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December 1999
Each month we bring you a selection of articles from the current and past issues of BOXING MONTHLY. To buy the magazine, see our subscription or back issues pages, or use our world distribution map to find a news-stand copy. Why not use our Interactive Forum to express your own boxing comments and opinions!
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20th CENTURY BOXING MYTHS
STEVE FARHOOD explores and explodes five of the biggest boxing myths of the 20th century |
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EVIDENCE OF DIVE?: how much should be read into Johnson's shielding his eyes from the sun?
- Get Big Pic The
dawning of a new millennium has brought 1,000 boxing lists,
everything from the best fighters to the worst writers. How about the
biggest lies?
The passage of time clouds our perspective and hazes our memory. As a
result, punches that landed on the beltline become blatantly low blows,
and fights that were decided by one or two points are recalled as
daylight robberies.
In other words, what we remember isn’t necessarily the way it was.
Here, then, in no particular order, are five of the biggest myths of the
modern era.
Sonny Liston took a dive in his second fight vs. Muhammad Ali Why
hasn’t Oliver Stone made a movie about this?
The Ali-Liston rematch came 18 months after the assassination of John
F. Kennedy, and there are as many theories explaining "the fix" as there
are regarding the murder of the president. A sampling:
* The mobsters who managed Liston bet against him: In fact, Liston was a
6-5 favourite, and there was minimal wagering on the fight.
* The Black Muslims intimidated Liston by threatening his life: In fact,
the rumour on fight night was that defectors of the Muslim faith,
seeking to avenge the assassination of Malcolm X, were en route to
Lewiston, Maine, to murder Ali. Liston feared only one Black Muslim.
That was Ali, whom he believed to be crazy.
* Liston quit because of pre-existing bursitis in his left shoulder:
This take has been promoted by Geraldine Liston, the former champion’s
wife. "He shouldn’t have fought either fight with Ali," Geraldine told
me in 1990.
After Ali’s one-punch, one-round KO, the 3,000 fans at St. Dominic’s
Youth Center screamed "Fake!", and most of the boxing writers agreed.
The legendary Jimmy Cannon went even further, writing: "[Boxing] has
earned a passport to oblivion. There is no reason for its existence." In
Washington, D.C., Senator John Tower called for a Congressional
investigation, and in Albany, New York, Senate Majority Leader Joseph
Zaretski introduced a bill to outlaw pro boxing in the state. And you
thought the knee-jerk reaction to Lewis-Holyfield I was excessive.
The hysteria aside, this is what really happened in Lewiston:
After training diligently for the rematch, the ageing Liston was
disconsolate after the bout was postponed for six months. (Ali underwent
emergency hernia surgery two days before the original fight date.)
"Sonny was disgusted," said Milt Bailey, who worked his corner. "He was
in terrific shape, and then he lost it."
About a minute in, Liston lunged with a jab and Ali countered with a
chopping right to the temple. At first glance, the punch didn’t seem
like a KO blow. But it was delivered with speed, and Liston was still
cold. Those who doubt the power of the punch should watch the tape in
slow motion; Liston’s head snapped upon impact, and before he crashed,
his left foot lifted off the canvas. The chaos that followed, with Ali
standing over Liston and referee Jersey Joe Walcott botching the count,
confused the issue: Liston was legitimately knocked out.
The "Long Count" cost Jack Dempsey a KO win in his rematch vs. Gene
Tunney Seventy-two
years after the famed "Long Count", the Tunney-Dempsey
rematch is cocktail-party conversation once more, thanks largely to
award-winning author Roger Kahn. In "A Flame Of Pure Fire: Jack Dempsey
And The Roaring ’20s" (Harcourt Brace & Company), Kahn serves up a fresh
take on arguably the most controversial moment in ring history.
According to Kahn, Dave Barry, the third man for that fight, intended
to make sure Tunney retained the world heavyweight title. "In my tape of
Chicago 1927," Kahn writes, "I am looking at a crooked referee."
Sorry, Roger. Yours is an intriguing theory, but little more than
revisionist history.
In September 1926, Tunney took boxing’s greatest prize from Dempsey,
winning the title by unanimous 10-round decision before a crowd of
120,000 in Philadelphia. The ex-Marine was far too fast for the
31-year-old Dempsey, who hadn’t fought in three years. The rematch,
which brought boxing’s first $2 million gate ($2,658,660, to be exact),
was fought one year later at Soldier Field in Chicago. The attendance: a
mere 104,943.
