Daniel Zaragoza, "El Raton" which means "The Mouse" in Spanish, a nod to his elusive, pecking style in the ring, though some fans also called him "El Zurdo de Tacubaya" (The Southpaw from Tacubaya). He was a two-division world champion from Mexico known for his resilience and exciting fights in the 1980s and 90s. He was also the ultimate road warrior.
'"Everyone respects a road warrior. Oleksandr Usyk’s willingness to fight in his opponent’s backyard earns him kudos over other fighters who always seem to insist on having all the cards stacked in their favour. But even among road warriors, Daniel Zaragoza was a rare breed. Over the course of his seventeen-year, sixty-six-bout professional career he fought an Australian in Perth, a Texan in Texas, a Korean in Korea, a Californian in California, Japanese fighters in Japan, a Frenchman in France, a New Yorker in New York, and an Irishman in Boston. He took part in twenty-two world title bouts, and not one of them was in Mexico.''
When Max Schmeling knocked out Joe Louis in 1936, Louis was considered to be in or near his prime as an undefeated, rising star contender, though he was still developing and Schmeling outsmarted him with a superior game plan, leading to the shocking upset. Schmeling, older and considered past his best, exploited a flaw in Louis's technique, delivering the first and only loss of Louis's prime career.
In one of the greatest upsets in heavyweight history, a 31-year-old Max Schmeling, "The Black Uhlan of the Rhine", brilliantly knocked out the undefeated, heavily-favored 22-year-old knockout machine Joe Louis in the 12th round on June 19th, 1936 at Yankee stadium.
Louis had been overconfident, while Schmeling had studied Louis methodically, attending one of his fights and studying his fight films. He noticed that Louis dropped his left arm after jabbing, leaving his face exposed to short, straight rights. That happened to be Schmeling's best punch.
"I see something," Schmeling cryptically told sportswriters.
''People said I was a brawler and a mugger when I got in a boxing ring. Fight to the finish; have a referee that let me fight rough; don't stop the fight on cuts. I was just about unbeatable under those circumstances. Well, those are the rules in a street fight.
I was good in street fights. I had maybe 15 of them when I was a kid and a few more in school. After I retired from boxing, I had some in bars. Bar fights are easy. Guys have been drinking and they can't go more than 30 seconds without getting tired, 60 seconds at most. Guys who've been in prison can be a problem in street fights. A lot of them are vioIent to begin with and then they learned techniques in jail that make them even harder to fight.''
On October 7th, 2018, "The Monster" Naoya Inoue needed just 70 seconds to send Juan Carlos Payona packing. It was the Ring magazine knockout of the year. There's no need to explain why Naoya Inoue is nicknamed "The Monster", because he is just that, you drop Inoue in any era and he raises pure and absolute hell.
'Those were the days when we fought with bare fists, and we were not afraid of hurting our hands, either. Only two of those 500 men ever beat me. They beat me fair enough, but it was my own fault, and I beat them both afterward. Tom King and Bob Brettle beat me. I was a bit careless the day I fought Brettle. I took him too cheap and he hit me one that smashed my jaw and knocked me clean out, but the next time I beat him. I was careless, too, when I fought Tom King the first time, and let him get in a punch that should never have reached me, but I beat him fair and good the next time.
They never gave me thick ears - none of 'em. I suffered more in my hands from punching them than from their punching me. I knew more than they did. I had a better headpiece, but that was only in the ring. Out of the ring I always wanted a master, and since my poor wife died I have had no one to tell me what to do.
More than $1,000,000 I took out of the prize ring, and now it is all gone. Ten championship belts and ten cups I won, and they have all gone. I have a bust of old Tom Sayers left, but I won't let that go if I starve. Where has it all gone? Ask those that got most out of it. I don't know where it has gone. I have nobody now to tell me.''
Joe Grim, honest to god, he might have the greatest chin in boxing history, the guy was from planet Kryton.
Joe Grim: The Human Punching Bag Who Never Won a Fight
By: B. R. Bearden
In boxing, as in any sport, the fans remember the winners and often forget the losers. To be sure, some who lose amid the roar of the crowd gain fame in their defeat. Witness Billy Conn's loss to Joe Louis. But Conn was a superb boxer; light heavyweight champion and member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame. We remember his loss in a way that, rather than detracting from how good he was, instead enhances his memory. He was the light heavyweight who "almost" beat the best heavyweight champion of them all. He was a winner who had a memorable loss.
But what of a loser who had nothing but memorable losses? In point of fact, what of boxer who lost every single fight he ever fought, at least 63 bouts? Other than the families of these record-padding stepping stones, nobody can name the men who played the part of the perpetual victim. Except for one; Joe Grim.
Grim was born in Avellino, Italy in 1881 and named Saverio Giannone. At some point in his early life his family moved to America and at some point young Saverio decided to become a boxer. Dropping his family name he entered the ring, and boxing legend, as Joe Grim. It was a name suited to his style of fighting, for his career was truly grim. Appended to that suitable choice of a moniker were such titles as "the human punching bag", "The Indestructible Man of Pugilism", "The Iron Man", and "The Indian rubber man". For in a sport of give and take, Joe was the ultimate taker.
As Nat Fleischer would say of him, "Grim could neither box nor punch but he possessed an abundance of courage, in fact, too much for his own good. He was slow on his feet and even slower in his thought process. Though he had none of the assets that go to make a good fighter, for many years he was a great drawing card only because of his staying powers and his raw courage. His ability to absorb punishment was incomparable."
Robert E. Howard, creator of Conan the Barbarian, and an avid boxing fan born in the era of Grim, said, "If he ever won a fight, it is not on record. He was neither a boxer nor a fighter in the true sense of the word. He was wide open; a blind man could hit him."
Joe Grim began his career in 1903 with a match against Philadelphia Jack O' Brien, future Hall of Famer. It was a six round contest between O'Brien's punching ability and Grim's toughness. O'Brien broke the knuckles of his right hand trying to stop the unknown kid who came in wide open, throwing windmill punches the ring posts could duck. The fight was a No Contest both by official score and by any method of judging a bout, but it ushered in the bizarre, side-show career of Joe Grim.
Grim's notoriety grew with each succeeding fight. He took terrible beatings from the greatest fighters of his era yet always ended his fights by walking to the ropes and shouting to the crowd, "I am Joe Grim! Nobody can knock me out!"
It wasn't from lack of trying. The best punchers of the first two decades of the 20th century from lightweight to heavyweight took their turns trying to put the Indian Rubber Man down for the count. Philadelphia Jack O'Brien, Joe Walcott, Joe Gans, Jack Johnson, Johnny Kilbane, Sam McVey, Tommy Sullivan, and Battling Levinsky all took their shots, some more than once. They could put him down, they just couldn't make him stay down.
In Grim's 4th fight he was matched with the great Joe Walcott, the famed welterweight champion. He took a shellacking but was still standing after six rounds.
In his next fight he stepped in with Bob Fitzsimmons, former World Heavyweight Champion and current World Light Heavyweight Champion. For six rounds Ruby Robert used every punch known to pugilism to try to finish Grim. He drove in the body blows which had dropped Jim Corbett and won Fitz the title but Grim's rock-hard body accepted them without complaint. In those six furious rounds Bob knocked Grim down sixteen times! And sixteen times, Grim got back up. He even managed to land the last blow of the fight, a kind of "I'm still here" message to his tormentor. As Robert E. Howard described it, he then reeled to the ropes and, grinning through torn lips, shouted his defiance into the crowd, "I am Joe Grim! I fear no man! I challenge that bigga Jeem Jeff' fora da title".
But Jim Jeffries, heavyweight champion already on the verge of retiring undefeated, wasn't interested in fighting an unknown who had just lost his 5th straight fight without a win to the mix. Instead, the promoters set Grim up with Joe Gans, World Lightweight champion and future HOF inductee. Gans weighed in at 138 to Grim's 165 but extra weight was all Grim had in his side of the scales; that and his amazing resilience. The Old Master Gans had no difficulty dealing with the roundhouse swings and the wide open stance of the Italian. He worked inside and battered Joe to a sixth round No Decision which every paper dubbed a totally one-sided victory. Three months later they tried it again, meeting in a 10 round fight, and the only difference was the extra four rounds of pounding Grim absorbed.
Word of Grim spread and people flocked to see who would knock him out first. A succession of fighters tried, some more than once, but come the final bell, Joe Grim would still be standing and able to hurl his challenge to the world, "Nobody can knock me out!"
Twenty or so fights, and losses, into his career Joe Grim laced up to meet future heavyweight champion Jack Johnson in July, 1905. Jack was looking for his shot at the title, but in March he'd lost a 20 rounder to Marvin Hart and he needed something to minimize the loss. A knockout win over the man nobody else could knockout would surely make the boxing crowd take notice. Even though Johnson weighed 210 to only 165 for Grim, there were still doubts he could put the human punching bag away. Confident of his punch, Johnson had wagered heavily that he'd knock the man out.
Some 3000 people, including Nat Fleischer, future founder of The Ring, paid to see the match in Philadelphia and it would be even money on which fighter was the main draw. In the first three rounds Grim was beaten around the ring. He would drop and the crowd would shout, "Get up Joe!" and Joe would get up, a broad grin on his bloodied face. In the fourth Johnson landed a punch that dropped his opponent to the floor with a thud. Grim waited on hands and knees as the referee counted, then jumped up before the count of "ten". Three more times he went down in the round, three more times he got up. The forth round followed suit, and in his corner, an amazed Jack Johnson declared, "He ain't human."
In the fifth Grim was down six times, three times for a count of eight and three times for a count of nine. Each time he rolled to his belly, climbed to his knees, and waited for the referee to "almost" count him out before rising amid the cheers of the crowd. It wasn't boxing, it was a circus act with the lion tamer letting the lions do their worst, then leaving the cage savaged and bloody to take his bows.
The sixth and final round saw a desperate Johnson trying to win his bets. Jack caught Grim with a right to the chin so hard, as Nat Fleischer said, ". it caused Grim to turn a complete somersault." The referee counted as Grim lay there senseless, some thought dead. It appeared he wouldn't beat the count, but on eight the bell rang, ending the fight and saving Grim from his first knockout. He had been knocked down eighteen times by one of the hardest punchers of his time but he hadn't been counted out. In Grim's mind, the defeat was a victory of the only sort he would ever know. More fights followed and the Iron Man didn't disappoint the fans of that cruder era. He didn't win, but he didn't fail to shout out after the final bell, "I'm Joe Grim! Nobody knocks out Joe Grim!"
His record shows losses at 6 rounds, 8 rounds, 10 rounds, all on points. At least eight times he was taken 20 rounds. Six times he was able to get a draw, but never did he receive the win in 60+ outings.
He was the side-show at the boxing circus, a freak of nature in a time when freaks were allowed to make it any way they could. With public interest piqued, Doctors examined Grim and declared his skull to be of extraordinary thickness, perhaps twice that of the average man. It was deduced he wasn't subject to the concussion effect of the blows which knock out the ordinary fighter, and when he said he didn't feel the punches he was probably telling the truth. His face showed the effects, though; his nose was broken so many times it was no more than a lump of tissue, his ears were cauliflower ruins, he was scarred like an old Tom cat. What effect it had on his mental condition seemed not to concern the people of the times. They paid to see Grim take a beating and refuse to stay down and nobody expected him to win. Grim didn't disappoint on either score.
So how did this drama finally play out? It would be satisfying to say that in the end Grim managed to win one. Satisfying, but not the truth, for in the end The Iron Man was finally knocked out.
A study of Grim's record, which is considered incomplete, shows several knockouts recorded, yet boxing experts such as Fleischer disputed them as actual KOs, saying they were TKOs instead. All accounts of Grim, and the words of Howard and Fleischer, say he wasn't knocked out till late in his career by Sailor Burke, and it was the only true knockout of his career. Yet, a study of his record shows a KO by Burke's name as early as 1906, seven years before Joe's last known bout. It seems unlikely the fans would continue to pay to see The Iron Man who's only claim was he had never been knocked out if in fact he had been (and it was known). He fought Burke at least four times, so it's possible he fought him a final time near the end. However, the record books shows Grim's last fight was with Joe Borrel in 1913 and ended in a knockout. Fleischer was present for the Johnson / Grim fight and knew his boxing history, yet he stated, "It wasn't until the closing stages of his career, when all the punishment he absorbed finally caught up to him, that middleweight Sailor Burke of Brooklyn finally put him down for the finally count."
Howard wrote in 1930, "The many batterings took their toll at last, however, and Grim was knocked out by Sailor Burke, a hard-hitting second-rater who stepped off a ship to turn the trick. Grim's heart was broken."
