MEMORABLE RING BATTLES.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, 10 July 1913, Page 28

MEMORABLE RING BATTLES.

HOW CORBETT WON THE WORLD’S CHAMPIONSHIP.

The subject of the accompanyingillustration, Jas. J. Corbett, was when in his prime regarded as one of the cleverest boxers who ever donned a glove, and his rapid rise to fame in the fistic world will always form one of the greatest achievements in the history of the ring. Of his ring successes the best known are his memorable drawn battle with Petei’ Jackson after 61 rounds at San Francisco on May 21, 1891, his defeat of the great John L. Sullivan in 21 rounds in New Orleans on September 7, 1892, his fierce fight with Bob Fitzsimmons at Carson City, Nevada, on March 17, 18 97, when he lost the championship, being knocked out in the 14th round, and his defeat at the hands of Jim Jeffries at San Francisco on August 14, 1903 in 10 rounds. Jim Corbett is a delightful character —a boxer of the most modern style; that is to say a handsome, well-edu-cated, intelligent man, looking as well in evening dress as in the ring, and able to take his place with ease in any company. His sobriquets of “ Pompadour Jim,” or “ Gentleman Jim,” indicate the manner in which the patrons of the ring regarded him.

Corbett’s battle with John L. Sullivan, which resulted in him becoming the world’s champion, will long be remembered by ring patrons, and when the fighters entered the ring on that memorable occasion they were greeted with thunderous applause from the 10,000 spectators. When the fine old ceremony of the handshake was announced, Corbett stepped forth with a sense of real respect for the great champion and offered his hand cordially; but Sullivan, instead of meeting him in a hearty grip, tossed Corbett’s hand disdainfully from him. Pompadour Jim was nerved. When they faced each other in earnest both men were smiling and confident. Sullivan rushed in and delivered a left-hand blow, but Corbett sprang back quickly and the stroke failed to get him. But the champion was the same old impetuous John L. Briskly heaving his shoulders, he made for Pompadour Jim to finish him. Corbett skipped and danced, but Sullivan followed him up, hotly letting fly the right and left with astonishing vigour. Corbett stopped the first beautifully and evaded the other with the skill of a bull-fighter, and as Sullivan chased him the Pompadour fairly ran. The crowd hissed, and called out to> him to stand up like a man. They despised Pompadour. But Sullivan did not despise him. Those were the sole tactics he feared, and, frowning fiercely, he rushed again at the intangible Jim, who sidestepped, squirmed, and sprang always just out of reach of the furious blow. The gong struck, and Sullivan, already a little warmed, retired to think things over. Pompadour might have stepped out of a band-box. In the second round Corbett at close quarters fought pluckily, but once he escaped he was wilder than ever. Like a hunted deer he sprang and sped, while Sullivan, with his eyes blazing with fury, leapt after him, fighting as he went. Sullivan, however, never lost his head. He watched his chance to bring in his famous swinging blow, and landed a left-hand on the side of Corbett’s jaw. But Pompadour had yielded to the stroke, which lost much of its force.

Angry with himself, and angrier still with Corbett, he dashed in on him in the third round again and again; but the fast and dainty skipping of Pompadour Jim always brought him just out of reach, and the clean steps and the coolness of the wary and cat-like athlete exasperated John L. beyond patience. It wag evident to all that Corbett had made his plans for a long campaign; Sullivan feared he could not last to

the end. So again, with his fierce, heaving lurch he made for Pompadour, who danced gracefully with rapid steps and lively bends, until Sullivan, stacking on all he knew, and rushing forward, changed his step into a veritable race. The champion slogged at him as he ran, and landed on his back a glancing blow. Next moment Pompadour Jim was again facing him unruffled, smiling, and unhurt. The champion was savage. The champion was short of breath, while Pompadour was fresh as a daisy. He danced in his nimble style, then suddenly brought two

swinging blows on the champion’s jaw. He was beginning to do some work for himself. Sullivan was losing ground. This maddened him. He rushed in irresistibly and banged Corbett twice on the stomach and neck. The blows would have felled an ox; but on the slippery, writhing Corbett, as he yielded and sprang, they lost their impetus. It is no wonder that at the fourth round the champion was serious. But he still hoped to corner the dancer; then a sledge-hammer stroke —one single blow on the right place—and the dainty Pompadour Jim would know no more of the fight. He rushed at him. But still Corbett dodged and side-stepped, retreated and parried the blows and kept him at long range, never losing his self-possession, and at the same time evading him so easily and neatly, that the mastery

of his work could only be gauged by the fury of the Titanic battlings of the champion. The tables were turned in the fifth round. Corbett, alive with energy, sprang in and landed a tremendous left-hand drive on Sullivan’s stomach, following it up at once with a right-hander on the same spot, and, while the big fellow reeled, rained blows on his face and fought him savagely all over the ring. The champion, who so lately had menaced him, clung to him now to escape the terrible punishment. Corbett pushed him away to smite him but the gong sounded.

