The Waterbury Democrat., 1935-10-29
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 Sports Parade
By HENRY McLEMORE

United Press Stan COrreSpOndentD New York, Oct. 29. (UP)-Mon- sieur Jacques Curley, worlds largest dealer in assorted daffiness, held his first winter showing in Madison Square Garden last night, and to this critic at least, it was the poor est line of wrestling models the good burghermaster of buffoonery has shown in years.
 The principal weakness in Mon- sieur Curley's line is its lack of a master model or champion. Wrest- ling, as you know, is no. stronger than it's champion, and this Danno OMahoney which Curley has seen fit to make the head Tom of the Tomfoolery, is as out of place as a well done pot roast at one of Hailie Selassie's pre-battle suppers.
 The fact that he doesn't know anymore about wrestling than John Quincy Adams did at the age of three, is only one of his minor de- fects. After all, 8 knowledge of wrestling isn't absolutely necessary to wrestling champion. But that he look like one, or that he look as if he might possibly sometimes re- semble one, is. All of which lets OMahoney out. Danno-and I trust this won't bring the national asso- citation of grocery delivery boys down on my head-looks exactly like one of those nice youngsters who deliver your fruits and vege- tables from the neighborhood store.
 He isn't strong. His arms and chest and legs are those of 8 youngster who is still years shy of complete development. And his mental process-well, never mind. It's his head and he's stuck with it. You don't get mad when you see him throwing such men as Don George and Little Wolf. You only laugh, and it's so durn ridiculous. He threw George in five minutes and eight seconds last night, but from where I was sitting-which was only a few feet from their laps it seemed that he needed the full- est cooperation from George to turn the trick. It must be tough on a finished wrestler like George, who learned his trade as an Olympic workman where groans and grunts don't count, to forget enough in five minutes to get pinned by an OMa- honey.
 My guess is that O'Mahoney's days as champion are numbered. He drew only handful to the Garden last night, and when 8 wrestling champion begins to fail at the box office it's amazing how quickly he begins to fail in the ring. Each unsold ticket seems to turn to lead and settle in his shoulder blades, pulling him down to the canvas.
 His successor, I fancy, will be Chief Little Wolf, the squat gent who has been given so many na- tionalities that I'm beginning to be- lieve he's one of Heinz assorted pickles. The Chief-and he was a Cherroke against one Dick Raines last night-drew rousing hand for his act, which consisted, in the main of hitting Raines in the nose with what presume was classic Grae- co-Roman left jab, and bounding off the ropes like 8 monkey whose feet hurt.
 The standout of Monsieur Curley's line in my opinion was Sergei Kal- mikoff. who was introduced as the siberian Wolfhound." Bewiskered, fat as a Poland China, and wearing a pair of knee-length black tights, Sergei is a museum piece. The boys who run wrestling must have let Sergai in on all the facts, because Sergei, and Sergei alone, laughs throughout his matches.
 Copyright 1885 By United Press)