The possibility exists that both Howard and Fleischer got it wrong, maybe from the same source, and it should be Borrel and not Burke who ended Grim's campaign as the man who couldn't be knocked out. Or a fifth and final fight with Burke was unrecorded. Or perhaps the most likely explanation is the indomitable will of Joe Grim was such that people of his time couldn't believe he'd been knocked out by Burke or anyone else, and it was dismissed as hearsay believed only by those who were there.
But whether it was Burke early or Burke late (or Borrel), all accounts agree there was only one knockout in Grim's career. And though he was a good draw, he made very little money off his encounters with the greats of boxing, often getting as little as $25 a fight. When it was all over, a broke and broken man faded away from the view of the public and died unheralded and destitute in 1939.
Yet to those who remembered, like Fleischer, he was the man who always got up one more time than he went down, the loser who never quit, who always staggered to the ropes and boasted, "I am Joe Grim! Nobody can knock me out!
Fighting with a fury he hadn't shown since the night in 1938 when he knocked out Max Schmeling in one round, world heavyweight champion, Joe Louis, stopped Buddy Baer, 250-pound Californian, in the first round in Madison Square Garden for the benefit of the New York Auxiliary of the Navy Relief Society on January 9th in 1942.
In the dressing room before the fight, Louis' trainer, Jack Blackburn, who was suffering from arthritis and a weak heart, told Louis that he didn't think he was strong enough to make it up and down the steps to the ring for fifteen rounds. Louis replied, "If you get up those stairs with me, I'll have Baer out before you can relax.”
Buddy Baer, younger brother of heavyweight champion Max, never fought again.
Louis had beaten Baer the previous May via seventh-round DQ, after being knocked through the ropes in the first round.
In a brilliant fight, 24-year-old Amir Khan scored arguably the finest win of his career when he outpointed Marcos Maidana on this day in 2010 in the third defense of his WBA light-welterweight title.
Khan dropped Maidana with a vicious body shot in the first round in Las Vegas and survived a hellacious 10th as the Argentine battered him all over the ring to prevail unanimously on the judges cards.
"What a great fight it was, man," Khan said, before heading for a CAT scan. "I'm sure HBO are happy. I'm sure Sky are happy. This is boxing, and you have to fight the best. You can't take any shortcuts. Most people said to me, 'You've got no chin.' Well, I've proved them wrong.
"He was strong. I hit him with some big shots. And there were times in the fight when I got caught, but took it. I made a few mistakes that I won't make again. Sometimes I fight with my heart too much. But I'm young. I'm still learning."
Roy Jones, Jr. broke one of Virgil Hill's ribs with an eye-popping 4th round body shot KO at the Coast Coliseum in Biloxi, Mississippi on April 25th in 1998.
Both Hill and Jones entered the bout having won silver medals at separate Olympics four years apart, but Jones was younger and much closer to his prime than the experienced Hill.
Hill did well jabbing as Jones tried to set a trap by throwing a fast and hard right hand down the middle so he could counter when Hill retaliated. But in round 4, Hill covered up apparently expecting another right hand up top, and Jones threw with a withering right hand to the ribs that sent Hill down and left him in agony. Hill tried to get up but couldn't make it before the count ended.
Jones-Hill was voted "Knockout of the Year" by The Ring magazine.
"I threw my punch so hard that I almost broke my hand," Jones said. "I hope he's O.K. I don't mean to hurt anyone. I was just putting on a performance for the fans."
Jones purse was $4 million, but he also signed a contract extension with HBO and was gifted a Rolls-Royce from nearby Grand Casino.
Bob Fitzsimmons, one of the greatest pound-for-pound fighters and hardest punchers to ever step foot in a ring, tells the story of how he became a legend.
''My mother began by training me for the ministry. UntiI I was 11 years oId I went to church and sang in the choir twice a week, and to BibIe cIass twice on Sundays. But for a box of snuff and a kicked footbaII I wouId have been a minister today.
We were Iiving in New ZeaIand, about 1,500 miIes across the sea from AustraIia. One day my mother sent me to buy a box of snuff at a chemist shop near our home. On the way I passed an open fieId where two footbaII teams were playing. I waIked sIowIy, watching the game and wishing that I couId get a chance to kick the baII. I was very curious to know how it would feeI. Just whiIe I was wishing, somebody kicked it over the fence and it roIIed right to my feet. So I kicked it back again as hard as I couId.
A second Iater the captain of one of the teams, a big feIIow over six feet taII Ieaped the fence and ran straight at me. Before I had any idea of what he meant to do he struck me a terrific bIow on the nose, smashing it and cutting a gash across the bridge that is the onIy scar I carry today after hundreds of ring battIes. The bIow knocked me senseIess. I was unconscious for three hours and a haIf, and the bIood that ran down my throat strangIed me so that I came very near to dying.
At Iast they brought me to. The coin I was carrying had fIown out of my hand when I was struck. I remember that I had started for some snuff, but I had nothing to buy it with, so I staggered home in the dark, empty-handed. When I sIipped in through the door my mother onIy saw that I had a bIoody nose. My training for the ministry hadn't incIuded fighting. I'd often been warned that I must not fight.
'You've been fighting, haven't you?' asked my mother. And without another word she turned and took a stout whip down from it's naiI on the waII and proceeded to give me the worst whipping I ever had in my Iife. Then she sent me to bed.
Next morning she came to my room. My eyes had sweIIed over night and were cIosed tight and my nose was a sight. When my mother saw for the first time how badIy I was hurt she cried over me and toId me again and again how sorry she was she had whipped me, and I toId her how it aII happened. Then she sent for a doctor.
I was hurt Friday afternoon. Saturday there was no schooI and on Sunday my eyes were stiII closed, so for the first time I was Iet out of going to church. But Monday I was made to go to schooI. There the schoIars Iaughed at me so much that I ran home, and I never went to either a schooI or a church afterward. My mother used to send me to church, but I'd Iie on the grass outside and Iisten to the hymns, because I Ioved the singing, and then ask somebody the minister's text so I couId teII what it was when they asked me at home.
The troubIe was that aII this time I couId onIy think of the man who had beaten me. Week after week the desire for revenge grew. But I was a sIim IittIe feIIow, onIy 11, and I knew I'd have no chance to fight if I met him. Brooding over it put an idea into my mind. I'd work and grow as strong as I couId, and Iearn how to fight, so that I'd be ready when I was big enough to tackIe him.
I went to my brother's bIacksmith shop and induced him to give me two oId Ieather aprons. I cut these up into patterns for boxing gIoves. I'd never seen any, but I'd heard about them. I sewed the gIoves with string and stuffed them with Ieather cIippings and cotton, and then got the other boys of the neighborhood together and boxed with them every day.
In a coupIe of years I couId outbox any of them easiIy, and I was growing taII. Every night before I went to sIeep I thought of what I'd do to that footbaII player when I grew a IittIe bigger. We were right by the sea and I heard about what great fighters saiIors were. So I made up my mind to run away and be a saiIor for a year or two. I had fixed it up with a captain of a bark caIIed the IsabeIIa RidIey and was about to skip out the next morning when up came a terribIe storm in the night and wrecked IsabeIIa RidIey and nine or ten other vesseIs, driving them high on the shore. I gave up the sea and got a job as a carriage painter at 7 shiIIings a week.
In a few months I was a good painter, having a very steady hand for the fine striping. But that wasn't making me strong fast enough and I got another job as a striker in Parson & Andrews foundry, swinging a heavy sIedge. This was great work, but after three years I threw a hot tire over the foreman one day and got fired.
WhiIe I was working there, 15 years oId, I had my first ring fights, to a finish with bare knuckIes, London prize ring ruIes. I won them aII with knockouts. My next job after the foundry was as a painter, then as a paperhanger. I couId do three men's work, and did it. Next I went to work as a horseshoer for my brother. I stuck to that job for 5 years.
AII this time I never forgot about the footbaII captain. By the time I was 17 I concIuded I couId whip him, and the next two years I spent aII of my spare time traveIing around to footbaII matches Iooking for him. But he had disappeared, and to this day I've never set eyes on him.
He knocked me out of being a minister, and if I'd ever found him I'd have knocked him out of being a footbaII player. But I don't hoId the grudge any more. He punched me from poverty into a bunch of fortunes. But for him I'd never have been a fighter.''
This is one of my favorite photos of Bob Fitzsimmons, knowing his reputation as a puncher, he looks intimidating as hell in this photo. He was one of the most destructive punchers this sport has ever known. Here's what the legendary boxing analyst Matt McGrain said about Bob Fitzsimmons' punching:
3 – Bob Fitzsimmons
“Whilst physicians were examining him, Ruhlin opened his eyes and faintly asked for water. This was given him as he again lapsed into a sort of stupor. Blood at this time was trickling from his ears and nose.”
- The San Francisco Call
Nobody hit like Fitz.
Boxing at the then middleweight limit of 154 lbs., he stopped the granite-chinned nonpareil champion Jack Dempsey in just 13 rounds in what was described as the most scientific display of boxing seen up until that point. Then a boxer-puncher known for his exceptional poise in the ring, Fitz spent the next years adding layer upon layer to one of the most studied, devastating offenses in history. The March 9th, 1893 edition of The Times Democrat published as beautiful and complete a description of Bob’s style as can be seen:
“He will advance when his antagonist least expects it, and often when in full retreat will wheel suddenly about and meet his advancing rival with right or left just in time to borrow his momentum and add it to the force of his own blow…”
Fitzsimmons was the ultimate trap-smith, perhaps unparalleled even today at laying bait, guiding opponents onto his punches, switching the attack at the last possible minute.
“..Though exceedingly apt to advance and force the fighting at times, he has a wonderful faculty of doing so just when his opponent is not ready to meet him with a blow, and by the time a blow is launched in his direction he is generally in the act of getting away…”
An opening rarely missed, Fitzsimmons would become famous in his career for picking certain vulnerable spots and landing upon them, accuracy above and beyond what can be seen in even a world-class fighter.
“…With all his violent exertion, he never seems to become tired.”
An engine almost infallible, Fitz carried one-punch knockout power of the most devastating kind to the late rounds. His 14th round one-punch knockout of James J. Corbett, which caused the champion’s eyes “to roll back into his head until no pupil was visible,” is amongst the most famous in history. Landed by hands so fast that many at ringside did not see it go in, Corbett was all but paralyzed, crawling pitifully across the ring floor, arguably the greatest heavyweight of his generation laid low by a single blow from a man fighting at the modern super-middleweight limit.
His one punch knockout of middleweight contender Jim Hall was so violent and sudden that onlookers thought him dead; tragically, two men would indeed go to their graves behind punches landed by Ruby Red.
Other victims such as world-class heavyweight Peter Maher were dropped—unconscious—by invisible punches that left their eyes rolling in their heads, confused, when revived, as to what had actually happened to them. Speed enough to make punches invisible to the naked eye. Perhaps unequalled pound-for-pound power. Traps, feints and counterpunching skills unmatched in his era. What kind of fluidity and devastation on offense can keep this monster from the top two?
Sir Henry Cooper had one of the best and most brutal left hooks in boxing history, his left hook was so brutal it had it's own nickname, "Enry's 'Ammer."
Ambrose Palmer, arguably the greatest boxer Australia ever produced, became a trainer after his fighting days, he taught Johnny Famechon his tricks which Famechon's biographer called "The Method", they was centered around the left jab, educated footwork, defense, and fitness.
Australian Boxing Zone
Ambrose Palmer
Ambrose Palmer was born in Footscray, Victoria into a boxing family. His father Bill was a former Victorian lightweight champion who had trained with the legendary heavyweight Peter Jackson, and together they developed “The Method,” a technical style of boxing that Bill then taught to his sons.
Ambrose followed his older brothers into the professional game after losing in the final of the 1927 national amateur title. Ambrose went undefeated in his first year as a pro, earning himself an eliminator against Brisbane’s Norm Johnson. Palmer was ahead on points when he was disqualified for a low blow.
At the end of 1930, Australian middleweight champion Jack Haines was criticised in the press for selecting Palmer as an opponent for a non-title fight. Palmer shocked the 23-year-old champion, outpointing Haines in a major upset which earned him a shot at the Australian middleweight title.
Haines built up an early lead but had to settle for a draw after Palmer rallied in the championship rounds. The two men fought their third 15-rounder in just 12 weeks on December 27. Palmer once again rallied, knocking Haines out in the 12th round and became the new star of Australian boxing. Haines spent a month in hospital after the bout recovering from a cerebral haemorrhage.
Palmer lost the title on another low blow to Bob Thornton but reclaimed it with a win points win over Thornton in September 1933. In his final successful defence of the middleweight title, Palmer outpointed Fred Henneberry in a thrilling 15-round fight in October 1931. Palmer added the heavyweight title to his collection with a points win over Jack O’Malley in February 1932. In his next fight, he surrendered the middleweight title to Henneberry when he was again disqualified for a low blow.
With issues making the middleweight division, Palmer stayed at heavyweight and agreed to a major money fight with world-ranked contender Young Stribling. Stribling toyed with Palmer, badly damaging his left eye and knocking him out in ten rounds, however Palmer made just under a year’s salary for the fight.
