(*First published in 1956 by The Viking Press from collected The New Yorker writings. I am reading from a 2004 edition by North Point Press. SPOILERS AHEAD?)
These days much is made of what is seen as the bias of ringside commentators. That's somewhat where we embark at the onset of the first of two essays in this chapter, Sugar Ray and the Milling Cove. "What you eventually think you remember about the fight will be an amalgam of what you thought you saw there, what you read in the papers you saw, and what you saw in the films." I mention commentators because that's another good tick of Liebling's amalgam of voices both internal and external spun forward to these times.
Essentially, the case is made or laid-out that even in what he sees as the best way to view a match (in-person) is flawed by any number of visual impairments. The distractions of the crowd, the angles and distance of your seat, and so on and so forth. And also, by what you expect or want to witness. The papers are filled with much the same thing and delivered second-hand. Films typically have a better seat and too, offer the ability to re-watch. My addition of commentators is perhaps a threat to be far-and-away the most over-riding factor in what you believe you see. I recommend you watch on mute, in fact.
Nevertheless, we go off and back in time to revisit the Sugar Ray Robinson vs. Randy Turpin bout at the Polo Grounds on September 12, 1951. This after their first showdown on July 10th of the same year in which Turpin scored an underdog unanimous-decision victory over Sugar. Turpin had relentlessly and awkwardly swarmed his way to becoming the first middleweight world champ since Bob Fitzsimmons in 1891. Of note is that the first match contained a rematch clause, a thing I openly bemoan as a current woe of today's boxing scene, as we come up on a weekend that will see Kombosos-Haney II.
To be fair, the first Robinson-Turpin did all it could possibly do to warrant a second-helping. Much unlike this Saturday's probable rinse-and-repeat scenario.
But Liebling doesn't much cover that and does so only in scant allusion. What he does cover somewhat begins with the outcome of the rematch in which he mentions Egan again, in relating Turpin as 'a prime glutton.' The fight was stopped in the 10th, much to Turpin's protest. Of note, a cut had opened over Robinson's eye by then, a thing that contributed to his prior loss in London. Again though, instead of all that, Liebling tells the tale of his personal pilgrimage to the match-up (complete with an epilogue) and holds it up against the way Egan made his own path to the fights he bore witness to. It begins then, to feel as erring toward self-indulgence perhaps.
Or at least foregoing the best journalism in order to achieve the effect of timelessness. A few days back, I was listening to a boxing podcast (which one I sadly cannot recall) that consisted of a few scholarly boxing men. Writers, presenters. When answering the question of their favorite and most important tomes of pugilism--not a one supplied this, The Sweet Science. I maintain my disapproval of that slight. Although I did agree with all that they did furnish. I will say, it's at times hard to follow the path but wandering off remains quite fun and fulfilling in terms of aesthetics and flash bits of characters.
A thing to bear in mind is that these articles weren't peened for the sports pages, but for The New Yorker.
There's near the end, a hitting-home of the initial thought mentioned at the essay's onset via ringside spectator conversation twixt Liebling and another fan in which the other fellow sees Robinson as winning every round to that point and the scribe himself seeing it as quite even an affair. There was another fellow in attendance, as well, whom Liebling notes. His gimmick was that he reacted as if Turpin had been slaughtered by each Robinson throw, which AJ saw as not actually often landing or even yet thrown. Ah, the lies we all tell ourselves.
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We then are privy to Kearns by Knockout, the second essay of this segment. A good big man always beats a good little man--all things else, even. Sure. More Egan and Robinson (vs. Maxim) mentions and then it's actually about Sugar (vs. Maxim). The Kearns of mention here is one Jack Kearns, who managed Jack Dempsey among others. I believe our world was a stronger one when Jack was a more common name, but I digress. Kearns, current to this scene being written, also managed Joey Maxim, the light-heavyweight champ. "Maxim is as good a fighter as Dempsey, except he can't hit," said he.
Maxim is set to take on Sugar Ray Robinson, the middleweight champ. But apparently, you wouldn't hear that, or anything really, from Maxim. According to AJ: "Most managers say 'we' will lick So-and-So when they mean their man will try to, but Kearns does not allow his fighter even a share in the pronoun." We do get a nice bit of historical perspective as to Kearns' fighting career, and a look at his fighting style from the glimpse of his not-cauliflowered ears. When Liebling is on--he is much on.
... & here he is much on as quite the insider, being whisked via International Boxing Club chartered limo to Robinson's camp. He learns first there that Maxim can, in fact, pack a wallop. Funny that one of Robinson's men cut Sugar out in the pronoun game, as well. This whilst theorizing the fall-out of Robinson's certain eventual win. Then the legend himself answers some questions from the media and spars some-bit. All this leads up to some excellent fight coverage of June 25, 1952 Yankee Stadium amid a historical heatwave.
Robinson weighed 157 and Maxim 173. Liebling mentions the third man in the ring as Ray Miller and also that it was originally Ruby Goldstein until the heat did him in and he was stretchered from the stadium. The combatants traded blows with (to AJ's eyes) an edge toward Robinson, but each seemingly none the worse for wear and for some time. "In the eleventh round, Robinson hit Maxim precisely the same kind of looping right to the jaw that had started Turpin on the way out. ... but he didn't fall." Sugar couldn't close and it was downhill for him from there.
The weather beat him; but being in there against a bigger man (whom the same weather didn't beat) sure didn't help and whatever the reason, the thought of big man over little man held fast. Maxim was declared the winner in the 14th stanza. Kearns said it best when he said "Next time I'll knock him out quicker." This, is after telling of his successful strategy. Maxim would go on to drop his title to Archie Moore six months later and we are told there is more Moore to come in this tome. When that happened, according to Kearns, "Moore licked Maxim."
Kearns by Knockout is the best of this collection thus far and shows Liebling at his IMHO (because who else's would it be) brightest. Now I'm on-board.
Previously: Book Review: The Sweet Science by AJ Liebling | Part 2 (The Big Fellows)
Next: Book Review: The Sweet Science by AJ Liebling | Part 4 (The Big Fellows Again)
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