In the sixth round Corbett assumed the offensive. Suddenly he stepped in and landed a quick blow in the stomach. Sullivan received the punishment without wincing, and in a moment had slung out his right. It was desperately quick, but Corbett was quicker. He had skipped out of range, and the multitude marvelled. The sympathies of the audience were now strongly with Corbett. They admired his splendid skill and the beautiful precision of his fighting, the grace of the perfect athlete, the cool, smiling demeanour; and all the pent-up resentments and jealousies broke loose on the head of the old champion. They called on Corbett to trounce him. Some fast interchanges followed, at once, after a counter in which both landed on the jaw and staggered, Sullivan’s swinging blow whirled through the air like a flash.

Had it landed Pompadour Jim would have sunk to the ground, but he swung himself clear of the danger. Nothing daunted, he sailed in again and smashed Sullivan right and left to the end of the round.

The champion was still indomitable. With that wonderful recuperative faculty which characterises great fighters, he came up for the seventh round fresher and more confident than ever. But Corbett, too, had warmed to the game. The fighting had been play to him. His exuberant energies were burning for fierce work. Swiftly he planted his left on the champion’s body, and evaded the furious return. In a moment he was in on his man again, and one, two, three, in astonishing quickness, came the rain of blows on Sullivan’s mouth. The odds against him, the cheers against him, smarting with the fearful punishment that Corbett had showered on him, Sullivan rose like a hero. All the latent energies were called forth, and he made the eighth round one of the most terrible and eventful of the fight. Rushing desperately at his man he could not be denied. Heavily he landed the left and staggered the Pompadour. Corbett shook himself together, and throwing caution to the winds, he banged the champion in the jaw, dodged the fierce reply, and landed with another smashing blow on the nose, but this time he could not escape the f harp, stiff punch that Sullivan drove in over the heart.

The men were fighting now with temper. Sullivan, maddened by disappointment, had called Corbett a “hard name,” and the Californian was determined not to spare him. Sullivan was wearing himself out. Once, indeed, he landed on Pompadour’s ear, and the sound of the blow was heard throughout the building. Just before the end of the round Corbett landed three blows in the space of one, and only the gong saved Sullivan.

With any other man “Finis” might be written. But Sullivan’s defeat covered him with glory. The fight was not yet half over, and at the beginning of the rounds the old champion often had the advantage. But the champion was tiring, and before the three minutes of the bout were up Corbett was smiting him hard, landing several blows on the face. From this onwards the champion received a tremendous beating at Corbett’s hands. Once, overcome with the severity of the blows, he let down his guard in the attempt to escape, and forthwith received two spanking blows on the jaw and neck. Shortly afterwards a terrific uppercut on the chin nearly knocked him out, but he survived to the end of the round under a rain of blows. Yet was he beaten? No; the grim old fighter came in and smashed into Corbett, driving him away and chasing him. But again it was the same story. The impetuosity and vigour of Sullivan’s attack could not last through the three minutes, and he was always sent home at the end of the round with a tremendous beating, delivered as hard as the Californian could lay it into him. The fight was wearing on towards the hour, when Sullivan made still another furious attempt to snatch the victory. His rush was only met by a right-hander on the mouth. In a clinch that followed Corbett hugged his man, and a cry of “Foul!” was again raised. The Californian sprang back, and then, holding up his hands, cried:

“ Gentlemen, I mean to punish this man, so that there will be no doubt as to the championship!”

The crowd cheered. Sullivan was distressed. His chest heaved heavily in the efforts at catching his breath, and the snoring sound of his respiration could be heard yards away. The fight, told to the end, is but a repetition of what has been said; Corbett, becoming increasingly audacious, hitting harder and harder, dealing merciless punishment out to the old fighter, while he

in his turn refused to acknowledge defeat.

The end came in the twenty-first round. Corbett had made up his mind to finish. He rushed in and planted straight, determined drives on Sullivan’s face. The champion seemed to have lost the power of resistance. As Corbett smashed him his eyes turned up, his guard was lowered from sheer exhaustion. Still, he tried to battle on, but the Californian gave him not a moment to rally. He cut him down as one would cut a tree, blow on blow following swiftly till the giant staggered. Then a ruthless crashing drive on the jaw ended the fight. John L. Sullivan had sunk senseless to the floor. His fiercest enemies relented as they gazed on his prostrate form.

