What things made Sugar Ray Robinson the best?

I have read about Harry Greb all my life...My dad saw Greb/Tunney One in 1922 MSG..He always raved about the beating Greb gave to the 13 pound heavier Tunney, so much blood Tunney shed...I dont think any160 lb fighter in history could have equalled the feats that Greb accomplished
because his blend of ferocity, tremendous hand and foot speed,unlimited
stamina and iron chin which withstood punches from heavyweights,
all blended with a thirst for combat...One of a kind was Greb...And I must
add fighting the last five or more years with ONE eye...What courage he displayed fighting weekly ,and knowing that he could be completely blind
if his other eye was closed from a blow...But fight the BEST fighters he did
to the end....

 

Hit multi-talent, and his heart in equal pieces.

 

When Greb had a leg injury he suddenly did get some KOs.
It was just his "windmill" style of punching.
Volume to keep his opponents away, fighting for decisions.

 

Ray is the greatest, not the best.

Those men were the best.
Prime Duran at lw.
Roy Jones from 160-168
Charley Burley, Eddie Futch called him the finest, Robinson him p4p the best. Never stopped despite facing both Moore and Charles
He knocked Moore down 4 times in the fight and won despite being outweighted by 6 lbs.
Maybe Mayweather at 130.

 

There's a reason you don't see any Robinson versus [any welterweight] match ups on here. It's because it's a foregone conclusion, even in such a rich division.

He should be first in line for discussions of best above anyone else. I think a couple of fighters had slightly better records but nobody has impressed me more on film when all is honest.

 

Well i guess yeah, Gainford said at first all he would do was jab and run and he would always be the last in the gym asking him what happens if i do this, and then what happens if i do this and this and then this, so i guess it was just him wanting to learn

 

I only give Hearns a shot really, and even then i'm not convinced he could beat SRR

 

I think this puts it quite succintly and accuratley. :good All supported by film of the man.

If any man was born a fighter it was Robinson, he hit the Holy Trinity of physical gifts that accompany a boxer speed, power and durability. Kicked into the mix unmatched fluidity, skill, grace with sublime footwork, accuracy, timing and to top it all off a knack for never succumbing to injury, rarely cut or prone to bruising, very long long reach with alot of heart, grit and a natural killer instinct. Like they say there's no such thing as a perfect boxer but Robinson is as close as you'll ever get.

 

I think Robinson is a perfect fighter?

 

couple things

1. Levine and LaMotta were both full fledged Middleweights while Robinson was still a Welterweight. He was giving away at least 10lbs maybe more in those fights.

2. Graziano was a full fledged middleweight when he faced Servo {a welter} once again not apples to apples.

3. Its pretty common knowledge that Robinson carried Fusari. The only struggle that night was trying to make it look good.

 

I have not read every response up to this point but in my own view the thing that stands out most is Sugar Ray`s consistancy. Remember this wasnt a guy that fought 2 or 3 times a year. He was fighting 10+ times a year. In that era there were so many good tough fighters. Even the journeymen were tough in those days. I believe there were more good fighters around than perhaps in later eras.

As it stands he never lost to a Welterweight. He routinely took on middleweights because there wasnt enough of a threat to him at `47. Also when he beat a guy he didnt just beat him once but usually 2 or 3 times. Bell, Servo and Gavilan all got rematches.

The other thing that he did was use film and make adjustments. Before the 2nd Turpin fight he studied the awkward style of Turpin and was able to fient him out of position when Randy pulled back from punches. Thats how he scored that dramatic knockout.

Also before the 2nd Fullmer fights he saw that Gene dropped his right hand before he threw it. They called it "operation lefthook" before the fight.

Sugar was a Pioneer in many ways.

 

:goodYeah,..Robinson was dangerous like a downed telephone cable..raw power that could kill.

 

For those who've not read my recollections of Sugar, thought this would be the ideal thread to post them again:

Growing up when the few blocks around the Brooklyn Navy Yard was the entire universe and sports heroes rose above sky scrappers -- and our only contact with them were the bubble gum trading cards we carried for currency -- Sugar Ray Robinson was the supernova that fired my lifelong love for boxing.

All of New York was a hotbed of boxing, and as long as I could remember, people spoke in awe of Robinson. His picture with gloves held low was on fight posters tacked up all over the neighborhood. Grainy shots of him in dinner clothes, flashing that million-dollar grill, hobnobbing with celebrities, graced the tabloids daily.

We crowded around the radio to listen to his fights, and to catch glimpses of his fuchsia Cadillac or when he was mobbed in the streets for autographs.

Robinson was every young boy's hero. When we play fought, we all wanted to be him. He captured the imagination of every boy as surely as Superman or Robin Hood. He was movie star handsome, gracious to opponents, soft-spoken, feted by royalty, always in the presence of beautiful women - and the best fighter on the planet.

The first time I saw Robinson in the ring, my dad took me to the old Garden in ‘46 to see him against Tommy Bell for the vacant welter title.

