Bob Fitzsimmons, "A Fighting Machine on Stilts" Options

[Na1m4rk]

When we modern fight fans thinks of the great accomplishments of multi-weight champions, we naturally turn our attention to Roy Jones Jr., perhaps the finest all-around boxer of his generation. Jones captivated the boxing world with his blistering combinations and deft boxing talents, and indeed exceled to such a degree that weight class restrictions were mere nuisances in his view. Jones rose from a lithe amateur junior middleweight and quickly established his credentials as a professional, winning 22 consecutive bouts and a middleweight title to open his career. Just two years later Jones won his first lightheavyweight belt and eventually unified the entire alphabet soup of titles in that division. Seeking new challenges Jones even made the leap to the heavyweight division and outboxed John Ruiz to win a slice of the heavyweight pie - one man, three divisions, three championships.

Jones' acheivements were surely historic and established "Junior" as one of the all-time elite in the ring. Yet for all the accolades and hoopla regarding his multi-division magnificence, Mr. Jones was treading on ground already worn flat by a champion from 100 years previous. Unlike the slick-boxing Jones, this man gladly went toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose with the most dangerous sluggers of his era yet never tipped the scales at more than 175lb in a career spanning both bare-knuckle and gloved bouts.

This man is Robert Fitzsimmons.



Bob Fitzsimmons was born in 1863 in Helston, England but barely had time to grow accustomed to blood sausage in milk before his family left the shores of Britania and sailed 12,000 miles to arrive at Timaru in the South Island of New Zealand. His family was one of blacksmiths by trade and young Robert quickly took up the hammer and anvil alongside his father and brother as soon as he was coordinated enough to wield the weapons of smithing. Standing for hours on end at the forge was Robert's lot in life during the formative years and the hard labor of smithing made him strong and developed his physique until he was an impressive physical specimen. Well, not entirely impressive perhaps. Certainly the years swinging the hammer and lugging the billots built up his back and shoulders to Herculean proportions, but his lower body remained almost comically underdeveloped. From the front he was entirely unimposing, but his back and shoulders were nothing but massive slabs of well-developed muscle.



Fitzsimmons eschewed schoolboy studies for the hard work of the family trade, but in his late teens became exposed to boxing through local wannabe-toughs traveling to the boxing halls in South Canterbury. Fitzsimmons' parents, unabashedly Puritan in their leanings, were strongly opposed to any frivolous diversions that might tempt their baby boy to a life in the company of gamblers and other men of low moral standing. Fitzsimmons adhered to the 5th Commandment as long as he felt able but eventually began to travel to the amateur boxing halls in South Canterbury, Canterbury, and Otago and learn the rudiments of the sport. His bizarrely misproportioned physique became the subject of regular jibes from fighters and trainers alike, but it soon became apparant that for all his morphological oddness, this 150lb kid with the brilliant red hair could throw a wallop with the best of them. Indeed, Fitzsimmons punched as hard as any man of any size that had ever set foot in a New Zealand ring - this young man was a power-punching prodigy! After winning the annual Jem Mace Tournament in which he defeated four fighters in two days and was crowned the Lighweight Champion of New Zealand, Robert realized that his destiny laid with the gloves and ring, not the forge and bellows. No less an expert than Jem Mace himself pronounced Bob ready for a career as a top prizefighter.

Although they grudgingly tolerated Robert's amateur dabblings, his parents strongly opposed his entering the professional ranks. A dutiful son, Robert persisted in his pleas, begging his parents to allow him to travel to the grand boxing halls of Australia and begin a professional career in earnest, and they eventually gave him their blessing to go forth and try his hand as a pugilist. At the age of 20, Fitzsimmons arrived in Sydney, Australia with a few coins in his pocket, some well-worn gloves in his sack - and a heavy pair of long underwear he would wear for most of his career to conceal his odd physique from potential promoters seeing him for the first time.

Fighting regularly in Sydney for the first time in his life, Fitzsimmons quickly established himself as a rugged and durable fighter, fighting around 50 bouts over the next 7 years (no fewer than half-a-dozen under London Prize Ring bare-knuckle rules) to earn himself a shot at the Australian Middleweight title. The champion, Jim Hall, had already felt the sting of Fitzsimmons' fists on no less than four other occasions, with Fitz winning one bout by KO and the other 3 going to no-decisions. When they met again in February of 1890, however, it was Fitzsimmons who wound up on the short end of the fight, going down for the 10-count in the 5th round. Undaunted, Fitzsimmons decided that the glory of American boxing was in his future and a mere three months later he was on-board a steamer headed for California with a few meager posessions and dreams of fighting in the wild west floating through his head.

[NEXT - Welcome to the Olympic Club]

[sulli]

Wahoo for both a return of boxing nostalgia and Bob Fitzsimmons.

[Nick M]

Fantastic stuff, Mike. Keep 'em coming.

A question: do you have to consult a book when you write these or do you pull all of this out of your ass?

[Na1m4rk]

Both.

Actually I've been interested in boxing history since I was about 8, long before I even contemplated stepping in the ring myself. I read everything I could find on the sport and always found the old champions of yesteryear to be the most interesting and colorful, so that was the direction my curiousity took me. When I started boxing as a lad there was an old-timer named King Levinski who used to drop by the gym on occasion ("Kingfish and his fucking ties!" was the frequent cry) and regale any interested youngsters with his tales from the old days - Levinski fought Dempsey (exhibitions), Joe Louis, Max Baer, Primo Carnera, and Jack Sharkey! He was pretty punchy by then, but a nice guy nonetheless and everybody humored him.

Kingfish Levinski

During the whole time I was growing up and reading stacks of boxing books from the library, my grandfather (I was raised by my grandparents) harbored a secret he didn't reveal. Yes, while I was reading dusty old tomes describing Jack Dempsey's rise through the Gunboat Smiths of the world, my grandpa didn't think it was worth mention that his orchestra was the house band at Dempsey's restaurant for a couple of years in the late-40s and as the bandleader he spoke with Jack frequently. Why didn't he think this was worth mentioning? Because, he explained, he didn't like boxing himself, and besides, he worked with lots of famous people when his orchestra was popular and nobody wants to hear an old blowhard name-dropping. Since then he's dropped a few Dempsey stories, plus a few others about boxers who stopped by Jack's restaurant (Jack loved Max Baer, my grandfather thought he was a schmuck) and a couple of other stories about non-boxers.

It isn't easy finding information about some of these early fighters; some, like John L Sullivan, were national celebrities and had their lives amply documented, but others, like Bob Fitzsimmons (a scrawny New Zealander with a nearly-incomprehensible accent) and Jim Jeffries (a taciturn loner of few words who thought book-learning sapped your wits) are much harder to track down. By the time Dempsey ushered in "The Golden Age of Sports", heavyweight champions were all celebrities and finding good info on them isn't too hard - cripes, they even made a movie about Jim Braddock!

