The coldest bit of trash-talk in boxing history came from the mouth of no fighter, nor a promoter...

Not even a coach (I know some of your minds may have leapt immediately to Norman "Stoney" Stone ). It was from children.

For just over two years, between the 19th of June in 1936 and 22nd of June in 1938 - bookended of course by his first & second encounters with the undisputed GOAT of Teutonic pugilists - Joe Louis dealt with the aftermath of his first professional defeat not just privately but in the form of ribbing from his own people. A sorely disappointed African-American community, that previously had put him up on a pedestal and hitched their hopes, dreams, and self-image to his wagon, now took out much of the ample "being a person of color in the 1930s" angst on their fallen hero.

Black kids in particular would run up to the Brown Bomber on the street, go up on tiptoe and hurl whispers into his ear, consisting of just three syllables: Max Schmeling. What's he going to do, smack tots in broad daylight? Even in those days, no - not for a celebrity whose hands were famously considered legally lethal weapons (whether or not that was ever strictly true and not P.R. is a matter of some debate). There was no choice but to suffer slings & arrows until he could exorcise his demons in the ring. Seethe, until the bell rings and everything can be released.

As we know, he did - and in sublimely violent fashion, with maybe the most destructive finishing combination in all of filmed heavyweight championship prizefighting. I wonder, though, do some of those brats (among whom there could well still be a few living; the youngest whelps now at least octogenarians, while Joe's older, adolescent tormentors are nonagenarians in the final stretch of the race to reach the century mark) realize what an instrumental role they played in fueling what many believe is the greatest HW victory h2h of all time?

 

Depression era Detroit ghetto urchins >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Gypsy Dosser at spitting fire.