Bell was no slouch, not the least cowed by Robinson's reputation.

Robinson glistened in his corner waiting for the bell. He was sleek and lean, with dancer's legs and long supple arms that looked even longer because of his sloping shoulders. While the introductions were being given, he windmilled his right arm, like David readying to smite Goliath with a sling.

Robinson and Bell were mirror images of each other in style - both stand-up boxer-punchers - though Robinson enjoyed a few inches in height.

Bell fought with hands high and with a tighter stance. Robinson's guard was lower and he was turned slightly to the side, in a concession to defense, but his stance was wider and gave him more leverage.

They dueled on pretty even terms for 15 rounds, but to me, Robinson's punches had more authority and his combinations were like the repeated crack of a bullwhip.

Some thought Robinson lost that night - it was that closely contested - and Bell dropped Robinson in the second round with left hooks. Bell hit the canvas in the 11th, and was almost stopped in the 12th.

I think like most people there, though, it was almost impossible not to watch Robinson exclusively: Every movement was as classic for a fighter as Fred Astaire on a dance floor. Robinson glided over the canvas. And, even in the bitterest exchanges, he had the baring of royalty. His combinations were flashes of fire to the head and body; you could hear the THWACKS! echo through the arena.

The die was cast: I couldn't wait to get to the gym the next day.

After the Bell fight, I went with my dad to all Robinson's fights in New York, Philly, New Jersey, Wilkes Barre, Scranton and Connecticut, as well as watching any bouts on TV that we couldn't get to.

There were no end zone dances by Robinson when he dropped or KO'd somebody with a salvo. Usually, he was turned away headed for a neutral corner while they were falling . . . like a hit man that knew his job.

Whether it was third-tier guys like Floyd Sebastian and Gene Buffalo, or the very best around, like Georgie Abrams, Kid Gavilan, Steve Belloise, "Sugar" Costner, Charley Fusari and Bo Bo Olson, Robinson struck with the same lightening suddenness, electrifying crowds.

There were times it seemed Robinson's opponent came into the ring with gloves and Sugar Ray had an assault weapon. Every one of his punches seemed like he'd teed up the man's head and hit him full force with a golf club. And he had the accuracy of a sniper.

He fought in the trenches when he had to, beat-up the brawlers, outthought the boxers, could beat anyone at their own game, but mostly dictated the action, even backing up. He could do it all. We'd have paid to see him hit the heavy bag.

But what defines Robinson for me, and separates him from fighters like Mayweather, who've totally dominated the competition, is something very accessible: In many fights, Robinson had to bite down on pain and adversity and look within himself to find the courage to rage back and win. Much like a parable for all of us in the cheap seats.

Certainly, he was head and shoulders above everybody else, but it made you want to root for him: Nobility has always been in short supply . . . and he was thrilling.

When Robinson dramatically ended a fight, as he usually did, I couldn't wait to get home and relive the moment in front of the mirror, supplying the roar of the crowd myself.

At the Uptown Gym and Stillman's -- the General Motors of fight factories -- where legends, amateurs and journeyman went about the daily grind in a democracy of sweat, everybody stopped what they were doing to watch Robinson spar and do his floor exercises.

Robinson was always cordial, calling me by name, showing me how to extend my jab by dipping a knee, how to draw a right hand and counter over it . . . and countless other tips and encouragement.

Robinson, at best, was only a friendly acquaintance; I wasn't part of his clique. I was a kid; he was a man - a giant figure on a world stage. And, I could only fantasize about the richness of his life.

I tried to emulate everything about him, from what he wore in the gym to his stance in the ring. But it did me no more good than trying to hit home runs copying Ted Williams the stance. And, as far as his gym gear, no matter how I pulled and tugged, it never looked quite the same on me.

Once after sparring a round, I looked down and saw Robinson at ringside. He gave me an approving nod. I couldn't have been prouder if I'd won a title.

I saw the arc of Robinson's whole career, from welter to middle, all of his title victories and losses, the ticker tape parade down 5th Ave. after regaining his middleweight crown from Turpin, and every other glorious moment . . . until time and too many fights reduced him to a mortal, and he was only a Ray Robinson look-alike in his final days in the ring, eking out a payday for the use of his name on a marquee.

Even in his very last fight in ‘65 against Joey Archer, he showed flashes of the old Robinson - and I was on my feet, hoping for a miracle, but it was not to be; he couldn't pull the trigger often enough.

True, Robinson was far less heroic a human being . . . but I still get chills thinking of ring announcer Harry Balough, with his shellacked hair and shiny tuxedo, grabbing the mic center ring in the old Garden and trying to shout over the 17,000 fans straining on the edge of their seats to hear him say:

"IN THIS CORNER . . . S-U-G-A-R . . . R-A-Y . . . R-O-B-I-N-S-O-N!"

 

Bump

 

Great story JG! I would have been on cloud nine to get that nod from the great one..