B"H
THE FIGHT
By Patrick Kehoe: "There was no love lost that Valentine's Day. And all the bantering questions were going to be answered in Chicago and on Valentine's Day, 1951 when welterweight champ Sugar Ray Robinson from Detroit moved up to take on his arch enemy Jake LaMotta, the reigning world middleweight kingpin, one last time. Even though the two had slugged it out five times before, with Robinson leading the series 4-1, all the cards were on the table as Robinson took his astounding 122-1 (78) record in against The Bronx Bull. LaMotta was tired of hearing about "the great Sugar Man" promising "that welterweight a night of absolute pain! "I've beat him before and I'll finish it up tonight."" - Seconds Out
THE CIGAR
Felix Assouline
Ringo "Bullet"
5 x 52 Robusto Box-press
w. Habano Criollo 98
b. Indonesian
f. Nicaraguan & Honduran
m. Nicaragua
Ding-ding.
LaMotta comes in hard under Robinson's jabs and heads straight to his body; scores some decent body shots off some in-fighting. Robinson gets on his bike, but the darn thing shifts gears so quick, that he's throwing leather at you and I gotta think you could swear he was moving away still. LaMotta gets lower and lower. Robinson stays tall and flicks. Then suddenly, Jake is the one who shifts -- moving from low-slung near lumbering stalker to jabbing from two angles at once and setting up a short left hook that puts Sugar Ray on notice.
RD. 2
LaMotta plods ahead employing deceptively skillful feints. Robinson looks like he dips into a different zip code, then back again with jab, jab, jab. Always circling left in a beautiful just-outta-reach glide. Sugar hits The Bronx Bull in the labanza just as LaMotta gets in and you expect damage going the other way.
RD. 3
Starts in a frenzy of mid-ring leather throwing. Jabs from Ray are crisper, and find Jake's brow with a greater frequency. LaMotta begins to look more plodding than advancing after being ribbed in the previous round once getting inside. LaMotta gets his own jabs in from underneath, working more severe angles. Jake opens to throw a left hook and Ray beats him with his own right, scores a few more. Jake grabs him and eats another bit of glove. LaMotta is sticking to the stalking, and it ain't making with dividends. Sugar is doing some good work to his ribs and putting moolah in the bank thattaway.
LaMotta comes in hard under Robinson's jabs and heads straight to his body; scores some decent body shots off some in-fighting. Robinson gets on his bike, but the darn thing shifts gears so quick, that he's throwing leather at you and I gotta think you could swear he was moving away still. LaMotta gets lower and lower. Robinson stays tall and flicks. Then suddenly, Jake is the one who shifts -- moving from low-slung near lumbering stalker to jabbing from two angles at once and setting up a short left hook that puts Sugar Ray on notice.
LaMotta plods ahead employing deceptively skillful feints. Robinson looks like he dips into a different zip code, then back again with jab, jab, jab. Always circling left in a beautiful just-outta-reach glide. Sugar hits The Bronx Bull in the labanza just as LaMotta gets in and you expect damage going the other way.
Starts in a frenzy of mid-ring leather throwing. Jabs from Ray are crisper, and find Jake's brow with a greater frequency. LaMotta begins to look more plodding than advancing after being ribbed in the previous round once getting inside. LaMotta gets his own jabs in from underneath, working more severe angles. Jake opens to throw a left hook and Ray beats him with his own right, scores a few more. Jake grabs him and eats another bit of glove. LaMotta is sticking to the stalking, and it ain't making with dividends. Sugar is doing some good work to his ribs and putting moolah in the bank thattaway.
RD I
Creamy leathery oils tickle ye olde umami. Smoked paprika led spices alongside a peppercorn and flaked red pepper. Almond paste schmeared over compost under-belly. Middlings of French roast cafe, and an aromatic, dark tobacco. Litlings hither and tither of dark malted grains and dark malted cocoa. Retro-hale is surprising subtle -- tropical floral notes are added therein. Root beer syrup vibes on the lengthy finish.
Construction is leathery to mitt and rustic to eye. Oils as it heats and tightens seams. Veins, but it's a leaf, gentlepersons. Draw is a bit stiff-sided and tick hesitant at times. Combustion is a bit wonk'd of line and requiresome of a re-touch outta the gate. Ash is Honduran more-so than is Nicaraguan -- read: dark. Holds all of opening round in a ladder-rung manner. Press rounds 'bout a 1/2" down from char.
RD. 4
Slower start -- similar theme. A feeling out round, a lull before the transition, in cigarcentric lingo. Sugar gliding to his left, sweet as. Happy Valentine's is wished to the fairer sex, alone in the original blow-by-blow of the match.
