Dec. 4, 1961

The first clean punch Liston landed was a crisp left hook that caught the aggressive Westphal coming in. He didn't stagger long. Sonny caught him with a huge right to the chin. Albert spun like a pole-axed bull into a full face-plant, layout position. Referee Zack Clayton could have counted 100. At 10, Westphal rolled over slowly and lay staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. Liston emerged from a neutral corner to admire his glove work. He just gazed impassively at the timbered German.

(by Bill Conlin)

The history of boxing turned a page in June 1948 when Rocco Marchegiano appeared in Al Weill’s office. Weill telephoned Charley Goldman and told him to set up a sparring session so they could gauge Rocco’s potential. Later that day, Marchegiano stepped into the ring at a CYO gym on 17th Street in Manhattan with a heavyweight from Florida named Wade Chancey.

Marchegiano didn’t look like a professional fighter. He was short for a heavyweight; five feet ten inches tall. His hands were huge, but he had stubby arms that would make it difficult for him to develop an effective jab.

A. J. Liebling later likened what Weill and Goldman saw to “the understander in the nine-man pyramid of a troupe of Arab acrobats. He has big calves,” Liebling wrote. “Forearms, wrists, and a neck so thick that it minimizes the span of his shoulders. He is neither tall nor heavy for a heavyweight, but gives the impression of bigness when you are close to him. His face, like his body, is craggy. Big jaw, big nose askew from punching, high cheekbones; and almost always when he is outside the ring, a pleasant asymetrical grin.”

Marchegiano was also two months shy of his twenty-fifth birthday; old for a novice fighter.

“Al and I often looked over green kids who thought they could become fighters,” Goldman reminisced years later. “I’ll eat my derby hat if I ever saw anyone cruder than Rocky. He was so awkward that we stood there and laughed. He didn’t stand right. He didn’t throw a punch right. He didn’t block right. He didn’t do anything right. Then he hit Chancey with a roundhouse right which nearly put a hole in the guy’s head, and I told Weill that maybe I could do something with him.”

“Charley Goldman,” Michael Silver later wrote, “found a block of marble and sculpted it into The Pieta.”

Marchegiano entered the ring as a professional for the second time on July 12, 1948. The site was Providence, Rhode Island; twenty-five miles from Brockton. The opponent was Harry Belzarian. Marciano won on a first-round knockout. His purse was forty dollars.

Years later, Belzarian recalled, “The first time he knocked me down, he broke my tooth. Then he knocked me down again. Then I don’t remember anything.”

Soon after, at Weill’s suggestion, Marchegiano changed his name to Rocky Marciano. But Weill wasn’t sold yet on his new fighter. He was using him to test other prospects.

On August 23, 1948, in his fifth professional fight, Marciano fought a 15-0-1 heavyweight named Eddie Ross. Rocky was the “opponent” that night. Prior to fighting Ross, Marciano had traveled from Brockton to New York to train occasionally with Goldman, but the trainer hadn’t attended his fights.

Marciano knocked Ross out at 1:03 of the first round. Seven days later, when Marciano fought Jimmy Weeks in Providence, Goldman was in his corner.

Marciano fought eleven times during the last six months of 1948, scoring eight first-round knockouts and two in the second stanza. One opponent made it into the third round.

Rather than work with the fighter at Stillman’s Gym (which was a hub of boxing commerce in New York), Goldman continued to sculpt his creation at the CYO gym on 17th Street.

Marciano had poor balance, minimal defense, and little understanding of how to throw a jab or hook. Goldman taught him how to stand properly for balance and maximum leverage on his punches. Turning Marciano’s lack of height into an advantage, he taught him to fight from a crouch, which made him harder to hit and forced opponents to lower their hands to hit him. He taught him the rudiments of defense and schooled him to go to the body.

“You got to realize,” Goldman said later, “when I took him over, he didn’t know what a body punch was. In the first ten fights I handled him, he didn’t throw a single one. Some of those early fights when he didn’t know how to fight; he won them all, but I was afraid he’d get killed.”

But Marciano had a great equalizer; his right hand. Goldman gave him just enough moves and enough of a jab to get inside and use it.

“I got a guy who’s short, stoop-shouldered, and balding with two left feet,” the trainer said. “They all look better than he does as far as the moves are concerned. But they don’t look so good on the canvas. God, how he can punch.”

