FITZSIMMONS Vs CORBETT ; By Bob Fitzsimmons

CHAPTER XXI
THE HEAVYWEIGHT
CHAMPIONSHIP BATTLE
BY ROBERT FITZSIMMONS
WHEN I entered the ring I tipped the beam
at one hundred and fiftysix
and onehalf
pounds, while Mr. Corbett weighed one hundred
and eightyseven
pounds. Before the
fight my opponent acknowledged over his
signature that he was in fit condition to make
the fight of his life. Well, he made it, and so
did I. He is a big, strong, clever fellow, but
from the moment I saw him standing before
me, trembling with anxiety to begin, I saw the
expression of uncertainty in his eyes. I saw
his legs tremble as he stood there like a young
cub lion, waiting to spring at me.
At the call of time I had collected all my
coolness; had settled myself to meet him in
any variety of onslaught he chose to offer, and
felt certain that if he whipped me he would
have to do part of the work. I remember distinctly
the way he leaped from the arms of hissecond; how his arms quivered as he struck a
defensive pose. There was nothing for me to
do at that juncture but to feel him. I saw that
he was not in possession of that confidence
which he boasted, and I was in no sense of the
word disconcerted. I began to frame his weaknesses.
Much to my surprise, he, too, was
curbing his temper, and was not likely to lose
it unless he lost the fight. On that point I was
right, and we will discuss that later.
In the opening of the first round I decided
to meet him halfway
in everything, and toward
the close, when I saw an opening made by his
advances to me, I put my right on him and
broke my thumb. For a moment the pain was
severe, but he had evidently been knocked by
the blow, and his caution gave me plenty of
time to recover. When the gong sounded I
was satisfied that there was something more
than mere inquisitiveness in him. There was a
color of anxiety, and his big eyes danced over
my face and peered into mine as though he
were looking for an answer. I hardly think
my expression told him anything. We came a
little nearer and began to feel the advantages
of the first round, but I saw that he was on thedefensive, and I made up my mind right there
that I would have to go in and take a little
punishment. He was on the verge of going at
me several times in the third round, but I came
at him and sent some hard ones on to his jaw
that put him back a little. But he is a good,
game fellow and stood it well, returning about
as good as I sent, but he was a little more
cautious about “finishing” me.

 

I confess I found it a difficult thing to get to
his head as often as I wished, but therein I
proved my generalship by immediately changing
my tactics and going for his wind. Once I
landed squarely on his mouth, and every time
he opened it to breathe I could see him holding
back that bloodcolored
saliva, in order, I suppose,
to deprive me of the privilege of drawing
first blood. Not for a single instant did I feel
that I was mistaken regarding his intentions.
I knew that he had given up the idea of a
hurricane and was looking for an opening.
Several times I gave it to him merely for the
opportunity I hoped it would present me. He
was quick to take the cue, but he never landed
just as I wanted him to. A tenth of a second
is frequently of the most vital importanceunder those circumstances, and conditions
must be right to put in the finishing touch.
In the fifth round he appeared to take a little
more confidence and set the pace a trifle
livelier than he did before, drawing blood from
my mouth and somewhat exciting the audience
and his various followers. Twice I tried to put
something strong in, but made no tangible
connection. I jolted his head back pretty hard
once or twice. Several times a pained expression
came into his face. Once he looked at
my wife, who sat by the ringside,
and literally
laughed at her, but she retorted, “You cannot
whip him!” And as the words struck my ears
it came like an encouraging voice out of the
dull murmur and hum and conversation going
on around me, and I said to myself then and
there, as I have often said before, “It shall
never be the lot of that woman to be the wife
of a defeated husband.” About that time I got
another blow in the mouth, which opened my
lip a little more and the blood began to flow.
I was also bleeding at the nose, but suffered
no inconvenience except when it ran into my
mouth.

 

