the seaside promenade were jammed handlebar to handlebar with candy-colored race-bike replicas, and the sidewalks were shoulder to shoulder with bikers, who hadn't bothered to change out of their full leathers and race boots as they strolled the cobblestones while eating ice cream -- one of the specialties on this largely agricultural island.
Coming from a place where motorcyclists are a minority, I felt among my tribe. But I was also exhausted. I squeezed my Honda ST1300 into one of the few remaining vacant parking spaces and checked in to the Admiral House, the first in a long line of inns along the city's main drag. This being the TT fortnight, I paid about $350 a night instead of the usual $175. Still, I felt grateful, having booked my trip eight weeks earlier. The best accommodations start to sell out 10 months before the TT.
My third-floor suite was smack in the center of the action. Looking out of my alcove window, I had a bird's-eye view into the beer tent that was serving Bushy's Piston Brew and Manx Bitter -- the island's local ales -- and shots of a paint-thinner-esque whiskey called ManX Spirit, the only locally distilled alcohol.
Manx is the name for the people who inhabit this island nation of 81,000. About half of the people who live here are from the Isle of Man; the rest are "comeovers" from nearby England, Scotland and Ireland who, I was told, came here because it is safer than their native countries. Few people lock their house or car doors.
Rolling down to the Bushy's tent after a short nap, I met a nonbiker from Scotland who lived on the island and worked in banking, the island's main industry. The second person I met was from Ireland.
Both conversations were cut short by the Red Arrows, a stunt show by the Royal Air Force Display Team, a pair of bi-wing planes topped with scantily clad women doing quasi-calisthenics over Douglas Bay.
Such displays aren't the usual Wednesday night fare in Douglas, the island's capital, business center and only real city. It was part of the TT-week entertainment, along with performances by the band Whitesnake and Celtic-flavored cover acts such as the Red Hot Chilli Pipers.
The entertainment pickings were less than slim, so I chose to stroll. At 8 on a weeknight any other time of year, all of the shops in town would be closed, but not during the TT. Walking along the Loch Promenade, I stopped for a "whippy with a flake" -- a towering, extra-creamy, vanilla soft serve with a candy bar shoved in its side -- at Davison's Manx Dairy Ice Cream Parlor, then wandered the island's main shopping district, where many of the windows of cellphone shops, clothing boutiques, beauty salons and art galleries displayed motorcycles along with their usual merchandise.
In celebration of the TT, Sayle Gallery had an Ace Cafe mods and rockers exhibit as well as pieces from a local named Adam Berry, who is now my favorite artist. I bought three of his Summer of Love meets Isle of Man prints, which blend speeding motorcycles with come-hither vixens and TT racecourse checkpoints, such as Black Dub, Ramsey Hairpin and Glen Duff.
To non-race fans, these names are charmingly Celtic though meaningless, but to the thousands of people who come to the TT each year, they're the places where high-flying racers test their mettle -- and their bikes' suspensions -- speeding through tight switchbacks and catching air.
I rented a bike for this trip to experience the course up close, though at distinctly lower speeds. I started my trip in Douglas because it's home to the course starting gate, which was a mile from my hotel and, unnervingly, next to the town cemetery.
For an island that embraces motorcycling, it's odd that motorcycles are not rented on the isle itself. Neither of the two motorcycle shops rents bikes because of high insurance rates. So I rented my bike in England and ferried over. A bike isn't necessary, of course. The island has excellent public transportation, both bus and rail, or you can rent a car or a bicycle. But I wanted to experience the island on a motorcycle.
I was on the island for the last few days of the races, which I viewed from the grandstand, just above the pits where the racers were speeding so ear-shatteringly and blindingly fast I couldn't tell who was whom without the benefit of the announcer. There weren't any big screens to show what was happening in real time, just Manx Radio, which was giving the play by play. To see the race, I had to watch the televised recap each night.
