CLINTON ST. QUARTERLY you got a dinner for two at the Ringside riding on night, be another Amos “ Big Train” Lincoln, another Ray Lampkin, another Oregon boy getting started on a long journey. And there are some bad fights. And even the bad ones are good, like Audie Murphy Westerns with Dan Duryea grinning did the judges do?” looking for it. Oh, there are times — “Well, they’d just pull their coats up over their heads and crawl under the tables.” “ Under the tables? Actually under the tables? I’d love to see that!” X ' ' pg W SW 8:60 p M 0 ^ ' THE GAME IS AS REAL AS BLOOD, AND THE PLAYERS ARE HUNGRY AND HARD AND SCARED. W s AtTRACTtONS J 1 evil in a saloon. he big guy with the b u i l t - in laugh and the ten inch cigar; “ Did you see Skippy Torreo the night he got pissed off fighting that loud-mouthed bastard with the red mustache?” And his buddy nods, “ Le Beau? You mean Le Beau? The way Skippy jumped him on the floor and then kicked him all the way out of the ring even with the ref climbing on his shoulders?” They’re both laughing now. “ Torreo chased Le Beau into the dressing room and would’a murdered him if their wives hadn’t busted in and stopped i t .” “ They yanked their licenses, ya know. Neither guy can ever fight again.” “ Well, that’s right. That’s what needed to be done. But it was funny. And if I ’d been Torreo I’d have done the same thing. But it wasn’t boxing and the commission was right to pull their cards.” lan Webb came into the ring before the main event on the night that Ramsey fought Hernandez. The crowd yelled when Webb was introduced. He waved and marched around the ring with his hands up. The crowd knew him. And Webb pats Ramsey on the back and wishes him . . . What? Split knuckles? A goiter? The three Webb/Ramsey fights of ’79 are already legendary. Race Wars, some call them. You hear a lot of versions of those fights, and they’re all good. The fights took place in the old Ice Arena before it was turned into a toy store. The story goes that in the last of those bouts strange things happened. There were power failures at strategic moments. Webb was a bleeder, and every time he got cut and was looking sad, like magic the lights would go out. It just took a couple of minutes to get them back on each time but the crowd stomped and screamed. It was only a couple of minutes of darkness, but a minute is a lot of resting breaths to a tired fighter. Two minutes in the corner, especially in the dark, can stop a lot of blood, put a lot of pressure on a cut, ice a lot of swelling. Even with Webb bleeding they wouldn’t stop the fight. The crowd wouldn’t let them stop it. They threw buckets of beer into the ring, there were beefs and brawls all through the audience and afterwards in the parking lot. Ramsey won, of course. Ramsey is a better fighter. Maybe. Webb doesn’t think so. Webb thinks to this day that he could take Ramsey. And it wasn’t Webb who shut down the power. We all know where Webb was when the lights went out. Webb is a courageous guy. They were great fights. A shame if you didn’t see them. he eager woman questioning her husband as she has all night; “ But Jerry, what happens when they throw beer? Do the judges get wet? I mean, they’re right there at ringside. And buckets of beer flying?” “ Oh, they don’t sell those paper buckets anymore, just cups. And nobody’s going to waste a mixed drink throwing it. Besides they had to crack down on security.” “ But when they did, Jerry? What romoter Fred McNalley was naturally embarrassed when the Frazier/Johnston bout fell through. He offered the consolation that the fans would probably see more action in the Ramsey/Hernandez fight. He said the Frazier/ - Johnston match would have probably ended in a knockout in the second or third round, but that wouldn’t happen in the substitute match. He said, “ Ramsey isn’t that kind of fighter.” Ramsey’s manager, Mike Morton agreed with him. But Ramsey’s opponent, Hernandez is a wily customer. You look at him and tell yourself that he’s got no illusions. You imagine that he’s fighting for his kids; that he got the call two days ago and will be back in the cannery tomorrow with a little extra in his pocket for winter shoes. But Hernandez is the ex-Welterweight champion of Mexico. He’s lost to Andy Price, Lenny Hahn, and Kelso’s Steve Chase in the last two years, but he’s definitely a man to take seriously. An official slipped the word to Ramsey before the fight started, “ You better try to finish this guy in the first three rounds, because if it goes the distance you’ll have real trouble with him.” Taken all together it seemed to rile Ramsey. And he decided to Mr. McNalley was wrong. prove he guy knows; “ Oh who yeah, Blood. They scream for blood and they scream against blood. But blood is a pain in the ass. No real fight fan is your man and you’re not actually grieving when the other guy starts bleeding at the eyebrow in round one. Or, you know, some guy gets up there — you got nothing on the match, you don’t know either fighter, they’re both out-of-towners — and just one guy will strike you wrong. A guy shows a lot of himself up there without knowing it or meaning to — and you decide you don’t like him. Well, a guy like that gets cut and you’re not much worried. Maybe you’re even pleased. But in general blood messes up a fight. It’s like you go to a play and the stage collapses. It may be entertaining but it’s not what you’re there for. Or a horse pulls up lame in the first turn. The horse loses the race but it doesn’t prove that the other horses are faster. “ That O’Grady vs Watt fight in Glasgow this month was a good example. Two good fighters. I was for Watt myself, and Watt was ahead on points. But O’Grady was good. He was making Watt work and O ’Grady himself had some very nice stuff. A real boxing match. Then O ’Grady gets cut over the eye and naturally Watt works at it some more —well — that stopped the fight. But even those Glasgow fans, much as they love Watt, didn’t like to see it end that way. They would rather have had their man take O’Grady clean. But men bleed. That’s a fact of life.” he twenty-one year old Robert Newcomb has been away from boxing for four years. He’s a man with responsibilities, including a four year old child. It’s fitting that Newcomb’s professional debut was a miniature classic of its kind. The strict discipline and training instilled in the Olympic and Golden Gloves Amateurs has produced excellent professional boxers for decades. And for each one there is an inevitable cold bath moment when he steps into a pro ring and finds that the rules may be the same on paper but the game itself is different. His trainers must have been telling Newcomb precisely that for some time but there were still a few sur41
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