Palmer continued to dominate the light heavyweight and heavyweight divisions in Australia from 1932-1936, never losing to another Australian boxer. Among his victories in this time were three wins over fellow three-weight national champion Ron Richards and a stoppage win over Henneberry in their 1936 rubber match. He also split fights with former welterweight title challenger Dave Shade (losing again by low blow) and defeated American puncher Deacon Leo Kelly.
After a brief tour to Great Britain was cut short due to family issues, Palmer returned to Australia. He was stopped by Deacon Leo Kelly in their rematch, which derailed a major money fight with Maxie Rosenbloom, and Palmer retired afterwards due to further damage to his left eye. He later returned to the ring, stopping Kelly in a rubber match before scoring his fourth win over Ron Richards to regain the Australian heavyweight title before. Palmer retired for good following a points loss to Gus Lesnevich, the first time he was beaten over the distance.
After boxing, Palmer played Australian Rules Football for Footscray before a broken jaw forced his retirement. He trained fighters in Melbourne throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s and 70s, teaching “The Method” to a new generation of Australian boxers. His crowning accomplishment as a trainer was he guided Johnny Famechon to the world featherweight title in 1969. Palmer died in 1990, aged 79.
Boxing trainer Ambrose Palmer’s system of fighting was dubbed “The Method”.
Ambrose Palmer’s unique one-handed technique set tongues wagging and helped legendary Australian Johnny Famechon to world championship glory.Boxing trainer Ambrose Palmer’s system of fighting was dubbed “The Method” by Johnny Famechon’s biographer, Frank Quill, who collaborated with “Fammo” on a book about this amazingly effective boxing style. Palmer himself had been an elusive and solid-punching fighter; a world-rated light-heavyweight. He’d also played Australian rules football for Footscray and won several professional sprints. He was a gentleman sportsman, and a thinker.Famechon, born of great French boxing stock, was a skinny kid when he first entered Palmer’s gym, but, conscious of the tradition in his blood, he was a keen learner. So faithful was Famechon to Palmer’s ways that when he took up dancing lessons to impress the girls, he couldn’t bust a move. Ambrose had taught him to dance, and it was the only dance that mattered.Anyone who saw “Fammo” had never seen anything like him. We’ve never seen his like since. He beat the seemingly unbeatable Jose Legra for the world featherweight title in 1969, and lost it, controversially, in 1970 to the undefeated, comebacking ex-champion Vicente Saldivar.
As a trainer, Palmer’s method was based on a non-negotiable bottom line. To “hit and not be hit” was, to Palmer, the entire point of boxing. The style he developed was based on the left jab, which was to be fast, relentless, accurate, always in the face and body of onrushing opponents and endlessly piling up points. That jab was often conveyed with an unconventional upright fist for machine gun delivery. Lateral movement, founded on leg stamina and hip and waist strength, was to be swift, its choreography practised endlessly in the gym. Palmer would use a frame to keep his fighters’ feet together as they lay on their backs doing leg raises and rotations, strengthening their midriffs – vital for the twists and low ducking evasions of Palmer’s way. Famechon would duck so low he could sniff the canvas, and perform this manoeuvre in the same time it would take for another fighter to slip a punch with a small head movement.The right hand (for an orthodox fighter) was considered a high-risk punch by Ambrose – a last resort. Throughout the duration of a fight, that glove was be glued to the chin, and rather than closed into a fist, it was to be open, the last line of defence if an opponent happened to catch The Method’s mercurial exponent.
At times, Palmer’s fighters would spar with the right hand fixed in this position – via a tie he’d slip over their heads and around their wrist – and rendered useless as an attacking weapon. But the left would become so deft and nuanced, one could imagine Famechon picking a lock wearing eight-ounce boxing gloves in the same instant it took him to throw one of those jabs. According to Fammo, Palmer’s gruelling gym workouts were characterised by “speed and more speed”. Fammo was an all-action fighter, his elusive style something other fighters could only aspire to.
The Method was based on scoring, and if Fammo wasn’t striking, he was waiting for them to strike so he could counter. That right glove, always open, always stuck to the left jaw, was the most unusual thing about the style. Of course, it had its pay-off. In his last few fights, it was felt Fammo’s seldom-thrown right shocked opponents, but he never threw it enough. Fammo was an almost hyperactive practitioner who never stopped moving and never once abandoned his method, even when in trouble. Palmer made his fighters fit enough to carry out his technique under any conditions.
In fact, Famechon demonstrated a very important sporting principle: no matter what technique you choose, master it in all circumstances, and if you conquer your own system, you’ll be well-nigh unconquerable. Fammo’s victory over Legra was a triumph of technique over dash. In his first fight against Fighting Harada, Fammo was dropped brutally. His head hit the canvas hard. He broke his ankle. Yet, when he staggered to his feet, his main concern was not to survive, but to resume his technique as quickly as possible. Immediately he had Harada chasing him. Fammo’s head cleared, and he won.In 1976, Rocky Mattioli became world light-middleweight champ long after he’d left Ambrose to take up residence in Italy. Today, the “Rock” realises that the tight defence he carried throughout his career (even with his “slugger” reputation), the ability to throw a winning left jab and the desire to prevail with superior technique were all Ambrose’s doing. “He was”, the Rock growls now in his Milanese accent, “the man who made me a world champion.”
Many used Palmer’s way to win Australian, Commonwealth and world championships: Australia’s Jack Johnson, Max Carlos, Foster Bibron, Paul Ferreri, Mattioli. But Famechon became the exemplar of The Method. He retired unmarked, the only world featherweight champ to retire without the blemish of a knockout or stoppage loss on his record.
Ambrose Palmer was a great fighter, he fought and beat some real bada$$es from his native Australia, Fred Henneberry and Ron Richards to name a few. Fred Henneberry was one of the most vicious fighters in boxing history, great guy outside the ring, but you didn't want to cross him inside that ring, and Ron Richards was a murderous puncher.
On this day in 1981, the great Mexican fighter Salvador Sánchez,"The Invincible Eagle", had a tough time making his seventh defense of the WBC featherweight title by 15 round split decision over Pat Cowdell at the Astrodome in Houston, Texas.
While Sánchez wasn't undefeated, he hadn't lost in about five years and was widely recognized as one of the most skilled fighters in the world. Cowdell came into the bout at 19-2 and he held the British featherweight title, and he was a tough and game fighter.
Cowdell troubled Sánchez early with his jab and the champion couldn't get any momentum with his combinations as he usually did. Sánchez still managed to connect on the cleaner punches apart from Cowdell's jab, and in typical fashion, Sánchez got better as the fight went into the late rounds.
In the 9th round, Sánchez hurt Cowdell with a hook and before long Cowdell's face busted open and he bled freely the rest of the fight. In the last round, Cowdell went down for the first time in his career on a right hand, but he finished the fight.
"I had never seen him fight before, and so I held up longer in the fight," Sánchez said. "I just couldn't figure him out. He fights in a very awkward way."
That Sanchez-Cowdell fight was something else, a great fight. Sanchez was truly special, one of the greatest fighters in the history of this sport. Sanchez, the definition of a 15 round fighter, the great Mexican's ability in the championship rounds was unparalleled. But Pat Cowdell was one tough SOB and a good fighter, you really had to be on top of your game to beat Pat Cowdell, and he showed it that night against Sanchez, he gave Sanchez all he could handle.
@perkdog said:
There is no other more informative boxing thread on the entire internet
FACT
Sorry perkdog, I'm going so fast on this thread I missed your post. Thank you for the kind words, I'm having a blast, I'm in my element and I can't stay away from this thread, it's truly an addiction and I'm hooked!
"The Basque Woodchopper" Paulino Uzcudun shows off his gold teeth. Uzcudun was a heavyweight contender in the 1920s and 30s. He was a strong fighter with a granite chin who was usually good for going the distance. He was called the "The Basque Woodchopper" because he came from the Basque region of Spain and was a champion aizkolari, a traditional Basque sport involving competitive wood chopping, giving him immense strength that translated perfectly to his brutal boxing style. His powerful punches were often compared to an axe chopping wood, fitting his strong, durable, and tough persona in the ring. I love this photo, he looks like Jaws, can you imagine going toe-to-toe with a Bond villain?
Great shots right here. In the 1956 "Fight of the Year," Carmen Basilio regained the welterweight championship with a brutal 9th round TKO of Johnny Saxton at the War Memorial Auditorium in Syracuse, New York.
Basilio won the title from Tony DeMarco about 18 months earlier and defeated DeMarco in an exciting rematch before losing the title to Saxton by disputed decision in their first fight. A return was a natural matchup, and this time Basilio left no doubt.
Saxton foolishly stood and traded with Basilio in the first several rounds, and despite winning a few of them, he stayed inside too long and ate too many hard body shots. Saxton attempted to go back to his natural tactics of movement and jabs, but he'd used up too much energy.
In round 7, Saxton got a bad cut in his mouth as Basilio opened up. Saxton's very experienced cutman Whitey Bimstein would later claim it was the worst cut he'd ever seen. The cut combined with the pressure took everything out of Saxton, and by the 9th he was helpless against Basilio's onslaught and the fight was ended by the referee.
The great Masao Ohba was a legendary Japanese WBA Flyweight World Champion, known as "The Eternal Champion," who tragically died in a car crash at age 23, just weeks after a thrilling title defense in January 1973, leaving a legacy as one of boxing's greatest flyweights with a 35-2-1 record, celebrated for his comeback skills and induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2015. He was a highly skilled technical boxer, known for his excellent jab, fast combinations, and effective counterpunching. Ohba captured the WBA Flyweight title in 1970 by stopping Berkrerk Chartvanchai, he successfully defended his title five times against tough opponents like Betulio Gonzalez, Fernando Cabanela, and Chartchai Chionoi. Known for his resilience, he often overcame early knockdowns to win by knockout, exemplified in his final bout against Chionoi. His life was tragically cut short in a car accident on January 24, 1973, just 23 days after his last fight.
Remembering Masao Ohba, The Eternal Champion
By: Corey Erdman
Around the holidays, boxing fans in the western world tend to zoom in on the Japanese boxing scene, with New Year’s events typically headlined by Kazuto Ioka and the big stars of the day headlining the calendar for a week or two. But as exciting as this time is for the Japanese boxing community, it’s also a time of mourning, as it also marks the anniversary of the final bout—and ultimately untimely passing—of one of its most beloved stars.
Masao Ohba is one of the greatest flyweights of his generation and a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame, inducted in 2015 as part of the Old Timer category. At 21-years of age, Ohba won the WBA flyweight title in 1970, knocking out Berkrerk Chartvanchai in the 13th round of a fight that portended what nearly all of Ohba’s title bouts would look like—a high-level bloodbath with Ohba ultimately eroding his opponent. He would make five defenses of the title, the last being on January 2, 1973. In what biographer Juntaro Oda described as the “most tragic and dramatic bout” in Japanese history, he defended his title against Chartchai Chionoi.
By the time he was preparing to face Chionoi, Ohba was already having difficulty getting his 5-foot-6 frame down to the 112-pound limit. However, when he first began boxing, there were concerns about whether he would even be big enough to fight at all.
Ohba was the son of a rabid boxing fan, introduced to the sport at a young age. His father made a steady income as a factory worker, but wagered much of it, struggling with a gambling addiction. As a result, Ohba entered the workforce at a young age, dropping out of junior high school to work at a candy shop and help provide for the family. Even the staff discount sweets couldn’t sufficiently bulk him up, and when he entered the Teiken, trainer Shoji Ogata told Sakigake.jp that Ohba "had a pale face and a slim body that seemed like it would break.” He was just 105 pounds in an era nearly three decades before the adoption of the minimumweight division by major sanctioning bodies.
With few other options, he was determined to strike it rich with his fists. With a work ethic rooted in a childhood of extreme poverty, he both put on seven pounds of muscle and hit the jackpot with a growth spurt height-wise. Now he was not just talented, but a menacing figure physically.
Ohba doesn’t often get mentioned when discussing the greatest jabbers in boxing history, but he should. Unlike other great lead-hand artists who often use their jab to control the tempo as they ponder and strategize, Ohba’s left hand was both persistent and dangerous. His fights would often follow a familiar pattern. Ohba was often vulnerable early in fights, and on several occasions had to rally back from scary moments. Once he stabilized however, his left hand was in perpetual motion, prodding, jabbing, hooking. At a certain point it would take its toll, and Ohba would tap into his relentless finishing ability, uncorking a right hand that had been waiting for its opportunity to shine all fight long.
