Volume 2- No 3 19th January 2008
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the Fort Wayne Sentinel
28 May 1910
The Rise of John L Sullivan
Paddy Ryan held the honor he had wrested from Goss for nearly two years without finding another claimant to it. Then, in 1882, "Billy" Madden brought forward his young phenomenon, John L Sullivan, who serenely had been putting away all comers and was already known as the hardest hitter ever seen inside the ropes.
Sullivan was the one great product of the fourth period of the fistic history, which came to an end with his career and which was only lifted from a dead level of mediocrity by his astounding achievements. His personality completely dominated the prize ring for ten years, during which he imposed his own peculiar methods upon the sport, sweeping away once for all the teachings of the first great tactician, Mendoza, which had influenced pugilism more or less directly throughout the second, third and fourth periods.
Tactics;' strategy, accepted plans of campaign were all thrust into the dust heap when Sullivan hammered his ruthless, undeviating way to the front His style, bluntly, was a return to primitive principles. He fought as Broughton himself fought in the dawn of pugilism, and because no one who ever handled fists could approach him at that game he stands as the most powerful out and out fighter the ring has known.
Comparison is of little use in placing the great "John L" As a popular idol in his day he might be bracketed with "Tom" Cribb. His easy nature,
his taste of a certain social triumph at the height of his fame, his subsequent position as a kind of semi-public character and dignitary of the
sporting world offer further points of resemblance with "the Ould-Champion."
As a boxer he was something like "Jack" Slack, less like Morrissey and most like a Roman siege tower armed with two gigantic, straight levering catapults.
John Lawrence Sullivan was born near Boston October 15, 1858. and is thus the first world's title holder who was an American by birth, unless John C. Heenan be counted as one in a double, championship through his draw with "Tom" Sayers. His parents came from county Kerry, Ireland. His mother must have been a notable woman. He frequently has said that his prowess descended to him from her, his father being a little, wiry man, under the average height.
John L. Sullivan received a fair education, and at the age of sixteen fastened his ambition upon professional baseball, when a trifling incident gave it another turn. He had a care free way of leaving his employment suspended in mid air when a good baseball game came on a pleasant afternoon. His boss conceived objections to this plan and undertook to impress his views forcibly upon Young Sullivan. Sullivan hit him once, whereupon he took an extended vacation and Sullivan sought pastures new.
For some years after this Sullivan took part in amateur boxing contests about Massachusetts, where he earned the sobriquet of "the Boston Strong Boy." It was understood thoroughly by all concerned that If any one got In the way of that clubbed forearm the Decision went then and there to the “Strong Boy”. At the age of twenty one he was five feet ten and a half inches tall, weighed 175 pounds and was built like a gorilla . His muscular power was enormous. No Prize Fighter of them all through the recorded history possessed such tremendous development of arms, back, shoulders and loins. Bristly black hair, a broad, large boned face and a truly terrifying grin as a fighting expression completed as formidable a makeup as could well be imagined.
At this time Sullivan had a clearly defined theory of the boxing game. His way was to plant himself on the flat of his feet as if nailed to the floor and defy gods and men to come within reach of his fists. This was good so far as it went, but Sullivan would have had difficulty in winning a championship with it if he never had carried it further. His explanation was that the desirable thing was a steady base of operations and that no one could upset him as long as he held his position, two points which could hardly be disputed.
Among young Sullivan's early exploits was his brief meeting with "Joe" Goss in 1879, when the old fellow was champion. Goss took a benefit in Boston and indulgently polished off several local aspirants. Sullivan went on in his turn for four rounds, but began by thumping "Joe" on the neck and the veteran became slightly indisposed. This and many similar happenings having come to the ears of "Billy" Madden, who was looking for material to promote, that astute manager hunted up John in 1880. He saw the youngster box, if Sullivan's customary procedure could be called boxing, and then and there declared he had found the next champion.
But Madden had hard work before him. His immediate problem was to teach his find some few primal, indispensable bits of pugilistic wisdom. There was that matter of the feet. Sullivan always had stood where he stopped, and he saw no reason to do otherwise. He could not be made to move until Madden, at no small personal risk, demonstrated to him exactly what any fourth class, shifty pugilist could do to him if he insisted upon his stubborn fondness for one spot.
Sullivan was convinced, with reservations, when Madden, whom he would have scorned as an opponent, nagged and worried him unmercifully in their training bouts. He was finally induced to step around while in action, but it was a lesson that he never thoroughly learned. He depended almost entirely upon his vast strength and amazing agility above the waist The most that Madden could do was to prove to him the value of a rush. Sullivan was willing to rush, but any and all other footwork he simply refused to understand. Dancing tricks were good enough for others whose safety lay in getting out of reach of him.