[Na1m4rk]

Fitzsimmons as he looked upon arrival in America

Bob Fitzsimmons arrived on American shores in April of 1890 seeking a chance to prove himself in the ring. He was hampered by several factors - as a tall, gawky fellow with a shock of rapidly receding red hair and covered in freckles, he was nobody's conception of what a prizefighter should look like. His thick New Zealand accent was as incomprehensible to the average American promoter as the utterances of a Hottentot, and his success in Australia wasn't worth a proverbial hill of beans stateside.

But Robert Fitzsimmons did have one significant distinguishing characteristic that fed his hopes - he was perhaps the hardest-punching 150lb man in the world. When the SS Zealandia disembarked in San Francisco Fitzsimmons was in good fortune; the city had become the western capital of professional prizefighting in America and there were no shortages of gym, sparring partners, and of course prospective managers looking to get their cuts. Fitzsimmons quickly came in to the acquaintence of Captain Charles Glori, a former San Francisco policeman who understood the crooked games that surrounded the sport of boxing and saw the potential written across the gangly New Zealander's broad shoulders. An agreement was quickly hammered out (sigh) between the blacksmith and copper and less than a month after setting foot in the New World, Bob Fitzsimmons was ready to make his debut. After knocking out a Mr. Frank Allen in one round, Fitzsimmons returned to the ring 12 days later and dispatched of fellow Aussie immigrant Billy McCarthy in five.

Soon Fitzsimmons had drawn the attention of perhaps the finest all-around fighter to have ever graced the ring up until that point, the "Nonpareil" himself, the original Jack Dempsey, a brilliantly skilled middleweight sporting a 45-1 career record, with that one loss (a 32nd round KO by George LaBlanche) in a non-title bout where Dempsey agreed to fight despite his opponent being unable to make the middleweight limit. The knockout itself it something of a oddity - LaBlance missed with a wide right, planted his right foot, and immediately swung back with his right elbow, coldcocking the champion. The referee inexplicably ruled the blow valid.



Dempsey was boxing royality at the time. As the ranking member of the San Francisco Olympic Club he trained alongside Jim Corbett and Joe Choynski and sparred with John L. Sullivan's old tutor, 'Professor' Mike Donavan. Since being awarded the first 'official' Middleweight Championship Belt by the Police Gazette in 1886 he had rung up nearly 20 wins in the ring and dozens more outside of it where his pugnacious attitude goaded many a braggart in to rapid humiliation at the hands of the great champion. In one 1887 title defense held outdoors against Johnny Reagan, Dempsey suffered a large gash on his shin when Reagan illegally slashed at him with his spiked shoes (still in use for outdoor bouts). Dempsey didn't even cry "foul", but redoubled his attack and tortured Reagan on the way to a 45th round knockout. This bout too is notable for unusual reasons; after 8 rounds on the shores of Long Island, advancing tides encroached on the ring and forced a halt. The fight was relocated 20 miles away just as snow began to fall (some reports even label it a "blizzard"); given the circumstances, Reagan's foul probably spoke more to desperation than dirty play.

Dempsey had decided that Fitzsimmons would be a suitable challenger for his title and had his representatives bring a most generous offer to Fitzsimmons and manager Glori - champion Dempsey would collect almost the entire purse ($12,000, which works out to nearly $250,000 in today's money) and Fitzsimmons would have the honor of facing the champion and getting his ears boxed by a legend. Tough negotiators that they were, Fitzsimmons and Glori accepted the offer without hesitation.

The two men met in January of 1891 at the Olympic Club of New Orleans, a locale soon to be made famous by hosting the legendary Sullivan/Corbett bout. Almost immediately it became aparant that Dempsey had found more than he bargained for in the form of this gawky windmill of a man named Fitzsimmons; in the second round the man dubbed "Ruby Robert" uncorked a powerful left to the body followed by a right to the jaw that flattened Dempsey for an 8-count. Dempsey regained his footing and survived the round but Fitzsimmons continued to punish him as the fight progressed; by the 8th round Dempsey had absorbed a frightening amount of punishment. Even Fitzsimmons, a professional fighter and veteran of numerous ring wars, found it hard to continue to bludgeon his valient foe. In the 10th round it became clear that the champion was overmatched by the accurate-hitting slugger, and Fitzsimmons begging Dempsey to throw in the towel.

"The champion never quits," retorted Dempsey, puffing a red spray from his bloody lips. "You've got to knock me out first."

"To my dying day," Fitz said later, "I'll see Dempsey lying there with the little red bubbles busting as 'e breathed 'eavily into the red earth. I picked 'im up and 'elped carry 'im to 'is corner. I never lifted a braver man to 'is feet."

- John D. McCallum, 'The Encyclopedia Of World Boxing Champions'

At the age of 28 and some 8 months removed from Australia, Robert Fitzsimmons was the middleweight champion of the world, having dispatched of the unbeatable champion with ease.

Dempsey, sadly, never returned to ring glory. He had contracted tuberculosis and began a shuffling descent into twilight. Fitzsimmons volunteered to spar with Dempsey in several exhibitions to help his vanquished foe earn some money for medical expenses, and even the Great John L. Sullivan was moved to return his corpulent girth back in to the ring for an exhibition fundraiser with The Nonparei in June of 1895. 5 months later, Dempsey was dead. His former lawyer, ML McMahon, penned the following epitaph, which was inscribed on Dempsey's gravesite:

Far out in the  wilds of Oregon,
On a lonely mountainside,
Where Columbia’s mighty waters
Roll down to the ocean side;

Where the giant fir and cedar
Are imaged in the wave,
O’ergrown with firs and lichens,
I found Jack Dempsey’s grave.

O Fame, why sleeps thy favored son
In wilds, in woods, in weeds,
And shall he ever thus sleep on,
Interred his valiant deeds.

‘Tis strange New York should thus forget
Its "bravest of the brave"
And in the fields of Oregon,
Unmarked leave Dempsey’s grave.

Dempsey's career was over, but Fitzsimmons' was just beginning his historic ascent through the boxing ranks. Now a champion, Fitzsimmons naturally went on a nationwide musical tour in which he would sing what would become a hit song of the day, "Man Down Under".

No, actually that route was the preferred one only for heavyweights. As a middleweight Fitzsimmons gave himself the luxury of three months away from the ring and then returned to action at a torrid pace. In 1892 he fought 5 times, knocking out all five opponenets, four of them in two rounds or less. Not satisfied with the level of competition provided by middleweights, Fitzsimmons staged one of the most remarkable exhibitions of boxing to ever take place - on September 5th of that year, Fitzsimmons entered a ring in Chicago to face a total of 7 heavyweight fighters, the largest standing 6'7 and weighing 250lbs. It took the 150lb knock-kneed blacksmith a total of 19 rounds to dispatch of his competition for the evening.

