The Philosophy of a Fighter

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XXII, Issue 193, 30 July 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Philosophy of a Fighter

Britain’s New Cruiser-weight Champion PETERSEN TOO INTENT UPON MASTERING THE TECHNIQUE OF BOXING. The Stadium Club, in the course of their promotion of the Jack Petersen—Harry Crossley fight for the light heavyweight championship of Great Britain, described the young Welshman as the most arresting of all British boxers, or in words to . .at effect. It would seem that the club did not exceed the license we would allow to all promoters for in the following article a writer in “Boxing” has high praise for the new title holder.

Petersen is an impelling personality, Bo swashbuckler, no creature of managers, no mere subject for what newspaper modernity call “a good story,’’ but a young man who, having decided to exploit the profession of fighting, would seek at the earliest opportunity to find his level; a commendable if a daring thing to do, says .the writer, r ' For as Petersen will have it “what js the good of curling oneself up in caution? Is not one opponent as good as another ? I do not say 1 shall beat this pr that man: I merely intend, so long as I am in the ring, to take my chances.’ If I go down flop, that will be my funeral. “I am very young; I am very inexperienced ; but I am old and experienced enough to have a point cf view: it is this: In the game of fighting, so long as a man is on his feet he is not beaten. And that conviction is the stronger because when it had been decided that I must lose to Charlie Smith, I won.”

It is unusual to bump across a fighter, especially one of such few years as Petersen, who thinks for himself. It is the difference between him and the majority of fighters that has won me over to him.

Let me tell you what happened after his affair with Tom Toner. He arrived at my office weighed down with newspapers which, almost without exception, had well and truly, quite fairly, and with the best motives, I am sure, sharply criticised his performance against the Irishman.

I was of many who charged him with greenness. Said Petersen: ‘‘l have read pretty nearly all that could be said. I do not resent one single word that has been said against me. I have had a very kind Press, and if I do not benefit for the lashing I shal'l be hopeless

“I myself have made no pretentions: if I have any virtues they have been sung by the critics. And I am grateful. For not knocking Toner out I make no excuse other than this: I found it impossible to be my natural self against a man who held persistently and in a way that, to me, was entirely foreign. I am aware that I should have done this and that. I, myself, whenever 1 have been watching a fight, have often failed to understand why it is that one or other of the fighters do not do that which is obvious. All the Difference. “There is a world of difference, however, between fighting and watching a fight. I have learned a lot from I’ener. Whether I shall profit remains to be seen. My next job is Harry Crossley and I shall approach it as 1 would an everyday task, to master it. “If I do not do that which 1 shall set out to do I shall have no excuse. He will have proved the better man, aud 1 shall go on learning my lessons. Oh, no, whatever happens I shall not give up the ghost. I have pledged myself to fight him, alst> Meen. And back home I go to prepare.” Petersen has much fascinated me, not to the point of seeing in him near

to a wonder, but because rather than having any fajse notions he knows precisely what is demanded of him by the profession which he has chosen. He is a shrewd, deep-thinking youth and blessed with imagination, and, better, he is something of a philosopher.

His philosophy is that there must be a winner and a loser, that there must be failures as there must be successes. ‘•I have not,” he says, “gone in for fighting with the idea that it is the surest, the readiest, means to high fame and fortune. I fight because 1 like fighting. It is in my blood to fight, and, try as I might, I could be nothing but a fighter. “I had the choice of medicine and pugilism. My people hoped and intended that I should be a doctor. I decided on pugilism. Whether my choice is good or bad time will show. And that is all there is to it.” It is seldom that a fighter, whether young or old, whatever his standing in his particular world, unburdens himself. The fighting mind most times is the mind of a mechanic, not infrequently incapable of explaining so that one may see what is in the soul.

I have found in the innards of Petersen a raging fire, an unquenchable passion to give completeness to all that his trade may set him. The average critic, not unfairly, may condemn him for being cursed with an intolerance of half measures.

“I shall never be different,” he confesses, ‘‘in the sense that if I were rigidly to apply my mind to fighting by rule of thumb I do believe that 1 should find that I could not fight at all. But I am all intent upon mastering the technique of fighting. That is why my people and myself are keen to have such a past-master as Hood to assist in rounding off whatever corners there may be in my fighting make-up. That Way is Certain. ‘ ‘ But whilst I shall to the end of my days seek knowledge, it will ever be my aim to produce finality. I prefer to fight rather than box a way to victory. ’ ’ Well, we shall see what we shall see. In point of physical fitness Petersen approaches near to perfection. I ran over to Cardiff to see him during last week-end, and I was much impressed, not by any show of confidence by him, not because of the certainty of his father that ‘‘young Jack” has the cruiser title as good as in his pocket already, but because Petersen was so happy, so keen, so natural in all he did, because he was so strong in wind and limb, because of his gratitude that at the very outset of his career the opportunity has come to him to win a place among the British champions, because he revelled in his training and contrived to make it a round joy as different from a soul-destroying thing.

I am not for saying, as do Welsh folk to a man, that Petersen will beat Harry Crossley, but I do assert that of all our cruisers he is the best qualified to fight the Yorkshire man for the title. No better match ceuld have been made. I congratulate the Stadium Club upon deciding to stage it, though because of the limited accommodation

at their disposal they can hope to make little more than bare expenses. And in that regard Fred Howard and his colleagues stand in close relationship to the old National Sporting Club.

“Peggy” Bettinson put on some of the best fights in history at Covent Garden, not with the idea of reaping monetary gain but primarily for the purpose of helping the world to decide who were the best fighters.

Whatever the outcome of the war between Petersen and Crossley we shall, with one accord, accept the winner as the first of all the British cruisers.

If we were to judge Crossley on his last appearance in London, which was on the occasion of his defeat by the coloured Tarante at the Bing, Blackfriars, I should be inclined to take the victory of Petersen pretty well for granted. But I do not propose to do any such thing. That was not the real Crossley we then saw, but a Crossley who was not only far from being keyed up—a Crossley who fought as if it scarcely mattered what the result would be. It might seem strange that any fighter should be casual; but I have known more than one, and champions at that, who, having decided that there was nothing beyond prestige and personal pride at stake, have been decidedly casual.