In the hitting Madden labored in vain to introduce some variety into Sullivan’s style. Sullivan knew only three blows. He had a downward chopping stroke with his left which he used chiefly to break and beat down his opponents guard. It was usually effective for with his heavy fist or wrist he could numb the arm of any ordinary fighter. Then he had a straight right drive that could have flattened the nose of the Sphinx if it had one. Last and best in Sullivan’s estimation was his right clubbing swing. It made little difference to him how he landed the arm.
He could not be driven or scolded or begged into trying any method of aggression not included within these three blows, which he would spice occasionally with a left drive exactly like the right one. He never learned any others. Nor, for such a fighter as he were any others really necessary.
But one improvement Madden was able to bring about. Sullivan’s plan was to hold off his artillery until he saw a chance and then slam in with every ounce of steam he could generate. He had no hitting judgment and expended too much force on five blows out of six. Madden taught him to nurse his strength and so far succeeded that Sullivan wasted no more than three times the energy he needed.
When Madden had whipped his youngster as nearly into shape as was possible he formed a partnership with him, brought him to New York and started to manufacture the word “knockout”. The managers shrewd estimate of Sullivan’s terrific hitting power was the basis for an offer that afforded a novelty to the fight following public and advertising for Sullivan. Any one who stayed four rounds with him was too have a $50 as a reward. Sullivan found this well to his liking, had an easy time of it, and the firm paid out no money until he met Tug Wilson soon after winning the championship. Sullivan never could refer to that instructive little affair without temper for years afterwards.
Tug Wilson was an old and crafty English boxer, in no way a match for Sullivan except with his feet and his fighting head. He had not the slightest intention of allowing Sullivan to hit him for four rounds or at all, but he had a definite intention of lasting the for rounds and thereby winning a considerable sum privately promised by Madden. Madison Square Garden was hired for the bout. It was a sad night for the invincible John L. Wilson ran away from him, ducked and dodged and hugged and pranced the Merry Andrew. Sullivan charged at him, drove him all over the ring and started to demolish him every ten seconds. When he launched his mighty knockout swings he found nothing but the incorporeal air, At the end of four rounds Wilson was breathless but unhurt and Sullivan was as mad as a wounded tiger robbed of his prey.
He Stood Still
The significance of the event was not then apparent, but the tactics of Tug Wilson foreshadowed those of Charley Mitchell and later of Corbett when he wore Sullivan out of the championship years later. Sullivan could thrash any man who would stand to him, he was helpless with the man who could evade him. In the meanwhile there was no one to take the tip. Up to the New Orleans fight Sullivan frightened or hypnotized or absolutely dominated his antagonists so to speak into fighting him as he wished them to. He forced his own methods upon then and beat them as he inevitably must with his unequalled equipment. When he had become prominent the Sullivan way was the championship way and consequently the right way.
Sullivan made desperate efforts to get Wilson to sign on for a finish fight after the Madison Square Garden fizzle. He swore mighty oaths and promised to ”eat” the wily Englishman if he ever had him in the ring again. Wilson continued his wise policy of evasion and went back home to bank his money, and later to share with Charley Mitchell the reputation of having stayed to the limit with John L Sullivan.
In 1881 Madden’s protégé had an opportunity to take on a finish fight of some importance with John Flood, a formidable fighter of local reputation . The meeting, for $1000, took place on a barge moored in the Hudson, near Yonkers. The men wore skin tight gloves and fought under the London Prize Fight Rules. Flood managed to stave off the rushing, battling terror for seven rounds. In the eighth Sullivan landed with his right to the jaw. They picked up Flood tenderly and ferried him ashore where, after some hours, he was gradually brought back to consciousness.
By the fall of 1881 Madden had brought Sullivan into line for a challenge for the championship. Paddy Ryan was willing enough and articles signed for $2,500 a side and the title. There was much uncertainty as to time and place owing to promised official interference, but the men went to the South by early February of 1882 and were ready to start by special train from New Orleans on the seventh. On a bright warm morning they were met with their attendants and a crowd of 2000 at Scott’s Station, near Mississippi City, where the ring was pitched on a green strip of turf within fifty yards of the shore of the Gulf of Mexico.
They made a wonderful pair when the stripped for action. Ryan in white flannel breeches and stockings, Sullivan in green. The champion had taken faithful care of himself since his long drawn battle with Goss and if he had leaned no more of his art there was at least no doubt of his physical fitness. His six feet one inch gave him a decided advantage in height, but Sullivan’s solidity is shown in the fact that the difference of two and a half inches was equal to only ten pounds in weight, Ryan being 190 and Sullivan 180.