One of the greatest might-have-beens in ring history was Hank Griffin, a mulatto boxer, who died at Ann Harbour, Mich., two years ago (says an American writer). With more money for proper training and expert management, Hank might have been developed into a champion heavyweight, for he was one of the fastest and gamest pugilists of his time. Jim Jeffries fought his first professional battle with Hank as his opponent, 20 years ago, in Los Angeles. Griff’s latter years were spent teaching boxing to the youths of the University of

Michigan, and before that he conducted a fight club very successfully, and travelled as a minstrel.

Hank Griffins best fighting days were spent in California, and his principal income was derived from acting as sparring partner and trainer to more successful boxers. He served in that capacity to Bob Fitzsimmons, and helped condition the Cornishman for his bout with Jeffries. Griff fairly idolised "Ruby Robert,” and as cordially hated Jeffries. Jeff and Griff first'mingled in the ring in 1893, when the future champion was a husky lad of 1-8. It was Jeff’s first battle, while Griffin was an accomplished ring general. The coloured man made a monkey of Jim during the first part of the mill, but Jeff waded in for more, and in the 14th round put over a blow that stretched Hank out for the count.

After Jeffries had defeated Fitzsimmons and Corbett he toured the country offering a thousand dollars to any man who could stand before him four rounds. Hank accepted the challenge, and the exhibition was staged in Los Angeles in September, 1901. Jeff had an advantage in weight of 40 pounds or more, but it didn’t help him any. The smiling Hank danced out of the way of Jeff’s rushes, occasionally landing a stinger. During one of Jeff’s bull-like charges Hank saw an opening for his best punch, and sent the human mountain to the floor. Jeff was up in a few seconds, wilder than ever, but Hank kept out of his way without apparent effort, and stayed the four rounds, getting away with Jeff’s thousand.

The following year Hank took on Jack Johnson in two battles, one of 15 and the other of 20 rounds, and got a draw decision in both.

The annual amateur championship tournament under the auspices of the Southland Boxing Association was carried out on June 24 and 25 (writes our Invercargill correspondent). The attendance was only fair, and the boxing was hardly as interesting as usual, although several of the Dunedin visitors showed cleverness, J. Munro, 10st., a hardhitting lightweight, being a man who will take some beating in his class at Timaru when the Otago team assemble to do battle for New Zealand championships.

The Southland team for the New Zealand championship tourney will not be as strong as usual, but A. Woods, 10 st., is a welterweight with English experience who can be depended upon to make a decent show'ing.

It was a heavy loss to Southland amateur boxing circles when Paul McQuarrie removed to Gisborne, but local fight fans were pleased to find him proving successful at the recent tourney in his new home. A younger brother to the well-known Bluffite was boxing at the Southland Boxing Association’s meeting last week, but met with defeat. This rugged young

C. McQuarrie put up a good battle against the sturdy Dunedinite J. Munro.

News has just been received in Invercargill that “Tommy Thompson,” whose real name is something else, and who was born and learned to box in Maoriland’s “ dry ” city, is acting as a sparring partner to Hock Keys. Thompson intends leaving for Sydney shortly to try his laurels in the engineering trade, not forgetting the boxing ring. He is a very careful, steady young fellow and follows the fashion of some more prominent lights of the arena who invariably place their money safely under the post office clock of their home town.

The New Zealand Boxing Council has advised the various associations throughout the Dominion that the recent contest promoted by the Bush Association, Pahiatua, between Barney Ireland and Tom McGrath, and announced as for the middleweight championship of New Zealand, will not be recognised as the championship. As the decision in the IrelandMcGrath contest was “A Draw,” the N.Z. Boxing Council’s ruling will not affect the positions of either man.

F. Laery, the clever Wellington featherweight, who was adjudged the most scientific boxer at the recent provincial championships, is unable to make the trip to Timaru to take part in the New Zealand championships. The inability of the Wellington Association to secure his services will be a distinct loss to that province, and the committee had decided to

enter F. Kerr, of Palmerston North, in his place, but reports from Palmerston North show that Kerr the other day met with a serious accident whilst playing for the Western Football Club. Kerr had the misfortune to receive a severe injury to his back, the lowest rib being broken and the liver and kidney affected. He has thus been compelled to abandon all his ring engagements, and there is a likelihood of him being laid up for some time.

The Manawatu Boxing Association’s provincial championships are to be decided at the Opera House on July 18. Some excellent talent is available for the carnival, and indications give promise of a number of excellent contests.

It appears practically certain now that Sam Langford will not make a tour of New Zealand, as in less than a fortnight’s time the Bostonian pugilist intends leaving Sydney for the United States. Langford will be accompanied by his manager, Mr Joe Woodman, “Liver” Davis, Jack Read, the Australian lightweight, who is one of the negro’s sparring partners, and w r ho purposes trying his luck in America. Duke Mullins, the veteran trainer, may also accompany the Langford party. Langford should certainly do well for himself in the States, and in the event of him se-

curing matches with “Gunboat” Smith, Arthur Pelky, Jess Willard, and other white heavyweights, he will most likely account for the whole bunch.