(By Thomas Hauser)

“My oh my, wasn’t Joe Walcott a tough boy! He was the hardest hitter I ever met. Never before or never since then have I been hit as hard and as often as that night, and I never landed more blows on a fighter in fifteen rounds than I hurled into Joe Walcott that night. The house was in an uproar before the first round ended and from then until the end of the fight the customers never sat down." - Sam Langford.

(enhanced photo courtesy of CBS contributor JTheron)

An epic comeback by Harry Greb in his 1923 fight with Soldier Jones.

..........

The first round began with Greb forcing the fight while Jones “missed with lefts and rights.” Greb hooked lefts and rights to the body and face while Jones continued to miss. According to the Pittsburgh Post, “Both were swinging wild and Jones sent a left to the chin, which backed Greb up to the ropes. Jones hooked a left to the head and Greb went down.” It was just one minute into the first round. Being blind in his right eye, he probably didn’t even see the left punch coming. While he was being counted out, Greb “lolled and rolled about on the lower ropes.” While the count continued Greb was able to “regain his feet after a count of eight and wobble about like a drunken man.” Jones continued his attack “and another right caught Greb’s chin.” Greb went down again, this time holding on to Jones’s legs. Referee Joe Keally had counted to four when Greb finally staggered to his feet. Greb went in for a clinch to try to clear his head. While Greb was still “groggy” Jones landed two more left hooks. Mason called for Greb from a corner since he was “staggering and did not know which corner to go to.”

In between rounds Greb sat “limp” on his chair while Mason tried to revive him. “Mason worked frantically but wisely over him, rubbed his tired legs back into life, massaged his ears and brought color back into his pale face.”  

Greb came out at the start of the second round still blinking, tired and groggy, but slowly recovering due to the help of his manager. After a minute of the round Greb had seemingly recovered, and it looked like he would survive. Then Jones landed two more left hooks to the head which rocked Greb again. Greb went in for a clinch then later landed a left and right of his own. These punches were able to delay Jones’s attack until the bell rang to end the round.  

When in his corner Greb was silent, but then halfway through the rest time he began to “straighten up in his chair and began talking to Mason.” When the third round started the crowd was “standing on chairs, yelling and howling for Greb.” This seemed to refresh Greb, who then “began moving, swinging, jabbing, hooking and throwing with both hands.” With one of the best chins in boxing history, Greb had shaken off the cobwebs and finally recovered. Throughout the third round his energy continued to replenish itself with Greb throwing “right and left overhand punches to Jones’ head and face.” Near the end of the third round Greb threw a punch that caused a “gaping cut” over Jones’s right eye. The third round was awarded to Greb.  

By round four Greb was not only fully recovered but was dominating Jones. He was even able to stagger Jones with a right to the chin. The Post wrote: “Greb was battering Jones to all sides of the ring at the bell. It was a terrific round and Greb had a big margin, sending Jones to his corner with his right eye closed.” Now, unbeknown to most people, both boxers were fighting with only one eye.  

For the rest of the fight Greb proceeded to punish Jones so badly it was described as “a slaughter.” Greb landed twenty unanswered punches in the fifth round, and by the sixth round “Jones was wobbling around. It was another round for Greb and Jones seemed more tired even than Greb was in the first two rounds.” By the seventh Jones was “leg weary” and only managed to land two blows. Greb was back to his normal self and was completely dominating his opponent, who was staggering around groggily. At the end of the round the referee had to ask Jones if he wanted to continue. In round eight “Greb hooked a hard right to Jones’ chin and Jones went down for the count of nine, Jones arose and seemed helpless as Greb pounded.”  

Jones continued to stagger around at the start of round nine. During the round Greb punished Jones severely, “which made the soldier’s face a mass of blood.” Jones had one eye closed while blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The tenth round was much the same. When the fight ended Greb had lost the first two rounds but won the remaining eight in a very one-sided finish. It was said to be one of the biggest massacres Greb had dished out. A headline in the Post the next day read, “Pittsburgh’s great boxer displays wonderful gameness and recuperative powers. Tears into Soldier Jones, earning verdict by taking last eight rounds.”