Sullivan’s upper structure was far heavier in frame and muscle than that of his antagonist There was a ripple of astonishment and admiration when he stood up In the buff, showing his marvelous chest and arms, knobbed and knotted and corded under clear, firm skin. Ryan's bust looked like that of a stripling when compared to Sullivan's. The champion was merely a big, strong man. The challenger seemed to all who looked upon him in action as a muscular phenomenon, a man of ordinary height with the physique of a giant and the power of ten. Ryan himself was surprised and impressed by the appearance of his adversary and made his final preparations with a drawn and careworn face. Sullivan, as usual, exerted the weight of his personality upon the other from the moment of stepping into the ring. He had his best grin of confidence forward, and when he filled his chest, swung his long, ponderous arms and eyed his man mockingly there was something indescribably ferocious and daunting in his appearance.
The Great Fight.
A hitch over the selection of a referee was smoothed when it was agreed that two men should officiate Alexander Brewster and "Jack “Hardy. While this arrangement was being made $1,000 that had been sent to Ryan by his backer to wager at ringside was placed at even money. No odds had been offered before the day of the fight, but Sullivan’s condition made him slightly the favorite before hostilities commenced.
At the call of time the rivals came to the centre briskly, shook hands and held their attitudes on guard for an instant while they sized up each other. Then Ryan, seeking to work himself out of his uneasiness in this fight as he had in his previous meeting with Goss, feinted right and drove cautiously with the left but was short. Sullivan did not hop. Away from the blow, as Ryan perhaps expected, but swung his left
upon the guard and slammed his right, also missing. This was the extent of the “sparring” in the fight, or what corresponded to the usual snappy style which the later masters of pugilism had made familiar. Neither of these men knew or cared about such frivolity, and the next instant the heavy work began.
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Ryan led his left hard but was again short and broke ground as Sullivan, impatient, rushed several short steps. Sullivan slammed left and swung right as he came on. Ryan stopped the first handily but the second, pounding through in typical Sullivan manner, caught Ryan a tremendous full power smash to the side of the neck, whirling him aside to stagger and fall. The round had lasted less than a minute and Ryan’s supporters watched in dumbfounded silence while the champion was carried to his corner and the Sullivan party yelled itself into a frenzy.
The swift and unexpected check seemed to have thrown a haze about Ryan, who was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened when the second round was called. He approached the mark slowly, much too slowly for Sullivan, who was one of the most impatient of fighters. Sullivan was at the scratch before "Paddy" was fairly up and went on into Ryan's own territory after him, primed for trouble, starting with a rush. Hammering out with his left, he let go a plunging right drive over Ryan’s lowered guard that cracked smartly to the left jaw. The blow rasped Ryan’s ready temper a trifle and snapped him into action. He side stepped and lashed out right and left, missing, but coming right on again and landing a neat right swing to the left cheek.
Sullivan stood four square and would not give an inch as Ryan raged at him, displaying a good spurt of speed. He guarded after a fashion, but his heart was never in that department of the game, and he was sending in another arm breaking chopper by way of breaking a path when Ryan, still impetuous, rushed in and clinched. Sullivan held him away from a lock with iron grip, and in the struggle each slipped a hold
with the left around the other's neck. Grappled in this position, thigh to thigh, they fought a terrific, jamming rally with the shortened right:, jabbing and cutting at the face.
Ryan's height, added to a trifling advantage of hold, gave him greater freedom, and he was well started upon the decoration of Sullivan when Sullivan, throwing his free arm around his man, sought for a fall. They strained and wrestled for an instant fiercely, then went down together, Ryan on top. Both were carried to their corners while the Ryan backers made up for their earlier silence by a clamor of applause at the way Ryan had turned the tables. Their elation slackened somewhat when the referee awarded to Sullivan first blood as a result of his slashing jabs at Ryan's face.
Ryan Is Encouraged.
The reverse of fortune had put steel into Ryan, and he sprang into action nimbly at the opening of the third round, meeting Sullivan at the centre and leading off with the left. The rest of the round took up about three seconds. Sullivan, watchful and aggressive, brushed away the coming blow with a sweep, of his left, stepped forward and shot a thundering right smash to the face. It was as good as the swing had been. Ryan took it as he was coming on and It dropped him in his tracks as cleanly as if his legs had been yanked from under him. Sullivan stood
grinning for a moment, then allowed his seconds to lock arms under him and carry him to his corner. During the rest of the fight both men adopted this method of saving every possible ounce of strength.
Ryan came up rather wobbly after the interval, but nerved himself at the scratch and attempted to take the upper hand again, feinting right and lashing out with the left for the face. Sullivan condescended to nod his head back and as the blow swept by he plugged a bone snapping left, following swiftly with a right to the jaw, recovering behind a thrusting left and right to the jaw again. The second blow sent Ryan spinning. The sharply released piston rod of a high powered cylinder might have had some such kicking qualities. Certainly the ring never had seen
a hitter of such caliber before.
