bits and pieces scrapbook
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
1923
Last edited by doug.ie on 15 Feb 2015, 10:19, edited 1 time in total.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Sonny Liston - Ulster Hall, Belfast, Northern Ireland - Sept 1963..
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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.”
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.”
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
doug.ie wrote: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.”
Thanks for this Doug. Great thread to keep catching up on. Great.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
thanks. i got to meet manny steward one night in dublin, i had my (then young) son with me...and i was surprised to get some quality chatting time with him, people were just walking past us...anyway, on the spot, the only thing i could think of asking him, that he wouldnt have been asked a million times before, was about bernard mays, and he said everything thats in that article...although he didnt have him as a pro he said he was best to come from the kronk.Tomasino wrote:
Thanks for this Doug. Great thread to keep catching up on. Great.
nearly 20 now this lad..
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
doug.ie wrote:thanks. i got to meet manny steward one night in dublin, i had my (then young) son with me...and i was surprised to get some quality chatting time with him, people were just walking past us...anyway, on the spot, the only thing i could think of asking him, that he wouldnt have been asked a million times before, was about bernard mays, and he said everything thats in that article...although he didnt have him as a pro he said he was best to come from the kronk.Tomasino wrote:
Thanks for this Doug. Great thread to keep catching up on. Great.
nearly 20 now this lad..
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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)
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)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
"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 might’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 — particularly his father Alfonso Sr.— 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 boxers—"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)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3cgGDhdXTI
.
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 might’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 — particularly his father Alfonso Sr.— 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 boxers—"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)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3cgGDhdXTI
.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
"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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misterpunch
- Light Heavyweight
- Posts: 1252
- Joined: 13 Jan 2012, 17:48
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
I must be going crazy - or getting old! ive read "the sweet science" countless times and didn't remember this passage!!doug.ie wrote:the sweet science.misterpunch wrote:[
"I thought I knew where Lew’s restaurant was, and wouldn’t ask anybody the way. I soon got tired of walking, though, and ate in a place called Mike Banana’s. A minute after I had finished and left, I found Tendler’s, but I saw I couldn’t have eaten there anyway. I couldn’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 Tendler’s and tries to put the lug on somebody for a free ticket." - A.J. Liebling
doug, please tell me where this comes from. I try to get everything of lieblings but I haven't got this. can you put me on it?
if you need exact chapter let me know.
edit: just looked.....chapter is called 'new champ' (about marciano v walcott)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
misterpunch wrote:
I must be going crazy - or getting old! ive read "the sweet science" countless times and didn't remember this passage!!
-
Ilya Muromets
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 4243
- Joined: 06 Nov 2009, 15:02
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
doug.ie wrote:"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....
.
Wow, what a fight! Not only did a drunk jump in the ring in round one but another mug jumped in the ring after the fight ended. Both were very gently removed by the policia. Sounds like gunshots going off after the fight too. Here's the video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEMGicT8UJY
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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. … 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 — 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 — 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 — and an empty bank account because of them — 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 — 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)
"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. … 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 — 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 — 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 — and an empty bank account because of them — 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 — 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)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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.
The stoppage came at 58 seconds of round 1.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
June 18, 1919
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Captain Bob Roper
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
"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)
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)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles - March 16 1963
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
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 how—when he won—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.
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.