(by Bill Paxton)

One day at Stillman’s Gym, Charley Goldman, who trained Rocky Marciano (shortly to become world heavyweight champion), approached a young, then-middleweight, yet to turn pro, Floyd Patterson and asked if he could go a few rounds with a new fighter Goldman was working with, Tommy Harrison. Patterson wasn’t so sure he was ready for that. Harrison was one of Marciano’s regular sparring partners, and he was taller and heavier than Patterson. And he was fast, nearly as fast as Floyd himself.

Patterson told Goldman to ask Cus D’Amato, who was cautiously bringing Floyd along, not rushing him to spar fighters substantially better than he. D’Amato, to Patterson’s surprise, gave the OK. Early in the first round, Harrison unloaded twelve unanswered jabs, most landing in spite of Patterson’s bobbing and weaving. Those blows hurt Floyd, even though Harrison wore padded sparring gloves. In all his amateur career, even fighting for the championships of the AAU and the Olympics, Floyd never encountered punches as hard as these. It was a brutal introduction to just what Floyd could expect as a pro. The eyes of the Stillman’s cognoscenti locked onto Patterson as he took those heavy shots — Would the kid collapse? Patterson knew he had to do something. He timed Harrison’s next big jab. When it arrived, Patterson threw a stiff right cross above it, tagging Harrison in the face. The experienced pro staggered. After that, Floyd pursued Harrison, firing combinations that Harrison struggled to ward off. The men in the folding chairs nodded their approval, happy with how Floyd had overcome adversity, transforming it into an advantage.

A buzz began to spread around New York about D’Amato’s up-and-comer, a kid who someday soon just might be good enough to put in the ring with the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson.

There were plenty of questions about his manager, however, the most eccentric man in the New York fight community. He was a weirdo, someone who read too many books, someone who believed in flying saucers and welcomed visitors from another planet, someone who never smoked or drank — the latter all but unheard of in the world of professional boxing.

And there was more. For reasons no one could quite understand, D’Amato refused to play ball with the men who ran professional boxing. It seemed as if he bore a vendetta against something, but just what that something was left boxing insiders scratching their heads. It also seemed as if he were preparing for a war of some kind. He lived in his gym, sleeping in a small room to the left of the boxing ring, a baseball bat within easy reach, a gun or two hidden away, his fierce dog curled up on the floor next to him. He never rode subways, fearing enemies could push him onto the tracks as he waited for a train. But he was plotting to become the most powerful force in professional boxing.

(by W.K. Stratton)

..............................

*A couple of years later in 1954, 15 fights into his professional career, and now weighing 169lbs, Patterson TKO'd Tommy Harrison in 89 seconds of the first round of their fight in Brooklyn. The fight report is testament to Patterson's nature as a boxer -
"Patterson staggered Harrison against the ropes, floored him with a clean flurry for "four" and the mandatory eight-count, and floored him a second time with a left-right combination to the head that sent Harrison down flat on his back. Harrison barely made the count of ten. But he lurched helplessly around the ring with his arms down. Referee Conn appeared contented to let the bout continue but Patterson refused to attack and implored him to step in."

A fight that got away...Jake LaMotta v Rocky Graziano...June 1950..

Stephen Singer, a collector of all things Muhammad Ali, had sought out to collect the signatures of every man Ali fought in his 21-year professional career.

After all, many became famous for fighting Ali. Chuck Wepner's 1975 effort spawned the billion dollar Rocky franchise.

Joe Frazier's 1971 victory cinched his place in heavyweight history. Great Britain's own Henry Cooper became a knight of the British empire and his legend lives on long after him for what he did against a 21-year-old Clay in London, England.

Enlisting the services of a "professional autograph collector," the first 35 signatures came easy. As the pro's well ran dry, Singer set out to find the rest on his own.

Searching over the course of months, Singer went from gym to gym, seedy neighborhood to seedy neighborhood in his quest.

He located a notarized letter from a fighter turned Mafia hit man. A rabbi acted as a middle man in a small Argentine town for the passport of a fighter who'd been dead since 1964. He was No. 49.

Bit by bit, the puzzle came together as Singer counted his autographs.

He counted 49.

Only one remained.

One February night in 1961, just a few weeks removed from celebrating his 19th birthday with a 3rd-round stoppage over gangster Tony Esperti -- who later did time for a mob hit -- Clay was scheduled for his fourth fight.

The scheduled opponent had fallen through. Jimmy Robinson, a last-minute replacement from Miami, found himself with the assignment to pad Clay's record.

