WOMAN SPORTING WRITER.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Issue 1318, 29 July 1915, Page 24

WOMAN SPORTING WRITER.

REPORTS SEVERAL BIG FIGHTS,

HOW BOXING AFFECTS THE SEX

Miss Cecilia Wright, of the American United Press, who arrived in Syd-\ ney recently for the purpose of writ-, ing a series of Australian sporting articles, has usually devoted her journalistic energies to the description of boxing matches. But if from this you

expect to see someone suggestive of cauliflower ears, you must look elsewhere, for Miss Wright, when in vaudeville was described as a “fascinating bit. of femininity.” She has a voice, too, though this accomplishment is at present in abeyance in favour of her journalistic attainments. “What made me. take up sporting work?” she said when interviewed. “Well, I have always been interested in boxing, don’t you know, from the first time I saw a contest. When was that? Oh, some time ago, when I was staying in a wild and woolly town on the Texas border. There were some jolly married people in the party and one night, we all went along to a prize fight—no, I mustn’t call it that out here, must I? I enjoyed every minute of it, and after that rarely missed an event of any importance in the. boxing world.” Miss Wright first made herself known in journalism last year by writing up the Johnson-Moran fight in Paris from a woman’s point of view, dealing especially with the human interest story of the feelings of the black man’s white wife on seeing him vanquished. After that she. became recognised as a sporting writer, and was present at the Johnson-Willard fight, where

she was the only woman reporter. The press people sat close up against the ring. All the “boys” are used to seeing Miss Wright at such contests, and took her quite as a matter of course, but when Jack Johnson arrived in the ring and caught sight of her, he immediately protested. “I think he thought a woman up against, the ring would act as a sort of hoodoo,” Miss Wright laughed. “Whatever his reason, he refused to fight, if I remained where I was. I agreed to move about 4ft. back, where there was another seat that would serve me almost, as well. After taking my place I looked at the number of the seat. I picked up the ticket, and shaking it at the negro, said, ‘All right, Mr. Jack Johnson, I’ll move back for you, but as the number of my seat is 13

I’ll wish it on you!’ Johnson and his second (who was also a coloured man, and correspondingly superstitious) were badly upset by this, and took it as an evil omen. Oh, no, I did not see the vanquished one after the contest —I had never spoken to the man before, but I guess he thinks that unlucky number 'finished him!” Miss Wright wonders why so many women are ignorant of and horrified at the art of boxing. While in Paris she noticed that a good many contests always drew a fashionable audience, of both men and women; in fact, the reserved seat people attended in full evening dress.

“In the States few women follow up the fights, but I wish more would do so, for the feminine element, in the audience tends to eliminate any suggestion of brutality from the game. I shall never forget, taking three uninitiated women to a contest. One was elderly, the other a young married woman, and the third was quite a young girl. We arrived in time for the preliminaries, which are never likely to impress one very much with the art of boxing. In the. first match one of the combatants was a little fat Mexican. Of course, he shouldn’t have been fighting at all, he wasn’t fit. His opponent swung and caught

him fair on the nose, making it bleed. Anyone that knew anything about the game would have understood what a pair of boobies they were, but the elderly lady, after bearing it for a few minutes, rose with a ghastly expression, and, ‘Dear Miss Wright,’ she said, ‘I hope you’ll excuse me; I feel so sick, I must go home.’ And off she went.

“The other two saw it. through, and when the big event of the evening came on were quite amusing in different ways. The young married woman threw off the veneer of civilisation and became a mere cave-woman with the primitive lust for blood. Occasionally she rose in her seat and screamed ‘Kill him! Kill him!’

Jimmy Britt, ex-lightweight champion of the world, who is at present on a visit to Australia, has many interesting stories to tell of his remarkable boxing career, among these being an amusing account of how he bluffed the National Sporting Club, London, into giving a much bigger purse than they desired to offer, and also how he treated Mr. Referee Gene Corri’s verdict when it went against him. “They approached me with a proposal that Johnny Summers and I should fight under their management for a purse of £400,” sa.d Britt, in relating the incident to a packed house at the Tivoli Theatre, Sydney. “I ridiculed the suggestion, and asked what they thought I was in the game for. Negotiations stopped r.ght there. I got busy and pressed an American manager named Kiegin, who was in London at the time, into service. ‘Go down to the Sporcing Life office,’ I said, ‘and say you are authorised by a French syndicate to offer Summers and myself £ISOO for a match to take place in Paris.’ ‘But suppose Summers agrees, what am I to do?’ asked Kiegin. ‘l’ve got no £ISOO to give for purses, and 1 have no place in Paris io stage the fight!’ ‘Never trouble your mind a moment about, that; I’ll stand the racket.’ Kiegin weakened £SOO on the way to the newspaper people. Next morning; London’s old sporting journal came out strongly under several big black headlines, with the announcement that a number of French gentlemen had clubbed together and offered £IOOO. Before letting Kiegin go I fixed up. Summers, so that he should be with me in what I was doing. That day Mr. Bettinson, the National Sporting; Club’s manager, sent for me. On my way to see him I -net Summers coming through the portals with his hat off, and smiling, I thought it was all up—that, they had got him —and niy bluff would therefore not come off to the extent anticipated. But it worked much better than appeared likely. ‘What about the French offer published this morning?’ asked Mr. Bettinson. ‘Well, you know as much as I do,’ was my reply. ‘You’re going to accept it, are you?’ ‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘We will give you the same money to fight in London.’ This came promptly and definitely. ‘Sorry,’ I remarked. ‘lt is a bit late for that. The Parisian sports are giving me a little bonus on the side to the tune of £2OO to cover expenses.’ Mr. Bettinson thought a while, and at last said: ‘We will do the same. How does that suit you?’ I closed at once,, and chuckled to myself. Why, I would! have fought for £200.” How did you get on in the contest?” I asked of Britt. “Summers won —at least the referee said he won, but I didn’t think so,” he replied. “I just want to tell you that Gene Corri is one of the best fellows going, and he was, and is still, I hope, a great friend of mine. But when he gets into the ring he knows no friends. He is the referee only. While we were fighting he kept continually at me. ‘Keep that arm free when you’re hitting, Britt. Don’t hold and punch, or I will disqualify you,’ etc. This went so far that I stopped fighting, and while my opponent stood wondering what was the matter, I went up to the referee and said, ‘Say, Mr. Corri, what sort of rules are we fighting under?’ ‘Marquis, of Queensberry rules,’ said he. ‘I. know those rules thoroughly,’ I replied. ‘I thought you had got off the track, and had some other code in

your mind.’ Then we fought on. At the end he declared for Summers. There was applause and some hooting. Full to the brim with disgust, I said not a word; but, standing in the centre of the arena, threw up both arms above my head i. i a manner which conveyed deep feeling, and said as plain as words: ‘My God!’ and walked away to my room. I made it clear that I was shocked beyond the ability to open my mouth.