Marciano vs. Walcott, 1953

   

JERSEY JOE WALCOTT
and FELIX BOCCHICCHIO

     “Boxing was a mystery to me,” said Jersey Joe Walcott. “When I look back and see what I had to go through to get to the top, I find it hard to believe.”
     Walcott fought for the heavyweight championship eight times between 1947 and 1953. He lost gamely in the immortal Joe Louis’s final two title defenses. He split four remarkable bouts with Ezzard Charles—losing twice, then winning once to claim the title and once more to defend it. Then he was defeated in a spirited battle with Rocky Marciano.
     Walcott’s performance against Marciano earned him a rematch eight months later, in the latter’s first title defense.
     It was May 15, 1953. Marciano, 29, had enjoyed a relentless climb through the ranks of pretenders and contenders since donning the gloves only five years before. Though he was small for a heavyweight at 184½ pounds, the son of a Brockton, Massachusetts, shoemaker was a devastating puncher who had won all 43 of his fights, 38 by knockout. He had knocked Louis out of the ring altogether in one of the great man’s unfortunate comeback attempts.
     Walcott came into the rematch at 197¾ pounds. Officially he was 39 years old, but he had confessed to more than that two years earlier. Briefly considering retirement after his second loss to Charles, Walcott had said, “You can tell them the truth; I am 41.” So he was probably at least 43 when he clambered into the ring to face Marciano. Either way, he was the oldest man to hold the heavyweight title until 45-year-old George Foreman in 1994.
     For the first two minutes, Walcott appeared a bit gun shy. He well remembered the straight right to the jaw with which Marciano had knocked him out in the 13th round of their previous fight. This time, Marciano tried a different tack. He threw a roundhouse left hook that dazed Walcott, then followed with a withering right uppercut before Jersey Joe knew what hit him. “It wasn’t a crushing knockdown,” A.J. Liebling wrote, “the kind that leaves the recipient limp, like a wet hat, or jerky, like a new-caught flatfish. This appeared to be a sit-down-and-think-it-over knockdown, such as you might see in any barroom on a night of full moon.”
     With hundreds of late-arriving fans still searching for their seats and television viewers rummaging through their refrigerators, ring announcer Ben Bentley hoisted Marciano’s hand in the air at 2:25 of the first round.
Walcott and his manager, Felix Bocchicchio, maintained that referee Frank Sikora had quick counted.    “Gentlemen,” Bocchicchio said, “I never saw no robbery equal to this tonight.”
     “I could’ve gotten up at two,” said Walcott, “but I was looking at Felix and he told me to stay down. I never heard the referee count past seven. It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever seen.” Many fans agreed that they hadn’t heard Sikora count to ten, but that was not unusual considering the terrific din inside the Stadium. Moreover, Walcott had remained on the seat of his pants, making no move to get up even after Sikora finished counting him out. “I was surprised he didn’t get up,” Marciano commented matter-of-factly.
     Actually, few did get up after Rocky tagged them. Marciano defended his title five more times, winning four by knockout, then retired undefeated at the age of 32. There was no one left for him to fight.

Reprinted from Heydays: Great Stories in Chicago Sports
(c) by Christopher Tabbert.

Louis vs. Braddock

JOE LOUIS

     When Joe Louis stepped into the ring to challenge heavyweight champion Jim Braddock on a pleasant summer evening in 1937, he carried more than his 197 pounds. He also carried the hopes and dreams of his fellow African Americans, the majority of whom were still being denied the most basic civil rights. It was a sign of the times that Louis was described by the Tribune on the morning of the bout as the “sleepy-eyed son of an Alabama cotton picker” who was “no more excited about tonight’s encounter than if he was going a-huntin’ or a-fishin’.”
     The unassuming 23-year-old Louis was seeking to become only the second black man to win the heavyweight title. The first, Jack Johnson, had been anything but unassuming, and when his controversial reign ended it was widely suggested that no other black man ever would, or should, be given a title shot. But now, after two decades, a black man did have the opportunity. Millions prayed that the man in question, Louis, would make the most of it.
     Braddock, for his part, was a champion of questionable quality. At 29, he had wrested the title from Max Baer—who, the Tribune’s Arch Ward claimed, “would have been a setup for any well-conditioned plumber in an informal bust-as-bust-can street corner brawl.” Now, two years later, he was making just his first title defense. Like Louis, Braddock weighed in at 197. He was a mediocre 50-21-5, with 26 knockouts, and thus a decided underdog against Louis, who was 33-1 with 28 knockouts. Nonetheless he put on a brave face, professing to be unconcerned about the awesome punching power of the man known as the Brown Bomber. “There will be a knockout tonight,” Braddock said, “but it will be Louis, not I, who will be counted out.”
     An estimated 50,000 spectators filled Comiskey Park for the bout. Among them were Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney, who had met at Soldier Field ten years before in the famous “long count” title fight.
     Louis and Braddock electrified the crowd in the first round, as they charged out of their corners and slugged it out in the center of the ring. A wild haymaker by Braddock missed, and Louis responded with a left-right combination that dazed the champion. Then, out of nowhere, Braddock landed a right uppercut that floored Louis. Joe was back on his feet in an instant. The two fighters traded hard rights to the head at the bell.
     In the second round, Braddock was the aggressor. He pounded Louis’s body, then scored with a right to the head followed quickly by a left to the midsection. Just before the bell, Louis delivered a pair of solid rights to the side of Braddock’s face.
     Louis gradually took over from then on. The third through sixth rounds were fairly uneventful, but Louis had more spring in his step and began to wear the older man down with well-aimed jabs and crosses. By the seventh, a cut over Braddock’s left eye was bleeding freely. Early in that round, Louis rocked Braddock with two short lefts to the face. The champion was game, and he kept battling—but even his better blows failed to faze the challenger. Braddock was fading fast by the end of the round.
     In the eighth, Braddock presented a stationary target for Louis’s volleys. Louis deftly stepped out of the way of a right and responded with a stinging left to the forehead. Braddock flailed in vain with his right, and Louis sent a left hook into his breadbasket. Then Louis planted his feet and delivered a smashing right to the jaw. “Braddock’s knees sagged,” Ward wrote. “He did not stagger back as he might have from a less deadly wallop. He started to sink slowly but certainly.” Braddock toppled over onto his right side, and he was out cold as the 10-count was administered. It took two minutes more for him to regain his senses.
     Braddock had done his best, but after all he was merely a good fighter who found himself confronted by a great one. Less than eight rounds into his first title defense, his tenure as champion was over. The reign of his successor would last almost 12 years and include 25 successful defenses, both all-time records.
     The people throughout the nation who had huddled anxiously around their radios and then erupted in celebration might not have realized it fully, but a corner had indeed been turned. Joe Louis had taken the first step in what would eventually become a parade of great African-American athletes destined to dominate the world of sports.

Reprinted from Heydays: Great Stories in Chicago Sports
(c) 2009, 2010 by Christopher Tabbert