He lasted a mere 94 seconds in what turned out to be Ali's only 1st-round KO, sans the Sonny Liston dive.

"If promoter Chris Dundee had canvassed the women in the audience, he couldn't have found an easier opponent for Clay," The Miami Times wrote.

Robinson, known as "Sweet Jimmy" went on to carve a niche as a local "enhancement talent," a jobber - a guy paid to lose.

He retired in 1964 with an 8-24 record, coming out of retirement in '68 to lose once more.

There's been only one sighting since then. In 1979, a photographer shooting pictures for Sports Illustrated went to find Ali's earliest opponents. Michael Brennan located Jim Robinson, whom people down in Miami called "Sweet Jimmy." Most of what's known about his life comes from the brief blurb that ran with the photos. He lived off veteran's benefits. He claimed he was born around 1925. He claimed he was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery. Most days, he just hung out in the seedy Overtown neighborhood, at the pool hall owned by Miami concert promoter Clyde Killens.

The photos show a haunted man. His jaw juts out, like he's lost teeth. His eyebrows are bushy; once, they probably seemed delicate. A visor throws a shadow across his eyes. A deep scar runs along his left cheekbone. In one, he leans up against the wall of a Winn-Dixie. In another, he walks down railroad tracks, the skyline of Miami rising behind him. He never smiles.

Brennan shot the photos on a Friday night and Saturday morning. Sweet Jimmy smelled of booze and Camel cigarettes. Brennan remembers the last time he saw him. It was in the morning, on the railroad tracks, and he slipped the old fighter 20 bucks. Sweet Jimmy turned and walked off, negotiating the crossties. He never looked back.

"Tell Clay I ain't doing too good," he said.


...............................................


Some other Ali opponents...

Tunney Hunsaker, the first opponent, spent nine days in a coma after a bout.

Trevor Berbick, the final opponent, was beat to death with a steel pipe.

Herb Siler went to prison for shooting his girlfriend.

Tony Esperti went to prison for a Mafia hit in a Miami Beach nightclub.

Alfredo Evangelista went to prison in Spain.

Alejandro Lavorante died from injuries sustained in the ring.

Sonny Banks did, too.

Jerry Quarry died broke, his mind scrambled from dementia pugilistica.

Jimmy Ellis suffered from it, too.

Rudi Lubbers turned into a drunk and joined a carnival.

Buster Mathis blew up to 550 pounds and died of a heart attack at 52.

George Chuvalo lost three sons to heroin overdoses; his wife killed herself after the second son's death.

Oscar Bonavena was shot through the heart with a high-powered rifle outside a Reno whorehouse.

Cleveland Williams was killed in a hit-and-run.

Zora Folley died mysteriously in a motel swimming pool.

Sonny Liston died of a drug overdose in Las Vegas. Many still believe the Mafia killed him.


(by Wright Thompson)

The joint was packed, a full house, with people standing around the ropes. Stooped over, waving Clay’s letter of intent, I shuffled my way to the front of the crowd, chirping in my best Southern falsetto, “Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo! Is that Cautious Clay I see up there? Cautious, why are you afraid to fight a little ol’ washerwoman?”

When I reached the ring, I swung the mop and bucket through the ropes and then climbed through. Out came the rags. Out came the box of Grandma’s Lye Soap. Cassius looked stunned. He was quiet and confused, just like he’d been when I’d chided him about his Popeye arms in Louisville.

I knew full well how ridiculous I looked, but the stunt had the desired effect. Diles quickly instructed his cameraman to swing over to me before he stuck his microphone in my face. Naturally, I stayed in character. “Cautious Cassius backed out of fighting me,” I cackled, waving the letter of intent at the camera. “He’s chicken. How can he possibly be afraid of fighting someone like little ol’ me?”

My stunt was the lead item on all the TV sportscasts later that evening, and in the next day’s papers Clay danced around the questions by saying he wasn’t going to fight anybody—least of all “that dirty Chuvalo”—before his upcoming title shot against Liston in February.

My appearance in drag wasn’t the only excitement at the Big D that afternoon. While all the commotion was going on in the ring, somebody slipped into the dressing room and swiped Clay’s wallet. A handful of shady suspects who were hanging around the room were questioned, but the culprit was never found. I later found out that Cassius only had about $80 in his billfold, but he was furious that anyone would have the temerity to rob him. I guess he found out Detroit was a lot less friendly than Louisville.

