IN THE DAYS OF REAL FIGHTING

Taihape Daily Times, Volume 8, Issue 28, 3 February 1916, Page 3

IN THE DAYS OF REAL FIGHTING

808 FITZSIMMONS WAS THE DEVIL HIMSELF. PETER MAHER’S OPINION. There was once a heavyweight fighting man by the name of Peter Maher. It would be foolish to remark this fact to any old-timer, but this story is written for a younger generation as well and perhaps some of the very young never heard of Peter. Peter was famous for his punch. The word “wallop” was coined specially to describe the sort of goods Peter delivered and as evidence of their quality the word is in common I use even to-day, years after Peter’s last punch was sped. When Peter was a young man he worked in a brewery in Galway, Ireland. Being a husky fellow, he liked to fight a bit now and then, and mere- j ly as a manner of amusing himself he | knocked out two or three other Irishmen who claimed the championship I of the Emerald Isle, and one Englishman, Alf Bowman, who was supposed to be the best man of his fists in England.

When Peter’s -wallop had developed to this extent Billy Madden happened to hear of him. Madden was in Ireland looking for a ma nto whip John L. Sullivan. Madden was formerly Sullivan’s manager, but he and the “Big Fellow” had fallen out. Madden looked over Peter’s “wallop” and brought him to the United States to beat Sullivan. Peter was a tall, broad-shouldered, two-fisted sort of fellow, about 190 pounds in weight, 'and undoubtedly as hard a hitter as there was in the world. He knew , little about boxing, but he certainly did have the “wallop.” When Madden assured that in America he’d soon get enough money to buy out all the breweries in Ireland, either whole.sale or retail, Maher Came along, i easily enough. Incidentally he kneAv all about Sullivan and wasn’t worried over the idea, of fighting him. When Sullivan was in Ireland Peter boxed an exhibition with him, and Sullivan gave him a gold medal for performing such a heroic feat. NEVER FOUGHT JOHN L. In America Sullivan told Maher to “go get a rep.” Whether he remembered the husky Irish lad in the exhibition or just wanted to spite Madden was never disclosed. Maher never got his chance to fight John L., for while he was gathering the “rep.” along came Jim Corbett and that fin- j ished Sullivan. Peter Maher learned something about boxing and still kept his “wallop.” While he was knocking out a lot of one-punch victims another gen- \ tleman, recently arrived in the conn- j try, was doing the same. This fel- ■ low was from Australia, and was com- j pletely covered with innumerable i freckles. Peter had a “wallop” but \ Bob Fitzsimmons had the greatest as- ' sortment of scientific knockout pun-

dies ever gathered by any one fighter. It was the logical thing that they should be matched. March 2, 1592, Peter Maher and Bob Fitzsimmons met in the ring in New Orleans. Suilivan was still champion, and there was talk of matching the winner against him. Peter’s chance. Bob Fitzsimmons was a middleweight, although he had the frame and the height of a heavyweight. Ho had knocked out Jack Dempsey, and was world’s middleweight champion. As a heavyweight his reputation was not so great at that time. Sullivan contemptuously threw aside Fitzsimmons’ challenges on the ground that the Australian had better stick to his

Own class. REFEREE WAS GOOD TO PITZ. Peter had no awe of 'any man living, heavy or light. He sailed into Fitzsimmon s just as he’d sailed into everybody else, swinging his “wallop” J and faithfully believing that no hu- | man being could stand up in front of | him. Fitzsimmons didn’t stand up—very long. In the second round Peter’s “wallop” landed. Fitzsimmons struck the floor flat on his back, and stayed there. I’ve heard stories about the count in this second round, and there’s some evidence that the referee didn’t strain himself hurrying it through. Fitz was out, apparently. The “wallop” had landed and that was all there was to it. PETER BEGINS TO COUNT EARNINGS. Peter turned and walked around the ring, mentally trying to “count the house,” and estimate his share of the_ winnings. Calculation was not Peter’s strong point. He was no lightning calculator. He’d counted to about 200 dollars, when he looked around and saw Fitzsimmons getting up. Fitz was badly dazed. He wobbled and spread his legs and locked foolish. Anyone seeing Fitz look like that three or four years later would have stayed away from him, but Peter didn’t know anything about Fitz’s foxy tricks. And luckily for him this time, for one in his life Fitz wasn’t stalling. He had just enough sense left to duck and reel away and avoid the “wallops” that Peter eagerly hurled at him. Fitz weathered the round cut.

After that it was a murder, metaphorically speaking. Fitzsimmons came up after his rest with a clear head. Master boxer and master fighter, he deliberately set about beating Peter down. He allowed no more “wallops” to land on him squarely, and he pounded Peter with every blow ever known to a fighter. Peter had samples of them all, and if he hadn't been one of the huskiest fellows in the world he’d have dropped. As it was Peter took his beating and kept on trying up to the end of 'the twelfth round. When he was rolliing towards his corner at the end of that session an idea that had been gathering nebulous form in his mind for several rounds suddenly became clear. Startled, he glanced back at Fitzsimmons. Fitz grinned at him.

MAHER REFUSED TO FIGHT. At the end of the minute’s rest the bell rang. Fitz got up; Maher stayed in his chair. His seconds tried to push him to his feet. Peter held the ropes and wouldn’t rise. “What’s the matter with you.” demanded the seconds. “I won’t go on,” said Peter. “Why not? Are you going to quit?” “I am not,” said Maher, indignantly. “I’ll fight any man on earth. But this fellow isn’t a man at all at all. He’s the devil himself in disguise.”