BOB FITZSIMMONS BOOK Excerpts

[McGoorty]

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.

[McGoorty]

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.

[McGoorty]

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!”

[McGoorty]

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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------CHAPTER XXII
THE BATTLE WITH GUS RUHLIN
BY W. W. NAUGHTON
A PUNISHING, staggering fight, with the result
in doubt a dozen times. In the sixth
round Fitzsimmons dropped Ruhlin as cold as
an iceberg with the fatal shift. Possibly there
are many in this broad land who do not know
what the fatal shift is. The shift is an assault
used in fighting. It is not always fatal. When
Fitzsimmons uses it, though, it is generally
fatal to championship aspirations.
In order to work the shift to perfection a
fighter has to change his feet with the speed
of lightning. His right foot acts in the dual
capacity of brace and pivot, and every ounce of
strength and weight in his body and limbs
apart from that anchored right foot and leg gives
force to the blow which accompanies the shift.
Fitzsimmons always boxes in such a manner
that it is easy for him to resort to the shift.
He keeps his feet shuffling around, withneither very far in front. His leg motions are
ungainly, but there is a purpose in it all. You
would think sometimes he was a victim of
sciatica, the way his legs drag.
Fitzsimmons a Bundle of Toughened sinews
He looks the “lean and slippered pantaloon
of pugilism” to those who do not appreciate
his physique. In reality, he is a crouching
bundle of seasoned muscles and toughened
sinews; a hardfisted
fellow, as cold as a fish
and with an eye that notes every move on the
Queensberry chessboard.

[McGoorty]

He was all of this in the present fight. He
kept close to Ruhlin, flogging away, and at
times fumbling. His knees were bent on
occasions and his gait wabbly. His bony head
was rocking from the force of the Akron
Giant’s blows in many a round, but there was
never a sign of dizziness about the Cornishman.
My! what a slugging match it was. It
looked as if Fitzsimmons would put aside all
his knowledge of trick and endeavor to win
out in a smashforsmash
fight.
He went close to Ruhlin and began to slug.
Ruhlin struck straight from the shoulder andbeat the Cornishman back to the ropes again
and again. The first was Ruhlin’s round. In
the next round the aspect of things changed.
Fitzsimmons tried the left shift once or twice
with fair success. The most damaging blows
were the left hooks he threw into Ruhlin’s
stomach.
Terrible Clip Set by Both
By the end of the third round the faces of
both men were bruised. They were fighting at
a terrible clip. Fitzsimmons worked the right
cross until welts appeared near Ruhlin’s temple.
Ruhlin’s nose was flattened and his lips puffed.
He was bleeding like the stuck pig of tradition.
He was weak, and so was Fitzsimmons.
Nor did Fitzsimmons’ face escape in the
melee. There was a ragged gash alongside
his left eye and shining lumps on his forehead
and temple. Both eyes were black.
Fitzsimmons was the aggressor in every
round. He took Ruhlin’s left full in the face
times without number, and still kept pursuing
the Akron Giant. If Ruhlin is possessed of
the damaging punch his friends speak about
he did not have it with him.In the beginning of the fourth round Fitzsimmons
steadied himself after driving Ruhlin
clear across the ring. Bob was armweary.
Ruhlin, whose plight was equally serious,
urged by a few words of advice whispered
from his corner, Hung his big gloves at the `
Cornishman’s face. Bob bowed his head to
the attack, and Ruhlin’s friends were fooled.
They thought Fitzsimmons was all out and
about to fall.

[McGoorty]

Bob Was Only Fooling
The Cornishman was simply fooling. He
straightened up with a grin on his countenance
and hammered Ruhlin across the mat, bringing i
him down near the ropes.
The endurance displayed by the two men in
the fifth round was marvellous. For the greater
part of the time there was no attempt at guarding,
and swings, hooks, and straight punches
landed on their faces. Fitzsimmons’ blows
were the more telling. Ruhlin appeared to
be weary, but he still swung in a tired way,
hoping by chance to drop his opponent. Near
the end of the round Fitzsimmons showed
more of trickiness than he did at any stage ofthe battle. He dodged and drew away, and it
was evident he was trying to clear the road for
some particular punch.
The opportunity was offered in the sixth
round. Fitzsimmons was on top of Ruhlin
from the first tap of the gong. He hammered
him across the floor and brought him to his
knees.
Ruhlin stood erect again and Fitzsimmons
acted as if intent on backing away. He halted
suddenly and made a bluff motion with his right,
and in his steelblue
eyes was an expression
that might pass for anything from a baby stare
to a look of horror.
Beginning of the End
It gave no indication of what was passing in
his mind. Then came the left shift. His right
foot went forward and his left came back. His
left glove crashed against Ruhlin’s jaw, and
the Akron Giant fell to the ground an inert
mass.
The light was over. It was won by Fitzsimmons
with a combination of hard fighting and
trickiness. He battered Ruhlin to a standstill
inside of four rounds: played with him anotherround, as a cat plays with a mouse, and worked
the shift for all it was worth.
So far as Ruhlin is concerned, the fight
simply served to show that he is a game
fellow and that he can stand a terrible
gruelling. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Coming Up Next......---------------------------------CHAPTER XXIII
THE BATTLE WITH THOMAS SHARKEY
With Running Comments Made by Gus Ruhlin
at the Ringside

[McGoorty]

Wow !!!.... This passage blew my mind,,,, Corbett a wild man !!

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!”

[Joeyzagz]

No matter how weak his
biceps and forearm muscles may be, in comparison
with those of his shoulders and back,
if the latter have the power he will be what
is commonly known as a “knockerout.”

Damn. Thats how lanky guys like him hit so hard.

Whats the name of this book?

[McGoorty]

Damn. Thats how lanky guys like him hit so hard.

Whats the name of this book?

It's called "Physical Culture & Self Defence", by, Robert Fitzsimmons.

[McGoorty]

I proudly BUMP this thread back into existence, surely all true fans of the boxing greats would love this book,,, and I saved ya'll the worry of finding and buying the book, it was in Bob's own words and therefore an all time classic....... if you have read this thread before, read it again and throw some comments in,, and if you haven/t read it, why not ?....... all comments welcome.