No middleweight in the world was a match for the physical freak from New Zealand. At the age of 30 he had run out of credible opponents, knocking out all 7 of his challengers in 1893 in four rounds or fewer. Unlike the modern fighter blessed with weight divisions every 5-7lbs, in Fitzsimmons day only three weight classes existed - lightweight, middleweight, and heavyweight. Lightweights were out of the question. There was only one way for Bob to go.

[NEXT - "A Fighting Machine on Stilts"]

[Hamhock]

Damn, I thought I was the only one who owned a copy of "The Encyclopedia Of World Boxing Champions". I was going to scan in the Fitzsimmons/Corbett newspaper illustration ("The Staggering Blow", "The Knockdown").

[Na1m4rk]

Go ahead, I don't have a scanner and my next installment will cover "The Fitzsimmons Shift", so the illustrations would be very helpful.

[Hamhock]

Done and sent to you via PM.

[Na1m4rk]

Fitz at his powerful peak

By the time the calendar turned to 1894 Bob Fitzsimmons, the former blacksmith from New Zealand with pipestem legs and a shiny bald head rimmed with bright red fuzz was the most dominant fighter in the world. His thorough demolition of all comers garnered him headlines enough to rival even the newly crowned heavyweight champion Jim Corbett, and unlike Gentleman Jim, Ruby Robert was plying his trade in a boxing ring, not the stage of a playhouse. Although his fighting pace was torrid Fitz never passed up a chance to spar or train for paying crowds and he performed numerous exhibitions in Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia before throngs of curious gawkers eager to get a look at the bizarre physical specimen who John L. Sullivan dubbed "a fighting machine on stilts". With one eye on the heavyweight division, Fitzsimmons slowly began to "bulk-up", adding a few pounds to his freakish frame to present a better matchup against the larger men. Soon he tipped the scales at a whopping 162lb and decided to put his newfound bulk to the test in June of that year against a familiar name to the readers of this forum - Joe Choynski. Choynski, the fine Jewish brawlers from Jim Corbett's home gym in San Francisco, regularly fought and defeated much larger heavyweights despite being only slightly larger than the newly puffed-up Fitzsimmons at perhaps 170lb.


Joe Choynski, fought Jim Corbett, Robert Fitzsimmons, Jim Jeffries, and Jack Johnson

The two fighters met in Boston on June 17th, 1894 and though Choynski was undefeated in his previous 16 fights and considered Fitzsimmons' toughest test to date he was beaten mercilessly and floored repeatedly by the blacksmith's well-placed power shots. Near the end of the 5th round, with Choynski once more on the canvas and struggling to regain his feet, the Boston police raided the club where the fight was being held and put a stop to the bout. Still, despite the lack of an official judgement (the bout is recorded for history as a draw or no-contest) nobody in attendance could deny that the man newspapers were calling "Speckled Bob" was clearly the better man. His continued success against a credible heavyweight contender convinced Fitzsimmons that his future lay with the big boys and the large purses that accompanied heavyweight bouts. In September of that year he defended his middleweight crown for the final time against Dan Creedon with predictable results - a 2nd-round knockout.

Now Fitzsimmons set his sights on the heavyweight division and its champion Jim Corbett, currently touring the nation in the theatrical production of "Gentleman Jack", a play specifically written for Corbett in which he acted, sparred, and even danced (rumored to be at Corbett's insistance, so proud was he of his graceful movements) in front of sellout crowds from coast to coast.



While Corbett was dazzling theatrical audiences with his fancy footwork onstage, Fitzsimmons was busy giving exhibitions of a very different nature. FItz's manager, Charles Glori, wanted something in the spirit of John L. Sullivan's open challenges to create anticipation and drive up demand to tickets to his exhibitions. He siezed on an exercise that Fitzsimmons excelled in, and in the process perhaps created the progenator of the Iron Shiek's Iranian Clubs Challenge.




"Mr. Fitzsimmons will give a ball punching exhibition, which is acknowledged to be one of the strongest athletic acts now before the public. The management will forfeit $5000.00 to produce his equal."

Though merely a middleweight in stature Fitzsimmons did not dance or befuddle opponents with deft footwork as most smaller men of the time (and indeed, even the heavyweight champion Corbett) did; rather, Fitzsimmons was considered the master of timing and counterpunching. His preferred exercise to develop this skills was the "heavy ball", shown above, a piece of antequated boxing equipment long since passed in to history. Fitzsimmons' mastery of the ball-pounding drills was reported to be unequaled anywhere in the world, and no man claimed the $5000.00 prize.

One week following the very exhibition mentioned above, Fitzsimmons was scheduled to engage in a more traditional exhibition, sparring with several partners in a Syracuse, NY ring. Like most elite fighters, Fitzsimmons used multiple partners, one reason for which was to ensure that no one training partner had to absorb too much punishment from his now-legendary fists. Fitzsimmons tended to spar lightly, working on his timing and ring generalship and confidently secure in his power. On the night of November 19th, however, his management scheduled a sparring session with a mediocre Australian fighter named Con Riordan. Riordan's boxing career hadn't panned out as he'd hoped and in recent months he'd been working as a professional sparring partner with notables all the way up to John L. Sullivan himself. Against Fitzsimmons, however, Riordan's professionalism was nowhere to be found. Arriving at the exhibition hall reeking of gin, the Australian stumbled through the first round sloppily, grabbing and shoving and drawing the ire of the generally genial Fitzsimmons. In the second round however, Riordan took the fool idea that he was going to humiliate the gawky champion by knocking him out! He charged at the surprised Fitzsimmons and began peppering him with blows as quickly and fiercely as he could manage. Fitzsimmons was taken aback and covered up which only egged on Riordan on the presumption that he was hurting the champ. Finally Fitzsimmons had endured all he could stand; he leapt forward and immediately stunned Riordan with a left to the stomach followed by a right to the temple. As Riordan staggered Fitzsimmons unleashed his legendary right hand, the one that had dropped 7 heavyweights in one night in Chicago, and laid Con Riordan flat on his back. The well-lubricated Aussie staggered to his feet but immediately collapsed, Flair-flop style, face-first to the canvas, completely unconscious.

"I knew he had been drinking hard, but did not know he was in such a condition... The blow that caused the trouble was as light as I could make it, I merely slapping him with the back of my hand. He fell down then rose and staggered around... When he fell headlong, I thought he was faking, and was thoroughly disgusted."

- Fitzsimmons

Riordan was revived and escorted to a seat ringside as Fitzsimmons' new sparring partner Joe Dunfee came to the ring and began to limber up. Suddenly Riordan collapsed, falling off his chair. He was immediately taken to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.

Fitzsimmons was griefstriken when the new reached him the next day. Alas, things would go worse for him yet, for that selfsame day he was visited by the local constabulary and arrested for the murder of Con Riordan.

[NEXT - The Fitzsimmons Shift]

[Na1m4rk]

Long before Fat Joe, Skinny Bob used the lean-back to great effect

Con Riordan was dead - of that there was no doubt. Immediately prior to his untimely death, he was seen by hundreds being cuffed around the head by the deadliest puncher in pugilism, the 160lb middleweight champion Robert Fitzsimmons - this too was not in doubt.

