BRITAIN’S NEW CHAMPION

Greymouth Evening Star, 15 September 1945, Page 7

BRITAIN’S NEW CHAMPION

WOODCOCK'S “THUNDERBOLT”

Britain at last has a heavyweight champion with a ring decade ahead of him; one who can box and carries a real punch (wrote the Boxing Correspondent of the London “Daily Telegraph” on July 18). Young Bruce Woodcock’s sensational sixth-round knock-out victoryover Jack London on the Tottenham Hotspur* football ground last night was not only wildly cheered by 38,000 people but will be acclaimed throughout the country. A magnificent right flush on the chin put London on the floor and brought a glaze to his eyes early in the round. To the general surprise the champion, for all his long experience, scrambled almost at once to his feet when he needed every second of rest that the timekeeper* could permit him. His jaw sagged, h’e stared glassily and tottered like a drunken man, and it took very little to topple him off his balance again. This time he failed to beat the count, and Woodcock, so serious in his demeanour and so plainly apprehensive only a minute earlier, permitted himself a jubilant dance round the ring before being hauled back to his, corner by his equally jubilant seconds. One of these—a surprise item on the programme—was Nel Tarleton, the British featherweight champion. I. wonder how much that cagey old veteran had to do with the choosing of the psychological moment for Woodcock to shoot out the thunderbolt that won him the championship? For “psychological it was. Seldom have I seen a champion more confident of his powers or a challenger more apprehensive of the way things were going than London and Woodcock in the fifth round. In fact, I had already noted the change in Woodcock from the almost buoyantly confident youngster* he appeared at the start of the contest. He began by picking his punches and once uppercutting the on-rushing London so cleanly that it looked as if he might win by the sheer science of his boxing and footwork. Though causing London little demur, Woodcock won the first two rounds. Sometimes when London launched' an attack in the style of a fast bowler, always pitching outside the leg-stump, he was roundly clotxted by the youngster for his pains.

TWO PILEDRIVERS The first check to this smoothlooking performance of the noble art came in the third round, when London drove in a hard upward punch travelling right under Woodcock’s heart. The whole of his stream-lined frame seemed to quiver under the weight of the blow. Another pile-driver in the fourth round seemed to take all the steam out of Woodcock. He had no counter in the clinches and in the long-range exchanges all the snap and fire seemed to depart from his punches. London wisely gave him no rest, crowding him and using his immense weight superiority of over two stones to fair and useful advantage. Early in the fifth round Woodcock’s nose was bleeding and a puffiness was mounting in his cheeks. He looked really woebegone. Between the rounds Tarleton whispered earnestly in Woodcock’s ear. While his other seconds were ringing the sponge on him with telltale fervence, Woodcock listened intently. Woodcock got up slowly from the seat, made his way to the centre of the ring, flashed out a left, and another, which caused the now cock-a-hoop London to back away to the ropes, and as he came back the “thunderbolt” hit him on the jaw. It was followed quick as a flash with another and London fell—nearly out of the ring. Woodcock will remember those two right-hand punches for the rest of his life. They won him the championship. With more people in the ring than it seemed it could hold at one time, Col. Myddelton, president of the Board of Control, presented the new champion with the Lonsdale Belt. A sorely wondering London left the ring almost unnoticed during this scene of wild acclamation. He was followed by a worried wife and two sadly disappointed small sons. His reign as champion was short, less than a year. I do not think he will attempt a come-back. Youth must be served.