Goodrich v. Kansas

Almost all men--from the strong boy who can bite pieces out of a crowbar, to the grubbiest, most dissipated little street sheik--believe that they secrete in their right arms a power that will maim and devastate. Some go through life without ever suffering a disillusion on this score; others have their prayer, "Just gimme a sock at 'em," gratified, but administer the sock only to find that it has small effect. It lands fearfully on the point of a jaw, and the recipient smiles and shakes his head as if a drop of water had landed on him. This is usually enough to discourage most sockers. In Buffalo last week, it discouraged Jimmy Goodrich, who was at the moment lightweight champion of the world. He had just socked Rocky Kansas, challenger, flush on the button. It was the middle of the second round. Throughout the first, Rocky (a hairy 133-pound bullyboy, battered and be-cauliflowered by innumerable brawls) had come plunging in at a pace that would surely be impossible for him to keep up for 15 rounds. Goodrich waited his chance. Kansas was standing off to loop a left to the head, when he sent across his sock. Wham! With all the leverage of his springy body behind it, his right fist encountered the other's jaw. Rocky did not waver. Oof! Again the big right-hand sock. Rocky came tearing in. ... He was flogging Goodrich's red ribs when the gong clanged for the end of the 15th round and the referee stepped forward to indicate that he--Rocky ("Bleeding") Kansas--was the world's new lightweight champion.