Boxing on the Ropes

This year fightdom staged its most fascinating, frightening spectacle – the spectacle of a man beating his own brains out. U. S. boxing may stand in the center of the ring, like a champion among sports, but if you look too closely, you'll see the champ is almost out on his feet.

U. S. boxing has never been more popular. Millions of fans tune in the fights four nights every week on television. Coast-to-coast networks carry the cards into every corner of the country. But it is television that is slugging the bejeezus out of boxing, with a big assist from the IBC.

The IBC, in case you didn't know, is the International Boxing Club, better known in some quarters as Octopus Incorporated. The IBC controls all the important boxing in the country, because the IBC stages all the bouts that appear on TV.

To understand what's killing boxing, you've got to first understand what keeps it alive. As baseball relies on the minors, boxing needs the local fight clubs. There was a time in earlier, less organized days, when an independent manager could spot a likely looking young scrapper, bring him up through a series of club fights around the country, and if the kid really had something, the two of them could take a crack at the title. No more.

To begin with, most of the small clubs are either out of business or going out. The fans who used to support them now watch boxing in the comfort of their own homes or at the local bar. And even if a manager could bring up a good boy, there's no incentive in it, because nobody fights big-time without an OK from the IBC, and the IBC only says OK to the favoured few.

It's rumored that Joe Louis got a hunk of IBC stock for selecting Ez-zard Charles and Jersey Joe Walcott as the contenders to fight for his vacated heavyweight title. The IBC might have gone on matching these two fine fellows forever if a guy named Rocky Marciano hadn't shown up unexpectedly. But before The Rock could get a shot at the title, he had to trade in his old manager (a fellow from around his home in Brockton) for a new one. The new manager's name was Al Weill, who just happened to be a New York matchmaker for the International Boxing Club. The old manager went to court to try and get his fighter back. He lost.

With Rocky in the picture, the IBC was able to promote four more matches and rematches with old friends Ez-zard Charles and Jersey Joe.

This rematching of rematches is a very popular IBC past-time. Light-heavyweights Archie Moore and Joey Maxim have had more return engagements Uncle Tom's Cabin.

The IBC could save boxing if they wanted to. They could put some of their staggering profits back into the local clubs to help bring up worthwhile contenders, and they could offer fights on the basis of merit rather than money. But the IBC is interested in boxing as a show, not a sport. They're more concerned with a fighter's Nielsen Rating than his ability. Chuck Davey is a near-perfect example.

Chuck was an amateur welterweight at Michigan State when he was spotted by IBC publicity man, Tom King. Chuck was a natural: good looking, a college kid, and a fair boxer. We won't suggest that the build-up wasn't legitimate, though there are some who wonder aloud about a fighter who k.o.'d all kinds of opposition while being readied for a championship match, and couldn't punch his way out of a soggy sack afterward (or even beat his own sparring partner). At any rate, even his most ardent supporters will concede that Davey's opponents were carefully chosen, and that when he finally wound up in the ring with champion Kid Gavilan, it suddenly became horribly apparent that he didn't belong there at all. What followed was very, very messy.

Some fans point to champions Rocky Marciano, Bobo Olson and Kid Gavilan, and argue that no sport can be in bad shape with men like them at the top. But they are all the products of local club fights. Bobo fought 58 bouts over eight years, most of them in small clubs in San Francisco and Honolulu, before he won the middleweight championship. Kid Gav-ilan was in nearly 100 club fights before he took the welterweight title. Rocky Marciano, too, learned to fight in the minor leagues of boxing.

Boxing was made a great sport in this country by scrappers like Jimmy McLarnin, Tony Zale, Jack Dempsey, Barney Ross, Sugar Robinson, Tony Canzoneri, Mickey Walker. All of (continued on page 47) Boxing (continued from page 17)them came up the hard way, through the clubs, taking five, six, ten years to develop to championship ability.

We were talking to a young colored fighter the other day –twenty-seven, married, with two children. He was fought twenty-seven times and has beaten some of the best men in his weight.

"I can't get a fight," he says matter-of-factly. "I want to fight. I can beat those guys. You talk about a hungry fighter . . . I got two kids to feed.

"My manager phones all over the country. Always it's the same. The club fights are gone except in a couple of cities. You ask for a spot on a television card, it's always, 'Well, you haven't got a name,' or, 'We'll see what we can do, but it doesn't look good.'

"I never have trouble getting fight after I lose. It's when I win they won't go near me."

This boy won't get fights for two reasons: 1.) He's a fighter's fighter–that is, he is very good at making other fighters look bad. Managers trying to build up their own boys don't like to risk deflation at the hands of a clever boxer. 2.) His manager is an independent operator–IBC doesn't own any part of his contract.

What happens next? It isn't very difficult to predict. The present champs who still are good drawing-cards, will keep on fighting for years. With the clubs gone, it will become increasingly difficult to find worthwhile competition for them. The sort of matching and rematching and re-rematching that has already started will become more and more common. Television boxing will begin looking like wrestling, and the viewers will go back to the "spectaculars" and old English movies. When the ratings drop, Sponsors will start selling their beer and razor blades with slip to a third-rate sport like soccer or motorcycle hill-climbing.

There is always the chance, of course, that some fine legislator who enjoys boxing may suggest a law or two to curb IBC's monopolistic tendencies and give the sport back to the independent promoters. But until this happens, You're going to be seeing better fights at a hockey game than in the ring.