under those circumstances, and conditions
must be right to put in the finishing touch.
In the fifth round he appeared to take a little
more confidence and set the pace a trifle
livelier than he did before, drawing blood from
my mouth and somewhat exciting the audience
and his various followers. Twice I tried to put
something strong in, but made no tangible
connection. I jolted his head back pretty hard
once or twice. Several times a pained expression
came into his face. Once he looked at
my wife, who sat by the ringside,
and literally
laughed at her, but she retorted, “You cannot
whip him!” And as the words struck my ears
it came like an encouraging voice out of the
dull murmur and hum and conversation going
on around me, and I said to myself then and
there, as I have often said before, “It shall
never be the lot of that woman to be the wife
of a defeated husband.” About that time I got
another blow in the mouth, which opened my
lip a little more and the blood began to flow.
I was also bleeding at the nose, but suffered
no inconvenience except when it ran into my
mouth. ---------------------------------------------------------The sixth round was especially warm, and Ifound Corbett getting a little wild in his
punches; but when he did hit me they were
heavy ones. Once I slipped while trying to
get away from a lefthand
swing. He stepped
on my foot. I tripped and fell to my knee and
remained in that position seven seconds to
wipe my nose. The referee, at the suggestion
of Mr. Julian, urged Corbett to stand further
away from me until I got on my feet. I was
not in the least bit dazed. Shortly after getting
up the round closed, and I decided to make the
seventh just as lively as he had made the sixth.
It was then that I discovered that his blows
were losing force. He struck less frequently
than before and seemed to be playing for wind.
He did not, however, lose much of his cleverness,
and managed to avoid me up to the
eleventh round.
In the twelfth I saw an occasional smile i
coming to his lips, and mentally congratulated
him on the way he was keeping his temper. I
cannot recall just how many times I missed
him, but I am aware that he ducked several
hooks and clinched me to avoid punishment.
As I retired to my corner at the end of the
twelfth round, my wife, who sat within five feetof me, called out, “Remember, Robert, the
thirteenth is your lucky round; do not let him
whip you!” When the gong sounded I had
freshened a little and was positive that he had
1 gone his limit, had done the best he could,
and was at my mercy the first bad break he
made. Every time I caught my wife’s eye
she whispered something encouraging, and I
winked and nodded back to her. She was
a greater help to me than many people can
appreciate, and I saw from the expression in
her face what she expected of me. When the
thirteenth round closed I had not effected an
entrance such as I desired, but I had the satisfaction
of knocking out one of his gold teeth,
and perhaps two. He looked awful sorry when
he got that crack, and flushed to the roots of
his hair. I went to my corner at the end of
that time more thoroughly convinced than ever
that it was all up with him, and that the next
round would close the issue.

 

When the opportunity came in the beginning
of the fourteenth round Corbett was fighting
a little wild and made a swing which I sidestepped.
In a flash I saw a clean opening on
his stomach and came in with a lefthand
shifton his wind; then, without changing the position
of my feet, shot the same hand against his
jaw, thus giving him the identical blows which
I administered to Sharkey in San Francisco.
There was no way for him to get up in ten
seconds. I was sure I had done the trick, and,
although he made a hard struggle to get on
his feet, he was counted out by the referee,
and the championship honors which I had won
once before were again mine in one of the
fairest fights ever fought in a prizering.
The excitement occasioned by the knockout
upset things greatly, and after I had retired to
my corner, where I stood surrounded by my
friends, receiving their congratulations, I was
suddenly pushed to the east end of the ring,
and the next moment I saw Corbett break from
the arms of his trainers, who were trying to
restrain him, and rush at me.
A dozen men had hold of my hands and
arms, complimenting me, and I was powerless
to defend myself from the blows which, in his
frenzy, he rained upon my neck. He was
ghastly with rage, and the break in his teeth
added nothing to his beauty. With curses on
his lips he threw himself upon me like aman who was possessed with the spirit of a
devil and whose next act would be to destroy
himself. Amazed and dumfounded, I was
almost unable to defend myself and not until
he was pulled away did I realize that he had
done what I had expected of him, and lost his
head and his manners the third time. Finally,
when order was restored, information was
brought to me that he wished to shake hands;
and as I had refused to take his palm, owing to
the incident on the prison road not long before,
and when I considered, also, that I had fought
and won the battle, I decided to show him that I
had still the qualities of a man of courtesy, and
offered him my hand in return. He complimented
me highly, said I was the greatest man
he had ever encountered, that he was whipped
fairly, and that he wanted another “go” at me.
I told him as politely as I could that I had
fought my last fight, and would never enter the
prizering
again. With that, instead of accepting
my ultimatum as containing a little wisdom,
he retorted that if I did not give him another
chance he would meet me on the street and
beat me to death, or words to that effect, interspersing
his statement with profanity.“If you do, Jim,” I answered, looking him
square in the face, “I will kill you!”,...I told him this because I meant it, and because
of my wife and my child, whom I love
better than all the world. My only object in
signing for that encounter was to vindicate my
honor and prove that no man ever lived who
could defeat me in a prizefight,
be he great or
small. In the morning before I went to the
arena my wife prayed on her bended knees
that I would be the victor. Had it not been
for the semblance of a hollow mockery to my
God, I would have joined her.
When the gong sounded for the opening of
that fight I made up my mind that if they
carried me out a loser it would be as a dead
man. I submit the facts.

 

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You're very welcome,,,,, The fight in Bob's own words,... I love the bit where they threaten each other with death.

 

I have read articles that said Corbett dominated the majority of the fight but Fitz was never out of it.... his insights into Corbett's pyscological condition and how Bob read the fight and Corbett's gradual decline..... it is a truly awesome account and the death threats were very real.... both men were born warriors in every way.