The races were over when I decided to wheel my bike around the island course. I didn't know where I was going, but the course is marked with enormous orange signs and arrows. Many hay bales and foam pads cushion potentially deadly roadside obstacles, such as lamp posts, stone fences and trees. Even if the course hadn't been marked, I would've been able to find my way. I just had to follow the steady stream of Ducatis, Gixxers and Ninjas.
It took me about an hour to ride the course during the day, when there's street traffic. The racers do the same thing in about 20 minutes. But at my leisurely pace, I could experience the scenery that makes this island special.
Clusters of charming stone cottages in Douglas gave way to fields of grazing sheep and cows in nearby Kirk Michael, then sweeping coastal vistas and twisty, mountainous chaparral coming out of Ramsey.
It was such a gorgeous ride that I decided to ride it again -- and again, which isn't hard to do. The island is just 32 miles long and 12 miles wide, or just a little smaller than L.A. proper but without the traffic, so getting around is quick. After three round trips of the "track" at gradually increasing speeds, I decided I'd had my fill and parked my bike.
My next stop was the Fairy Bridge just outside of Douglas. According to island lore, those who pass over the bridge must say hello to the fairies unless they want bad luck. I wanted to see if the locals actually did that, so I hopped on a London-style double-decker headed for Castletown. I also planned to check out the well-preserved medieval-era Castle Rushen, from which the town gets its name, and go to the local pub.
About halfway through the 20-minute ride, the bus riders waved and called out, "Hello, fairies!" as we passed over the short bridge and under a lush canopy of trees.
One of them was Gina, whom I'd met before boarding. She patted the seat next to her when I walked down the aisle, and we chatted the rest of the way about her work as a banker, the fact that she'd moved to the island from England because she felt it was safer for her kids, and my plans for the rest of my stay. When I told her I'd be heading around the island clockwise by bike but didn't have accommodations outside Douglas, she called a friend about a homestay.
The next night, I was sleeping in her friend's house in Port Erin, a sleepy coastal village in the southeast corner of the island with a stunning beach and kayak rentals. Homestays are one of the most common accommodations on the Isle of Man and offer an up-close view of island life. Sanctioned homestays cost about $40 a night, a relief given the exchange rate.
The Isle of Man is not part of the European Union. It is a self-governing crown dependency affiliated with Britain only for its defense and international trade representation. So its currency is in pounds.
Not that there's much to buy, other than motorcycle paraphernalia and trinkets paying tribute to the Manx cats (cats without tails). There is, however, quite a bit to do to experience the history.
The Norse occupied the isle in the 7th century, but its culture also was influenced by the Irish, Scottish and English, all of whom occupied the island for centuries at a time. It wasn't until the late 19th century that the island became autonomous, but its history of occupation by other peoples and its landscape-inspired trade is evident across the island.
In the days after the races, I visited Cregneash, an old-world farming community of thatched cottages that is the Manx version of the Amish, and Peel, a fishing village and beach town that offers a spectacular juxtaposed skyline: The enormous Peel castle is a backdrop for the boat-packed harbor.
My favorite place on the island, however, was probably the Great Laxey Wheel in Laxey, said to be the largest working water wheel in the world, with a circumference of about 228 feet and once used to pump water from the island's lead and zinc mines. It's spectacular to see this giant red structure rising from the lush landscape.
And it was calm. It was three days since the races had ended, and the island felt like a different place. There was almost no traffic when I decided to circle the course one last time, encountering mostly trucks picking up the hay bales.
Arriving in Douglas for my last night before ferrying back to England, even this, the most cosmopolitan city on the island, felt dead. At 6 p.m., parking was easy to find, and everything but the pubs was closed, which made the Isle of Man seem very much like an island.
[email protected]
The world of motorcycle racing turns its spotlight on the small island once a year
The nation's charms and history take a back seat to the din of whizzing bikes during the TT.