Ohba was unlike any fighter Japan had seen before, and much like fighters like Kazuto Ioka and the Kamedas many years later, was willing to buck the trend of what was considered typical Japanese fighter behavior. His rivalry against Susumu Hanagata, which produced two tremendous battles, also produced one of the first instances of public animosity between two Japanese boxers, regarded as the first “war of words” between two countrymen. At the press conference and weigh-in prior to their 1972 title fight, the two turned their backs to one another, according to Hanagata, “looking for ways to spice things up” marketing-wise. Following that bout, which was the second world title fight between two Japanese fighters, they embraced in the ring and said “let’s do this again.”
The plan was seemingly for them to do exactly that. After a vacation in Hawaii (where he went to support Josephine Quitugua, Guam’s first female fight promoter), and a thrilling KO win over Orlando Amores, Ohba moved on to face the great Chionoi, Thailand’s second-ever world boxing champion. Though he couldn’t afford to overlook his legendary opponent, he, Hanagata and fans no doubt dreamed of a rubber match.
Admittedly, Chionoi would turn out to be even tougher than Ohba expected. It didn’t take long for that to become clear, as he was floored and hurt badly by a right hand just 40 seconds into the fight. "I did not expect the long hook that hit me first and made me groggy," he said following the fight. "I (also) did not expect the second (punch) that dropped me on my pants."
The right hand did more than just wobble him, it also sprained his right ankle. As Ohba tumbled to the canvas, he landed awkwardly on his foot. For the rest of the fight, his trainer Isamu Kuwata applied ice on his leg in between rounds.
Eventually his limp would diminish, and seemingly through sheer determination, Ohba was able to rally back. His signature jab was still put to use, but with diminished mobility, Ohba had to stand and trade with Chionoi much more than he’d perhaps intended to. As a result, the fight turned into what may have been 1973’s best, despite the award being given to George Foreman’s destruction of Joe Frazier by RING Magazine.
In the 12th round, mere moments after eating a colossal right hand that his chin and ankle somehow stood up to, Ohba rattled Chionoi with a right hand of his own. After a flurry that consisted of roughly 35 punches, Chionoi finally hit the mat, his back against the bottom rope. When he got back to his feet, Ohba threw another 23 punches at him, causing Chionoi to simply turn, walk to the corner and slump with his back against the corner pad. The referee allowed the bout to continue, but Ohba, seeing red through a brutally swollen left eye, jumped on Chionoi immediately and caused the referee to wave it off.
Chionoi said afterwards that he had “no excuses” for losing the fight. Although his management protested the finish, which the WBA ruled was not improper days later, it was clear that there was no controversy. This was simply one of the most breathtaking displays of courage seen in a ring in some time. Ohba was now living the life he’d always wanted. A lover of cars, he’d never been able to afford one, but now he had the money to purchase a Chevrolet Corvette. A month before his win over Chionoi, he’d acquired a driver’s license. His earnings from the Chionoi fight also made him comfortable enough to purchase his parents a home.
"I owe them so much,” Ohba said. “They always dreamed of living in a house that didn't have a leaking roof, a home with a garden. They did whatever they could to give me and my brothers a chance."
On January 22 of 1973, Ohba ran into fellow world champion Koichi Wajima at Korakuen Hall. The two were friends, sharing an interest in automobiles, as Wajima was also a truck driver before his boxing career. Wajima looked up to Ohba, who was older than him by six years but won a world title before him. Wajima noticed that Ohba was still limping, “dragging his leg” due to his injury sustained in his most recent fight. Ohba’s bravery in that fight, Wajima said, inspired him to rally and retain his light middleweight crown in a draw with Miguel de Oliveira.
After exchanging pleasantries, Wajima said he wanted to track Ohba down in the arena and tell him that he should refrain from driving for a little while until his injury healed, but never got the chance to.
Three days later, on January 25, 1973, Masao Ohba passed away. Ohba was heading back to the Teiken Gym driving his new ivory Corvette on the Shuto Expressway, lost control driving 60 miles per hour, crossed over a median and collided with an oncoming truck. Autopsies determined that Ohba died on impact as a result of a skull fracture. Ohba was just 23 years old.
When Wajima heard the news, he wrote last year, he felt a deep sense of loss, like he’d “lost a comrade in arms,” and regretted not warning Ohba when he had the chance. Fighting Harada expressed deep sadness as well, and suggested that boxers should not drive cars at all.
Ohba’s rival, Hanagata, was watching on television when the news broke, and felt the same way.
“There was no one with such a competitive spirit,” Hanagata said in an interview on the 50th anniversary of Ohba’s death last year. Hanagata said that if Ohba had lived, he believed would have went on to become a trainer.
Wajima wrote that he believed Ohba would have gone on to win world title in five weight classes. Instead, Ohba is one of boxing’s most tragic “what ifs,” alongside the late Salvador Sanchez. However, his legacy has managed to live on in many beautiful ways in Japan where he is known as The Eternal Champion.
In an early edition of Hajime no Ippo, perhaps the most popular manga series ever based on a fictional Japanese boxer, Ohba is cited as an inspiration for the kind of heart Ippo needs to succeed as a fighter. Ohba’s greatest rival, Hanagata opened his own gym in part to honor his fallen foe and friend, and in his office hangs a photo of the two posing together before their second fight.
The Ohba lineage has carried on in the ring as well—with a connection to his final rival. His nephew Soh learned the sport from Isamu Kuawata, and eventually formed a close bond with Chartchai Chionoi, who took him under his wing before his passing in 2018.
Soh Ohba has fought his entire career in Thailand, and has a modest goal in mind with the hopes of honoring his late uncle: Becoming the first Japanese WBU champion at the age of 42.
Each year, on the anniversary of Masao Ohba’s passing, fans gather at his gravesite and join hands to honor him. Last year, one fan, Toshi Watanabe, who made the trip from Tokyo to Saitama, spoke with Yahoo Japan.
"Every year, I visit on the anniversary of his death in spring and autumn. I pray that he rests in peace and that he watches over the Japanese boxing world from heaven,” he said.
It doesn't appear that there are many good photos of Masao Ohba's fights available, crying shame, he was in some good ones. Ohba had a lot of heart, he had to pick himself off the canvas on more than one occasion to win a fight. Latino Boxing History on Facebook found this one for us:
The shootout between Masao Ohba and Orlando Amores. Unfortunately, there are only two of Amores' fights on the internet (against Ohba and Zarate), I would like to see more. At the time, he was a highly regarded boxer with good power and a notable winning streak, defeating Enrique Pinder, Luis Estaba, Fermin Gomez, Jimenez and Torres. Ohba was a respected world champion with defenses against Betulio González, Cabanela and Hanagata. Early in the fight, Amores knocked Ohba down with a powerful punch, and Ohba fought back to turn the title defense into a Hagler vs. Hearns-style war. He knocked Amores out in round 5. Amores would go on to defeat Octavio Gomez, Gilberto Illueca, Becerra and lose to Carlos Zárate, Eusebio Pedroza and Lupe Pintor.
Betulio Gonzalez vs. Masao Ohba in 1971. At the time, Ohba was on the verge of becoming one of the best flyweights in history. Betulio Gonzalez was a very tough fighter and one of the world's top flyweights during the 1970s, he first achieved a high ranking by defeating former champion Bernabe Villacampo. The Ohba vs. Betulio title fight was action packed and very close. Ohba won by a few points.
This is one of my favorite fights of all-time, an all-out war, and it's sad that it was Masao Ohba's last fight before he passed away in an automobile accident, but I'll tell you what, he went out in style, guns blazing, this is an absolute gift of a fight. It's almost as if he was leaving an exclamation point on his career before he went. This fight was a gift to boxing fans and I'll be forever grateful. Masao Ohba vs Chartchai Chionoi in 1973, what a war. Chionoi was a great fighter, tough, relentless, and a brutal puncher, they don't call him "The Asian Marciano" for nothing, he hits Ohba with a shot, a right hook, in the first round that was absolute legal murder and I still don't know how Ohba got up from it, not only was it a brutal shot but Ohba injured his ankle on the knockdown and had to fight on a bad ankle after picking himself up. If ever a fighter had a "dig deep" moment, this is it for Ohba, up against a brutal puncher on a bum ankle. And dig deep Ohba does, he weathers the hellacious storm that he's trapped in and manages to turn the tide and overpower Chionoi, one of the greatest performances in a boxing ring that I've ever seen. Ohba was not going to be denied and this is one of the reasons I love this sport, when you see a man with his back against the wall, against all odds, fight his way out of a hopeless situation. We see what Masao Ohba is really made of right here and it's a thing of beauty.
Masao Ohba was called the "The Eternal Champion" because he died tragically in a car accident at just 23 years old while still holding his WBA flyweight world title, having never lost a world title bout and successfully defending it multiple times, leaving him a legend who reigned supreme until the end, he carried his title with him, forever the champion.
Masao Ohba, "The Eternal Champion." Watching him on film is eye candy, such a brilliant technician. Beautiful jab, accurate combination punching, the sweet science at it's finest.
On September 11th, 1930, Jimmy McLarnin, "The Irish Lullaby", defeated Al Singer by knockout in the third round of their fight, stopping the highly-rated lightweight champion to build his impressive record en route to welterweight glory, showcasing his power against top Jewish fighters of the era. This is an awesome sequence of photos showing the knockout from two angles.
I've probably mentioned this before, but it's worth mentioning again. Jimmy Mclarnin has one of the best resumes in boxing history, it's absolutely bat$hit insane the fighters he beat. A lot of today's boxing fans have no clue who Mclarnin is and how great a fighter this man truly was.
Fidel LaBarba (HOF)
Pancho Villa (HOF)
Charles "Bud" Taylor (HOF)
Jackie Fields (HOF)
Joe Glick
Louis "Kid" Kaplan (HOF)
Billy Wallace
Sid Terris (HOF)
Sammy Mandell (HOF)
Sergeant Sammy Baker
Al Singer
Billy Petrolle (HOF)
Benny Leonard (HOF)
Sammy Fuller
Young Corbett III (HOF)
Barney Ross (HOF)
Tony Canzoneri (HOF)
Lou Ambers (HOF)
A sequence of photos showing Roberto Duran connect with an after-the-bell right hand to the groin of lightweight champion Ken Buchanan during their fight on June 26th in 1972. Soon after referee Johnny LoBianco ruled Buchanan unfit to continue and declared Duran the victor.
Man, that look on Duran's face in that last photo above says it all, he was ruthless in his prime. Duran was one of the most intimidating fighters in boxing history, ice cold stare, Joe Frazier once said that Duran reminded him of Charles Manson. He had an aura of menace to him. It's part of what made him great, he took boxing life-or-death serious.
For the record, Buchanan had hit Duran after the bell on three separate occasions in that fight and Duran was not about to take it, you didn't want to cross Duran like that.
The cut lip Tureano Johnson received courtesy of a Jaime Munguia uppercut in their October 2020 fight. I have to hand it to Johnson, he's one tough SOB, he didn't want the fight to be stopped and he desperately wanted a rematch with Jaime Munguia, calling it the fight he wanted "more than anything else in this world", feeling he was close to winning before the bad cut ended it.
''A fighter dies a thousand deaths in his dressing room. That's why I was aIways so Iate for my fights. I used to worry my manager and handIers to death. I'd arrive at the arena or baII park maybe twenty minutes before I was due in the ring. I'd get very irritable sitting around waiting to go on. Tension wouId build up in me. Dempsey was the same way. Jack was Iike a wiId man in the dressing room before a fight. I don't think there was ever a fighter who did not know fear on entering the ring. And don't Iet anyone teII you differently. lf he does, he's a Iiar.
By fear, I don't mean that I actuaIIy was afraid of my opponent. My great fear was of Iosing. I was afraid that I wouIdn't please. I wanted to be accepted by the crowd. The whoIe thing scared me. The Iights, the crowd, the noise. The excitement gets you.''
Khaosai Galaxy (right), who battled professionally from 1980 to 1991. He campaigned from junior bantamweight to junior featherweight, winning the world title at 115 and successfully defending it on 19 different occasions. He would retire with a final pro ledger of 47-1. He was nicknamed "Sai Thaluang-Si" which is Thai for "He Who Drills Deep Into Your Intestines", he was a fearsome body puncher, his left hook to the liver was a particularly nasty punch.
Khaokor Galaxy (left), who punched for pay from 1985 to 1989. He possessed a granite chin and swapped leather in the bantamweight and junior featherweight divisions, capturing the world belt at 118 a couple of times. He walked away from the sport with a payed mark of 24-2.
Comments
One last good shot of Peter Jackson.
Daniel Zaragoza, "El Raton" which means "The Mouse" in Spanish, a nod to his elusive, pecking style in the ring, though some fans also called him "El Zurdo de Tacubaya" (The Southpaw from Tacubaya). He was a two-division world champion from Mexico known for his resilience and exciting fights in the 1980s and 90s. He was also the ultimate road warrior.
