By Wil Haygood Special to The Washington Post, Sunday, October 11, 2009
There were chartered flights in the air, heading for the United States, two days before the bout. British dignitaries and sportsmen -- among them the mayor of Turpin's home town -- were en route. Prince Monolulu of Ethiopia by way of St. Croix, as it were, who had been living in London doing business for more than twenty years and had become a fight fan, stepped off one of those planes when it landed in New York and drew a crowd of gawkers. Plumes of feathers adorned the prince's headdress. "His red vest was adorned with a green shamrock, the six-pointed Jewish Star of David and other ornaments on the front, while the back had the British and American flags," a reporter noted. Those who arrived on the Queen Elizabeth disembarked from the ship, pleading with stewards to rustle up as many tickets to the fight as possible.
Sugar Ray Robinson
Russ J. Cowans, the sports editor of the Chicago Defender, could not contain his enthusiasm over the pending battle: "Not since the Marquis of Queensberry laid down the rules of boxing has a fight below the heavyweight division created as much interest of national and international flavor as that between Sugar Ray Robinson and Randy Turpin."
More than 150 workmen assembled at the Polo Grounds, setting up the ring and making preparations for the fight. The ringside seats for Robinson vs. Turpin would stretch back fifteen rows. In the days leading up to the match, tickets were being scalped for $100. Even in the unforgiving and greedy world of scalpers, that was considered astonishing. Radio announcers were billing the fight as the "battle of nations." Sugar Ray felt the enormous buildup. He began to sense it was his "patriotic duty" now to reclaim the title for the United States. At the International Boxing Club headquarters in Manhattan -- sponsors of the bout -- secretaries couldn't keep up with the volume of calls inquiring about tickets.
One of the side features of a Sugar Ray Robinson championship bout was the magnetic force with which it pulled in the cream of Negro America -- writers, political ward leaders, musicians, Elks members, physicians, dentists, gorgeous fashion models familiar from the pages of Negro publications, big-time Negro funeral home directors and insurance salesmen. America knew little about them, but among Negro America, they were royalty, kings and queens.
The former champion had spent the night before the fight at his mother's. He had bought her some jewelry for the occasion. She cooked for him on the day of the fight -- he ate lightly. It was late in the day when he climbed into his pink Caddy and rode off toward the Polo Grounds. The air was clear and crisp. Autumn in New York: It was his favorite time of the year -- the light, the golden sunshine that turned to velvety darkness.
Boxing officials were giddy with delight at news of the attendance: The 61,370 attendance figure bested even the heavyweight title bout between Joe Louis and Billy Conn back in 1941.
Before the bell rang in the ring that evening, a trio of heavyweights was introduced, their names skittering out into the open air from the throat of the announcer. They each bent through the ropes to stand at center ring in the twilight, giving nods to Sugar Ray before they turned and squinted against the klieg lights, blurry faces in the distance, and applause from each side of the ring. Joe Louis and Ezzard Charles were former heavyweight titleholders; Jersey Joe Walcott the reigning champion. It was a unique moment in fight annals: The three men and Robinson had all, at differing times, battled the powerful boxing commissions that might have stopped them from integrating the top ranks of their sport. And now they stood together: the four horsemen of the fight world who had crashed through barriers.
The fighters exchanged rudimentary body blows in the first round before Robinson caught Turpin with an uppercut to the face. Turpin countered with a left that connected. It was early, but voices hummed in the overflow crowd anyway. Celebrities and public figures were everywhere in attendance, among them bug-eyed comedian Eddie Cantor, roly-poly magazine writer A.J. Liebling (who was also a gourmand and favored the pork chops at Sugar Ray's nightclub), Yankee Joe DiMaggio, broadcaster Lowell Thomas, the revered Douglas MacArthur, and nightclub owner Toots Shor, hanging with a grinning Walter Winchell, who was doing what he did best, hoarding tidbits and sightings for future columns. Boxing officials had been stunned at the swelling crowd; kids in the farthest reaches of the Polo Grounds tried hopping atop baseball dugouts until they were shooed away.
Turpin, who had so successfully used a clinching tactic in London to either slow Robinson or belt him, found the move harder to pull off this time. Robinson simply shoved him away, a keep-away tactic manager George Gainford had pushed during training. A right from Robinson -- quick as a shark's turn -- missed Turpin's jaw. But not so the right to Turpin's face just before the bell, which stung him visibly.
In the third, Robinson powered shots into Turpin's ribs, the follow-up blow interrupted only by a Turpin clinch, which referee Ruby Goldstein stepped in to break up. Then, deep into the round, there was a solid right-left combination from Turpin that had the visiting British crowd on the edge of their seats, suddenly believing their Turpin was about to make his move. Robinson wobbled a bit before gaining his balance as both fighters heard the bell ring.
During training, Robinson and Gainford had decided that Robinson should try for an early knockout, feeling that the younger Turpin would only gain momentum the longer the fight went on.
But the fourth ended with Turpin still on his feet, hardly looking like a candidate for a flattening. By the end of the sixth, Robinson was firing blows to Turpin's well-chiseled body, blows that appeared to stymie him not at all. The fight had seemed remarkably even thus far -- if it went on that way it would play to Turpin's favor as the titleholder. Throughout the eighth and ninth rounds, the visiting British crowd had a right to optimism yet again as Turpin unloaded devilish right and left hooks to Robinson's face. Robinson's strategy had betrayed him; it was evident that by the start of the 10th he was "smarting under the terrific blows the Englishman had landed in two previous rounds." Robinson himself realized he was "not really in charge" of the fight. READ MORE
No comments:
Post a Comment