Two Old Men

When Jack Sharkey, jowled, beefy and 31, climbed into the ring of Philadelphia's Baker Bowl one night last week he became $25,000 richer. When Tommy Loughran, likewise 31, slack-bellied and scarred from 16 years of prizefighting, entered the opposite corner he knew he would collect not one cent for what was about to happen.

Loughran's "end" was a percentage of the gate receipts in excess of Sharkey's guarantee; and less than 8,000 persons felt like paying to see a fight which could decide but one thing: which of two outworn heavyweights was due for immediate oblivion. Loughran, a quiet, well-liked fellow, had never been a powerful threat in the ring since he stepped up from the light-heavyweight class. Sharkey knocked him out four years ago. And now talkative, wealthy Sharkey, only three months ago the champion, had left his last claim to importance on the floor of a Chicago ring where King Levinsky knocked him last month (TIME, Sept. 25).

For nine rounds Loughran stepped away from Sharkey, repeatedly flicking his opponent's face with light jabs which did no damage. In the tenth Sharkey wearily floundered into a stiff right which caught him squarely on the chin. He dropped flat on his face--the first knockdown Loughran had scored in years. He was on his feet before the referee could start to count, attacked Loughran's body savagely for the remaining five rounds, but that one punch cost Sharkey the fight. Two judges disagreed; the referee cast the deciding vote for Loughran because of the knockdown.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.