'"Everyone respects a road warrior. Oleksandr Usyk’s willingness to fight in his opponent’s backyard earns him kudos over other fighters who always seem to insist on having all the cards stacked in their favour. But even among road warriors, Daniel Zaragoza was a rare breed. Over the course of his seventeen-year, sixty-six-bout professional career he fought an Australian in Perth, a Texan in Texas, a Korean in Korea, a Californian in California, Japanese fighters in Japan, a Frenchman in France, a New Yorker in New York, and an Irishman in Boston. He took part in twenty-two world title bouts, and not one of them was in Mexico.''
When Max Schmeling knocked out Joe Louis in 1936, Louis was considered to be in or near his prime as an undefeated, rising star contender, though he was still developing and Schmeling outsmarted him with a superior game plan, leading to the shocking upset. Schmeling, older and considered past his best, exploited a flaw in Louis's technique, delivering the first and only loss of Louis's prime career.
In one of the greatest upsets in heavyweight history, a 31-year-old Max Schmeling, "The Black Uhlan of the Rhine", brilliantly knocked out the undefeated, heavily-favored 22-year-old knockout machine Joe Louis in the 12th round on June 19th, 1936 at Yankee stadium.
Louis had been overconfident, while Schmeling had studied Louis methodically, attending one of his fights and studying his fight films. He noticed that Louis dropped his left arm after jabbing, leaving his face exposed to short, straight rights. That happened to be Schmeling's best punch.
"I see something," Schmeling cryptically told sportswriters.
''People said I was a brawler and a mugger when I got in a boxing ring. Fight to the finish; have a referee that let me fight rough; don't stop the fight on cuts. I was just about unbeatable under those circumstances. Well, those are the rules in a street fight.
I was good in street fights. I had maybe 15 of them when I was a kid and a few more in school. After I retired from boxing, I had some in bars. Bar fights are easy. Guys have been drinking and they can't go more than 30 seconds without getting tired, 60 seconds at most. Guys who've been in prison can be a problem in street fights. A lot of them are vioIent to begin with and then they learned techniques in jail that make them even harder to fight.''
On October 7th, 2018, "The Monster" Naoya Inoue needed just 70 seconds to send Juan Carlos Payona packing. It was the Ring magazine knockout of the year. There's no need to explain why Naoya Inoue is nicknamed "The Monster", because he is just that, you drop Inoue in any era and he raises pure and absolute hell.
'Those were the days when we fought with bare fists, and we were not afraid of hurting our hands, either. Only two of those 500 men ever beat me. They beat me fair enough, but it was my own fault, and I beat them both afterward. Tom King and Bob Brettle beat me. I was a bit careless the day I fought Brettle. I took him too cheap and he hit me one that smashed my jaw and knocked me clean out, but the next time I beat him. I was careless, too, when I fought Tom King the first time, and let him get in a punch that should never have reached me, but I beat him fair and good the next time.
They never gave me thick ears - none of 'em. I suffered more in my hands from punching them than from their punching me. I knew more than they did. I had a better headpiece, but that was only in the ring. Out of the ring I always wanted a master, and since my poor wife died I have had no one to tell me what to do.
More than $1,000,000 I took out of the prize ring, and now it is all gone. Ten championship belts and ten cups I won, and they have all gone. I have a bust of old Tom Sayers left, but I won't let that go if I starve. Where has it all gone? Ask those that got most out of it. I don't know where it has gone. I have nobody now to tell me.''
Joe Grim, honest to god, he might have the greatest chin in boxing history, the guy was from planet Kryton.
Joe Grim: The Human Punching Bag Who Never Won a Fight
By: B. R. Bearden
In boxing, as in any sport, the fans remember the winners and often forget the losers. To be sure, some who lose amid the roar of the crowd gain fame in their defeat. Witness Billy Conn's loss to Joe Louis. But Conn was a superb boxer; light heavyweight champion and member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame. We remember his loss in a way that, rather than detracting from how good he was, instead enhances his memory. He was the light heavyweight who "almost" beat the best heavyweight champion of them all. He was a winner who had a memorable loss.
But what of a loser who had nothing but memorable losses? In point of fact, what of boxer who lost every single fight he ever fought, at least 63 bouts? Other than the families of these record-padding stepping stones, nobody can name the men who played the part of the perpetual victim. Except for one; Joe Grim.
Grim was born in Avellino, Italy in 1881 and named Saverio Giannone. At some point in his early life his family moved to America and at some point young Saverio decided to become a boxer. Dropping his family name he entered the ring, and boxing legend, as Joe Grim. It was a name suited to his style of fighting, for his career was truly grim. Appended to that suitable choice of a moniker were such titles as "the human punching bag", "The Indestructible Man of Pugilism", "The Iron Man", and "The Indian rubber man". For in a sport of give and take, Joe was the ultimate taker.
As Nat Fleischer would say of him, "Grim could neither box nor punch but he possessed an abundance of courage, in fact, too much for his own good. He was slow on his feet and even slower in his thought process. Though he had none of the assets that go to make a good fighter, for many years he was a great drawing card only because of his staying powers and his raw courage. His ability to absorb punishment was incomparable."
Robert E. Howard, creator of Conan the Barbarian, and an avid boxing fan born in the era of Grim, said, "If he ever won a fight, it is not on record. He was neither a boxer nor a fighter in the true sense of the word. He was wide open; a blind man could hit him."
Joe Grim began his career in 1903 with a match against Philadelphia Jack O' Brien, future Hall of Famer. It was a six round contest between O'Brien's punching ability and Grim's toughness. O'Brien broke the knuckles of his right hand trying to stop the unknown kid who came in wide open, throwing windmill punches the ring posts could duck. The fight was a No Contest both by official score and by any method of judging a bout, but it ushered in the bizarre, side-show career of Joe Grim.
Grim's notoriety grew with each succeeding fight. He took terrible beatings from the greatest fighters of his era yet always ended his fights by walking to the ropes and shouting to the crowd, "I am Joe Grim! Nobody can knock me out!"
It wasn't from lack of trying. The best punchers of the first two decades of the 20th century from lightweight to heavyweight took their turns trying to put the Indian Rubber Man down for the count. Philadelphia Jack O'Brien, Joe Walcott, Joe Gans, Jack Johnson, Johnny Kilbane, Sam McVey, Tommy Sullivan, and Battling Levinsky all took their shots, some more than once. They could put him down, they just couldn't make him stay down.
In Grim's 4th fight he was matched with the great Joe Walcott, the famed welterweight champion. He took a shellacking but was still standing after six rounds.
In his next fight he stepped in with Bob Fitzsimmons, former World Heavyweight Champion and current World Light Heavyweight Champion. For six rounds Ruby Robert used every punch known to pugilism to try to finish Grim. He drove in the body blows which had dropped Jim Corbett and won Fitz the title but Grim's rock-hard body accepted them without complaint. In those six furious rounds Bob knocked Grim down sixteen times! And sixteen times, Grim got back up. He even managed to land the last blow of the fight, a kind of "I'm still here" message to his tormentor. As Robert E. Howard described it, he then reeled to the ropes and, grinning through torn lips, shouted his defiance into the crowd, "I am Joe Grim! I fear no man! I challenge that bigga Jeem Jeff' fora da title".
But Jim Jeffries, heavyweight champion already on the verge of retiring undefeated, wasn't interested in fighting an unknown who had just lost his 5th straight fight without a win to the mix. Instead, the promoters set Grim up with Joe Gans, World Lightweight champion and future HOF inductee. Gans weighed in at 138 to Grim's 165 but extra weight was all Grim had in his side of the scales; that and his amazing resilience. The Old Master Gans had no difficulty dealing with the roundhouse swings and the wide open stance of the Italian. He worked inside and battered Joe to a sixth round No Decision which every paper dubbed a totally one-sided victory. Three months later they tried it again, meeting in a 10 round fight, and the only difference was the extra four rounds of pounding Grim absorbed.
Word of Grim spread and people flocked to see who would knock him out first. A succession of fighters tried, some more than once, but come the final bell, Joe Grim would still be standing and able to hurl his challenge to the world, "Nobody can knock me out!"
Twenty or so fights, and losses, into his career Joe Grim laced up to meet future heavyweight champion Jack Johnson in July, 1905. Jack was looking for his shot at the title, but in March he'd lost a 20 rounder to Marvin Hart and he needed something to minimize the loss. A knockout win over the man nobody else could knockout would surely make the boxing crowd take notice. Even though Johnson weighed 210 to only 165 for Grim, there were still doubts he could put the human punching bag away. Confident of his punch, Johnson had wagered heavily that he'd knock the man out.
Some 3000 people, including Nat Fleischer, future founder of The Ring, paid to see the match in Philadelphia and it would be even money on which fighter was the main draw. In the first three rounds Grim was beaten around the ring. He would drop and the crowd would shout, "Get up Joe!" and Joe would get up, a broad grin on his bloodied face. In the fourth Johnson landed a punch that dropped his opponent to the floor with a thud. Grim waited on hands and knees as the referee counted, then jumped up before the count of "ten". Three more times he went down in the round, three more times he got up. The forth round followed suit, and in his corner, an amazed Jack Johnson declared, "He ain't human."
In the fifth Grim was down six times, three times for a count of eight and three times for a count of nine. Each time he rolled to his belly, climbed to his knees, and waited for the referee to "almost" count him out before rising amid the cheers of the crowd. It wasn't boxing, it was a circus act with the lion tamer letting the lions do their worst, then leaving the cage savaged and bloody to take his bows.
The sixth and final round saw a desperate Johnson trying to win his bets. Jack caught Grim with a right to the chin so hard, as Nat Fleischer said, ". it caused Grim to turn a complete somersault." The referee counted as Grim lay there senseless, some thought dead. It appeared he wouldn't beat the count, but on eight the bell rang, ending the fight and saving Grim from his first knockout. He had been knocked down eighteen times by one of the hardest punchers of his time but he hadn't been counted out. In Grim's mind, the defeat was a victory of the only sort he would ever know. More fights followed and the Iron Man didn't disappoint the fans of that cruder era. He didn't win, but he didn't fail to shout out after the final bell, "I'm Joe Grim! Nobody knocks out Joe Grim!"
His record shows losses at 6 rounds, 8 rounds, 10 rounds, all on points. At least eight times he was taken 20 rounds. Six times he was able to get a draw, but never did he receive the win in 60+ outings.
He was the side-show at the boxing circus, a freak of nature in a time when freaks were allowed to make it any way they could. With public interest piqued, Doctors examined Grim and declared his skull to be of extraordinary thickness, perhaps twice that of the average man. It was deduced he wasn't subject to the concussion effect of the blows which knock out the ordinary fighter, and when he said he didn't feel the punches he was probably telling the truth. His face showed the effects, though; his nose was broken so many times it was no more than a lump of tissue, his ears were cauliflower ruins, he was scarred like an old Tom cat. What effect it had on his mental condition seemed not to concern the people of the times. They paid to see Grim take a beating and refuse to stay down and nobody expected him to win. Grim didn't disappoint on either score.
So how did this drama finally play out? It would be satisfying to say that in the end Grim managed to win one. Satisfying, but not the truth, for in the end The Iron Man was finally knocked out.
A study of Grim's record, which is considered incomplete, shows several knockouts recorded, yet boxing experts such as Fleischer disputed them as actual KOs, saying they were TKOs instead. All accounts of Grim, and the words of Howard and Fleischer, say he wasn't knocked out till late in his career by Sailor Burke, and it was the only true knockout of his career. Yet, a study of his record shows a KO by Burke's name as early as 1906, seven years before Joe's last known bout. It seems unlikely the fans would continue to pay to see The Iron Man who's only claim was he had never been knocked out if in fact he had been (and it was known). He fought Burke at least four times, so it's possible he fought him a final time near the end. However, the record books shows Grim's last fight was with Joe Borrel in 1913 and ended in a knockout. Fleischer was present for the Johnson / Grim fight and knew his boxing history, yet he stated, "It wasn't until the closing stages of his career, when all the punishment he absorbed finally caught up to him, that middleweight Sailor Burke of Brooklyn finally put him down for the finally count."
Howard wrote in 1930, "The many batterings took their toll at last, however, and Grim was knocked out by Sailor Burke, a hard-hitting second-rater who stepped off a ship to turn the trick. Grim's heart was broken."
The possibility exists that both Howard and Fleischer got it wrong, maybe from the same source, and it should be Borrel and not Burke who ended Grim's campaign as the man who couldn't be knocked out. Or a fifth and final fight with Burke was unrecorded. Or perhaps the most likely explanation is the indomitable will of Joe Grim was such that people of his time couldn't believe he'd been knocked out by Burke or anyone else, and it was dismissed as hearsay believed only by those who were there.
But whether it was Burke early or Burke late (or Borrel), all accounts agree there was only one knockout in Grim's career. And though he was a good draw, he made very little money off his encounters with the greats of boxing, often getting as little as $25 a fight. When it was all over, a broke and broken man faded away from the view of the public and died unheralded and destitute in 1939.