(by George Chuvalo)

He knew this was his chance. He had no intention of letting the opportunity slip. As he waited in the ring for his opponent, he looked focused and far from nervous. Few knew or understood that he carried the hopes of a nation desperate for success. His trunks reflected that hope and that nation.

With both boxers in the ring, the announcer began his introductions: “The man in charge of this scheduled fifteen-round World Boxing Council Featherweight Championship is referee Tony Perez. And now, boxing fans, introducing the principals: First, in the blue corner, wearing the yellow trunks with the red and green trim, he is weighing in at an even 124 pounds. He is undefeated in thirteen professional fights with ten knockouts. He is the Commonwealth champion from Accra, Ghana, Africa. He is Azumah Nelson.”

A roar goes up and the challenger raises his arms above his head. The ringside bell began to strike.

The announcer continues. “His opponent in the red corner, wearing the red trunks with the white trim, is weighing in at an even 126 pounds. This young man has a record of forty-two wins, one loss, one draw, and thirty knockouts. From Mexico City, Mexico, the WBC featherweight champion is Salvador Sanchez.”

A massive roar followed the announcement of Sanchez’s name as the Mexicans inside “The Garden” make it clear who they are supporting.

The referee brings the two together in the centre of the ring for their final instructions. Both boxers then return to their respective corners, and the bell sounds for the fight to begin.

The ringside commentators on the Don King Sports and Entertainment Network had never seen Azumah Nelson fight and are evaluating him as the fight progresses.

Azumah is compact and dominates the centre of the ring in the opening round, landing some telling blows early on. One minute and twenty seconds into the opening round, however, he worries Sanchez with a right hand.

World Heavyweight Champion Larry Holmes, commentating ringside, makes a telling point: “We have a fight on our hands. Nelson has no fear—he’s come to fight.”

The challenger then throws in an “Ali Shuffle.” Was this showboating or trying to show he has dominated the opening three minutes? Whatever it was, the crowd loved it.

Sanchez knows he has a fight on his hands, and in an effort to emphasise that fact, Azumah does not sit down in his corner straightaway, trying to stir up the crowd.

Round two starts almost as round one had finished, with another Ali Shuffle from Azumah, followed by a fast exchange of punches.

Azumah waits for Sanchez to throw and then counters effectively. In five minutes, he has shown he is a very competent fighter who does not fear Sanchez, or his reputation. The challenger is forcing the fight, making Sanchez reach for him, and the touch of gloves at the end of the round, shows that both boxers know this is going to be a tough fight, and that they already respect each other.

Commentator John Condon, despite the opening salvo from Nelson, believes the challenger has to get lucky early to win, as Sanchez has been fifteen rounds before and that experience will tell as the fight goes on.

Azumah stops and smiles at Sanchez in the third as Sanchez thrusts his jab into the face of the challenger, but he keeps coming forward. No one had seen Azumah fight before; none of his fights were on film. Sanchez can only attempt to work him out, round by round, while trying to avoid getting hurt at the same time. At the end of the round, Sanchez lands two good rights over the top of Azumah’s left, revealing a possible chink in the Ghanaian’s armor.

Sanchez sits in his corner, waiting for the bell for round four. When it sounds, he crosses himself as he does before every round and rises to his feet.

Once again, though, it is Azumah who takes the lead, landing a good flurry of punches at the start of the round. After another Ali Shuffle, he manages to avoid most of Sanchez’s punches. At the end of the round, both boxers stand toe-to-toe, belting each other with blows to the body and to the head, prompting the commentator Holmes at ringside to say, “He is the champion in his country, and the way he is fighting, he’s trying to prove he is the best in all countries.”

When the bell sounds, Azumah smiles at Sanchez, and once again, the two touch gloves. Azumah is raring to go at the start of round five, so much so that he comes out from his corner early, and referee Tony Perez sends him back to wait until the bell sounds. Once it does, he chases Sanchez around the ring and lands four or five good blows, including a telling right. “A warrior down to his toes” was how commentator John Condon saw the challenger.

Azumah lands a series of good body punches and is starting to hurt Sanchez. His expression has changed and he is beginning to take more blows than in previous rounds. Early in round six, Azumah is caught by a left hook as Sanchez starts to move and jab, attempting to control the fight. He circles Azumah, holding him off with his jab and restricts him from being able to move forward and get in close. As good as Sanchez is, he cannot avoid being caught with a right in the dying seconds as Azumah keeps plugging away.

