The Final Bell

He was the middleweight champion of the world, the best fighter, pound for pound, in the modern prize ring. And he was smart enough to see what was happening that summer night in 1951 when Britain's Randy Turpin swarmed all over him to take a clear-cut, 15-round decision.

Sugar Ray Robinson's old wicked grace and his panther's skill were just a fraction off, and the snap was fading from his punch. But the beaten champ was too proud to retire. Sugar Ray went home to Harlem and worked hard to get in shape for another crack at Turpin.

That September, in the Polo Grounds, he tried again. By the tenth round he was tiring fast. Then, for a few wild seconds, stung by an ugly gash over his left eye, he turned once again into the lithe, sure-punching champ. He won by a T.K.O. Afterwards, even Sugar Ray admitted that it might be a good idea to quit while he was ahead.

But there was one more title he wanted before he retired. In June 1952, just a year after Randy Turpin taught him how old he really was, 32-year-old Middleweight Robinson climbed into the sweltering ring at Yankee Stadium to take on Joey Maxim for the light-heavyweight title. In the old days he could have laid Maxim out, but he skipped and danced for twelve rounds, nicked punches and piled up points. Joey, no more than a journeyman champ, shrugged off the blows, shuffled forward for the 13th round, and watched Sugar Ray collapse from the heat. That winter, when he cooled off, Sugar Ray retired.

For a couple of years he worked as a second-rate song-and-dance man, a little too far from the big crowds and the big money to be really happy. Last summer, in a Paris church, Sugar Ray remembers: "It suddenly hit me--a strange desire to fight again. It just conquered me. I figure it was God's will." Early this month, Sugar Ray took down his gloves and tried them out against a bumbling pug named Joe Rindone. He won by a knockout, but the fight proved little. Last week in Chicago, Sugar Ray squared off again--against a battered trial horse named Tiger Jones.

Sugar Ray never looked worse. He slithered along the ropes, hung on, watching desperately with rolling eyes as the clock ticked off the rounds. Across the country, television fans squirmed to see the former champ chopped down.

After the predictable decision, a thoroughly beaten Sugar Ray still refused to quit. One of the finest fighters of all time was suffering from an occupational hazard: deafness to that final bell. "I know one thing," said Sugar Ray stubbornly.

"I'm not through, and I'll fight again."

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