But "Paddy" was being battered down to the streak of gameness that day behind his inexperience and his newly acquired respect for this terrible antagonist He saved himself from falling by a wrench and spun quickly back, only to meet a charge by Sullivan, who was fighting like a man with a personal grievance. Sullivan let out right and left drives, smacking Ryan to the chest and chin lightly. Ryan slashed out at
him manfully and they mixed for a slugging match, toe to toe, give and take. Ryan got to the jaw twice, but he could not ward the banging attack that Sullivan sent hurling upon him. Sullivan landed a smash flush to the nose and several taps to the body, then swept over another tremendous right swing to the side of the head that sent Ryan tottering to a fall once more. Ryan was crimson from nose and mouth when taken
to his corner.
The champion was not so ready to open the fray for the fifth round and hung back Sullivan did not keep him waiting long. He was a fearsome figure as he charged. The chance spectators believed he must have been desperately injured in some way. Apparently his one wish on earth was to remove Ryan from Its surface His expression and actions were those of a ruffian wildly enraged. But that was simply Sullivan's way.
He was accustomed to frighten his opponents half to death before crushing them. Few fighters could intimidate their men so easily. Not
that it was wholly a matter of deliberate and cunning device When Sullivan fought his heart was in it, and he merely acted the part in character.
Ryan did some skipping and jumping as the flailing terror drove right and left at him, and got away with a fair show of science, drawing aside and hooking through a good, sounding smash to the head with the right. Sullivan liked that not at all and he flung himself boldly upon Ryan. . They clinched as before, Sullivan keeping Ryan off from close locks by hard effort, for he had been taught to fear the champion as a wrestler.
Hanging about each others necks with their left hands they had a merry, mutual drubbing of their rights, pummeling and ripping at the head and face. Again it was Sullivan who found this diversion too dull and elbowed into a closer hold, catching Ryan cleverly about the body. "Paddy" found himself helpless in the grip and tried to wriggle loose, but Sullivan slid along until he had his man packed neatly on his hip. Then, with a sudden heave, he threw Ryan a perfect cross buttock, hurling him headlong. Sullivan made no effort to conceal his satisfaction at
this achievement during the Interval, for be had outplayed Ryan at what was supposed to be the champions pet department of the game.
Ryan Wearing Out
Ryan was decidedly shaky on his legs when came up for the sixth round. The pounding had been terrific, the pace furious and the fall had sapped his strength. But there was no doubt of his gameness. He led off from the scratch with a handy left drive that grazed Sullivan’s ear. Sullivan was without a mark upon his body and had suffered in nothing except his wind which was troubling him. He was puffing like a porpoise and grinning like an angry comedy mask as he returned the compliment, also missing. Ryan at close quarters snapped a weighty chopping plunge with his right to the face and Sullivan returned him one of the same kind, only harder.
The blow bent Ryan to his knees, but the nervy fellow refused to end the round there as he had the right to do so, and got up again charging with sudden vigor. Sullivan jammed his blow aside and they came to a clinch, hugging with the left and pounding with the right, as before. The Ryan breaking away with a sharp twist came back with a smashing reaper that caught Sullivan on the point of the chin. Sullivan’s mouth was open at the instant and the blow seemed to daze him. He staggered, recovered and passed one hand across his face. Ryan leaped to his advantage just in time to catch a clipping right clip to the face that tumbled him over on his back.
Ryan had been brought to a state of savage temper by the repeated setbacks, but he was greatly weakened. Sullivan’s wind was plainly causing him his chief distress, and it was to attack that while obtaining a brief respite from the sledgehammers that Ryan rushed into grips immediately at the opening of the seventh round. Sullivan fought him ofo and Ryan rushing again thrusted a heavy right to the chin. Sullivan taking a sharp spurt, then went after his man hard, right and left, landing several times to the face, and at length literally beating Ryan to the ground.
The champion felt trifle stronger for the eighth round and went after Sullivan upon his own ground leading right and left. He landed with both but the blows lacked steam. Sullivan came right back at him hard and they mixed it roughly for half minute in the fiercest mill of the fight, slugging at will. It lasted to the instant when John had the chance he wanted, then he threw himself behind a right crack to the jaw that lifted Ryan his own length and sent him down all but senseless.
It was clear that the champion was almost gone when he came up for the ninth round. Every one of the Sullivan’s knockdown blows had been the kind that would have sent an ordinary fighter to sleep. But Ryan’s dogged courage was aroused and he staggered up to the center, desperately determined to make a good fight of it. Both missed lefts and Ryan fell rather than stepped into a clinch where they both fought right short arms and broke again. Then Sullivan suddenly waded into a terrific attack, working the bone breaking left and smashing a thundering series with the right at the jaw and temple. Ryan stood the volley manfully an instant trying vainly to cover himself then gave ground. Sullivan pressed after him keeping up the fire of tremendous right hits. The champion was helpless but would not drop to save himself and Sullivan was all over him.