By Susan Carpenter
August 2, 2009
Reporting from The Isle Of Man -- If I'd been able to sleep on the 10-hour overnight flight, it might have been a good plan. But I didn't, which left me riding a motorcycle on the wrong side of the road in the rain while jet-lagged with no idea where I was going.
My destination was the Isle of Man, a tiny island in the middle of the Irish Sea off the northwest coast of England. It's best known for two things: its status as a tax haven and a 102-year-old motorcycle race called the TT, which is run on real roads by unsung racers who whiz, at speeds approaching 200 mph, within inches of stone walls and spectators.
I planned to catch the tail end of the legendary TT, then enjoy the island in its natural state -- that is, not overrun by motorcycles. I just had to get here, which meant flying to London, renting a motorcycle, biking 250 miles across England and taking a 3 1/2 -hour ferry ride to the port town of Douglas.
It was quite the slog but worth it.
The Isle of Man, a British crown possession, is a mythological place, especially for motorcyclists, who revere this tiny island's embrace of man's need for speed and the talented risk-takers who live for it. Nowhere else in the world does the government shut down 37.73 miles of its roads for two weeks to host a grueling race that probably will result in death; 224 racers have died on the course over the years -- including one while I was here -- yet the race continues.
Its fans swarm the island every year in late May and early June, loading their sport bikes like pack mules to sprint around the island imitating their idols. When I arrived in Douglas in June, the island was in full TT swing. Cars were in the minority. The streets were a cacophony of up- and down-shifting motorcycles.
The parking spaces along the seaside promenade were jammed handlebar to handlebar with candy-colored race-bike replicas, and the sidewalks were shoulder to shoulder with bikers, who hadn't bothered to change out of their full leathers and race boots as they strolled the cobblestones while eating ice cream -- one of the specialties on this largely agricultural island.
Coming from a place where motorcyclists are a minority, I felt among my tribe. But I was also exhausted. I squeezed my Honda ST1300 into one of the few remaining vacant parking spaces and checked in to the Admiral House, the first in a long line of inns along the city's main drag. This being the TT fortnight, I paid about $350 a night instead of the usual $175. Still, I felt grateful, having booked my trip eight weeks earlier. The best accommodations start to sell out 10 months before the TT.
My third-floor suite was smack in the center of the action. Looking out of my alcove window, I had a bird's-eye view into the beer tent that was serving Bushy's Piston Brew and Manx Bitter -- the island's local ales -- and shots of a paint-thinner-esque whiskey called ManX Spirit, the only locally distilled alcohol.
Manx is the name for the people who inhabit this island nation of 81,000. About half of the people who live here are from the Isle of Man; the rest are "comeovers" from nearby England, Scotland and Ireland who, I was told, came here because it is safer than their native countries. Few people lock their house or car doors.
Rolling down to the Bushy's tent after a short nap, I met a nonbiker from Scotland who lived on the island and worked in banking, the island's main industry. The second person I met was from Ireland.
Both conversations were cut short by the Red Arrows, a stunt show by the Royal Air Force Display Team, a pair of bi-wing planes topped with scantily clad women doing quasi-calisthenics over Douglas Bay.
Such displays aren't the usual Wednesday night fare in Douglas, the island's capital, business center and only real city. It was part of the TT-week entertainment, along with performances by the band Whitesnake and Celtic-flavored cover acts such as the Red Hot Chilli Pipers.
The entertainment pickings were less than slim, so I chose to stroll. At 8 on a weeknight any other time of year, all of the shops in town would be closed, but not during the TT. Walking along the Loch Promenade, I stopped for a "whippy with a flake" -- a towering, extra-creamy, vanilla soft serve with a candy bar shoved in its side -- at Davison's Manx Dairy Ice Cream Parlor, then wandered the island's main shopping district, where many of the windows of cellphone shops, clothing boutiques, beauty salons and art galleries displayed motorcycles along with their usual merchandise.