LaMotta switches to a right hand lead off Robinson's jab. Robinson sets a bit more often to fire rapid combos of varying scoring. LaMotta keeps eating body shots, yet no effect is seen. LaMotta starts varying the heights of his left hooks -- looks to be a tad more open and loose. He begins to start making it harder for Sugar to go left, and instead, he bikes straight back, allowing the Bronx Bull to steam straight ahead with a tick more reckless abandon. LaMotta eats some more gut shots and drops his left enough to allow a right to clock his button. Ray follows up with another and then another to the kisser to end the round.
LaMotta gets a few lefts in, in and off a clinch. More pressure now, and Ray seems to have less luck holding him off. Raging Bull rages more; eats a few to give one. More leather lands.
LaMotta's foot work becomes a bit more of the energy-saving variety, legs look great. Robinson lands a quick combo, throws it in reverse, circles left. The Bull takes a more direct and economical route in plodding ahead to him. Each land. Repeat.
RD II
LaMotta starts getting his right in more. Still, his face starts looking like the proverbial catcher's mitt. Faster feet from the Raging Bull, more head feints.
Flavors remain vastly static, lest a stiffening/drying of leathers, amping up of root beer. Mayhaps some mottling of peppers into "peppery mix" realm. As we progress, a molasses note flows in. Rd opens with greater smoke-hole satiation/saturation; ends back to the opening rd's hesitations. Body is a medium-full alongside flavors. Strength is set to a robust medium. Smoke is smooth, particularly for them heights.
Burn-line frays more, then self-corrects to better than opening. Ash pales a shade, but flakes a tick or two. No further rounding of box-press, nor oiling of shaft -- a bissell drier there, mayhaps. Some mild crackling of top-leaf night the thickening line. Heavy and lengthening already long bittersweet finish. Tongue-tingle and a bit of a throat-catch. Bit of a challah-basket zetz.
RD. 8
LaMotta chooses to protect his rib with his left elbow and offers up his face. Big combination center ring by Robinson. LaMotta keeps coming, but this is Robinson's round. Big Sugary rights now.
LaMotta starts to wear down a bit. Tough couple rounds for the Bull. Robinson begins to unload. LaMotta is an Eye-talian tank. Sugar falls back to jab LaMotta's messed up mug. LaMotta's footwork slows and not purposefully so this time.
More uppercuts from Robinson. A couple hooks from LaMotta. Series ends with Sugar in the corner and LaMotta raging ahead. Robinson counters out from the turnbuckle, but has eaten a buffet of shots. Leather is swapped center-stage. Hey, there's a ref in there! He separates 'em and they go back at it, teeing off in turns. Ray lunges, Jake stumbles. Maybe one of the greatest rounds you'll see -- ends with Robinson in command after beginning with him on a near wobble.
RD III
Starts here with a flurry of smoked mesquite and meaty entry of beef jerky. Soy sace supplants root beer and oh, umami savory, gentlepersons. Draw tightens. Smoke out-put is helter-skelter, saturation less-so, but still. Kasha (buckwheat). Strenth ups to medium-full and body remains there. Flavors are ticklin' full.
Box press shows a LaMotta-esque beard, holding firm. Smoke warms a half-tick. Chest warms, too -- in a boozy fashion. Malt malt malt. Peppery mix dials back. Palate dries yet too gets spitty insofar as moisture in smoke-hole. Seams loosen a bit at char... half-bit... an excellent price for shave and a haircut. Draw loosens a tick. French roast drives me off into the sunset, pardnah.
Right crosses to LaMotta's ear. Left hooks to the ribcage follow. His third hand paws at LaMotta's beat mug. Raging Bull has a drooping left. Sugar Ray comes in looser and at will. Flinging left hooks and following with stiff rights. LaMotta is hurt... wincingly so. Ray now wraps his man up at will. Fires in close, separates, barrages from afar.
Draw firms a notch. Robinson fires at will. Back to success at the labanza! Then up top. Robinson looks a tick tired from throwing glove. Breathes a big one in a gulp as he leans on Jake against the ropes. Big right off that slight rest opens up the Bronx Bull to a firing of combos and the ref steps in. New World Middleweight champ. "If the referee had held up another 30 more seconds, Sugar Ray would have collapsed from hitting me." -- Jake LaMotta
FINAL GRADE (cigar)
****B+****
EDITOR'S NOTE
EDITOR'S NOTE
Pugilistic portions above have been previously published here, on www.kaplowitz.xyz, authored by myself. Re-used with express written consent by myself.
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Boutique as... pardon my French.
www.JasSumKral.com Catch the #JSKvirus to-day
Old-school, Micro-roller. Flatbed Cigar Co.:
Please visit: www.FlatbedCigarCompany.com
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