The end came when Sullivan found the chance through Ryan’s wavering guard of planting his same trusty clubbing swing that had done yeoman service before, and with a rush he brought it into play. The ponderous forearm went crashing home under Ryan’s left ear and he crumpled like a sack. His seconds hurried him to his corner and worked over him frantically but when time was called again he could not stand.
And so John L Sullivan became champion in one of the shortest fights in history – nine rounds, lasting eleven minutes and seven seconds of actual combat.
“Our season ends about June 4 and we do
not resume again until September 12.
This gives me over three months' time to
prepare.
"I hereby challenge any and all of the bluffers
who have been trying to make capital at
my expense, to fight me either the last week in
August or the first week in September, this year, at the Olympic Club, in
the city of New Orleans, for a purse of $25,000 and an outside bet of
$10,000 -winner of the fight, to take the entire purse.
"I insist upon a bet of $10,000 to show that
they mean business — $8,500 to be put up inside
of thirty days, another S3,500 to be put up
May 1, and the entire $10.000, and as much
more as they will bet, to be placed by June 15.
I am ready to put up the entire. $10,000 now.
First come first served. I give preference in
this challenge to Frank P. Slavin, of Australia,
as he and his backers have done the greatest
amount of blowing. My second preference is
that bombastic sprinter Charles Mitchell, of
England, whom I would rather whip than any
man in. the world. My third preference is
James-J. Corbett, of America; who has uttered
his share of bombast. - But in this challenge I
include all fighters,
"The Marquis of Queensberry rules, must govern
this contest, as I want fighting, not foot racing, and I intend keeping
the championship of the world.
JOHN L. SULLIVAN,
. "Champion of the World.
St. Paul, Minnesota. March 11, 1883."
Jackie ‘Kid’ Berg ‘The Whitechapel Windmill’
Light-Welterweight Champion of the World (1930-31)
Chester Times, Chester PA.
11 September 1931
BERG, FLOORED IN FIRST ROUND, BATTLES GAMELY
Lightweight Champion Wins 9 of 15 Rounds in Polo Grounds Bout
'NEW YORK. Sept. 11
The shoes of Frank Erne, Bat Nelson, Joe Gans, Ad Wolgast and Benny Leonard are none too big today for Tony Canzoneri, worthy champion of the lightweight division. The likeable little Italian, holder of the 135 Ib. and 140 Ib. titles and formerbantamweight champion, proved his right to the purple robes last night when he administered a sound beating to Jack (Kid) Berg, Britain’s best. It was the third and "rubber" meeting between the two rivals.
The Briton's plan of pursuing his usual boring-in tactics were altered in the very first round when the champion almost won by a knockout. He went after Jackie's bad left eye right from the start and soon opened a. deep cut over the damaged optic. A left hook to the chin, followed by two rights, dropped Berg for a count of eight.
This knockdown, coupled with the memory of his knockout by Tony in the third round at Chicago last April, made Berg overcautious and thereafter he seldom tore in with his usual fury. Berg fought furiously in the third round and his adherents in the crowd yelled loud encouragement. But the English lad's efforts were wild and misdirected against the superb boxing and cool fighting of Canzoneri. particularly was this so through the last minute of the round when they stood toe to toe in a furious exchange of right hand smashes.
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Nothing daunted, Berg responded to the bell for the fourth round and thrilled the crowd by fighting Canzoneri all over the ring in his characteristic, tireless attack. Canzoneri missed awkwardly with, most of his savage lefts and rights for the jaw and was pressed repeatedly to the ropes, where Berg worked both hands to the body and face.
Through the fifth round Berg pressed his attack amid the encouraging shouts of the crowd. Canzoneri tried with every punch in his wide repertoire to stave off the persistent attacks of the challenger in-a defensive battle but without success. At times Canzoneri reached Berg with smashing drives to the body but Berg pressed in, flailing with both arms to the head and body in a ceaseless fire.
Canzoneri subjected Berg to a withering fire of lefts and rights to the body and a savage drilling of rights to the jaw, face and head in a wonderful recovery in the sixth round. He evaded Berg's eager punching, but could not discourage the challenger. Despite the cross fire to which he was subjected, Berg plodded doggedly on, fighting grimly until the bell ended the round.
Canzoneri again had . Berg in distress in the seventh, round., but the English. lad fought on pluckily. The champion staggered his rival with a succession of left hooks to the jaw 'opening the round. Shifting his attack, Canzoneri landed repeatedly with wicked left hooks to the body and several times almost upset Berg with a volley of right crosses to the jaw and head. Against this punching Berg was helpless, but the English, lad never stopped plunging in on the attack.