In celebration of the TT, Sayle Gallery had an Ace Cafe mods and rockers exhibit as well as pieces from a local named Adam Berry, who is now my favorite artist. I bought three of his Summer of Love meets Isle of Man prints, which blend speeding motorcycles with come-hither vixens and TT racecourse checkpoints, such as Black Dub, Ramsey Hairpin and Glen Duff.
To non-race fans, these names are charmingly Celtic though meaningless, but to the thousands of people who come to the TT each year, they're the places where high-flying racers test their mettle -- and their bikes' suspensions -- speeding through tight switchbacks and catching air.
I rented a bike for this trip to experience the course up close, though at distinctly lower speeds. I started my trip in Douglas because it's home to the course starting gate, which was a mile from my hotel and, unnervingly, next to the town cemetery.
For an island that embraces motorcycling, it's odd that motorcycles are not rented on the isle itself. Neither of the two motorcycle shops rents bikes because of high insurance rates. So I rented my bike in England and ferried over. A bike isn't necessary, of course. The island has excellent public transportation, both bus and rail, or you can rent a car or a bicycle. But I wanted to experience the island on a motorcycle.
I was on the island for the last few days of the races, which I viewed from the grandstand, just above the pits where the racers were speeding so ear-shatteringly and blindingly fast I couldn't tell who was whom without the benefit of the announcer. There weren't any big screens to show what was happening in real time, just Manx Radio, which was giving the play by play. To see the race, I had to watch the televised recap each night.
The races were over when I decided to wheel my bike around the island course. I didn't know where I was going, but the course is marked with enormous orange signs and arrows. Many hay bales and foam pads cushion potentially deadly roadside obstacles, such as lamp posts, stone fences and trees. Even if the course hadn't been marked, I would've been able to find my way. I just had to follow the steady stream of Ducatis, Gixxers and Ninjas.
It took me about an hour to ride the course during the day, when there's street traffic. The racers do the same thing in about 20 minutes. But at my leisurely pace, I could experience the scenery that makes this island special.
Clusters of charming stone cottages in Douglas gave way to fields of grazing sheep and cows in nearby Kirk Michael, then sweeping coastal vistas and twisty, mountainous chaparral coming out of Ramsey.
It was such a gorgeous ride that I decided to ride it again -- and again, which isn't hard to do. The island is just 32 miles long and 12 miles wide, or just a little smaller than L.A. proper but without the traffic, so getting around is quick. After three round trips of the "track" at gradually increasing speeds, I decided I'd had my fill and parked my bike.
My next stop was the Fairy Bridge just outside of Douglas. According to island lore, those who pass over the bridge must say hello to the fairies unless they want bad luck. I wanted to see if the locals actually did that, so I hopped on a London-style double-decker headed for Castletown. I also planned to check out the well-preserved medieval-era Castle Rushen, from which the town gets its name, and go to the local pub.
About halfway through the 20-minute ride, the bus riders waved and called out, "Hello, fairies!" as we passed over the short bridge and under a lush canopy of trees.
One of them was Gina, whom I'd met before boarding. She patted the seat next to her when I walked down the aisle, and we chatted the rest of the way about her work as a banker, the fact that she'd moved to the island from England because she felt it was safer for her kids, and my plans for the rest of my stay. When I told her I'd be heading around the island clockwise by bike but didn't have accommodations outside Douglas, she called a friend about a homestay.
The next night, I was sleeping in her friend's house in Port Erin, a sleepy coastal village in the southeast corner of the island with a stunning beach and kayak rentals. Homestays are one of the most common accommodations on the Isle of Man and offer an up-close view of island life. Sanctioned homestays cost about $40 a night, a relief given the exchange rate.
The Isle of Man is not part of the European Union. It is a self-governing crown dependency affiliated with Britain only for its defense and international trade representation. So its currency is in pounds.
Not that there's much to buy, other than motorcycle paraphernalia and trinkets paying tribute to the Manx cats (cats without tails). There is, however, quite a bit to do to experience the history.
