|
_ By HARRY
FERGUSON
_ United Press
Staff Correspondent
_ NEW YORK - A crowd of
80,000
persons that wedged its way into
Yankee Stadium filed out into the
darkness last night, complaining
that what had promised to be an
epic of the prize ring had developed
into a minor brawl between a Ger-
man and a Lithuanian.
_ Never was an audience more
ready
for drama and never did one make
its disappointment so apparent.
From the lock of light that marked
the ring the human crater stretched
up to the topmost turrets of the
stadium. It was a June night - a
night more fitting for peace and
laughter than for blood and blows -
and a sky of unclouded blue frowned
on strife.
_ But there in the center of
the
brightest glare contrived by man
Jack Sharkey and Max Schmeling
were preparing to wage single com-
bat so that children in some swarm-
ing slum might have cool milk in
the heat of a summer noon-day.
And the crowd responded. Down
from the rim of the crater there
rolled the same blood-cry that has
greeted gladiators everywhere.
_ It was an audience that was
wait-
ing impatiently for the crunch of
leather against muscle and the
spouting of bright crimson from
battered noses and torn ears.
_ The gong sounded faintly
above
the clamor as Schmeling and Shar-
key faced off for battle much as
their ancestors in Middle Europe
may have done centuries ago in a
swift bloody raid across some feudal
border.
_ Seven rows back from the
green
ropes sat Gene Tunney, who walked
out of the same ring two years ago
an undefeated world champion and
a millionaire. His brows met as he
strained forward on his wooden chair
and his head swayed with his move-
ment of the fighters. He half rose in
his chair when Ruth Elder's wide,
black hat in the row in front of him
blocked his view for an instant. Mrs.
Tunney sat impassively as Sharkey
and Schmeling flashed their fists
into each other's body.
_ The spectators roared their
glee at
even the lightest punches. The
hisses that had greeted Sharkey
when he entered the ring with an
American flag draped around his
shoulders changed into a long swell
of triumph as Schmeling tapped his
opponent on the lip and drew blood.
Crowd Is Anxious
_Then came the fourth
round.
There was a tangle of bodies in the
ring and Schmeling writhed on the
floor.
_ "That blow was low by three
and
a half feet," yelled Tunney.
_ The crowd came out of its
seats,
stamping and screaming for Schmel-
ing to get up. Was he hurt? Then
fan him into consciousness and
shove him back into the bout to
bleed and suffer for a lost cause. The
sum of $70,000 had been paid out
to see a fight and the curtain was
going down before the first act was
finished.
Fight for Charity
_ The Hollywood stadium,
operated
by the Hollywood, Calif., American
Legion, stages weekly boxing shows
without profit. The money goes to
charity.
|