Syd. Fitzsimmons, the Timaru heavyweight, fought Charlie Cox the other afternoon at the Sydney Stadium, and was beaten by that boxer .n the third round. The bout was of a lively character ivhilst it lasted, but Cox’s weighty punches began to tell on the New Zealander, who was so much at the mercy of his opponent in the third round that the referee stopped the contest and declared Cox the winner.

Leon Truffier, the French featherweight boxer who left Sydney for his home in February last directly after Jimmy Hill defeated him on po.nts, is dead. He met Constant, a champion of Marseilles, at Marseilles on Sunday, May 18. In the second round of the battle Constant, unintentionally it is said, rammed his head violently against Truffier’s stomach. Next day Truffier complained of internal injuries, and was taken to the Marseilles Hospital, where he passed away on the following Thursday. During his visit to Australia Truffier fought Jimmy Hill on three occasions, winning one battle and being beaten twice on points. He also met and defeated Sid Sullivan, but was beaten in his contest with Joe Russell.

Particulars to hand concerning Jack Johnson’s escape from Chicago show' that the world’s champion boxer evaded the police by means of a cunning trick. A fake baseball team

of coloured men was organised in Chicago to play at Buffalo, near the Canadian border. Railway tickets were bought for the party. Johnson travelled as one of the members of the team, and was partly disguised by a heavy moustache. He alighted at Hamilton, where he was met by friends in a high-power motor-car, and was soon in British territory. When Johnson s escape became known the negro s friends congregated in the saloons in the “black belt” of Chicago, and celebrated his fight. Johnson is reported to be in desperate financial straits.

The Waikato Boxing Association has decided to hold its fifth annual championship tournament at the Town Hall, Hamilton, on Wednesday, August 6. In addition to the standard weight matches, two classes will be held for novices and two for territorials. Besides the championship tournament the. Association will hold two more carnivals this season, the first of which will be held in October and the other in December. In all probability a fourth carnival will take place in February or early in March.

That England is badly in want of a heavyweight was more than ever apparent last week when the championship was fought for between Bombardier Wells and a boxer named Mahoney. The latter proved to be a less skilful exponent than the bombardier himself, for Wells disposed oi him in the thirteenth round. The bombardier thus retains his title as champioi of England, which, in view of his recent inglorious displays, says little for the standard of boxing in the heavyweight ranks at Home. Gunner Moir would surely have won back the English championship had he elected to enter the ring against Wells at the present time, for the latter has undoubtedly proved a much overrated boxer.

Full particulars are now to hand of the death of Luther McCarty in his boxing bout with Arthur Pelkey at Calgary, Canada, at the end of May last. At the inquest the following verdict was given out by the coroner’s jury:—“We, the coroner’s jury, find that Luther McCarty came by. his death accidentally, the immediate cause being a subluxation of the cervical vertebrae, at the Burns Arena, May 24, but there is no evidence to show how this injury occurred. We, the jury, therefore, exonerate Arthur Pelkey from all blame whatsoever.”

Arthur Pelkey was not called in at the coroner’s inquest held in connection with the death of Luther McCarty, but remained during the entire case like a caged lion in a nearby room. He was deeply affected ail the way through, and during this hearing appeared almost brokenhearted. Dr. Mochier gave the most damaging testimony against the boxer. He declared that McCarty’s neck had been dislocated under the base of the brain, and that this injury caused the hemorrhage of the brain that brought about the death. He all but declared that the injury could, have come about in no other way but from a blow or from the fall, the latter not being possible because the boxer’s neck did not strike any object as he fell. A highly-dramatic incident came right at the close of the hearing when Pelkey’s attorney called' upon Dr. C. J. Stewart, one of the oldest physicians in Alberta, partially to refute the testimony of Dr. Moshier. The physician was asked if he thought McCarty’s injury could not have been caused by some other than a blow received. He said it was highly possible, and then, rising to his feet, he shook his finger at the prosecutor, who was then questioning him, and shouted: “It is my opinion that the injury to Luther McCarty was received from Flynn or somebody else in a previous encounter. In this contest, never.”

The most pathetic figure at the inquiry was William L. McCamey, who managed the youthful champion who met his death in such a dramatic manner. The prosecutor attempted to grill McCamey, but was forced in utter sympathy to pause several times in deference to the emotion shown by Me Carney, whose voice broke frequently and the tears came. McCamey stood the ordeal for nearly an hour, and at no time was his testimony shaken.

Hundreds of people waited in the street for the verdict to be given out. The sympathy of these people was with Pelkey.