The Norse occupied the isle in the 7th century, but its culture also was influenced by the Irish, Scottish and English, all of whom occupied the island for centuries at a time. It wasn't until the late 19th century that the island became autonomous, but its history of occupation by other peoples and its landscape-inspired trade is evident across the island.
In the days after the races, I visited Cregneash, an old-world farming community of thatched cottages that is the Manx version of the Amish, and Peel, a fishing village and beach town that offers a spectacular juxtaposed skyline: The enormous Peel castle is a backdrop for the boat-packed harbor.
My favorite place on the island, however, was probably the Great Laxey Wheel in Laxey, said to be the largest working water wheel in the world, with a circumference of about 228 feet and once used to pump water from the island's lead and zinc mines. It's spectacular to see this giant red structure rising from the lush landscape.
And it was calm. It was three days since the races had ended, and the island felt like a different place. There was almost no traffic when I decided to circle the course one last time, encountering mostly trucks picking up the hay bales.
Arriving in Douglas for my last night before ferrying back to England, even this, the most cosmopolitan city on the island, felt dead. At 6 p.m., parking was easy to find, and everything but the pubs was closed, which made the Isle of Man seem very much like an island.
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Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
that was an interesting read I can remember back in the day when I first started work in an enginering factory the BBC used to have every race every day on the radio & our boss was a biker so we had the TT races at full volume you could almost smell the castrol R oil & guys like Geof Duke, bob Mc Intyre,John Surtess, Mike Hailwood,& Giacomo Agostini where houshold names . I worked there for 4 years & we never missed one
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Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Thanks Bruce, my request for a photo was to help a true boxing historian and good friend, Tony Triem of Las Vegas. Tony has a huge collection of photos, more than 20,000 which he one day hopes to have on permanent exhibition in a boxing museum. He is involved in a project, thus his need for the Grupico photos. Thanks to you and Frank!kikibalt wrote:
Here is a picture of Vic Grupico from the program of the 1971 S.F. Golden Gloves Tournament. Vic was a constant figure at Newman and Herman's Gym in San Francisco as a trainer. He was one of the best liked people in the gym. Vic spoke with a raspy voice and I was told that his voice was like that because he was punched in the throat once. Vic always had a story and was always yelling so he could be understood. I believe he was a Teamster and may have been an officer in the Teamster Union, that I can double check.
Bruce
-Rick Farris
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Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Chuck . . . I know the place very well. I used to live in nearby Westlake Village. In the Whizin's mall, they have a small music venue called the Canyon Club, where a lot of top musicians like Willie Nelson perform.Chuck1052 wrote:I remember passing Whizin's mall and restaurant in the Agoura area while traveling on the 101 Freeway between the L.A. area and Ventura starting in the 1960s. There wasn't much out there back then. There were a number of signs advertizing the restaurant in the vicinity. On the other side of the freeway, there were a some posted homemade signs advertizing bait, a number of them being attached to old cars.
- Chuck Johnston
Rick Farris
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Rick Farris wrote:Thanks Bruce, my request for a photo was to help a true boxing historian and good friend, Tony Triem of Las Vegas. Tony has a huge collection of photos, more than 20,000 which he one day hopes to have on permanent exhibition in a boxing museum. He is involved in a project, thus his need for the Grupico photos. Thanks to you and Frank!kikibalt wrote:
Here is a picture of Vic Grupico from the program of the 1971 S.F. Golden Gloves Tournament. Vic was a constant figure at Newman and Herman's Gym in San Francisco as a trainer. He was one of the best liked people in the gym. Vic spoke with a raspy voice and I was told that his voice was like that because he was punched in the throat once. Vic always had a story and was always yelling so he could be understood. I believe he was a Teamster and may have been an officer in the Teamster Union, that I can double check.
Bruce
-Rick Farris
Rick, Ive been in contact with Tony Triem also.
He sent me a PM a couple years ago requesting a picture I think.
