The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1937-11-20

SAd1 a. JIMMY "oDAA y ANSNNJ JSbi
Tony was a rough, tough man with
fifty fights under his belt. He
was built like a gorilla.
He could absorb punches like
plotting paper. He had a punch
in either hand like the kick Of a
mule. Johnny was still just an
inexperienced boy who could box
pretty good. Pop had the natural
sluggers distrust for boxer.
You had to learn boxing and
what you learned flew away from
you when a hard-hitting fighter
got you.
Tighter on the wrist. Pop"
Pop looked up from the glove to
Johnny and for an instant thought
he was looking at Pat Corbin,
Johnny's father, whom he had
managed throughout his turbu-
lent and glorious ring career and
whom he considered the greatest
fighter that ever stepped in a ring.
When Pop McCabe was worried
or excited, he sometimes got like
that. His mind would become
confused. He would get the past
all mixed up with the present.
Tighter it is" he mumbled.
DIFFERENT TYPE
No, this wasn't Pat. Pat would
have been glaring across the ring
at Scarfa instead of avoiding his
gaze as Johnny was doing.
He would have been waving at
friends in the crowd instead OF
paying the close attention Johnny
was to the lacing of his gloves.
But Johnny looked enough like
Pat to be his twin. He had his
build, wide shoulders, deep chest,
strong, slim legs. Even his eyes.
only Johnny's eyes were cool,
studious. Pats had been hot,
eager.
And Pat had been heavier than
Johnny, stronger as betltted a
hellion who had come blazing out
of Pittsburgh steel mill to tlatten
every opponent.
Until that night five years ago
when he had crawled through the
ropes with his lungs almost gone
to dodge and slip punches and
stand up for six rounds to Eddie
Loughran. Eddie had finally
nailed him with a right to the
body that Pat would have laughed
at in his prime. ,
It wasn't long after that he had
called Pop to his deathbed to talk
about his motherless son.
"Pop," he had whispered, the
kid wants to be a fighter. He
don't fight like me, but he can
fight. I want you to learn him
what you can and handle MIN ike
you handled me-"
The crowd applauded Scarfa
riotouSly and Johnny politely when
the announcer identified him as
'the son of Pat Corbin, one OF the
greatest fighters of all time"
The bell changed. All the lights
went out except the big one over
the ring. Pop leaned against
Johnny'S ear.
keep behind your shoulder" he
whispered, anxiously, land your
left in his face. Stay away from
him. Look out for his right. It's
dynamite!"
LIGHT AS A LEAF
Johnny was like a swordsman
armed with a rapier fighting a
Neanderthal man with a club. He
moved lightly as a blown leaf. His
left stabbed into Scarfa'S face, fell
away, flecked in again.
Scarfa shook his head like an
annoyed bull and kept numbering
in He would start a punch.
Johnny would counter. His fist
would bang against Scarfa'S ear.
Scarfa's punch would fade in mid
air.
It was pretty, but it pointed up
to Pop the difference in the fight
ing styles of Johnny and Pat.
Pat wouldn't be standing there
waiting for Scarfa to open up to
throw a punch and then counter
ing lightly to throw him off bal
ence; or stepping away, aside,
backward, before Scarfa's logged
pursuit.
Pat leaned forward, trying to
persuade himself that Johnny was
Pat. But Johnny wasn't Pat
Johnny was standing straight up,
coldly watching Scarfa.
Johnny was waiting for him to
throw them and then slipping
them or catching them on his
gloves or countering lightly. The
round was over.
That's it," Pop praised as he
stood in front of Johnny giving
him water from the bottle to rinse
his mouth, wiping off his mouth.
piece, squeezing his arm muscles
"Keep that left in his face. Stay
away from him. Don't let him
get set
Johnny leaned over and let the
water run from his mouth to the
pail. He didn't answer. He
sprawled on his stool, scarcely
breathing hard. There was nc
tenseness about him. The bel
rang for the second.
1t was the first round all over
again. Johnny sliding in with his
straight left, stepping aside, back
ward, before Scarfa's numbering
pursuit. So was the third, the frs
part of the fourth.
The crowd sat back. Soml
booed impatiently. There is NJ
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