The eighth round was a punishing one for Berg and produced an uproar among the crowd. This uproar was directly due to the State Athletic Commission's ruling which does not recognize foul punches. Pounding Berg steadily with a savage fire of lefts and rights to the body Canzoneri was meeting Berg's charges with telling counters. Suddenly the champion landed a terrific left for the body which erratic and went palpably low. Berg sank in his tracks his face contorted with pain, but the State Athletic Commission rules against recognizing fouls from low punches and while the crowd 'yelled disapproval Referee Haley counted over the fallen challenger.
Canzoneri won nine of the fifteen rounds. Berg took three and three were even.
TONY'S DIADEM SAVED BY RULE
New Law Forbids Bout to
E n d in Foul— A n d Champ Hit Low
NEW YORK, Sept. 11
Although he proved himself superior in every respect to challenger Jack (Kid) Berg of England, Tony Canzoneri today owed his retention of world's lightweight championship to the rules of the New York Athletic Commission. Canzoneri scored a clear-cut victory over Berg in their 15-round bout at the Polo Grounds last night, but had the bout been staged in London, where it was scheduled originally, the ' championship would have changed hands when Berg went to the floor from a foul in the eighth round.
"Under the New York Commission's rules a fighter cannot win or lose on a foul and despite the protests of the 18,000 spectators, Referee Patsy Haley counted over Berg just as though he had been sent to the floor by a legitimate blow. Canzoneri made no attempt to take advantage of the foul, oven though, also under the rules. It cost, him the loss of the round, he stood back after Berg rose at the eight count and gave the Briton a chance to recover before resuming the attack.
Except for the round given him by the champion's low blow Berg won only one other round and held Canzoneri even in only two. His best rounds were the fifth and sixth In which he earned a draw and the seventh and eighth which he won.
Globe Gazette , Mason City, Iowa
8 August 1930
Cuban Flash In First Defeat of His Ring Career
Decision Splits Crowd and Small Fights start In National Ball Park
A battered little bundle of machinery sat huddled In his corner at the Polo grounds last night after ten of. the most furious rounds of slam-bang boxing New York has witnessed in many a moon.' As Joe Humphries walked toward him, white official-slips' In hand, Kid Chocolate leapt up in anticipation of being proclaimed the winner. , only to stumble back and fall into a sobbing heap in his corner as Humphries suddenly checked himself, turned .and lifted the hand of Jackie (Kid) Berg in token of triumph.
In those few dramatic moments, pulse-stirring to a crowd of 25,000 that had been thrilled by a sensational battle of little fellows, the winning streak that Kid Chocolate appeared to have kept intact was brought to a sudden end, snapped after two years of unbroken victory by the lean little English whirlwind from whitechapel.
Berg 2-1 Victor.
Entirely on the strength of his tireless aggressiveness, Berg won By a two to one vote of the officials.The British lightweight received the verdict of Referee -Patsy Haley, grey-haired little veteran, and one of.the judges, Joe Agnello. The vote of Charles F. Mathison. the second judge, went to the Cuban featherweight.
So close was the battle and so partisan the sympathies of the crowd that the decision, plus the announcer's uncertainty, provoked a big demonstration of disapproval. Chocolate received an ovation that drowned out the cheers for Berg. So heated was the scene that fights broke out around ringside and in the stands of the National league ballpark..
Division of Opinion.
Amongst the ringside experts a Sharp division of opinion existed, although a slight majority appeared to regard the decision as fair. Chocolate seemed to have the edge in the first three rounds, as well as the sixth, seventh and eighth. Berg held margins in the fourth, fifth, ninth and tenth.
Chocolate landed the cleaner more effective blows. He had Berg somewhat groggy with a sensational attack in the third round, the most exciting of the entire fight.
The flashing, ebony keed was also the faster, better boxer whenever he could keep away from the crowding, mauling Englishman. Berg, however, was unceasingly the aggressor. His punches were seldom damaging but they were more persistent and landed oftener. This forcing, plus the fact that Berg unquestionably made the stronger finish apparently swung the decision in his favor.
Berg Has Weight Edge.
Berg, with better than a nine pound pull in the weights and used this to good advantage as he continually crowded, mauled, and harassed the Cuban Negro. Chocolate, meeting his first defeat in two years of professional fighting.
