Delaney v. Berlenbach

John Delaney, light-heavyweight, is another gentleman who believes implicitly in the might of his right mauler. Standing in the middle of the most magnificent prize-ring in the world--a ring with posts of brass, bucket-holders of brass, seats braced with brass, and ropes of bottle-green plush--the Star Chamber of the new Madison Square Garden, Manhattan--he pushed that fist so violently into the face of Paul Berlenbach that the latter fell down and reclined on his side, head, ear, shoulders, hips and legs. The referee's arm began to rise and fall and a great crowd rose in pandemonium, for it was a fact patent to all that if burly Berlenbach ("the Astoria Assassin") did not get up shortly, Delaney would be the light-heavyweight champion of the world. For a moment everybody began to feel sorry for the prone ex-taxi-driver, one of the most unpopular plug-uglies that has ever held a world's title, but yet an individual that few people have had the opportunity to feel sorry for. It is true that his face is the face of an assassin, true that his style of fighting is, to say the least, ungracious, but he owns two qualities that have carried him far--great strength, great courage. As he lolled under the fierce moon-fire of the ring-lights, pitifully twisting his enormous body in an attempt to rise, it was clear that his strength was no longer at his disposal. And his courage? "... Nine" counted the referee. Berlenbach lurched to his feet. Delaney flicked him with a sharp left. Berlenbach came plunging in. Again Delaney's left, again his proficient right. Berlenbach came plunging in, continued to plunge in for the remaining 11 rounds, until, in the 14th and 15th, he hammered Delaney so limp that the referee and the crowd agreed that the title should be his to keep for a while longer.