BOXING.

Taranaki Daily News, 26 November 1921, Page 11

BOXING.

A GREAT FIGHT. CARPENTIER AND BECKETT. AS TOLD BY THE FRENCHMAN. In his book, “My Fighting Life,” Georges Carpentier recounts bls experiences in his fight with Beckett. He writes; I shall never forget leaving my hotel at Stanmore to drive to London for the great fight. My chauffeur, who had seen much war service and had been over the top at least half a dozen times—a stout fellow is he—was pale and trembling, and when I spoke to him he found it hard to reply. “What is the matter?” I inoulred. “Nothing; but I do wish we were there. I have never felt so nervous before, and I would rather go over the top to-night than drive you to the Holborn Stadium.” I laughed right heartily, and then he steeled himself, jumped to the wheel, and we were off. Not a word was spoken about the fight on the journey. It was almost a silent one, «hd I must confess that I was not altogether easy in my mind. I suffered a strange flutter-; Ing in my inside, and I was glad When I got to my dressing-room, there to lie down until it was time to dress. I had stripped and was re-dy for the call to the ring, when there came into my room a middle-aged gentleman Whom . I had never seen before. It was understood that I was to be left alone, and his appearance was at once a puzzle and an annoyance. I was stretched on a couch, and by my side was M. Victor Breyer, the editor of the Echo des Sports. The stranger shook hands, and in a muffled voice spoke so quickly that I did not comprehend what he said, and I begged M. Breyer to act as interpreter. “This gentleman,” said M. Breyer In liis most courtly manner, “Is the High Commissioner of the London Police. He has come on behalf of all the policemen of London to offer their greetings and hope that you will Win.” "Merci, monsieur,” I cried, as I shook him warmly by the hand; and the gentleman departed. Now this is What the gentleman, who was a highly placed official in the police force, had come for and did say:

“It is my duty to tell you that you must take all consequences for the fight, In which you are about to engage. If there is an accident you will hare to answer for It. I have already cautioned Beckett.”

M. Breyer, fearing that, the possibility of an ugly happening might worry me, and realising that the police inspector didn’t know a wordof French, and also knowing that I had not in tie least grasp*ed the purpose of the gentleman’s visit, turned the caution into an encouraging message of goodwill.

And I really believed that the London police were with one to a man. for M. Breyer gave no indication that he was playing the game of spoof. And when he left my room the police inspector was profuse in his thanks, and said to M. Breyer, “I am very sorry that I cannot allow you a fee for acting as my interpreter !” Ob! how long it was before they were ready for Beckett and myself to fight. Every minute seemed an hour. I rocked and rolled on my couch. “How long yet?” I was for ever calling to the over-wrought Descamps. Then at last.

I jumped to <my feet, and aS if by rnagic my nervousness left me. I felt as steady as a rock; I was certain that I would win,- ahd at I was going out of my room I chucked the excited Descamps under the chjn.

”Tres bien,” he muttered, and in a trice I was making my way to the ringside. What a shout of welcome was I given Wtat a mighty crowd was present, and how the lights blinked and dazzled I sprang into the ring, blew kisses to the people, and went to shake Beckett, by the hand. To the left of any corner sat the Prince of Wales, and as 1 bowed to him he returned a pleasant look of recognition. His handsome, boyish face, his keen, tense interest in all the preliminaries to the fight, his very presence at the ring-side, made me happy. 1 made myself thoroughly comfortable in my corner, and slowly put on the bandages the while I talked to Descamps. I purposely kept my eyes from L kett, and yet I could see by the way he walked about, his aimlessness. the color of his face, the queer look in his eyes, that he suffered much agitation. ••Francois,” I whispered, “you have said that Beckett is a man of phlegm, that he is the complete opposite of the Bombardier. But look, he is all sensitiveness. He is not sure.” “Oh. oh,” chuckled Descamps. "Two rounds, finis. Ek ?” j And I had nO doubt that he was right. I felt as if I were made of springs.

It took long before the signal was given for us to begin, for Mr. B. J. Angle, who refereed, first addressed the people about good sportsmanship and fair play. Then, at last—clang 1

I was out of my corner in a flush and on my toes. Beckett advanced slowly, his chin tucked away in his great massive, mahoganycolored sroulders; I imagined him to be flatfooted. He looked fierce and strong, but I saw a clear road for my left hand; it was an opening as Wide as a field. And I forgot his bigness and all the stories I had read that he was a human sledge-hammer. Pingl went my left with all the swiftness and straightness that I could give it, and 1 reached the nose. I felt his giant frame shake and quiver, and I thought I saw stars In his strange-looking eyes. He brushed his nose with the back of his glove and grunted and

snorted. He then came for me, and I retreated so that my back almost touched the ropes. Beckett, with right and left, sought to pun er my body, but he mostly hit my elbows. Then he clinched. “Break!” roared Mr. Angle, and making the most of my feet 1 worked round, and Beckett kind of shuffled towards me. He failed to uppercut me with his left hand, for I bent my head back and caused him to miss by many inches. Wi en he was almost off his feet—-he certainly had no perfect balance—l jabbed him very hard with my left hand twice in the face. He was sorely troubled; I could see that his brain was muzzy; that he had no Idea how to make a defence that was hot easy to penetrate, and I there and then decided to try my right- I had a feeling that If Beckett, got through the round he would recover steadiness, and by the immensity o his strength pull himself together. I knew, too, that there was more than a possibility, of my right arm, still very swollen and painful, giviftg out, and believing as I did that he bad come nedr to being bewildered, I resolved to take a chance. There was his’ great square chin—to me, in the frame of mind I was, .many chins rolled into one —unprotected and inviting a blow. Standing on my toes, pumping into myself the full force of the nervous energy within me, 1 crashed my right hand full on the pointDown went Beckett, and as be was falling I uppercut him with my left hand. Said 1 to myself, “If he ean get up again he is tne most wonderful (man alive.” For I do not think I ever hit anyone so hard and so surely In the right place as I did .Toe Beckett. When the blow landed I thought something had snapped. My whole heart, soul and body everything—l put into that blow, and as i stood off I could not suppress a feeling of exhilaration. That which you call Bloating did not take hold of me, merely did I bubble with joy because I knew that I had accomplished that which I had set out to do; and, moreover, done that which nearly every English critic thought it Impossible for me to achieve. In seventy-three seconds I had won, for although Beckett tried to rise, he couia not do so, and he was counted out.

The moment “ten” had been called I helped him to his corner, and then I was shouldered round the ring, the packed building ringing with noise.

WHien I could struggle free from Descamps the Prince of Wales shook hands with, me and said, “Yours is a splendid victory. I congratulate you heartily.”

How wonderful it all was! That which was commonly agreed would be the hardest fight of my career had been the easiest; I won it in almost record time by obeying the first principles of boxing. There was no magic in my glove, neither did I employ a hypnotic eye. A straight left o ri«rht. then a left, and iit was all over.