A BATTLE ROYAL

Evening Star, Issue 20942, 5 November 1931, Page 4

A BATTLE ROYAL

LECKIE SHADES DONOVAN THRILLING BOXING ENCOUNTER If there was a battle royal, a stand-up light waged relentlessly, stubbornly to the last ditch by two champions unwilling to surrender and drixing the tired ilesh by sheer force of indomitable spirit, it was on Saturday night, when Johnny' Leckie regained the feather-weight championship from Tommy Donovan. It should go down as the greatest thriller in New Zealand ring history. There hare been some great bouts since the rise of these two fine little feather-weights, but none comparable to this one (says the 1 Taranaki Herald Every' round was a whole bout in itself, packed with exciting incident. After the third round the issue was in the balance, and it shivered there till the final terrific set-to, when Donovan, out on his feet, refused to fall, and Leckie was too weak to swing a decisive blow. A dozen times, before that it seemed certain that one or the other would collapse beneath the strain. But anxious moments passed. Sheer grit and the blessed minute spells saved the day. Time and again the pair trailed unsteadily to their corners, were revived, and came out courageously to trade tired blows. First Donovan would rouse himself to an unbelievable pitch of activity', bore in with menacing gloves, and crowd his opponent through the. ropes by the ferocity of his rush. And Leckie would pick himself up slowly and painfully. The most hopeful would have wagered he was done. Then, while he was rocking groggily on his fee , vainly trying to staythe torrent of blows, out .would flash his right glove, jolt to the head, and Donovan would flop like a punctured tyre. , . The referee’s count would start over Donovan’s prone body. It was the eud. No! Three seconds i > go, and Donovan was on his knees shaking his head to clear the misty brain. Another second ~ and he was on his pins again. Now was Leckic’s chance to drop his man for the fateful count. The spirit was there, and he knew what to do, but the arms were too weary. The great opportunity went by. An I now Donovan, who half a minute before was three seconds off defeat, was fighting like a tiger, and Leckie was retreating.

So it went on round after round till it seemed that neither was aware of anything but that his opponent was in front, and he had to hit him or himself go down. There was no craft, ‘no tactics. All the expert advice in Ihe world would have been lost on them. They fought by instinct, splendidly' natural, and it was wonderful to sec. Yes, it was a great fight. Those affairs between Sarron and Donovan (the sensational Western Park encounter and the memorable Wellington Waterloo) were dull beside it; and the last bout , Leckie and Donovan, in tho same Coronation Hall ring, described as the “best fight ever,” was rather tame. ' Th pity' of it was that there were not more people to see it. Tho lucky ones' 'were wild with excitement. They saw something to remember and brag about. And a greater pity still is t’ at J ’aere is not a double feather-weight crown, for both men deserve to wear it.

As'for their merits—well, there, is less than very' little between them. Leckie regained his title only' in the last round. By that time Donovan had done his dash physically. Grit alone kept his legs from doubling up. Leckie was not much better, but he was free of devastating attacks, so many of which had previously' almost spelt defeat. He had but to keep his head. He did that. With a masterly effort he held himself together, kept straight and fairly' steady. He punched the helpless Donovan, from rope to rope. Still the latter refused to submit. He clung to the last thought of consciousness desperately. Leckie's blows landed, but they were stingless. Their zip was gone long ago. Once Donovan lashed out in a last hope. He missed by a yard, and the force carried him off his tottering balance. Leckie could not raise the energy to follow hiin. The punch of an amateur ‘ fly-weight would have settled the issue. It was not forth-, coming. Bot’ of them were in sore straits, but Donovan’s was the worse plight. He groped like a blind-drunk man, half the time not knowing where his opponent stood. The sound of the last gong was never more welcome. It is hard to say which man was the ’>etter pleased. When the referee, Mr Ned Perry, raised Leekie’s glove there was a tremendous outburst of cheering. The crowd had forgotten the title, and were applauding both boxers in a wonderfully wholehearted manner. It _ was not a case of win :r and loser—it was two champions receiving the plaudits of an admiring crowd. They' deserved every' cheer. Leckie has never gained a more glorious win ; and Donovan was greater in defeat than he has ever been in victory 7 —yes, the Sarron bouts thrown in.