Once reviled for ducking military service in World War I - Dempsey was
tried and acquitted for draft evasion in 1920 - "The Manassa Mauler" was
now a beloved hero. But he was still slower than Tunney, and 12 months
older than he had been in Philadelphia. That was plainly evident over
the first six rounds, during which Tunney dominated with his sterling
jab.
Fifty seconds into the seventh, Dempsey broke through with a long
left. Tunney fell sideways into the ropes, and Dempsey followed with a
right and a hook, both bullseyes to the jaw. As Tunney slid toward the
canvas, Dempsey added an overhand right, two hooks, and another right.
Before the bout, Barry had stressed to both fighters that if a
knockdown were to occur, the standing fighter was to immediately proceed
to a neutral corner. Dempsey resisted, however, and didn’t move until
Barry grabbed him by the arm and walked him across the ring.
By the time Barry picked up the count, timekeeper Paul Beeler had
reached five. But due to Dempsey’s delay in following the rules, Barry
began a fresh count. When he reached nine, Tunney, who had been clearly
hurt by the knockdown punches, rose to his feet. He ran for the
remainder of the round, then, fully recovered, dropped Dempsey in the
eighth and cruised to another 10-round decision victory. More popular
than ever, Dempsey never fought again.
The "Long Count" lasted at least 14 seconds. But even Kahn
acknowledges that it’s unfair to assume Dempsey had cost himself
victory. "Could Tunney have gotten up at an honest nine?" he writes.
"The answer is uncertain."
I’ll give the last word to Tunney, who wrote in his autobiography:
"Realizing, as do all professional boxers, that the first nine seconds
of a knockdown belong to the man who is on the floor, I never had any
thought of getting up before the referee said ‘nine’. Only badly dazed
boxers who have momentarily lost consciousness, and show-offs, fail to
take that nine seconds that are theirs. No boxer that I have ever known
has carried a stopwatch on his wrist going into the ring. Boxers always
go by the referee’s timing; whether 25 seconds or nine seconds had
elapsed when the referee said ‘nine’ would have made no difference to
me. My signal to get off the floor was the count ‘nine’."
Jack Johnson took a dive in his title defence against Jess Willard One
photo may be worth a thousand words, but in this celebrated case,
the words were all lies.
By 1915, world heavyweight champion Johnson’s life had spiralled out
of control; he was 37, in debt, and out of shape. Worse yet, if he were
to have re-entered the USA, he would have been imprisoned. In 1913,
Johnson had been convicted of violating the Mann Act (transporting a
woman across state lines for immoral purposes). He opted to jump bail
and flee to Europe.
On 15 April of that year, Johnson defended against giant Jess Willard,
the latest in a long line of White Hopes. That the bout was fought in
the 103-degree heat of Havana, Cuba, didn’t help the ageing champion.
Nonetheless, Johnson dominated early, almost halting the 6ft 6ins,
230-pound challenger in the first, seventh, and eighth rounds. But
Willard was in marvellous condition, and as the rounds mounted, Johnson
began to wilt.
By round 20, Johnson was drained. In the 26th, a left to the body and
a right drove him down, and referee Jack Welch counted him out.
The myth that Johnson chose to get KO’d was primarily based on the
famed ringside photo of the defending titlist lying flat on his back in
round 26, supposedly shielding his eyes from the scorching sun. If
Johnson had indeed been exhausted and badly hurt, the theory goes, he
would never had had the wherewithal to shield his eyes. In fact, film of
the fight shows Johnson flat and virtually motionless seconds after the
photograph was taken. "I have no excuses to offer," he said after the
fight. "A better and younger man has taken the championship title."
One year later, Johnson, nearly broke, sold a confession of his "dive"
to newspaperman Nat Fleischer, who was not yet the founder and editor of
The Ring. Fleischer never bought into Johnson’s claim, which he found
embarrassing. As a result, he failed to publish the document until 1968.
One other aside: Referee Welch reported having seen Johnson betting
$2,500 on himself the day before the fight. That’s a rather costly way
to create an alibi, don’t you think?
