A Tale of Two Fists: II.

Damon Runyon

Memphis News-Scimitar/April 17, 1919

Many followers of the prize ring are inclined to the opinion that Jack Dempsey will defeat Jess Willard.

They base this opinion on the belief that Dempsey is the greatest natural fighting man the ring has produced in years. He seems to be one of those veritable pugilistic geniuses that the old game displays about once every decade.

A John L. Sullivan, a Fitzsimmons, a Jeffries, a Joe Gans, a McGovern or a Stanley Ketchel is a fistic rarity. They were, I think, examples of the truly great fighter. In between them are shoals of ordinary and even extraordinary fighters—champions and near champions. For it does not follow that because a man is a title-holder he is a great fighter. The truly great fighter comes along no oftener than a truly great singer.

Dempsey has flashed many of the signs of the truly great fighter. The signs of the truly great fighter include ability to quickly dispose of an opponent by knockout. The fellow who knocks ‘em cold is the fellow the fighter fans adore, just as the baseball fans make an idol of the chap who slugs the ball over the wall with great frequency.

In 28 fights since June, 1917, Dempsey has scored 25 knockouts. Twenty of them were in the first round. He has lost two decisions and been knocked out once.

He Knocks ‘Em Cold

Doubtless Dempsey’s opponents in some of these fleeting affairs would be rated as “stiffs” by the discerning patrons of the Queensberry craft. Meaning they were not men of fistic class. But it is interesting to note that Dempsey knocked out just as many chaps who, before meeting him, were accorded rather high ability by the experts.

If you follow boxing at all you may have noticed that a man who gets knocked out in short order by some coming youngster is always curtly dismissed as a “stiff” and a “false alarm.” It his lack of ability, rather than the ability of his opponent, which gets the most notice.

Though a victory over Jess Willard would assuredly mark him as one of the greatest ringmen of all time, I hold that if Dempsey is defeated by Jess it will not necessarily mean that Dempsey is a “false alarm.” Rather will it stamp the huge Kansan the superpugilist he was acclaimed, when he defeated somber Jack Johnson.

For, in beating Dempsey, Willard will be beating a tough opponent. No fighter with the rig accomplishments of Dempsey behind him can be much of a “false alarm.” And I think everyone who has seen Dempsey in action will agree that he can fight.

Willard is Remarkable

He may not be able to fight quite enough to whip Willard, however. I have always contended that Willard is rather a remarkable fellow. Assuming that he is now around 40, as I do assume, he did not begin fighting until he was past 30, an age when the average fighting is getting through with his career. As a rule, they begin early and end early.

Strictly a manufactured fighter, with nothing in his favor but his size at the start, and lacking even the fighting instinct and the heart for the game, Willard nevertheless became champion of the world inside of five years after he first crawled through the ropes. I hole that was an extraordinary achievement.

He will weigh probably 60 or 70 pounds more than Dempsey on July 4, and will have a big advantage in height and reach. Stanley Ketchel was a mighty fighter, but he could not take less than that physical handicap and beat Jack Johnson. And certainly nobody ever thought Ketchel was a “false alarm.”

This is not said by way of an advance alibi for Dempsey. it is quite immaterial to me whether he wins or loses. It will not profit me a dime one way or the other. I am not at all sure I am going to pick him to beat Willard. I want first to see if the freakish Jess can accomplish the pugilistic impossible and get himself into condition at his age and after his fistic idelness.

But this Queensberry custom of always underrating a victor by disparaging the quality of his opponent ever makes me weary—almost as weary as the custom of saying that the fighters of today are not like the fighters of old.

Dempsey has been likened to Stanley Ketchel in style. Some experts have called him “a big Terry McGovern.”Others have gone back to John L. Sullivan for a comparison. His supposed likeness to the old “Boston strong boy” has caused a great rattling of bones in the cemetery of fistic interest. Graybeards who have looked with lackluster eyes on all pugilistic matters since James J. Corbett licked the Beantown tub gaze on Dempsey with senile approval.

The fact that he knocks ’em out as Sullivan used to do is partly responsible. His name doesn’t hurt, either.

The wide ranging for a fistic simile for Jack is in itself proof of his variety. As a matter of fact, the ring probably never had another fighter exactly like him. It never has two men exactly alike. There’s always a material difference somewhere along the line. Dempsey as a fighter is peculiar to himself.

That’s why they cannot definitely spot his prototype. He is a new species, resembling old species only in a general way. In future years they will probably be saying some new “phenom” is a reminder of Dempsey.

He is a rip-tearing fellow, always moving, always closing in on an opponent and punching well with both hands. He punches with such power that he frequently damages his hands. He “steps” as nicely as any big fellow I have ever seen—that is to say, his feet and legs carry him about the ring gracefully and effectively. In my opinion, the modern-day perfection of “stepping” is Benny Leonard.

Dempsey uses no one blow.

He knocked out Battling Levinsky with a left hook to the jaw.

He stopped the lumbering Carl Morris with a left rip to the belly.

He knocked Porky Flynn kicking with a right cross.

He licked Arthur Pell with a two-inch uppercut.

He walloped Tom Riley, whoever Thomas may be, into unconsciousness with a punch to the back of the neck. Ditto, Bob Devere.

He knocked big Bill Brennan sprawling with his left hand. Bob got up Jack downed him with his right hand.

Like a Machine Gun

He sheds punches as fast as a machine gun sheds bullets, and his opponent gets cock-eyed trying to figure out where they are coming from next.

Defensively he is a good boxer. He is not a Jack Johnson or an Abe Attell in that respect, but he protects himself well. His best defense is his offense. That’s the best defense in any competitive sport.

“The quicker you knock ‘em out the better it is for you,” says Dempsey. “My, what a smacking the boys used to give me before I found that out! My, my!”

He never modeled his style after that of any other fellow. He picked up a few pointers here and there from men he fought, and now and again some chap would teach him a bit of boxing. But he has never to this day had the opportunity of seeing any real masters of the craft in real action. He has seen but two fights between heavyweights, as a spectator.

Jack Kearns taught him more in two words than he was able to learn in all his knocking around—and being knocked around, incidentally.

It switched Dempsey’s style almost completely. Those two words were “Move around!”