Did Robert Fitzsimmons then kill Con Riordan in the ring? The local authorities in Syracuse believed that he had and arrested him accordingly. Fitzsimmons was eventually relased pending trial, but despite the sensationalistic nature of the charges ("Famed prizefighter murders man with bare hands as audience cheers"), I've never located a contemporary account of the trial itself. This much evidence I've been able to find:

Riordan's autopsy listed his cause of death thusly: "[H]emorrhage within the cranial cavity, causing compression of the brain."

Such an injury (apparantly a subdural hematoma) is completely consistant with a head injury from blunt force trauma.

But Fitzsimmons' defense called a physician, a "Dr. Lyons", who examined Riordan's body and stated that the cause of death was actually cardiac hypertrophy, or an enlarged heart (usually described as "hypertrophic cardiomyopathy" in modern texts) which often results in a partial occlusion of the left ventricle or failure of the mitral valves in addition to behavioral symptoms such as chest pain and shortness of breath.

Despite the fairly damning evidence of head trauma listed in the official autopsy, the Syracuse jury found Dr. Lyon's explanation believable and acquitted Fitzsimmons on all charges.

An undoubtedly relieved Bob Fitzsimmons resumed his training and exhibition schedule, all the while keeping an eye on champion Jim Corbett, who had by this time taken to supplementing his theatrical income by arranging speaking engagements at universities on the subject of physical culture and exercise. Indeed, Corbett was quite busy with a host of activities, none of which involved his returning to the ring to defend the title he'd won from a similarly inactive John L. Sullivan.

Finally, in early 1895, an agreement was reached for Corbett to defend his title against the upstart middleweight from New Zealand. The match was set for October 31st in Dallas Texas and Fitzsimmons attacked his training with ferocious zeal - no fewer than two of Fitzsimmons' regular sparring partners (Tom McCarthy and Al Allich) quit his camp rather than endure the regular drubbings they were receiving on a daily basis. Fitzsimmons continued to put weight on his rangy frame in anticipation of his heavyweight aspirations and soon tipped the scales at a whopping, beefy 165lb.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

With the haggling over the prize purse still going on between Corbett's and Fitzsimmons' handlers, Gentleman Jim shocked the boxing world by announcing, without any forewarning, that he was retiring from prizefighting as champion. Further, as the retiring champion, he felt it was soley his right to determine who would next wear the belt!

And so Corbett announced to the world that he would award the heavyweight championship belt, the very same one passed on to Corbett himself upon defeating John L. Sullivan, to the winner of a bout between his two hand-picked challengers. Curiously, neither of his chosen contenders was Bob Fitzsimmons. Instead, Corbett chose veteran fighters Peter Maher, a solidly-sized heavyweight from Ireland with a knockout punch, and Australian heavyweight champion Steven O'Donnell, fresh off a 21st-round knockout of former bareknuckle contender Jake Kilrain.



Fitzsimmons was both dejected and repulsed; bad enough that Corbett would simply retire rather than face him in the ring, but in what appeared to be an overt snub, Corbett not only chose an Australian over Fitzsimmons, but then matched the Aussie against a fighter Fitzsimmons had already KO'd back in 1892! So dejected was Fitzsimmons that he simply ceased training entirely following Corbett's announcement; not a single exhibition is recorded for nearly 6 months, an eternity for a fighter who had staged daily exhibitions for much of the previous year.

Maher and O'Connell met in Maspeth, New York on November 11th, 1895 to determine the 'new' heavyweight champion in a bout that ended almost immediately after the opening bell with Maher scoring a first-round knockout over the overmatched Aussie. Peter Maher thus became the first non-lineal heavyweight title claimant since John L. Sullivan was granted full recognition as champion - it took fewer than 10 years for the backroom shenanigans to attempt to taint the belt.

Now that one of his former vanquished foes was holding the belt he so desperately craved, Fitzsimmons' reached out to Maher with an offer to rematch. To his surprise, Maher readily agreed to meet Fitzsimmons at the earliest possible date in hopes of avenging his previous upending.

A promoter quickly appeared who was willing to offer both men hefty purses for the bout. Judge Roy Bean is a name perhaps familiar to some of you with an interest in the Old West and the wild lands of Texas at the turn of the century. A former blockade running for the Confederacy during the Civil War, Bean parlayed his fearlessness and shamelessness in to a series of profitable frauds, from the sale of watered-down whiskey to outright theft of cattle and lumber. In 1882 he somehow 'convinced' [rubs fingers together in 'money money money' sign] the Pecos County Commission that the wild and lawless behaviors that had run rampant in their territories following the arrival of the railroad could be reigned in only by a man so shameless is his chicanery as to know every swindle in the book. They approinted Bean 'Justice of the Peace' and he built a courthouse adjacent to his saloon. His legal accumen, though perhaps lacking in traditional terms, fit in well with the lawless land he oversaw; in one famed case, a corpse was found washed up on the shores of the Pecos river. Upon examination it was discovered that the deceased was carrying $40 in gold and a loaded pistol. Judge Bean tried the man in his courtroom post mortum and found him guilty of carrying a concealed weapon, fining him $40.



In 1896 Judge Bean was dismissed from his post when a count of the ballots for his re-election revealed that he'd received more votes than there were voters in the region. It was only natural, then, for this huckster, charlatan, swindler, and judge to take the logical step in to the promotion of prizefights.

Fitzsimmons and Maher were to meet in the middle of the Rio Grande in a ring built on a platform over a sandbar. Like the Sullivan vs. Kilrain bout held back in the wild days of 1889, this bout faced the threat of being halted by local authorities. The hope was that by staging the fight in the middle of a river, neither Mexican or Texan authorities would have juristiction to halt the bout. Only a mind equally creative and demented would even suggest such an approach, but Bean proved to be a man of unique vision. He built a platform in the river for the fight and a system of boardwalks to grant viewing access from three sides of the ring. Since he considered the mid-river locale to be beyond legal recourse, gambling took place openly and liquor flowed in copious amounts.


The boardwalk for the Fitzsimmons vs. Maher fight, under construction

Immediately prior to the bout, a fledgling entrepenur owing a newfangled Kinetescope offered Maher and Fitzsimmons $1000 each if they would agree to have their match filmed and distributed. Maher's reply is lost to history; Fitzsimmons is known to have shrewdly insisted on receiving a percentage of all receipts from moviehouses where the footage would be shown. Sadly, this bout then went unfilmed.

" Maher wore short-legged black fighting breeches, with a green belt...Fitz had chosen for his ring costume a navy blue breech clout, with a belt of stars and stripes. He legs were bare and his shoes were of the standard running shape."