The 1950s was the golden age of boxing Nothing
is ever as good as it used to be. If you’re a movie buff, well,
they just don’t make love stories like "Casablanca" anymore, do they? As
far as cars are concerned, today’s overpriced imports can’t match the
old Chevrolets for dependability. Boxing? Those ninnies of the ’90s who
call themselves world champs wouldn’t have cracked the Top 10 in the
good ol’ days. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Maybe our glorification of the past explains why so many fight fans
and professionals, especially those of the senior-citizen variety, view
the ’50s as "The Golden Age". Sure, the fighters were fantastic, and in
this age of splintered titles, alphabet indictments, and decreasing mass
appeal, it’s tempting to wax eloquent about Sugar Ray, The Ol’ Mongoose,
and The Rock. But a bit of perspective is in order. If the ’50s was
"Friday Night Fights", "The Keed’s" bolo punch, and Marciano’s
miraculous KO of Walcott, it was also:
* Frankie Carbo running the show for blue-blood promoter James Norris
and the monopolistic International Boxing Club (IBC). Carbo was
essentially promoter, manager, and matchmaker rolled into one. If you
didn’t do business with "Mr Gray" or one of his associates, your fighter
was instantly frozen out. You think Don King’s image hurts the sport?
Carbo was arrested 18 times for everything from felonious assault and
grand larceny to murder (five times). In 1961, he and henchman Blinky
Palermo, who managed, among others, Sonny Liston, Ike Williams, and
Johnny Saxton, were convicted of conspiracy and extortion for trying to
muscle in on the earnings of welterweight Don Jordan. Carbo’s sentence:
25 years.
* The IBC shutting every other promoter out. With Joe Louis retiring,
the IBC was formed in order to control the heavyweight title. Through
the first half of the ’50s, the omnipotent Norris promoted virtually
every world title fight at heavyweight, middle, welter, light, and
feather. Norris knew no bounds; he recreated the managers’ guild to his
liking, manoeuvred his way into the role of president of Madison Square
Garden Corporation, and even employed Al Weill, who managed Marciano, as
his matchmaker. In 1959, the Supreme Court upheld a lower-court ruling
that the IBC and Madison Square Garden had violated the Sherman
Anti-Trust Act by "conspiring to control the promotion of world
championship fights throughout the USA". But it wasn’t until Cassius
Clay dethroned the mob-controlled Sonny Liston in 1964 that the stench
was fully gone.
* Respected trainer Ray Arcel getting hit over the head by a lead pipe
because he dared challenge the IBC. In the early-’50s, the IBC ran
nationally televised fights three nights a week. Arcel tried to compete,
airing a show on Saturday nights. In 1953, he was standing in front of a
hotel in Boston when a thug attacked him. Shortly after, "Saturday Night
Fights" was off the air.
Ah, the good old days!
The judge(s) in the first Lennox Lewis-Evander Holyfield fight were
crooked The
morning after the dreadful draw in March, the tabloids screamed fix.
Was this wishful thinking? After all, nothing sells like scandal. Or was
it simply irresponsible journalism? I ask the same question now that I
asked then: Where is the hard evidence? There have been hearings and
investigations and probes, and other than wasting taxpayers’ money,
what’s been accomplished?
Despite the fact that the majority of ringside media scored eight or
nine rounds for Lewis, the most damning evidence was not the respective
totals of Larry O’Connell and Jean Williams. What raised my eyebrows to
my hairline was that Williams scored round five for Holyfield. In sworn
testimony, she said her view had been obstructed. By what? Dancing
showgirls? Visions of sugarplums? Perhaps the best explanation has been
offered by Emanuel Steward, who trains Lewis. "She came in with her mind
already made up," he said of Williams.
For many, the disgrace of Lewis-Holyfield I was compounded by the
decision in the Trinidad-De La Hoya fight. During such controversy, fans
and insiders alike conveniently fail to acknowledge the subjectivity of
scoring. In fact, the four points of scoring - effective aggressiveness,
clean punching, ring generalship, and defence - are poorly defined.
Moreover, the three judges view the action from three different angles.
Watch enough big fights and at some point, you’ll be the one handing in
the scorecard from hell.
Maybe someday we’ll learn that Lewis-Holyfield I wasn’t on the level.
Until then, let’s accept it for what it was: A lousy decision. Nothing
less and nothing more. |
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