Yet to those who remembered, like Fleischer, he was the man who always got up one more time than he went down, the loser who never quit, who always staggered to the ropes and boasted, "I am Joe Grim! Nobody can knock me out!
Side view of the Graphene chinned Joe Grim.
The legendary Joe Grim.
Iron man.
Sick photo of "Slapsie" Maxie Rosenbloom showing off the cauliflower ear.
The rugged French middleweight Marcel Thil after the last fight of his career against Fred Apostoli in 1937.
Ricky Hatton and Kostya Tszyu after their fight in 2005.
Ken Buchanan showing off the black eye. Just a day at the office.
Fighting with a fury he hadn't shown since the night in 1938 when he knocked out Max Schmeling in one round, world heavyweight champion, Joe Louis, stopped Buddy Baer, 250-pound Californian, in the first round in Madison Square Garden for the benefit of the New York Auxiliary of the Navy Relief Society on January 9th in 1942.
In the dressing room before the fight, Louis' trainer, Jack Blackburn, who was suffering from arthritis and a weak heart, told Louis that he didn't think he was strong enough to make it up and down the steps to the ring for fifteen rounds. Louis replied, "If you get up those stairs with me, I'll have Baer out before you can relax.”
Buddy Baer, younger brother of heavyweight champion Max, never fought again.
Louis had beaten Baer the previous May via seventh-round DQ, after being knocked through the ropes in the first round.
In a brilliant fight, 24-year-old Amir Khan scored arguably the finest win of his career when he outpointed Marcos Maidana on this day in 2010 in the third defense of his WBA light-welterweight title.
Khan dropped Maidana with a vicious body shot in the first round in Las Vegas and survived a hellacious 10th as the Argentine battered him all over the ring to prevail unanimously on the judges cards.
"What a great fight it was, man," Khan said, before heading for a CAT scan. "I'm sure HBO are happy. I'm sure Sky are happy. This is boxing, and you have to fight the best. You can't take any shortcuts. Most people said to me, 'You've got no chin.' Well, I've proved them wrong.
"He was strong. I hit him with some big shots. And there were times in the fight when I got caught, but took it. I made a few mistakes that I won't make again. Sometimes I fight with my heart too much. But I'm young. I'm still learning."
Roy Jones, Jr. broke one of Virgil Hill's ribs with an eye-popping 4th round body shot KO at the Coast Coliseum in Biloxi, Mississippi on April 25th in 1998.
Both Hill and Jones entered the bout having won silver medals at separate Olympics four years apart, but Jones was younger and much closer to his prime than the experienced Hill.
Hill did well jabbing as Jones tried to set a trap by throwing a fast and hard right hand down the middle so he could counter when Hill retaliated. But in round 4, Hill covered up apparently expecting another right hand up top, and Jones threw with a withering right hand to the ribs that sent Hill down and left him in agony. Hill tried to get up but couldn't make it before the count ended.
Jones-Hill was voted "Knockout of the Year" by The Ring magazine.
"I threw my punch so hard that I almost broke my hand," Jones said. "I hope he's O.K. I don't mean to hurt anyone. I was just putting on a performance for the fans."
Jones purse was $4 million, but he also signed a contract extension with HBO and was gifted a Rolls-Royce from nearby Grand Casino.
There is no other more informative boxing thread on the entire internet
FACT
Here's that Roy Jones Jr. body shot on Virgil Hill that broke Hill's ribs. Prime Roy Jones Jr. was no joke.
Bob Fitzsimmons, one of the greatest pound-for-pound fighters and hardest punchers to ever step foot in a ring, tells the story of how he became a legend.
''My mother began by training me for the ministry. UntiI I was 11 years oId I went to church and sang in the choir twice a week, and to BibIe cIass twice on Sundays. But for a box of snuff and a kicked footbaII I wouId have been a minister today.
We were Iiving in New ZeaIand, about 1,500 miIes across the sea from AustraIia. One day my mother sent me to buy a box of snuff at a chemist shop near our home. On the way I passed an open fieId where two footbaII teams were playing. I waIked sIowIy, watching the game and wishing that I couId get a chance to kick the baII. I was very curious to know how it would feeI. Just whiIe I was wishing, somebody kicked it over the fence and it roIIed right to my feet. So I kicked it back again as hard as I couId.
A second Iater the captain of one of the teams, a big feIIow over six feet taII Ieaped the fence and ran straight at me. Before I had any idea of what he meant to do he struck me a terrific bIow on the nose, smashing it and cutting a gash across the bridge that is the onIy scar I carry today after hundreds of ring battIes. The bIow knocked me senseIess. I was unconscious for three hours and a haIf, and the bIood that ran down my throat strangIed me so that I came very near to dying.
At Iast they brought me to. The coin I was carrying had fIown out of my hand when I was struck. I remember that I had started for some snuff, but I had nothing to buy it with, so I staggered home in the dark, empty-handed. When I sIipped in through the door my mother onIy saw that I had a bIoody nose. My training for the ministry hadn't incIuded fighting. I'd often been warned that I must not fight.
'You've been fighting, haven't you?' asked my mother. And without another word she turned and took a stout whip down from it's naiI on the waII and proceeded to give me the worst whipping I ever had in my Iife. Then she sent me to bed.
Next morning she came to my room. My eyes had sweIIed over night and were cIosed tight and my nose was a sight. When my mother saw for the first time how badIy I was hurt she cried over me and toId me again and again how sorry she was she had whipped me, and I toId her how it aII happened. Then she sent for a doctor.
I was hurt Friday afternoon. Saturday there was no schooI and on Sunday my eyes were stiII closed, so for the first time I was Iet out of going to church. But Monday I was made to go to schooI. There the schoIars Iaughed at me so much that I ran home, and I never went to either a schooI or a church afterward. My mother used to send me to church, but I'd Iie on the grass outside and Iisten to the hymns, because I Ioved the singing, and then ask somebody the minister's text so I couId teII what it was when they asked me at home.
The troubIe was that aII this time I couId onIy think of the man who had beaten me. Week after week the desire for revenge grew. But I was a sIim IittIe feIIow, onIy 11, and I knew I'd have no chance to fight if I met him. Brooding over it put an idea into my mind. I'd work and grow as strong as I couId, and Iearn how to fight, so that I'd be ready when I was big enough to tackIe him.
I went to my brother's bIacksmith shop and induced him to give me two oId Ieather aprons. I cut these up into patterns for boxing gIoves. I'd never seen any, but I'd heard about them. I sewed the gIoves with string and stuffed them with Ieather cIippings and cotton, and then got the other boys of the neighborhood together and boxed with them every day.
In a coupIe of years I couId outbox any of them easiIy, and I was growing taII. Every night before I went to sIeep I thought of what I'd do to that footbaII player when I grew a IittIe bigger. We were right by the sea and I heard about what great fighters saiIors were. So I made up my mind to run away and be a saiIor for a year or two. I had fixed it up with a captain of a bark caIIed the IsabeIIa RidIey and was about to skip out the next morning when up came a terribIe storm in the night and wrecked IsabeIIa RidIey and nine or ten other vesseIs, driving them high on the shore. I gave up the sea and got a job as a carriage painter at 7 shiIIings a week.
In a few months I was a good painter, having a very steady hand for the fine striping. But that wasn't making me strong fast enough and I got another job as a striker in Parson & Andrews foundry, swinging a heavy sIedge. This was great work, but after three years I threw a hot tire over the foreman one day and got fired.
WhiIe I was working there, 15 years oId, I had my first ring fights, to a finish with bare knuckIes, London prize ring ruIes. I won them aII with knockouts. My next job after the foundry was as a painter, then as a paperhanger. I couId do three men's work, and did it. Next I went to work as a horseshoer for my brother. I stuck to that job for 5 years.
AII this time I never forgot about the footbaII captain. By the time I was 17 I concIuded I couId whip him, and the next two years I spent aII of my spare time traveIing around to footbaII matches Iooking for him. But he had disappeared, and to this day I've never set eyes on him.
He knocked me out of being a minister, and if I'd ever found him I'd have knocked him out of being a footbaII player. But I don't hoId the grudge any more. He punched me from poverty into a bunch of fortunes. But for him I'd never have been a fighter.''
This is one of my favorite photos of Bob Fitzsimmons, knowing his reputation as a puncher, he looks intimidating as hell in this photo. He was one of the most destructive punchers this sport has ever known. Here's what the legendary boxing analyst Matt McGrain said about Bob Fitzsimmons' punching:
3 – Bob Fitzsimmons
“Whilst physicians were examining him, Ruhlin opened his eyes and faintly asked for water. This was given him as he again lapsed into a sort of stupor. Blood at this time was trickling from his ears and nose.”
- The San Francisco Call
Nobody hit like Fitz.
Boxing at the then middleweight limit of 154 lbs., he stopped the granite-chinned nonpareil champion Jack Dempsey in just 13 rounds in what was described as the most scientific display of boxing seen up until that point. Then a boxer-puncher known for his exceptional poise in the ring, Fitz spent the next years adding layer upon layer to one of the most studied, devastating offenses in history. The March 9th, 1893 edition of The Times Democrat published as beautiful and complete a description of Bob’s style as can be seen:
“He will advance when his antagonist least expects it, and often when in full retreat will wheel suddenly about and meet his advancing rival with right or left just in time to borrow his momentum and add it to the force of his own blow…”
Fitzsimmons was the ultimate trap-smith, perhaps unparalleled even today at laying bait, guiding opponents onto his punches, switching the attack at the last possible minute.
“..Though exceedingly apt to advance and force the fighting at times, he has a wonderful faculty of doing so just when his opponent is not ready to meet him with a blow, and by the time a blow is launched in his direction he is generally in the act of getting away…”
An opening rarely missed, Fitzsimmons would become famous in his career for picking certain vulnerable spots and landing upon them, accuracy above and beyond what can be seen in even a world-class fighter.
“…With all his violent exertion, he never seems to become tired.”
An engine almost infallible, Fitz carried one-punch knockout power of the most devastating kind to the late rounds. His 14th round one-punch knockout of James J. Corbett, which caused the champion’s eyes “to roll back into his head until no pupil was visible,” is amongst the most famous in history. Landed by hands so fast that many at ringside did not see it go in, Corbett was all but paralyzed, crawling pitifully across the ring floor, arguably the greatest heavyweight of his generation laid low by a single blow from a man fighting at the modern super-middleweight limit.
His one punch knockout of middleweight contender Jim Hall was so violent and sudden that onlookers thought him dead; tragically, two men would indeed go to their graves behind punches landed by Ruby Red.
Other victims such as world-class heavyweight Peter Maher were dropped—unconscious—by invisible punches that left their eyes rolling in their heads, confused, when revived, as to what had actually happened to them. Speed enough to make punches invisible to the naked eye. Perhaps unequalled pound-for-pound power. Traps, feints and counterpunching skills unmatched in his era. What kind of fluidity and devastation on offense can keep this monster from the top two?
One more good shot of Bob Fitzsimmons.
Sir Henry Cooper had one of the best and most brutal left hooks in boxing history, his left hook was so brutal it had it's own nickname, "Enry's 'Ammer."
Ambrose Palmer, arguably the greatest boxer Australia ever produced, became a trainer after his fighting days, he taught Johnny Famechon his tricks which Famechon's biographer called "The Method", they was centered around the left jab, educated footwork, defense, and fitness.
Australian Boxing Zone
Ambrose Palmer
Ambrose Palmer was born in Footscray, Victoria into a boxing family. His father Bill was a former Victorian lightweight champion who had trained with the legendary heavyweight Peter Jackson, and together they developed “The Method,” a technical style of boxing that Bill then taught to his sons.
Ambrose followed his older brothers into the professional game after losing in the final of the 1927 national amateur title. Ambrose went undefeated in his first year as a pro, earning himself an eliminator against Brisbane’s Norm Johnson. Palmer was ahead on points when he was disqualified for a low blow.
At the end of 1930, Australian middleweight champion Jack Haines was criticised in the press for selecting Palmer as an opponent for a non-title fight. Palmer shocked the 23-year-old champion, outpointing Haines in a major upset which earned him a shot at the Australian middleweight title.
Haines built up an early lead but had to settle for a draw after Palmer rallied in the championship rounds. The two men fought their third 15-rounder in just 12 weeks on December 27. Palmer once again rallied, knocking Haines out in the 12th round and became the new star of Australian boxing. Haines spent a month in hospital after the bout recovering from a cerebral haemorrhage.
Palmer lost the title on another low blow to Bob Thornton but reclaimed it with a win points win over Thornton in September 1933. In his final successful defence of the middleweight title, Palmer outpointed Fred Henneberry in a thrilling 15-round fight in October 1931. Palmer added the heavyweight title to his collection with a points win over Jack O’Malley in February 1932. In his next fight, he surrendered the middleweight title to Henneberry when he was again disqualified for a low blow.