I sent him a copy of that article of me getting robbed years ago.
Tony is a very nice guy. What a great collection of memorabilia he has.
He says,"Keep your hands up and your ass off the floor". I think thats his line he likes to use.
Hes good people.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Roger, I'm smoking a Cuban cigar "Cohiba" as I sit here writing.kikibalt wrote:Roger, in my younger days, I was a tequila drinking, cigars smoking kind of guy, still have a shot and smoke a stoogie now and then....dagosd2000 wrote:Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Bradley decision unfair but inevitable
By Kevin Iole, Yahoo! Sports
If the California State Athletic Commission does the right thing, it will overrule referee David Mendoza’s verdict that gave Timothy Bradley a third-round technical knockout over Nate Campbell at the Agua Caliente Resort in Rancho Mirage, Calif., on Saturday and instead will declare the bout a no-decision.
Campbell clearly had a massive gash opened on his left eyebrow from an inadvertent clash of heads.
Campbell doesn’t deserve the loss on his record.
Whatever the commission decides, though, won’t really matter. Because anyone watching the World Boxing Organization super lightweight title bout knows who the better man was in the nationally televised bout.
Those who saw the bout know who the faster man was.
Those who saw the bout know who the better defensive fighter was.
Those who saw the bout know who was dictating the pace and controlling the action.
Those who saw the bout know who was landing the sharper, harder punches.
It’s about time that Bradley gets serious consideration for a spot in the top 10 pound-for-pound rankings. He clearly was outclassing a high-caliber opponent.
The controversy, of course, will obscure much of that, as will Mendoza’s confusing and somewhat contradictory comments.
Bradley was getting the best of nearly every exchange in the fight and had backed the 37-year-old former lightweight champion to the ropes when his head moved down and Campbell’s head came up. The result was a gaping wound that traversed the length of Campbell’s left eyebrow.
Asked directly by Showtime’s Jim Gray if he saw the head butt and whether it was the cause of the bleeding, Mendoza said, “Yes, that’s what happened.”
It was obvious. And it’s clear in the rulebook. When a fight is stopped as a result of a cut caused by an accidental head butt and it hasn’t gone four full rounds, it is to be declared a no-decision.
Campbell got a raw deal, though it likely saved him a frightful beating for another nine rounds.
Mendoza’s decision was baffling. He admitted he saw the butt. He admitted the blood began to flow almost instantly afterward. Yet, he ruled it was from a punch. Bradley threw two punches right after the clash of heads, but neither seemed to land flush and certainly neither of them was hard enough to tear apart Campbell’s skin.
“They both were head butting each other as they were fighting and the last head butt, when they touch heads, then he pulled back to throw a punch [and] after he threw the punch, the blood started coming out,” Mendoza said.
Watching a replay, Mendoza said he sees the butt.
“Right there,” he said, indicating the butt.
That in and of itself was enough to rule it an inadvertent butt. Period. It’s ludicrous to think that anything that happened in the next two seconds had an impact like the vicious clash of heads.
“You see, the blood hasn’t come out,” Mendoza said, watching a replay as Bradley’s head still is in the process of pulling back from Campbell’s. “You see, then he hits him again right there. That’s when I was watching him, and I saw the blood come out. I have to go by the last thing I saw, which was a punch.”
The controversy made for good television, but it really wasn’t the story of the fight. The story of the fight was that Bradley bullied the bully. He stared down one of the game’s toughest men, an old-school type who has won many fights in the past with his will and determination alone.
On Saturday, though, Campbell ran into a guy with a will and determination equal to his own and skills that, at this stage in their careers, are far superior.
Campbell usually is a brilliant inside fighter, but Bradley negated that expertly. He went hard after Campbell’s body with several shots and then would slip outside and keep a jab in Campbell’s face.
Bradley’s hands always were moving, and he fought with the idea of wearing down the man who is 12 years his senior. It was working by the midway point of the third round; one can only imagine what Campbell may have looked like had the bout reached the ninth.
