Tunney vs. Gibbons

Nobody heard what was said, but the implication was patent. At the Polo Grounds, Manhattan, the referee, bending above Pugilist Tom Gibbons, had looked with shrewd and not unkindly eyes at his split mouth, puffed face, smashed nose, blotchy body, put a question to him. In 30 seconds more, the bell would start the twelfth round of Gibbons' battle against Eugene Tunney, a handsome fellow with a pompadour, a mild face, who sat facing him from the opposite corner of the ring. Tiered in darkness, 40,000 watchers perspired freely. They saw the solicitous referee bend above Gibbons. They saw Gibbons shake his head. The bell rang. Gibbons stood up. He took a step, smacked his smirking opponent (a one-time Marine) on the right temple. The other, angered, beat a furious rataplan upon the ribs of Gibbons. Wearily, with the immeasurable pathos of fatigue, Gibbons lifted his left fist, lunged at Tunney. "Ah," said 40,000 people, for Tunney wavered a moment, stepped aside, drove his right to Gibbons' jaw. The St. Paul Phantom who had never* been knocked off his feet in the prize ring, fell down on the back of his head. The arm of the referee made accents in the air. Tunney stood bulging his muscles, striving vainly to appear bestial. At the seventh strophe, Gibbons rose. A polo player at the ringside whispered to his lady: "He looks like Lazarus." Young Tunney again advanced his right fist. Gibbons twisted his torso with a curious jerk, sat down, bewildered, like a man overtaken by exhaustion. The referee counted ten. After the fight, Tunney glanced through a pile of congratulatory telegrams, went off to Long Island for a week-end of golfing and light revelry; Gibbons packed his suitcases, boarded a broiling train for Chicago where his wife lies ill of nervous prostration. "Now I want Dempsey!" declared Tunney in the press. Undoubtedly, if Champion William Harrison Dempsey returns to the ring, Tunney will be his opponent, for Champion Dempsey envisages little difficulty in defeating the blushing young Marine. But there is another pugilist--one whose either hand is like a demijohn, whose chest protrudes as if he had fed on thunderbolts. This fighter (Harry Wills), with sweat in his face and a red rose in his buttonhole, was introduced to the Manhattan multitude before the Tunney-Gibbons fight began.

* Gibbon's chief claim to fame is the fact that he lasted 15 dubiously honest rounds with Dempsey at Shelby (TIME, July 16, 1923). He has knocked out a great company of inferior fighters, his most glorious victories having been over William Miske, Kid Norfolk, Georges Carpentier. Now 36, his ring career is doubtless done.