Jim remembered what Lewis had written about his fight with
Tommy Loughran. He repeated the reporter's words to himself:
"Loughran destroyed the unskilled New Jersey fighter. The fight
was a funeral with the body still breathing."
Lewis saw the look in Jim's eyes and stopped smiling. "I don't
fight the fights, Braddock. I just write about them."
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Jim stepped up to Sporty, toe to toe and eye to eye. "Save that
garbage for your readers," he said.
Suddenly, the door opened and an official pointed at Jim. "It's
time," he said.
Jim left the room, keeping his eyes on Sporty Lewis's. Sporty
stared after him, pale and shaken.
"That guy," he said to the official. "What a loser!"
Minutes later, Sporty was back in his seat by the side of the
boxing ring. A young reporter next to him asked, "Who's Jim
Braddock?"
"Get your pencil out, kid," Sporty Lewis said. "I have your story
for you: 'The walk from the changing room to the ring was the
only time tonight that Jim Braddock was seen on his feet.' "
•
"In this corner, Corn Griffin!"
Griffin jumped to the center of the ring and lifted his thick
arms above his head. The tall young boxer wore a confident smile
on his face. He was young and powerful, a natural heavyweight
with long arms and a big punch.
"And in this corner . . . from New Jersey . . .Jim Braddock!"
The crowd were silent.
When the bell rang, Griffin came out punching hard and
fast. Braddock danced and dodged, doing everything possible to
keep away from Corn's powerful punches. After thirty seconds,
Braddock decided that this fight was a bad idea. His opponent had
trained hard and was ready to fight. He timed his jabs and punches
to Braddock's body perfectly. Jim's only goal now was to finish the
fight without getting hurt. He had to be able to work at the docks
the next day.
Suddenly, a big left-hand punch from Griffin hit Braddock on
the side of the head. He went down. As he lay there, the clocks
seemed to stop.
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