- Boston Herald, 1896

The bell rang to start the fight. 95 seconds later the fight was over. With Fitzsimmons victorious, Judge Bean invited the collected sportwriters from newspapers of all stripes back to his saloon for drinks and tall tales which were dutifully repeated in Eastern newspapers and made Judge Bean a nationwide celebrity.

So now Robert Fitzsimmons was the heavyweight champion of the world - or was he? Fitzsimmons himself did not consider a second thrashing of Maher to be truly worthy of championship recognition. Still, with Corbett retired and his hand-picked successor deposed in short order, the 165lb "fighting machine on stilts" was accorded the respect that went along with being heavyweight champion, at least for the time being. At the age of 30, Robert Fitzsimmons' journey from New Zealand as a shy and quiet blacksmith with dreams of fame and glory had started to come true, and for the first time Fitzsimmons felt secure enough to enjoy the fruits of his labor. As his personal confidence grew his personality finally began to shine through. Fitzsimmons grew up surrounded by exhortions to always work hard and work long; he fought with a passionate fury and frequently beat opponents in to bloody pulps, even killing a man in the ring. And so it was a small surprise to the sporting world at large to discover that this newly-minted heavyweight champion who until then had always appeared quiet and unassuming, far from being like the boisterous populist Sullivan or the erudite dandy Corbett, was actually a giggling goofball!

It was around this time, in fact, that what was to later become Fitzsimmons' notorious love of practical jokes and general tomfoolery became manifest. The humble chamber pot could be a source of endless amusement and more than one unexpecting guest found themselves "depantsed" by the balding, spindly, giggling man who just happened to be the hardest hitter in the game. Among Fitzsimmons' favorite gags was to keep a supply of itching powder in a small sack in his vest pocket. When meeting a well-manicured gentleman for the first time, Fitz would dip his index finger in the sack and gladly extend his hand in friendship, taking great care to apply his power on the wrist and forearm of his mark. He would similarly innoculate the backs of the necks of unsuspecting newspaper reporters, frequently collapsing in peals of laughter when their discomfort became apparent (Fitzsimmons would later explain that he was immune to the itching powder because of his boyhood harvesting nettles for his mother).

But while the boyish-acting blacksmith was making the social rounds and spreading the good word on pruritus to the world at-large, he nonetheless continued persuing a bout with Gentleman Jim Corbett. Corbett was tiring of his life after boxing and was eager to make a comeback. It was passed along to Fitzsimmons that if Fitz could defeat a young and rising heavyweight brawler named Tom Sharkey, Corbett would grant him a fight; the match was quickly arranged and signed to take place on December 2, 1896.


“He was short and squat with excessively broad shoulders and a huge, deep chest upon which was tattooed a colorful star and sailing ship. His motto was 'Don't Give Up the Ship.' He used a straight-up stance but at 5-9 he was still a low target. His nose was crooked and his left ear was cauliflowered. Face-to-face confrontations with several all-time greats only worsened the condition of the ear. It is said his hands were strong enough to bend silver dollars. In style, he was aggressive and ever striding forward towards his man, throwing powerful haymakers.”

- Tracy Callis

Sharkey was a rugged brawler and former sailor who boasted a truly impressive tattoo of a battleship across his chest and one of the worst-looking cauliflower ears to grace a boxing ring. Sharkey began his career with a string of 20 consecutive knockouts, many in the first round, and held his own against Corbett in a four-round bout until police stepped in and called a halt to the match. His jaw seemed imprevious to damage and he'd never even been dropped to a knee; even Joe Choynski's best blows didn't faze him. At 22-0 he was considered the fastest-rising star in the heavyweight division. Surely this was the man who would prove too much for the slugging of a mere middleweight!

The bout was held in Corbett's hometown of San Francisco and featured a celebrity judge - none other than Wyatt Earp himself, legend of the old West and lawman supreme now plying his legend in San Francisco where he'd married a "society broad" and looked to parlay his legend into cash. Though Earp lacked boxing expertise, how hard could it be to referee a fight between two men when he'd had to grow eyes in the back of his head years ago?

Sharkey and Fitzsimmons attacked each other furiously with both men landing solid blows and giving nary an inch. Fitzsimmons was bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth while Sharkey had one eye nearly closed. In the 8th round FItzsimmons seemed to take control; a series of blows put Sharkey on the canvas and those in attendance were of the opinion that he would not be getting up. Inexplicably, referee Wyatt Earp ruled that Fitzsimmons had comitted a foul (a low blow) and disqualified him on the spot. None of the newspapermen in attendance observed any sort of foul, nor did the audience at large, and a small riot quickly erupted with all manner of items being hurled towards the ring and a handful of fans storming the stage.

The fighters and referee quickly exited the arena. Although Sharkey is still to this day considered the "official" winner based on the final ruling of the referee, all boxing aficionados of the day recognized Fitzsimmons as the true winner. This group included no less than authority than Gentleman Jim Corbett himself (oddly enough, this group did NOT include Tom Sharkey himself, who immediately announced to newspaper reporters in attendance, "I am certain that Fitzsimmons fouled me deliberately. Had he not delivered that nasty blow which crippled me, I would certainly have finished him in that round. I was for a moment paralysed when I received that blow and was wholly unable to protect myself. I felt myself sinking to the floor and I was doubled up in such a way that I could not guard myself from the last upper-cut which he sent, I suppose, as a finisher. I am sorry that the question of supremacy was not settled on its merits, rather than in this way")

Corbett and Fitzsimmons agreed to meet, with the "true" heavyweight championship of the world on the line, some mere three months later, in March of 1897. Finally, Robert Fitzsimmons was getting his shot at the most coveted title in all of sports.

[Midge]

As always, you're boxing posts are golden, Mike. A few of the pictures you've posted in this thread have made me re-think something you wrote in an earlier post in this endeavor. You commented that while pictures of bare-knuckled fighters posing might appear comical to modern viewers, their fighting style made sense in the context of bare-knuckle fighting. Fighters needed to have their hands positioned in such a seemingly-peculiar way because if they punched their opponent knuckles-first without the protection of gloves, they'd likely break their hands.

The pictures posted in the Fitzsimmons thread show fighters posing in a different stance, this time with their knuckles facing their imaginary opponents. Is this simply because boxers now fought with gloves? I'd imagine so, but how much protection did these gloves really afford the fighters? From the grainy pictures they appear to offer less protection than modern MMA gloves. Were fighters still breaking their hands regularly in fights? Why was the bare-knuckle pose no longer used?

Also, it seems to me that the knockout prowess of some old-time boxers is less impressive than it might initially seem to modern fight fans just learning about them. You can hit someone a heck of a lot harder when you're not wearing 8-12oz. gloves. I suspect some people's first reaction to hearing stories of old-time boxers' knockout power is to say, "Imagine what they could do today!" It might be more appropriate to wonder how many people modern boxers like Tyson, Frazier, or Foreman could've knocked out with the benefit of lighter gloves. I know this isn't your intention, I'm just saying that the nature of these boxers' feats can easily leads to this reaction.