Jem Mace v Tom Allen
By George Siler
Two Englishmen Scrapped Hard For the American Title
Jem Mace and Tom Allen clashed at New Orleans for a purse of $2,500
Tom Allen 1
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v466/ ... om_BK1.jpg
The important fistic event of the year 1870 was the battle between Jem Mace and Tom Allen For the heavyweight championship of America, which took place on May 10 near New Orleans for $2,500 a side. The peculiar thing about the scrap was the contestants were Englishmen, fighting for an American title. This came about as follows:
Allen bad been in the country several years and won his championship spurs by fighting Champion Mike McCoole. whom he defeated, but was robbed of the decision. Later he challenged! Mike, but as' he latter would not fight unless he had his choice of stakeholder and also referee, the affair fell through and Allen claimed the title by default. Mace came to this country the latter part of 1869 as champion of England and the two Britons were brought together to contest for the highest honors of the prize ring. The battle, because of the nationality of the principals, was not an International affair In the sense It generally Is taken, but It smacked of one nevertheless. As It was Mace's first fight in this country and the leading daily and weekly Journals In America had representatives on the ground, the fight by rounds probably will be appreciated.
Round 1
As they stood on guard, erect and defiant, their dresses unsoiled. their flesh glowing In the warm sunlight like polished bronze, as yet unpolluted and undefiled, an almost unconscious murmur of admiration ran through the anxiously waiting crowd. At the first glance it was evident that Mace had the advantage in condition, his flesh hard and healthy, while' that of his antagonist seemed a little too loose and flabby. Bets were now freely offered around the ring of $100 to $70 on Mace, but no reply was elicited. Jem and Tom both smiled beamingly on each other and then put themselves In position at the scratch. Mace's "walking beams" were In a constant state of terpsichorean movement, while his two formidable looking mawleys were most carelessly disposed. He fondled his chin, stroked his phiz, patted his "bellows," and conducted himself generally In such a mercurial sort of manner that to the unsophisticated observer gave no proof of the almost miraculous powers of the man. But his cunning was soon developed.
Allen, as' he stood like before his adversary, wary and watchful, looked the splendid athlete that he was. His feet were spread wide apart and-his bunches of fives held artistically. They smiled and joked In an undertone as they walked around each other, with eyes firmly set on eyes and every movement sharply watched This sparring, dodging, and feinting lasted several minutes, each too cautious to do more than feel his man. Mace now and then dropped his guard, drawing Tom around after him. Then came a few sharp passes, neatly stopped. Jem landed a pile driver over Tom's left eye and danced back, avoiding the return.
Again the scratch was toed, with another spell of cautious sparring, during which Allen shot a heavy one Into the ribs, which sounded all over the ring. Both men warmed to more rapid and serious work, exhibiting pretty science during a bout which wound up with Allen receiving a heavy hit on the nose, countering lightly on Mace's forehead. At it they rushed again. Jem making an ugly threat with his right, which Tom avoided, planting another ugly thud on his opponent's pumps, at which Mace clinched, a Quick tussle, and both fell, with Allen the under dog In the fight. Time, 5:3O.
Round 2
Several minutes passed In sparring for an opening. Mace rubbing his hands, folding his arms, and otherwise endeavoring to get Tom to lead off, followed by a few rapid feints, when, as quick as thought. Mace rushed In and delivered a poultice under the young "un's" right orb, raising an egg and springing back In time to catch only lightly a rib pulverizer from his opponent's, right. Jem grinned at his work and now fully understood Tom’s tactics. With hands down but ever ready to take advantage of any essay. Allen grew serious; he seemed, for the first time, to have properly appreciated his task and compressed his lips In a manner to show he was determined to throw all his energies Into the struggle and "die game," If .necessary. He planted another crasher on Jem's body in return for a nasty on the bad lamp, which now flickered, preparatory to being doused.
Another long: Interval of cautious sparring ensued, during which both men blew off steam and contented themselves with watching for an opening, grinning and joking with each other in an undertone. Mace resumed hostilities with a shot at Allen's neck, but It glanced off, and he napped a return rather too close to meat cellar to be pleasant. Claims of foul were made from the outside of the ring, but Mace gracefully disclaimed them and went In for the finish, giving Allen a smash on the proboscis which drew first blood for Jem. Tom returned it by a couple of rib benders and a clip on the jaw, but in return received a terrible Sockdolager on the right eye which sent him down making a wild attempt to counter as he fell. Allen was now toted home by his carriers, mace walking to his corner much pleased.
Round 3
Bets of $100 to $30 were offered on mace with no takers.Allen came up dejectedly with his right eye nearly closed and his left showing an ugly cut. This Mace took advantage of by keeping the damaged observation well in the sun during the cautious last sparring which opened the round. Allen now found that something had to be done to utilize the time fast slipping away and essayed at the head, but Mace proved to quick, dodging and it passed over his shoulder. In the rally mace slipped and stretched himself on terra firma. Allen again rode home, Mace footing it in the best of humor.