With issues making the middleweight division, Palmer stayed at heavyweight and agreed to a major money fight with world-ranked contender Young Stribling. Stribling toyed with Palmer, badly damaging his left eye and knocking him out in ten rounds, however Palmer made just under a year’s salary for the fight.
Palmer continued to dominate the light heavyweight and heavyweight divisions in Australia from 1932-1936, never losing to another Australian boxer. Among his victories in this time were three wins over fellow three-weight national champion Ron Richards and a stoppage win over Henneberry in their 1936 rubber match. He also split fights with former welterweight title challenger Dave Shade (losing again by low blow) and defeated American puncher Deacon Leo Kelly.
After a brief tour to Great Britain was cut short due to family issues, Palmer returned to Australia. He was stopped by Deacon Leo Kelly in their rematch, which derailed a major money fight with Maxie Rosenbloom, and Palmer retired afterwards due to further damage to his left eye. He later returned to the ring, stopping Kelly in a rubber match before scoring his fourth win over Ron Richards to regain the Australian heavyweight title before. Palmer retired for good following a points loss to Gus Lesnevich, the first time he was beaten over the distance.
After boxing, Palmer played Australian Rules Football for Footscray before a broken jaw forced his retirement. He trained fighters in Melbourne throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s and 70s, teaching “The Method” to a new generation of Australian boxers. His crowning accomplishment as a trainer was he guided Johnny Famechon to the world featherweight title in 1969. Palmer died in 1990, aged 79.
Ambrose Palmer and "The Method."
Ambrose Palmer gives advice to Johnny Famechon
The Method
By: Robert Drane
Boxing trainer Ambrose Palmer’s system of fighting was dubbed “The Method”.
Ambrose Palmer’s unique one-handed technique set tongues wagging and helped legendary Australian Johnny Famechon to world championship glory.Boxing trainer Ambrose Palmer’s system of fighting was dubbed “The Method” by Johnny Famechon’s biographer, Frank Quill, who collaborated with “Fammo” on a book about this amazingly effective boxing style. Palmer himself had been an elusive and solid-punching fighter; a world-rated light-heavyweight. He’d also played Australian rules football for Footscray and won several professional sprints. He was a gentleman sportsman, and a thinker.Famechon, born of great French boxing stock, was a skinny kid when he first entered Palmer’s gym, but, conscious of the tradition in his blood, he was a keen learner. So faithful was Famechon to Palmer’s ways that when he took up dancing lessons to impress the girls, he couldn’t bust a move. Ambrose had taught him to dance, and it was the only dance that mattered.Anyone who saw “Fammo” had never seen anything like him. We’ve never seen his like since. He beat the seemingly unbeatable Jose Legra for the world featherweight title in 1969, and lost it, controversially, in 1970 to the undefeated, comebacking ex-champion Vicente Saldivar.
As a trainer, Palmer’s method was based on a non-negotiable bottom line. To “hit and not be hit” was, to Palmer, the entire point of boxing. The style he developed was based on the left jab, which was to be fast, relentless, accurate, always in the face and body of onrushing opponents and endlessly piling up points. That jab was often conveyed with an unconventional upright fist for machine gun delivery. Lateral movement, founded on leg stamina and hip and waist strength, was to be swift, its choreography practised endlessly in the gym. Palmer would use a frame to keep his fighters’ feet together as they lay on their backs doing leg raises and rotations, strengthening their midriffs – vital for the twists and low ducking evasions of Palmer’s way. Famechon would duck so low he could sniff the canvas, and perform this manoeuvre in the same time it would take for another fighter to slip a punch with a small head movement.The right hand (for an orthodox fighter) was considered a high-risk punch by Ambrose – a last resort. Throughout the duration of a fight, that glove was be glued to the chin, and rather than closed into a fist, it was to be open, the last line of defence if an opponent happened to catch The Method’s mercurial exponent.
At times, Palmer’s fighters would spar with the right hand fixed in this position – via a tie he’d slip over their heads and around their wrist – and rendered useless as an attacking weapon. But the left would become so deft and nuanced, one could imagine Famechon picking a lock wearing eight-ounce boxing gloves in the same instant it took him to throw one of those jabs. According to Fammo, Palmer’s gruelling gym workouts were characterised by “speed and more speed”. Fammo was an all-action fighter, his elusive style something other fighters could only aspire to.
The Method was based on scoring, and if Fammo wasn’t striking, he was waiting for them to strike so he could counter. That right glove, always open, always stuck to the left jaw, was the most unusual thing about the style. Of course, it had its pay-off. In his last few fights, it was felt Fammo’s seldom-thrown right shocked opponents, but he never threw it enough. Fammo was an almost hyperactive practitioner who never stopped moving and never once abandoned his method, even when in trouble. Palmer made his fighters fit enough to carry out his technique under any conditions.
In fact, Famechon demonstrated a very important sporting principle: no matter what technique you choose, master it in all circumstances, and if you conquer your own system, you’ll be well-nigh unconquerable. Fammo’s victory over Legra was a triumph of technique over dash. In his first fight against Fighting Harada, Fammo was dropped brutally. His head hit the canvas hard. He broke his ankle. Yet, when he staggered to his feet, his main concern was not to survive, but to resume his technique as quickly as possible. Immediately he had Harada chasing him. Fammo’s head cleared, and he won.In 1976, Rocky Mattioli became world light-middleweight champ long after he’d left Ambrose to take up residence in Italy. Today, the “Rock” realises that the tight defence he carried throughout his career (even with his “slugger” reputation), the ability to throw a winning left jab and the desire to prevail with superior technique were all Ambrose’s doing. “He was”, the Rock growls now in his Milanese accent, “the man who made me a world champion.”
Many used Palmer’s way to win Australian, Commonwealth and world championships: Australia’s Jack Johnson, Max Carlos, Foster Bibron, Paul Ferreri, Mattioli. But Famechon became the exemplar of The Method. He retired unmarked, the only world featherweight champ to retire without the blemish of a knockout or stoppage loss on his record.
Ambrose Palmer was a great fighter, he fought and beat some real bada$$es from his native Australia, Fred Henneberry and Ron Richards to name a few. Fred Henneberry was one of the most vicious fighters in boxing history, great guy outside the ring, but you didn't want to cross him inside that ring, and Ron Richards was a murderous puncher.
Music break.
On this day in 1981, the great Mexican fighter Salvador Sánchez,"The Invincible Eagle", had a tough time making his seventh defense of the WBC featherweight title by 15 round split decision over Pat Cowdell at the Astrodome in Houston, Texas.
While Sánchez wasn't undefeated, he hadn't lost in about five years and was widely recognized as one of the most skilled fighters in the world. Cowdell came into the bout at 19-2 and he held the British featherweight title, and he was a tough and game fighter.
Cowdell troubled Sánchez early with his jab and the champion couldn't get any momentum with his combinations as he usually did. Sánchez still managed to connect on the cleaner punches apart from Cowdell's jab, and in typical fashion, Sánchez got better as the fight went into the late rounds.
In the 9th round, Sánchez hurt Cowdell with a hook and before long Cowdell's face busted open and he bled freely the rest of the fight. In the last round, Cowdell went down for the first time in his career on a right hand, but he finished the fight.
"I had never seen him fight before, and so I held up longer in the fight," Sánchez said. "I just couldn't figure him out. He fights in a very awkward way."
That Sanchez-Cowdell fight was something else, a great fight. Sanchez was truly special, one of the greatest fighters in the history of this sport. Sanchez, the definition of a 15 round fighter, the great Mexican's ability in the championship rounds was unparalleled. But Pat Cowdell was one tough SOB and a good fighter, you really had to be on top of your game to beat Pat Cowdell, and he showed it that night against Sanchez, he gave Sanchez all he could handle.
Sorry perkdog, I'm going so fast on this thread I missed your post. Thank you for the kind words, I'm having a blast, I'm in my element and I can't stay away from this thread, it's truly an addiction and I'm hooked!
"The Basque Woodchopper" Paulino Uzcudun shows off his gold teeth. Uzcudun was a heavyweight contender in the 1920s and 30s. He was a strong fighter with a granite chin who was usually good for going the distance. He was called the "The Basque Woodchopper" because he came from the Basque region of Spain and was a champion aizkolari, a traditional Basque sport involving competitive wood chopping, giving him immense strength that translated perfectly to his brutal boxing style. His powerful punches were often compared to an axe chopping wood, fitting his strong, durable, and tough persona in the ring. I love this photo, he looks like Jaws, can you imagine going toe-to-toe with a Bond villain?
Great shots right here. In the 1956 "Fight of the Year," Carmen Basilio regained the welterweight championship with a brutal 9th round TKO of Johnny Saxton at the War Memorial Auditorium in Syracuse, New York.
Basilio won the title from Tony DeMarco about 18 months earlier and defeated DeMarco in an exciting rematch before losing the title to Saxton by disputed decision in their first fight. A return was a natural matchup, and this time Basilio left no doubt.
Saxton foolishly stood and traded with Basilio in the first several rounds, and despite winning a few of them, he stayed inside too long and ate too many hard body shots. Saxton attempted to go back to his natural tactics of movement and jabs, but he'd used up too much energy.
In round 7, Saxton got a bad cut in his mouth as Basilio opened up. Saxton's very experienced cutman Whitey Bimstein would later claim it was the worst cut he'd ever seen. The cut combined with the pressure took everything out of Saxton, and by the 9th he was helpless against Basilio's onslaught and the fight was ended by the referee.
The great Masao Ohba was a legendary Japanese WBA Flyweight World Champion, known as "The Eternal Champion," who tragically died in a car crash at age 23, just weeks after a thrilling title defense in January 1973, leaving a legacy as one of boxing's greatest flyweights with a 35-2-1 record, celebrated for his comeback skills and induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2015. He was a highly skilled technical boxer, known for his excellent jab, fast combinations, and effective counterpunching. Ohba captured the WBA Flyweight title in 1970 by stopping Berkrerk Chartvanchai, he successfully defended his title five times against tough opponents like Betulio Gonzalez, Fernando Cabanela, and Chartchai Chionoi. Known for his resilience, he often overcame early knockdowns to win by knockout, exemplified in his final bout against Chionoi. His life was tragically cut short in a car accident on January 24, 1973, just 23 days after his last fight.
Remembering Masao Ohba, The Eternal Champion
By: Corey Erdman
Around the holidays, boxing fans in the western world tend to zoom in on the Japanese boxing scene, with New Year’s events typically headlined by Kazuto Ioka and the big stars of the day headlining the calendar for a week or two. But as exciting as this time is for the Japanese boxing community, it’s also a time of mourning, as it also marks the anniversary of the final bout—and ultimately untimely passing—of one of its most beloved stars.
Masao Ohba is one of the greatest flyweights of his generation and a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame, inducted in 2015 as part of the Old Timer category. At 21-years of age, Ohba won the WBA flyweight title in 1970, knocking out Berkrerk Chartvanchai in the 13th round of a fight that portended what nearly all of Ohba’s title bouts would look like—a high-level bloodbath with Ohba ultimately eroding his opponent. He would make five defenses of the title, the last being on January 2, 1973. In what biographer Juntaro Oda described as the “most tragic and dramatic bout” in Japanese history, he defended his title against Chartchai Chionoi.
By the time he was preparing to face Chionoi, Ohba was already having difficulty getting his 5-foot-6 frame down to the 112-pound limit. However, when he first began boxing, there were concerns about whether he would even be big enough to fight at all.
Ohba was the son of a rabid boxing fan, introduced to the sport at a young age. His father made a steady income as a factory worker, but wagered much of it, struggling with a gambling addiction. As a result, Ohba entered the workforce at a young age, dropping out of junior high school to work at a candy shop and help provide for the family. Even the staff discount sweets couldn’t sufficiently bulk him up, and when he entered the Teiken, trainer Shoji Ogata told Sakigake.jp that Ohba "had a pale face and a slim body that seemed like it would break.” He was just 105 pounds in an era nearly three decades before the adoption of the minimumweight division by major sanctioning bodies.
With few other options, he was determined to strike it rich with his fists. With a work ethic rooted in a childhood of extreme poverty, he both put on seven pounds of muscle and hit the jackpot with a growth spurt height-wise. Now he was not just talented, but a menacing figure physically.
Ohba doesn’t often get mentioned when discussing the greatest jabbers in boxing history, but he should. Unlike other great lead-hand artists who often use their jab to control the tempo as they ponder and strategize, Ohba’s left hand was both persistent and dangerous. His fights would often follow a familiar pattern. Ohba was often vulnerable early in fights, and on several occasions had to rally back from scary moments. Once he stabilized however, his left hand was in perpetual motion, prodding, jabbing, hooking. At a certain point it would take its toll, and Ohba would tap into his relentless finishing ability, uncorking a right hand that had been waiting for its opportunity to shine all fight long.