It seems to me that old-time boxers' ability to take a punch is probably much more impressive than their punching power.

[Midge]

One other thing. Perhaps I'm misremembering, but I faintly recall reading that Earp's disqualification of Fitzsimmon's was likely motivated by crookedness (friendship with Sharkey? a betting interest in the outcome?), but there is no suggestion of this in your post. Have you ever read this possible explanation for Earp's bad call?

[Na1m4rk]

As always, you're boxing posts are golden, Mike.

Thanks!

The pictures posted in the Fitzsimmons thread show fighters posing in a different stance, this time with their knuckles facing their imaginary opponents. Is this simply because boxers now fought with gloves?

Yes. The introduction of gloves, combined with the success of Jim Corbett's vaunted "scientific boxing" revolutionized many of the basic fundementals of the sport.

Fitzsimmons' career spanned both bare-knuckled and gloved eras, and you can see the subtle changes in his stance as a result of adaptations to the new equipment and the conventional wisdom of the day.



Here's Bob in the traditional bareknuckle stance - note these pictures of old-time bareknucklers Jem Mace and Jake Kilrain as comparisons.

Now look at this picture (too large to post I think but an absolutely magnificent photograph of a 45 year-old Fitz) of Fitzsimmons from 1908, by which time Fitz had fought with gloves for almost 20 years. The lead hand is back closer to the head for gloved defense, while the knuckles of the power hand are more horizontal.

Fitzsimmons is an interested case study for the changes in technique prodded by boxing gloves because many aspects of his fighting style did not change as a result of the gloves; he still fought in an erect stance with his head back because his game always remained well-timed counterpunching. In many respects he was the last elite heavyweight to carry the bareknuckle techniques in to the modern era, as many of the techniques we take for granted (like the ability to jab) we largely absent from his repertoire.

Of course, all old photos of boxers must be viewed with the caveat that poses for photographers were usually stylized, and most fighters intuitively tried to emulate the famous pics of the old masters. Jack Dempsey fought out of a crouch, head forward, moving constantly. Yet here's one of his official publicity shots:

Is this simply because boxers now fought with gloves? I'd imagine so, but how much protection did these gloves really afford the fighters?

Having actually handled a pair of turn-of-the-century boxing gloves, I'll answer your question as best I can. First of all these gloves were significantly different from the modern glove, as you might expect. They were stuffed with horsehair which absorbed sweat; as the fight progressed, each glove would get heavier! Consequently keeping the lead arm out at poleaxing distance became exhausting for all but the most well-conditioned fighters. Even worse, over the course of a long bout, the loose hair could settle, or, more ominously, be "massaged" in such a way as to limits its effectiveness as padding. I don't have any real evidence on the occurance of hand injuries, but at least at the championship level plenty of fighters were breaking knuckles in these early days.

Were fighters still breaking their hands regularly in fights?

Well you seem to have neatly anticipated a point I had planned on making in my discussion of the two Fitzsimmons vs. Jim Jeffries bouts. In the early days of gloved fighting, a fighter would simply show up in the dressing room, slip on the gloves, and head to the ring. Hand-wrapping didn't become commonplace until the Jack Johnson era; when Fitz fought Jeffries the second time, he had his hands wrapped before donning the gloves. Jeffries had never seen this done before, and after the fight he commented to Fitzsimmons on how much harder Fitz's fists felt. To this day some old-timers claim that Fitzsimmons loaded his gloves, citing Jeff's quiet words, when in fact all Fitz did was wrap some cloth around each fist.

Also, it seems to me that the knockout prowess of some old-time boxers is less impressive than it might initially seem to modern fight fans just learning about them. You can hit someone a heck of a lot harder when you're not wearing 8-12oz. gloves.

I disagree strongly. Look at how many broken hands you saw strikers suffer in the early days of the UFC before gloves became commonplace. One of the lasting imagines I carry from the very first UFC is Gerard Gordeau, his right hand swollen like a latex glove filled with water as a result of boucing an errant blow off Kevin Rosier's fat head. Keith Hackney broke his hand beating on the fatty melon of Manny Yarborough in that famous bout and had to withdraw from the tournament.

The padding provided by fighting gloves exists to protect your hands, and with gloves on even the hardest blow landing squarely on your opponent's forehead carries only a small risk of injuring yourself. In the old bareknuckle days fighters would frequently attempt to intercept incoming power shots with the tops of their skulls in hopes of crippling their foe for the rest of the fight. Part of the training these boxers from the bare-knuckle and early gloved days focused on was in directing their punches to the parts of the body where injuring their hands was unlikely; the short ribs, the pit of the stomach, the neck, the jaw, the cheek - these were the favored targets. The power shot to the temple or ear, very common today (and brutally effective; a good cuff on the ear will make your world spin), was considered a risky venture (I believe we went over some of this in out earlier discussion of straight versus rotational punches in the bareknuckle era). These blows are effective today because of the improved hand protection provided by modern gloves and their high-tech synthetic padding.

Lastly, I will note that Newton established F=MA - force is equivalent to mass times acceleration. Today's larger gloves add mass, and rotational punches can generate fearsome acceleration. With little risk of hand injuries, modern boxers do indeed throw harder punches on the average than the pugs of Fitzsimmons' day, but this is a direct consequence of the equipment used.

I suspect some people's first reaction to hearing stories of old-time boxers' knockout power is to say, "Imagine what they could do today!" It might be more appropriate to wonder how many people modern boxers like Tyson, Frazier, or Foreman could've knocked out with the benefit of lighter gloves.

Perhaps, although they would have to adapt their styles to suit the limitations of the equipment. Foreman especially was fond of the clubbing right to the forehead and crown, I don't doubt that he have had his hands broken on multiple occasions using 19th-century gloves. Tyson's violent left hook to the temple would likewise be a risky shot. The real question would then become, if their knockout blow failed to deliver a knockout, would they be able to survive with a broken hand? And as the fight progressed and the gloves grew heavy, would they be able to defend themselves against the well-timed blows to the neck and cheek delivered by the masters of the day, especially given the great degree to which modern fighters rely on their gloves to deflect and absorb blows to the head?

It seems to me that old-time boxers' ability to take a punch is probably much more impressive than their punching power.

Well, again, at this early period in the game boxing was more of an in-and-out, linear battle than what we're accustomed to seeing, but I have no doubt from both experience and observation that the straight right hand is every bit as powerful a blow as the big hook; adding the hooks gives a fighter more offensive options but it isn't an inherantly more dangerous technique. Bob Fitzsimmons, considered one of the greatest pound-for-pound punchers in the history of the sport and who preferred hooks to the body but straight punches to the head and neck, killed two men in the ring during his career.

Further, in these early days a fighter, once knocked down, was considered fair game for attacking as soon as he reached his feet - no mandatory 10-counts or standing-8's for these toughs. A fighter only earned a "KO" on his record if his opponent was indeed unable to regain his feet before the count of 10, a very different standard from today, when we've all seen a fighter lucid and standing, vainly protesting a stoppage.