Round 4
Allen looked worried and his face exhibited marks of severe punishment, bleeding profusely from a cut beneath the left optic, while his right look out was rapidly being shut by purple clouds. During the preliminary sparring Tom accidentally trod upon and spiked Jem's foot, but apologized, a courtesy which was loudly applauded. After an elaborate overture of feinting, guarding, and dodging, Mace suddenly, darted out his right and gave Allen a roaster on the damaged eye, distilling the ruby afresh and going down partly from the recoil just In time to escape a well intended receipt in full.
Round 5
After the usual introductory fiddling about, Mace led. put with his left at the young "un's" neck, which the latter avoided, Mace going down from the force of his own blow. Foul was claimed, but not allowed. Jem quickly recovered, however, and faced Tom, who sent his left on a voyage of discovery, landing on Jem's ribs and getting a heavy return on the dial from Mace's left, who followed it up with a rush, clinched, and threw Allen heavily, adding his weight to the fall.
Round 6
The fight was now evidently all one way. Allen was game enough and glutton enough, but his Inferiority to Mace In sparring and In wrestling was plainly, not to say pitifully, apparent. Odds of $100 to $15, with no takers, were offered on Mace. Allen seemed freshening, while Mace was as smiling as a basket of chips. A few friendly passes preceded a clinch by Mace getting the young un in chancery and fiddling sharply with his right. Jem hung on like death but with one gigantic almost superhuman effort Allen turned the tide and went down heavily on top of Mace amid great applause, in which even Jem’s friends joined.
Round 7
Time now told badly on Allen’s telescopes, the right being entirely darkened and the other gradually followed suit. Mace’s face on the other hand was unmarked. Neither appeared to have suffered either in temper or in endurance. After another long spell of sparring Mace landed on the breast receiving an exchange on the ribs and countered on the mouth with severity.Tom dashed in, but Mace avoided his essay, clinched and they went down in a close and loving embrace.
Round 8
Allen was evidently tired and not at all hopeful but desparate.mace lively as a cricket, danced about his man, who waited for an opportunity to drive a spike into Jem’s boilers. He succeeded at last and got in two crashes, but mace squared accounts by hitting him heavily in the face thrice. They then rushed to a clinch and went down with a light fall. Jem underneath.
Round 9
Mace ,scathless and smiling, Allen with a head on him like a wrecked capstan , but exhibiting a dogged and praiseworthy determination to see it out to the bitter end. That the game was well nigh up was apparent to all and the only chance Tom now had was to plant a blow sufficiently forceful to knock sir Jem out of time. The prospects of this were not encouraging. Mace seeing that he had everthing safe was contented to bide his time and not force matters, by doing which he might lay himself open to accident. He now went about his work like an artist. He visited Tom lightly upon the face thrice, evidently picking out the soft spots with great delicacy and discrimination. Allen in return always at the ribs, but not heavily .Jem now gathered himself for a finisher and aimed for the throat, but Allen parried it and catching the champion of balance with a swing under the right ear sent mace clean of his feet amid uproarious applause
Round 10
Both men answered promptly and came up eager and determined. Allen with the exception of a bad eye, actually looked better and more dangerous than at any time during the fight.He still clung to the defensive policy as he did throughout the whole fight, not manifesting any desire to take the initiative. Both settled to hard work, Allen following up Mace as the later danced around him .An offer by Jem at the head was neatly parried and Tom dropped his right heavily just above the belt. Neither seeming In a hurry to resume serious work. They did get at it, however, and rattled away so fast that it was impossible to keep count of the blows. Mace had all the best of It, punishing Tom badly about the eyes and escaping: several vicious attempts. This could not and did not last long, and the men gradually edged away toward their respective corners, where they were refreshed outwardly and Inwardly, by their seconds. Mace had now 'gotten Allen's only useful eye in- proper eclipsing condition and It calmly awaited sunset.
Allen, however, gamely marched up to the music, which opened with sparring. Tom finally got home on the breast—a crack Which made Jem wince and visit Tom’s right lamp spitefully. The men now closed and some terribly severe work at half, arm distance was in order, Jem finally getting Tom's head in chancery and slashing away at It with serious effect.This was not relished by Allen, who in order to stop it, clinched for the fall.
The struggle was fearful like giants they swayed back and forward but Mace was to fine a wrestler for his game opponent. Holding Allen firmly in his vice like grasp, slowly but surely he bore his head down to the ground and threw him a complete somersault. Tom alighting upon his right shoulder with great force nearly dislocating it. Mace falling heavily upon him. Tom gave an awful groan and all ground the ring rose to their feet, thinking his neck bad been broken. Full of alarm, the seconds of both sides rushed up and he was carried to his corner. The Injury was not as feared, however, but was sufficient —the jig was up—-and when time was again called Coburn walked to the scratch and tossed up the sponge. Time of fight. 44 minutes.
As soon as the referee had given his decision Jem walked over and shook hands with his opponent and while Tom groaned in agony he patted him on the back and said “Tom you are a game man and I wish you well”.
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