Long Ago

The legs that earned $15,000 a week tap-tapping across a nightclub stage were rubbery now, and the speed was gone from the fists that won 153 fights and six world championships. In Philadelphia's Convention Hall last week, Sugar Ray Robinson, 43, meekly absorbed the taunts of beetle-browed Middleweight Joey Giardello, 32. "Boy, are you getting old," gibed Giardello. "Hah!" he laughed, when Robinson threw a pawing punch. "I was waitin' for that one, Ray."

For seven rounds, Giardello pecked at the face that Robinson once promised "ain't nobody gonna muss this up." Robinson covered up and clinched. A left hook bounced Ray to the canvas for a six-count in the fourth. The referee graciously called it a slip. With three rounds to go, Sugar Ray desperately attacked, but his punches had no sting and the officials' cards were unanimous: 49.43, 48-45, 47-43--all for Giardello. In his dressing room, while flunkies fanned his flab, Ray Robinson grimaced sadly: his $14,500 purse had been attached by federal taxmen. "I am tired and I want to think about my future," he said. Across the way, Giardello was trying to be generous. "He hit pretty good with the left hook," laughed Joey. Then he turned serious. "You know something? He must've been a great fighter once." Once, long ago.

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