It is to our eternal regret that more film footage of these early boxing greats doesn't exist, so I have precious little evidence to honestly judge the techniques of Corbett, Fitzsimmons, or even Jim Jeffries. However, there does exist a fair amount of footage of fighters just slightly more recent - Jimmy Wilde, Gene Tunney, Jack Dempsey, and Benny Leonard - and these men are all largely "modern" fighters in terms of technique. These early fighters - Corbett, Fitz, Maher - bridge the gap between the primative and the modern in boxing so vestiges of each can be found in their techniques. The flashy footwork of Muhammad Ali is directly traceable back to that of Jim Corbett, and I don't doubt that there was a good deal of Bob Fitzsimmons in the work of Thomas Hearns. That isn't to say that techniques weren't added over the years, but these men who laid the groundwork were probably further along in the refinement of their tactics than the contemporary observer migth credit them.

One other thing. Perhaps I'm misremembering, but I faintly recall reading that Earp's disqualification of Fitzsimmon's was likely motivated by crookedness (friendship with Sharkey? a betting interest in the outcome?), but there is no suggestion of this in your post. Have you ever read this possible explanation for Earp's bad call?

I think it was fixed as hell, but I'm unaware of any actual proof (unlike, say, Dempsey's dive against Jim Flynn). I'm also unaware of who would have the cash to front such a fix other than perhaps Corbett himself (who had sparred with Sharkey and perhaps thought him an easy victim for his fancy boxing). Sharkey shouldn't have needed to call in a fix himself; his pair of bouts against Jim Jeffries amply demonstrated that he was good enough to be a champion.

[sulli]

Another fascinating look at boxing. You shoud consider gathering this wealth of boxing information together and seeing if you could get it published. Probably wouldn't make a ton of money from it I will grant you but it is a great read.

[Na1m4rk]

Kiwi Bob Fitzsimmons, the original Bushwacker

Despite tipping the scales at a paltry 160lbs there could now be no doubt that the freckled blacksmith with the incomprehensible accent was a legitimate heavyweight contender. A dominant win over Jim Corbett's hand-picked "champion", Peter Maher, established the middleweight champion as a man who could slug with the best of the heavyweight division, and his brawl with Tom Sharkey, shenanigans aside, firmly established 'Fitz' as a man whose ruggedness in the ring and dynamite punching were the equal of any man fighting in the world.

Although Jim Corbett had previously "retired", he was still recognized as the "real heavyweight champion" by scores of boxing fans and the closest thing to an official sanctioning body at the time, The Police Gazette, and so, with visions of greenbacks dancing in his head, Corbett signed to meet the lanky kiwi as part of a St. Patrick's Day card on March 17, 1897. This was actually the third agreement reached between the two men to meet but the first to come to fruition (the second attempt to sign a bout between the two resulted in Fitzsimmons being briefly placed under arrest for "conspiracy to break the law" in Arkansas, where prizefighting was illegal. Corbett had already left town). Rather than an offshore barge or other clandestine location, Carson City, Nevada, gave sanction to the bout and an outdoor area was constructed by promoter Dan Stuart especially for the event. A gentleman inventor by the name of Enoch J. Rector reached an agreement to test a new piece of equipment of his own design at this event - a 63mm moving picture camera he dubbed the "Veriscope".

The details of the contract called for a winner-take-all purse of $15,000, $332,000 in today's money, plus an additional side-bet between the two participants of $2500, or slightly under $60,000 in modern coin. Fitzsimmons trained with a fury but with fewer than two months left before the fight he weighed in at 157lb before a throng of curious and skeptical reporters. As the fight approached betting favored Corbett by margins from 5-3 to 3-1.


Official program from the Corbett vs. Fitzsimmons championship bout

For this bout, held under official state sanction and completely above-board, promoter Dan Stuart engaged in a bit of skinflintery that would warm the blackened ticker of Ebeneezer Scrooge himself. Stuart was the failed promoter of the earlier attempt to match Corbett with Fitzsimmons in 1895 before Corbett announced his unexpected retirement from the ring. Like any good penny-pincher, Stuart had saved all of the artifacts from the aborted bout, and he was ready to put them to use. Pictured below is an official ticket to the prizefight:



Tickets for a Corbett vs. Fitzsimmons bout to be held in Dallas in 1895 were now being given out for a Corbett vs. Fitzsimmons bout held in Carson City in 1897. Notice how Stuart cleverly crossed out the name of the venue, the location of the fight, and the date in red ink. Anything to save a nickel on printing! Such tightwaddedness would stun even Don King with its audacity.

By the day of the bout Fitzsimmons had bulked up to a considerable 167lbs in 'official weight', easily the heaviest weight he'd ever carried in to the ring though rumors ran rampant that he had loaded his shoes with lead shot for the weigh-in. Corbett showed he hadn't balooned to Sullivanesque proportions and tipped the scales at 185lb, the same weight he carried when he fought Peter Jackson for 61 rounds in 1891. Corbett was at his arrogant, sneering worst, refusing the touch gloves with Fitzsimmons before the bout and, it is rumored, making a disparaging remark to Fitz about his wife's masculine mannerisms, as Rose Fitzsimmons was conspicuously seated in the front row to cheer on her husband. Corbett had his own cheering section - 6 armed gunmen in his corner, including none other than...Wyatt Earp, the referee from the perplexing Fitzsimmons vs. Sharkey fight in which Earp inexplicably ruled Fitzsimmons had fouled Sharkey and awarded the bout to the man on the canvas. Fitzsimmons wisely had his own group of armed men in his corner.

The bell rang to start the fight and Fitzsimmons charged out of the corner with uncharacteristic aggression but was easily evaded by the champion. Early on it became apparant that unlike the bloated, wheezing John L. Sullivan who had returned to face Corbett in 1892, Gentleman Jim himself had lost little during his vacation from the ring. Even outweighing Fitzsimmons by nearly 20lbs, Corbett had little trouble dodging incoming haymakers and offered stiff, accurate punches in return. He outmanuvered Fitzsimmons at every turn and controlled the ring with effortless aplomb, befuddling the smaller challenger with a dazzling array of feints and angles and evading incoming blows with the grace of a dancer.

The second round continued along the same lines, as did the third. By the fifth round Fitzsimmons was bleeding heavily from the mouth and nose, his lower lip badly split by Corbett's wicked and accurate jab. Fitzsimmons kept moving forward, pressuring Corbett with the threat of his power, but Gentleman Jim was unimpressed and seemed to be toying with the challenger. Towards the end of the fifth Corbett was clinched with the bloodied Fitzsimmons in a corner and met eyes with Rose Fitzsimmons in the front row. He laughed and winked at her.

