For your reading enjoyment . . .

Many of the greatest sports writers — from Red Smith to Jim Coleman to Jim Murray — pounded out some of their best work when they were around the sport of boxing. Here’s a gem from Murray that landed in my email, courtesy of the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation (www.jimmurrayfoundation.org).
Enjoy!
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Tuesday, February 14, 1961, SPORTS
Copyright 1961/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY

Quitting Takes Guts

My favorite fighter — for the time being, at least — is a cool cat with the uptown name of Norman Letcher. Probably you read about him in the paper. Norman retired from the prize ring the other night and showed a real flair for it. Norman didn't call a press conference or just make a promise to his wife. Norman quit in the middle of a fight.
   There were still nearly five rounds to go and Norman's opponent, Zora Folley, had not quite warmed up yet — a factor Norman clearly took into consideration when he decided to break it up. His explanation was a marvel of candor. "I guess I don't have the temperament to be a fighter. You might say, no guts."
In England Quitting Is Cricket
   Now, in olde England, such action is considered quite manly and proper. When things go badly, why, just chuck it, old boy. But it took a good deal of gameness for Norman to do this in Phoenix, the heart of the Old West, where Boot Hill is full of people who wouldn't admit they were over-matched.
   What Norman was doing, in a sense, was speaking for almost all prize fighters everywhere. I don't know whether you know it or not but prize fighters as a class are afflicted with more self-doubts than a guy coming home late with lipstick on the collar.
   This should be reassuring to the rest of us who flinch from asking the guy next door to turn down his TV for fear he will bust us in the mouth. My hunch the reason fight fans are so savage ("Don't lose him, Joe! Get the other eye!") is because they resent a man with nerve enough to pick a fight a month before and then show up for it. Such a fellow clearly should be taught a lesson.
Managers Poor Judge of Money
   It is because of this feeling of inferiority that a fighter needs a manager — not to mind his money because managers do this so badly a fighter that doesn't owe the government a million is a nobody.
   The reason I know all this is because it was once explained to me by a manager who had been a fighter himself and knew the problem from both angles. This was James (Lefty) Remini, a tough little New York welter who had been his own manager until one day he could no longer talk himself into the ring. Lefty, the manager, was confident but Lefty, the fighter, knew better. He turned to talking others in.
Mauriello Talked Into Facing Louis
   Lefty's finest hour in the ring as a manager20came on the night he persuaded his most famous fighter — a Mulberry Street rowdy named Tami Mauriello - to get in the ring with Joe Louis. Louis, in his prime, inspired more dread in the fight game than an epidemic of typhoid.
   The mere mention of his name was enough to set an opponent's fever soaring and teeth chattering. One opponent came down with such high blood pressure the afternoon of a Louis fight, the doctors would have put him in the hospital if they didn't know he would recover as soon as he got knocked out — which he did.
   Lefty's problem that night Mauriello was to fight Louis was basically patriotic. He suddenly remembered as it neared ring time that they played "The Star Spangled Banner" AFTER the fighters climbed in the ring. Now, Lefty loved his country as much as the next fight manager but it occurred to him that if his dreadnought had to stand in the ring and look at Louis all through the anthem he would need smelling salts before they got to the rocket's red glare. So, he hot-footed it over to Promoter Mike Jacobs with the unusual but urgent request they play the anthem BEFORE the fighters got in the ring.
   Mauriello lasted only a round anyway. When it came to fighting Joe Louis, he had one fatal flaw: He had one leg shorter than the other and he couldn't go backward. At least, not fast. Against Louis, this was worse than having only one arm.
   But this was typical of the moves a manager has to make to keep confidence from oozing out of his tiger. "Ya see," Lefty explained to me later, "that's the way fighters are. They're always figuring to get heat. Ya take like Tami. He fights the heavyweight champeen of the world one month and the next month I match him with this bum. Only da bum looks fierce, see? He's got tattoos and teeth missing and he's a fright."
Tami Frets
   "Tami looks worried when he gets a look at him. Ya kin see he's only hoping it's human. 'Lefty,' he asks me. 'Ya sure ya know wot yo're doin'?' You know wot? He makes da bum loop! Da guy jes looks tough. "Tami," I tole him. "Last month ya fight a champeen. Ya'll make dis bum loop!"
   I don't know where Norman Letcher's manager failed him. Folley is no Louis, but it must have taken some artfulness just to get Norman in the ring. Actually, Norman hadn't taken much of a beating when he called the armistice. But he had seen enough of Folley to know he would.
Cut Up
   It reminds me of the boy who was fighting the famous Tipton Slasher once and was taking a fearsome beating. The Slasher earned his nickname because he never knocked his man senseless, just eviscerated him.
   The other boy contemplated this for a few rounds and then sank suddenly to the floor. The referee knew he wasn't badly hurt, just discouraged, but he started to count, thinking the fighter would get up. When he didn't the ref stopped the count.
   "What's the matter?" he asked. "Aren't you going to fight any more?" The boy looked up. "Yessir," he answered. "But not tonight."

*Reprinted with permission by the Los Angeles Times