The seventh round sees Sanchez continue to jab, and when he unleashes a powerful left hook, he has Azumah stumbling backwards. He manages to stay on his feet, but Sanchez moves in for the kill. Azumah tries to fight back but eventually hits the canvas when another short left hook lands flush on the side of his head. He is up at the count of five, and standing in front of Tony Perez, taking the mandatory eight-count.

Azumah comes forward, knowing the best form of defence is to attack. Sanchez is patient and not prepared to risk being caught by one of Azumah’s powerful hooks. That caution gives Azumah time to recover, but at the end of the round, it is apparent that all is not well with the challenger when he goes to a neutral corner, rather than to his own.

Early in the eighth round, a left hook rocks Azumah, and he wobbles as if drunk. As he tries to steady himself, a right hook catches him. He stumbles again but somehow manages to stay on his feet.

There is no doubt that Azumah is hurt, but when a warrior is hurt, pride kicks in and he comes forward rather than retreats. Azumah throws a flurry of punches that lets Sanchez know he isn’t finished yet. The salvo has the desired effect. Sanchez eases up the attack, deciding that caution is the best option rather than getting caught by one of Azumah’s powerful swinging punches. Sanchez then plays a patient game knowing there are still plenty of rounds left to take out the challenger. The courageous Azumah keeps fighting, but the momentum of the fight is starting to shift, and Sanchez’s experience is starting to win out.

Again, Azumah is up early and out of his corner, waiting for the bell to start the ninth. Sanchez, however, remains seated in his and doesn’t rise until he hears the bell. A close exchange of blows sees Azumah rocked again when the champion lands a left hook over the top of his guard. A minute into the round, Sanchez circles his opponent and neither boxer throws any punches. Suddenly, Azumah launches an attack, but unlike in the early rounds, Sanchez fights back. Both fighters land a flurry of punches, and when they are separated, Azumah is bleeding from his mouth. But being the warrior that he is, he can only go one way: He continues to move forward. At the end of the round, the evidence is clear that Sanchez has again troubled the challenger when Azumah bizarrely goes to Sanchez’s corner rather than his own.

As the bell sounds for the tenth, many are surprised that Azumah is still there, especially after accepting the fight at the eleventh hour, but the ascendancy is definitely with Sanchez. Azumah keeps moving forward, but Sanchez is picking him off and manages to slip in his dangerous, swinging right hook. Azumah keeps forcing the champion back, concentrating his attack to the body and landing some hard, powerful blows. When the bell sounds, Azumah does a little dance, but rather than showboating, he looks to be trying to reinvigorate his undoubtedly tired body.

Between rounds, World Champion Larry Holmes announces that the fighters are now entering championship territory. “This is where the champions show their class and overpower the challenger,” he declared.

Azumah is up from his stool early again, ready to get on with the fight. Sanchez lands a good right, but Azumah continues to move forward. The Mexicans in the crowd start to find their voice, hoping to cheer their champion home in the last five rounds. The two stand toe-to-toe, head-to-head, as Sanchez begins to throw to the body, Azumah to the head. Azumah then backs Sanchez into the corner and lands two powerful left hooks, which hurt the champion.

Suddenly, questions are being asked as to whether the challenger can really take the fight and the title from the champion. With less than thirty seconds left in the round, Azumah is knocked off-balance. He stumbles but then throws a left hook that visibly hurts Sanchez, who looks to be hanging on in the final seconds of the round. This time, it is Sanchez who dances at the bell, but it is a dance to try and convince his fans that he still has control of his legs. The determined Azumah is still standing, and in unknown territory in terms of rounds fought. But as he proved in that round, if he can land his punches, he can hurt the champion.

Azumah is again up early from his corner, wanting to get down to business. He starts the twelfth as the aggressor, throwing punches from all angles, while Sanchez keeps snapping his jab into Azumah’s face.

The challenger is looking for a knockout and is trying to set Sanchez up for a right hook. He manages to force Sanchez into the corner, but cannot land a telling right. As they come back out into the centre of the ring, Azumah forces his opponent back again and lands a left hook that skims off Sanchez. But as the champion backs away, his right foot slips in the wet patch in his corner. He takes a right as he tries to get up. Meanwhile, Azumah keeps landing punches and scoring points, and ringside observers consider the fight even at this point, with just three rounds to go. For once, Azumah is not out before the bell, and his corner have worked hard on the swelling around his left eye. Both boxers are fighting like champions.