In the sixth round Fitzsimmons appeared to be tiring and Corbett's confidence soared. Deftly dodging a pair of wild swings at his head, the champion planted his feet and hurled a mighty left uppercut which caught Fitzsimmons squarely on the jaw. Fitzsimmons sagged to the floor as the crowd leapt to their feet and roared with approval. But Fitzsimmons didn't tumble over when he went down; he literally did sag to his knees, and in going down ended up clutching Corbett around the legs. Corbett stood still, hands outstretched to demonstrate to the crowd that he wouldn't possibly foul by striking the downed fighter. Referee George Siler was momentarily dumbstruck and unsure of what to do next. As he tried to pry the groggly Fitzsimmons away, Corbett's corner screamed at him to start the count. Siler looked up in time to see Wyatt Earp touching his gun and quickly began to count.

Fitzsimmons regained his footing but a review of the filmed footage seems to indicate that he was on the ground for a good bit longer than a ten-count. And so here we have, 30 years before Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney sparked 80 years of hotly-debated controversy with their famed "Long Count" match, the *original* heavyweight championship "Long Count", nearly forgotten!

Corbett was upon Fitzsimmons in a flash but Fitz was able to cover up and avoid absorbing more punishment until the bell rang. As his corner worked feverishly to stem the flow of blood from his wounds, Corbett, tired but unmarked, complained bitterly and loudly about the injustice heaped up him by the referee.

Fitzsimmons came out for the 7th round fighting cautiously, feinting more often than in earlier rounds and making a conscious effort to stand his ground rather than chase the quick-footed champion as he had previously. He continued this strategy for the next several rounds with neither fighter landing any decisive blows. As the rounds continued Corbett became decidedly less animated in the ring but still managed to avoid Fitzsimmons' punches by dodging and clinching.

At the end of the 12th round Fitzsimmons returned to his corner to find a new member of his staff offering advice - Rose Fitzsimmons had left her seat and joined Bob's trainers and was screaming advice so loudly that newspapermen from around the country could hear her every word. "Remember, Bob, the thirteenth is your lucky round! Don't let him whip you! Go get him!"

Fitz charged out for the 13th with the violent aggression he'd had in the earlier rounds but at this late stage in the fight Corbett no longer had the wind or the legs to to dance away from Fitz's power. Corbett still managed to avoid absorbing any dangerously blows to the head as he feinted and clinched throughout the round but Fitzsimmons confidence was growing. Near the end of the round Fitz launched a wild right hand to the jaw that Corbett managed to dodge by mere millimeters, and as the bell rang Corbett stood in his corner shaking his head.

The fourteenth round made history.

Rose Fitzsimmons remained in the corner, bellowing advice at the top of her lungs. "Hit 'em in the slats, Bob! Hit 'em in the slats!" Fitzsimmons turned his head to the sound of her voice and nodded. The bleeding on his face had largely stopped but swelling was beginning to set in and his vision was becoming limited. He charged out of the corner at the sound of the bell and roared straight in to two blistering straight right hands from Corbett, one on the forehead and the second in the mush as the blood started to flow again. Fitzsimmons missed a countering right and clinched, landing a left to the ribs before being pushed off.

"Hit 'em in the slats, Bob!"

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We now pause this episode of Mike's Musty Boxiana for our first Reader Participation segment. Would everyone please rise from their seats?

Please assume the orthodox boxing stance, left hand leading, right hand back, left foot forward and hands up. If you're bald, knock-kneed, and a New Zealander that works best but don't feel bad if you don't meet all these criteria.

Feint to the head with your left hand, a half-punch designed to test your opponent's defensive reactions. After the feint (and this is the tricky part), feint quickly with the right hand to the head but as you do so, slide your right foot forward and turn your hips at the same time. The footwork required to perform this manuver properly is daunting, definate Boxing 440 stuff. Now your right hand should be leading as you've assumed a southpaw stance.

Finally, take advanatge of your new stance and the extra power your hip rotation will grant your left hook by slamming your best shot straight in to the pit of your opponent's stomach, taking advantage of his raised guard done as a result of your two head feints.

Ladies and gentlemen, you've just learned The Fitzsimmons Shift.

We now return to our regularly scheduled discussion.

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Jim Corbett staggers and attempts to rise after being hit in the solar plexus

Corbett folded in half and collapsed to the canvas. He attempted to rise, gasping loudly for air, almost regaining his footing before falling on his chest. Fitzsimmons hovered above him, fists at-the-ready, and spat out, "'ow do ye like the view from there, you son 'ov a bitch?"

The count reached ten. The fight was over. Robert Fitzsimmons was the heavyweight champion of the world.

The day after the fight, newspaper reporter Bob Davis of the New York Journal overhead two physicians discussion the fight in his hotel saloon. Jotting down what he overhead, he wrote a description of the punch that entered boxing lore - the solar plexus punch was born.



The celiac (or solar) plexus is an anatomical confluence of nerve and soft tissue immediately under the diaphragm. A traumatic blow can temporarily paralyze the diaphragm, making breathing impossible for a short period. Old-time bare-knucklers were well-acquainted with the effects of a blow to this region; back when a poorly-placed blow to the head could result in a crippling broken hand, this area was considered one of the best for a targeted knockout blow. They called it "The Mark".

After the fight, Fitzsimmons and his closest friends (sans wife) lounged in a hot springs sauna. Staring down at his scrawny frame, ribs still visible and knobby knees jutting out from under his towel, Robert Fitzsimmons, the blacksmith from the other side of the planet, marveled at his fortune.

"'ere I am, 'eavyweight champion of the world, and I'm only a bleedin' middleweight!"

[NEXT - The bigger they are....]

[Na1m4rk]

Compliments of resident gentleman Hamhock, an illustrated depiction of the knockout courtesy of the famed Fitzsimmons Shift:


There is at least one glaring error with this depiction - can you spot it?

[Hamhock]

It shows the knockout blow as being delivered with a right hand, not the left?

That and apparently Corbett and Fitzsimmons were fighting with butler gloves on

[David Smith]

If I read your description of the maneuver correctly, Fitzsimmons didn't actually land the "staggering blow" in step 1.

DFS.

[Na1m4rk]

It shows the knockout blow as being delivered with a right hand, not the left?

The Ham Man makes it look easy.

The entire purpose of the Fitzsimmons Shift is to quickly transition from orthodox stance to southpaw, allowing you to get your hips rotating and add power to the left hook.

If I read your description of the maneuver correctly, Fitzsimmons didn't actually land the "staggering blow" in step 1.

Actually, that too. The left was a feint that hit the gloves, not the jaw.

After landing the famed Solar Plexus Punch there was a brief pause before Corbett crumbled to the ground, during which Fitzsimmons landed a glancing hook to the crown of the head. Many live observers actually thought this light blow was the one that did Corbett in, and some booing and cries of shenanigans were heard in the crowd.

I hope everyone at least made an effort at the audience participation

[sulli]

I wonder if modern boxers still use the Fitzsimmon's Shift? While requiring some complicated footwork it would certainly seem to add quite a bit of pop to a left hook.