“It didn’t even matter,” Bradley said of the head butt and the ensuing controversy. “He was going to get beat anyway. It didn’t matter. It did not even matter. As the rounds kept going on and on and on, he was getting older and older and older.
“I understand where [Campbell is] coming from. I understand what he’s talking about. But it’s not my job [to worry whether or not it was a head butt]. That’s the ref’s job. My job is to fight.”
Bradley was fighting brilliantly and clearly looks like the second-best fighter in the 140-pound weight class. The best, of course, is pound-for-pound king Manny Pacquiao, though anyone who saw Bradley perform on Saturday who doesn’t believe a Pacquiao-Bradley fight wouldn’t have Fight of the Year potential simply doesn’t know or like boxing.
Bradley, though, doesn’t have the name recognition or the drawing power to get into the mix for fights against men like Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jr.
And though his promoter, Gary Shaw, wasn’t willing to commit to giving Campbell a rematch when a sense of fairness screams that it’s the right thing to do, Bradley said he had no issue with it.
He knows, and anyone who saw the bout Saturday knows, what would happen in a rematch.
“Why not [give Campbell a rematch]?” Bradley said.
“Why not? It’s going to be the same outcome. That’s easy work. Too slow. Too heavy-footed. I’ll move all day on him.”
Campbell stomped out of the ring, cursing angrily and demanding a no-decision as well as a rematch, both of which he deserves.
But he may get another thing, and surely he won’t want that.
If they fight again, Bradley is going to put a major-league whipping on him.
Bradley is the real deal and has become one of the elite fighters in the world.
By Kevin Iole, Yahoo! Sports
If the California State Athletic Commission does the right thing, it will overrule referee David Mendoza’s verdict that gave Timothy Bradley a third-round technical knockout over Nate Campbell at the Agua Caliente Resort in Rancho Mirage, Calif., on Saturday and instead will declare the bout a no-decision.
Campbell clearly had a massive gash opened on his left eyebrow from an inadvertent clash of heads.
Campbell doesn’t deserve the loss on his record.
Whatever the commission decides, though, won’t really matter. Because anyone watching the World Boxing Organization super lightweight title bout knows who the better man was in the nationally televised bout.
Those who saw the bout know who the faster man was.
Those who saw the bout know who the better defensive fighter was.
Those who saw the bout know who was dictating the pace and controlling the action.
Those who saw the bout know who was landing the sharper, harder punches.
It’s about time that Bradley gets serious consideration for a spot in the top 10 pound-for-pound rankings. He clearly was outclassing a high-caliber opponent.
The controversy, of course, will obscure much of that, as will Mendoza’s confusing and somewhat contradictory comments.
Bradley was getting the best of nearly every exchange in the fight and had backed the 37-year-old former lightweight champion to the ropes when his head moved down and Campbell’s head came up. The result was a gaping wound that traversed the length of Campbell’s left eyebrow.
Asked directly by Showtime’s Jim Gray if he saw the head butt and whether it was the cause of the bleeding, Mendoza said, “Yes, that’s what happened.”
It was obvious. And it’s clear in the rulebook. When a fight is stopped as a result of a cut caused by an accidental head butt and it hasn’t gone four full rounds, it is to be declared a no-decision.
Campbell got a raw deal, though it likely saved him a frightful beating for another nine rounds.
Mendoza’s decision was baffling. He admitted he saw the butt. He admitted the blood began to flow almost instantly afterward. Yet, he ruled it was from a punch. Bradley threw two punches right after the clash of heads, but neither seemed to land flush and certainly neither of them was hard enough to tear apart Campbell’s skin.
“They both were head butting each other as they were fighting and the last head butt, when they touch heads, then he pulled back to throw a punch [and] after he threw the punch, the blood started coming out,” Mendoza said.
Watching a replay, Mendoza said he sees the butt.