Ohba was unlike any fighter Japan had seen before, and much like fighters like Kazuto Ioka and the Kamedas many years later, was willing to buck the trend of what was considered typical Japanese fighter behavior. His rivalry against Susumu Hanagata, which produced two tremendous battles, also produced one of the first instances of public animosity between two Japanese boxers, regarded as the first “war of words” between two countrymen. At the press conference and weigh-in prior to their 1972 title fight, the two turned their backs to one another, according to Hanagata, “looking for ways to spice things up” marketing-wise. Following that bout, which was the second world title fight between two Japanese fighters, they embraced in the ring and said “let’s do this again.”
The plan was seemingly for them to do exactly that. After a vacation in Hawaii (where he went to support Josephine Quitugua, Guam’s first female fight promoter), and a thrilling KO win over Orlando Amores, Ohba moved on to face the great Chionoi, Thailand’s second-ever world boxing champion. Though he couldn’t afford to overlook his legendary opponent, he, Hanagata and fans no doubt dreamed of a rubber match.
Admittedly, Chionoi would turn out to be even tougher than Ohba expected. It didn’t take long for that to become clear, as he was floored and hurt badly by a right hand just 40 seconds into the fight. "I did not expect the long hook that hit me first and made me groggy," he said following the fight. "I (also) did not expect the second (punch) that dropped me on my pants."
The right hand did more than just wobble him, it also sprained his right ankle. As Ohba tumbled to the canvas, he landed awkwardly on his foot. For the rest of the fight, his trainer Isamu Kuwata applied ice on his leg in between rounds.
Eventually his limp would diminish, and seemingly through sheer determination, Ohba was able to rally back. His signature jab was still put to use, but with diminished mobility, Ohba had to stand and trade with Chionoi much more than he’d perhaps intended to. As a result, the fight turned into what may have been 1973’s best, despite the award being given to George Foreman’s destruction of Joe Frazier by RING Magazine.
In the 12th round, mere moments after eating a colossal right hand that his chin and ankle somehow stood up to, Ohba rattled Chionoi with a right hand of his own. After a flurry that consisted of roughly 35 punches, Chionoi finally hit the mat, his back against the bottom rope. When he got back to his feet, Ohba threw another 23 punches at him, causing Chionoi to simply turn, walk to the corner and slump with his back against the corner pad. The referee allowed the bout to continue, but Ohba, seeing red through a brutally swollen left eye, jumped on Chionoi immediately and caused the referee to wave it off.
Chionoi said afterwards that he had “no excuses” for losing the fight. Although his management protested the finish, which the WBA ruled was not improper days later, it was clear that there was no controversy. This was simply one of the most breathtaking displays of courage seen in a ring in some time. Ohba was now living the life he’d always wanted. A lover of cars, he’d never been able to afford one, but now he had the money to purchase a Chevrolet Corvette. A month before his win over Chionoi, he’d acquired a driver’s license. His earnings from the Chionoi fight also made him comfortable enough to purchase his parents a home.
"I owe them so much,” Ohba said. “They always dreamed of living in a house that didn't have a leaking roof, a home with a garden. They did whatever they could to give me and my brothers a chance."
On January 22 of 1973, Ohba ran into fellow world champion Koichi Wajima at Korakuen Hall. The two were friends, sharing an interest in automobiles, as Wajima was also a truck driver before his boxing career. Wajima looked up to Ohba, who was older than him by six years but won a world title before him. Wajima noticed that Ohba was still limping, “dragging his leg” due to his injury sustained in his most recent fight. Ohba’s bravery in that fight, Wajima said, inspired him to rally and retain his light middleweight crown in a draw with Miguel de Oliveira.
After exchanging pleasantries, Wajima said he wanted to track Ohba down in the arena and tell him that he should refrain from driving for a little while until his injury healed, but never got the chance to.
Three days later, on January 25, 1973, Masao Ohba passed away. Ohba was heading back to the Teiken Gym driving his new ivory Corvette on the Shuto Expressway, lost control driving 60 miles per hour, crossed over a median and collided with an oncoming truck. Autopsies determined that Ohba died on impact as a result of a skull fracture. Ohba was just 23 years old.
When Wajima heard the news, he wrote last year, he felt a deep sense of loss, like he’d “lost a comrade in arms,” and regretted not warning Ohba when he had the chance. Fighting Harada expressed deep sadness as well, and suggested that boxers should not drive cars at all.
Ohba’s rival, Hanagata, was watching on television when the news broke, and felt the same way.
“There was no one with such a competitive spirit,” Hanagata said in an interview on the 50th anniversary of Ohba’s death last year. Hanagata said that if Ohba had lived, he believed would have went on to become a trainer.
Wajima wrote that he believed Ohba would have gone on to win world title in five weight classes. Instead, Ohba is one of boxing’s most tragic “what ifs,” alongside the late Salvador Sanchez. However, his legacy has managed to live on in many beautiful ways in Japan where he is known as The Eternal Champion.
In an early edition of Hajime no Ippo, perhaps the most popular manga series ever based on a fictional Japanese boxer, Ohba is cited as an inspiration for the kind of heart Ippo needs to succeed as a fighter. Ohba’s greatest rival, Hanagata opened his own gym in part to honor his fallen foe and friend, and in his office hangs a photo of the two posing together before their second fight.
The Ohba lineage has carried on in the ring as well—with a connection to his final rival. His nephew Soh learned the sport from Isamu Kuawata, and eventually formed a close bond with Chartchai Chionoi, who took him under his wing before his passing in 2018.
Soh Ohba has fought his entire career in Thailand, and has a modest goal in mind with the hopes of honoring his late uncle: Becoming the first Japanese WBU champion at the age of 42.
Each year, on the anniversary of Masao Ohba’s passing, fans gather at his gravesite and join hands to honor him. Last year, one fan, Toshi Watanabe, who made the trip from Tokyo to Saitama, spoke with Yahoo Japan.
"Every year, I visit on the anniversary of his death in spring and autumn. I pray that he rests in peace and that he watches over the Japanese boxing world from heaven,” he said.
It doesn't appear that there are many good photos of Masao Ohba's fights available, crying shame, he was in some good ones. Ohba had a lot of heart, he had to pick himself off the canvas on more than one occasion to win a fight. Latino Boxing History on Facebook found this one for us:
The shootout between Masao Ohba and Orlando Amores. Unfortunately, there are only two of Amores' fights on the internet (against Ohba and Zarate), I would like to see more. At the time, he was a highly regarded boxer with good power and a notable winning streak, defeating Enrique Pinder, Luis Estaba, Fermin Gomez, Jimenez and Torres. Ohba was a respected world champion with defenses against Betulio González, Cabanela and Hanagata. Early in the fight, Amores knocked Ohba down with a powerful punch, and Ohba fought back to turn the title defense into a Hagler vs. Hearns-style war. He knocked Amores out in round 5. Amores would go on to defeat Octavio Gomez, Gilberto Illueca, Becerra and lose to Carlos Zárate, Eusebio Pedroza and Lupe Pintor.
Betulio Gonzalez vs. Masao Ohba in 1971. At the time, Ohba was on the verge of becoming one of the best flyweights in history. Betulio Gonzalez was a very tough fighter and one of the world's top flyweights during the 1970s, he first achieved a high ranking by defeating former champion Bernabe Villacampo. The Ohba vs. Betulio title fight was action packed and very close. Ohba won by a few points.
This is one of my favorite fights of all-time, an all-out war, and it's sad that it was Masao Ohba's last fight before he passed away in an automobile accident, but I'll tell you what, he went out in style, guns blazing, this is an absolute gift of a fight. It's almost as if he was leaving an exclamation point on his career before he went. This fight was a gift to boxing fans and I'll be forever grateful. Masao Ohba vs Chartchai Chionoi in 1973, what a war. Chionoi was a great fighter, tough, relentless, and a brutal puncher, they don't call him "The Asian Marciano" for nothing, he hits Ohba with a shot, a right hook, in the first round that was absolute legal murder and I still don't know how Ohba got up from it, not only was it a brutal shot but Ohba injured his ankle on the knockdown and had to fight on a bad ankle after picking himself up. If ever a fighter had a "dig deep" moment, this is it for Ohba, up against a brutal puncher on a bum ankle. And dig deep Ohba does, he weathers the hellacious storm that he's trapped in and manages to turn the tide and overpower Chionoi, one of the greatest performances in a boxing ring that I've ever seen. Ohba was not going to be denied and this is one of the reasons I love this sport, when you see a man with his back against the wall, against all odds, fight his way out of a hopeless situation. We see what Masao Ohba is really made of right here and it's a thing of beauty.
Great shot of Ohba knocking Chionoi down the first time.
Masao Ohba after his war with Chartchai Chionoi.
Masao Ohba and his trainer Johnny Villaflor.
Masao Ohba was called the "The Eternal Champion" because he died tragically in a car accident at just 23 years old while still holding his WBA flyweight world title, having never lost a world title bout and successfully defending it multiple times, leaving him a legend who reigned supreme until the end, he carried his title with him, forever the champion.
Masao Ohba, "The Eternal Champion." Watching him on film is eye candy, such a brilliant technician. Beautiful jab, accurate combination punching, the sweet science at it's finest.
On September 11th, 1930, Jimmy McLarnin, "The Irish Lullaby", defeated Al Singer by knockout in the third round of their fight, stopping the highly-rated lightweight champion to build his impressive record en route to welterweight glory, showcasing his power against top Jewish fighters of the era. This is an awesome sequence of photos showing the knockout from two angles.
I've probably mentioned this before, but it's worth mentioning again. Jimmy Mclarnin has one of the best resumes in boxing history, it's absolutely bat$hit insane the fighters he beat. A lot of today's boxing fans have no clue who Mclarnin is and how great a fighter this man truly was.
Fidel LaBarba (HOF)
Pancho Villa (HOF)
Charles "Bud" Taylor (HOF)
Jackie Fields (HOF)
Joe Glick
Louis "Kid" Kaplan (HOF)
Billy Wallace
Sid Terris (HOF)
Sammy Mandell (HOF)
Sergeant Sammy Baker
Al Singer
Billy Petrolle (HOF)
Benny Leonard (HOF)
Sammy Fuller
Young Corbett III (HOF)
Barney Ross (HOF)
Tony Canzoneri (HOF)
Lou Ambers (HOF)
The all-time great featherweight Johnny Dundee,"The Scotch Wop", with famous TV host Ed Sullivan, they were really good friends.
A sequence of photos showing Roberto Duran connect with an after-the-bell right hand to the groin of lightweight champion Ken Buchanan during their fight on June 26th in 1972. Soon after referee Johnny LoBianco ruled Buchanan unfit to continue and declared Duran the victor.
Man, that look on Duran's face in that last photo above says it all, he was ruthless in his prime. Duran was one of the most intimidating fighters in boxing history, ice cold stare, Joe Frazier once said that Duran reminded him of Charles Manson. He had an aura of menace to him. It's part of what made him great, he took boxing life-or-death serious.
For the record, Buchanan had hit Duran after the bell on three separate occasions in that fight and Duran was not about to take it, you didn't want to cross Duran like that.
The cut lip Tureano Johnson received courtesy of a Jaime Munguia uppercut in their October 2020 fight. I have to hand it to Johnson, he's one tough SOB, he didn't want the fight to be stopped and he desperately wanted a rematch with Jaime Munguia, calling it the fight he wanted "more than anything else in this world", feeling he was close to winning before the bad cut ended it.
''A fighter dies a thousand deaths in his dressing room. That's why I was aIways so Iate for my fights. I used to worry my manager and handIers to death. I'd arrive at the arena or baII park maybe twenty minutes before I was due in the ring. I'd get very irritable sitting around waiting to go on. Tension wouId build up in me. Dempsey was the same way. Jack was Iike a wiId man in the dressing room before a fight. I don't think there was ever a fighter who did not know fear on entering the ring. And don't Iet anyone teII you differently. lf he does, he's a Iiar.
By fear, I don't mean that I actuaIIy was afraid of my opponent. My great fear was of Iosing. I was afraid that I wouIdn't please. I wanted to be accepted by the crowd. The whoIe thing scared me. The Iights, the crowd, the noise. The excitement gets you.''
THE GALAXY TWINS
Khaosai Galaxy (right), who battled professionally from 1980 to 1991. He campaigned from junior bantamweight to junior featherweight, winning the world title at 115 and successfully defending it on 19 different occasions. He would retire with a final pro ledger of 47-1. He was nicknamed "Sai Thaluang-Si" which is Thai for "He Who Drills Deep Into Your Intestines", he was a fearsome body puncher, his left hook to the liver was a particularly nasty punch.
Khaokor Galaxy (left), who punched for pay from 1985 to 1989. He possessed a granite chin and swapped leather in the bantamweight and junior featherweight divisions, capturing the world belt at 118 a couple of times. He walked away from the sport with a payed mark of 24-2.