Still, the two fighters go at it, with referee Perez peripheral. Azumah is still forcing Sanchez back and lands most of his punches. With one minute and thirty seconds to go, a left and then a great right hook rock Sanchez, as does another combination seconds later. The champion looks tired and is suddenly taking a lot of punches. As the round comes to a close, Azumah staggers by him with a right, followed by an uppercut, and then a right hook. It looks to be Azumah’s round—that is, until a left hook rocks him just after the bell sounds. Courageously, he dances in the ring to say, “I’m okay.”

The left hook appears to be the one weapon Sanchez has to save himself from defeat. There are two rounds to go, and there was little doubt his corner has told him he has to step it up. Sanchez is more purposeful at the start of the fourteenth; he is constantly thrusting his jab into Azumah’s face. He then lands two jabs in a row, followed by a good right. Halfway through the round, though, Azumah starts chasing Sanchez and lands some good blows. Once again, the two stand toe-to-toe and both land powerful punches.

At the end of the round, both boxers are still standing there, throwing punches with little movement, and fail to hear the bell. For the first time in the fight, referee Perez has to step in and separate them. As they break apart, Azumah looks like he is out on his feet, while Sanchez slumps heavily onto his own stool.

No one had expected the fight to go the distance. Sanchez was regarded as one of the truly great champions, and no one had heard of the Ghanaian Azumah Nelson. But one thing was sure: Few were going to forget him.

Again, Azumah is up and ready before the bell, while Sanchez waits on his stool until it sounds. The two warriors come to the centre of the ring and touch gloves as the crowd shows its appreciation of a great fight. Azumah goes on the attack early; many still believing he needs a knockout to win.

His opening flurry looks impressive. However, in looking for that much-needed knockout, he opens himself up and is caught by a right hook, and then another follow-up right. Azumah keeps fighting back, the right side of his jaw is visibly swollen and blood is pouring out of his mouth. His breathing has become difficult and his mouth is hanging open. He is noticeably tired, and his punches have become wilder.

With just under two minutes left, Azumah finds himself on the ropes in his corner. Suddenly, a short right and two follow-up punches force his legs to buckle. He falls to the canvas. As he did in round seven, though, he bounces up and takes a standing eight-count, but the spring in his step has gone. Perez lets the fight continue with just under a minute-and-a-half left. Two swinging lefts from Sanchez and Azumah’s resistance is nonexistent; his legs wobble and the referee moves in to stop the fight.

The fight ended after one minute and forty-nine seconds of the final round. Azumah had lost in cruel circumstances. He had tried to stay on his feet and fight back, but the lack of time to prepare for a fight against a great world champion had taken its toll in the very last round.

Commentator John Landon showed his respect for Azumah when he summed up the fight by saying, “I salute you for a great performance. You’re a great fighter, and you are going to be greater as you go on.” Prophetic words, indeed.

As it turned out, the judges all had Azumah behind when the fight was stopped, and only a knockout would have seen him take the WBC featherweight championship from Salvador Sanchez. The judges’ scores were: Castelano 135–131, Reid 132–133, Aidala 134–131.

They say that life is about seizing opportunities when they come your way, and Azumah Nelson certainly did that against the great Salvador Sanchez. No one had given the young unknown from Ghana a hope of lasting the distance, but he had stood toe-to-toe with the champion, and even dominated him at times. With just seventeen days’ notice, he had almost weathered fifteen rounds with one of the greats.

He woke up that day unknown outside of Africa, but his name was now indelibly stamped in the minds of fight fans the world over.

(by Ashley Morrison)

In one of his sober moments, Mickey Walker had made Doc Kearns promise they would take a trip to Ireland. His father’s people had come from Roscommon, his mother’s from Kerry, and his mail bag was always full of letters from people claiming to be cousins or related in some way, warm, friendly letters, and Mickey wanted to meet them. So Doc gave Walter Friedman a roll of bills and told him to book the trip to the Emerald Isle.  

Friedman was a Broadway character labeled “Good-Time Charley” by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn’t know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn’t know anybody in Ireland either.  

Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn’t in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn’t seem to care. He was having too good a time.

(by John Jarrett)