“Right there,” he said, indicating the butt.
That in and of itself was enough to rule it an inadvertent butt. Period. It’s ludicrous to think that anything that happened in the next two seconds had an impact like the vicious clash of heads.
“You see, the blood hasn’t come out,” Mendoza said, watching a replay as Bradley’s head still is in the process of pulling back from Campbell’s. “You see, then he hits him again right there. That’s when I was watching him, and I saw the blood come out. I have to go by the last thing I saw, which was a punch.”
The controversy made for good television, but it really wasn’t the story of the fight. The story of the fight was that Bradley bullied the bully. He stared down one of the game’s toughest men, an old-school type who has won many fights in the past with his will and determination alone.
On Saturday, though, Campbell ran into a guy with a will and determination equal to his own and skills that, at this stage in their careers, are far superior.
Campbell usually is a brilliant inside fighter, but Bradley negated that expertly. He went hard after Campbell’s body with several shots and then would slip outside and keep a jab in Campbell’s face.
Bradley’s hands always were moving, and he fought with the idea of wearing down the man who is 12 years his senior. It was working by the midway point of the third round; one can only imagine what Campbell may have looked like had the bout reached the ninth.
“It didn’t even matter,” Bradley said of the head butt and the ensuing controversy. “He was going to get beat anyway. It didn’t matter. It did not even matter. As the rounds kept going on and on and on, he was getting older and older and older.
“I understand where [Campbell is] coming from. I understand what he’s talking about. But it’s not my job [to worry whether or not it was a head butt]. That’s the ref’s job. My job is to fight.”
Bradley was fighting brilliantly and clearly looks like the second-best fighter in the 140-pound weight class. The best, of course, is pound-for-pound king Manny Pacquiao, though anyone who saw Bradley perform on Saturday who doesn’t believe a Pacquiao-Bradley fight wouldn’t have Fight of the Year potential simply doesn’t know or like boxing.
Bradley, though, doesn’t have the name recognition or the drawing power to get into the mix for fights against men like Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jr.
And though his promoter, Gary Shaw, wasn’t willing to commit to giving Campbell a rematch when a sense of fairness screams that it’s the right thing to do, Bradley said he had no issue with it.
He knows, and anyone who saw the bout Saturday knows, what would happen in a rematch.
“Why not [give Campbell a rematch]?” Bradley said.
“Why not? It’s going to be the same outcome. That’s easy work. Too slow. Too heavy-footed. I’ll move all day on him.”
Campbell stomped out of the ring, cursing angrily and demanding a no-decision as well as a rematch, both of which he deserves.
But he may get another thing, and surely he won’t want that.
If they fight again, Bradley is going to put a major-league whipping on him.
Bradley is the real deal and has become one of the elite fighters in the world.
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
The life of a "kept man!"kikibalt wrote:Roger, I'm smoking a Cuban cigar "Cohiba" as I sit here writing.kikibalt wrote:Roger, in my younger days, I was a tequila drinking, cigars smoking kind of guy, still have a shot and smoke a stoogie now and then....dagosd2000 wrote:Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Its a great life Rick....Rick Farris wrote:Hell Frank
Where have you been?I thought you slipped into a coma? I just ran out of hooch. I'm going to make quick run to the store. Be back in ten.
Roger, I'm still alive, just not doing too good of late, btw did you buy some "pisto" last nite?
Frank
Hope you're feeling better. Ran into Pete the cop at the cigar store on the way home from the liquor store.Wound up at his place drinking tequila and smoking cigars watching the Padres win their 5th straight.
Try drinking tequila and smoking cigars. It's good for your health. At least your mental health. :
Roger, in my younger days, I was a tequila drinking, cigars smoking kind of guy, still have a shot and smoke a stoogie now and then....
Roger, I'm smoking a Cuban cigar "Cohiba" as I sit here writing.
The life of a "kept man!"
Connie made me get out of the house with my cigar...