Reading the recent death of Brian London, I was reminded of his father, Jacek, and I was struck by how special achievement was for my father and son to keep the British heavyweight title only 13 years. However, their career paths could not be more different. Brian took three years to win the British crown in his 24th fight. After losing the title, he had the opportunity to recover it, two European title and two shots in the world crown. For his father there was only one shot in British Honors and it took 13 years and 121 fights for his achievement.

Jack turned to Pro in July 1931, at the age of 18, to complement his work as a truck driver. It was the era of a great crisis, when 20 percent of the insured labor force was unemployed, and the men in the queue and literally fought for tickets for their daily work to aid feed their families. But pro boxing developed. The fights were staged with stunning frequencies in combat halls, public baths, ice rinks and other improvised stages throughout the country. It is not surprising that these boxers fought as often as possible, many of them in a low time against more experienced men.

Carefully selected entries simply did not exist, and this is reflected in Jacek’s fight. In the first month he had four fights as a professional, and in his eyes 29 in the first year. There were many losses in his early book, but he studied fighting through the fight. He went down to second place with experienced performers, such as Daniels, Jack Casey, Charlie Smith, Len Johnson, Ben Foord and the world -class Larry Bains. But he benefited from these experiences and avenged losses in Casey, Smith and profits.

At the end of the 1930s, London was a very improved warrior and most of the time. In 1936 he defeated two good Americans in Roy Lazer (who defeated Jersey Joe Walcott the following year) and very involved in both Walker. Jack also went on a distance with the former world king Tommy Loughran, who was too clever for him. But Jack put up the game and did it similarly in the following year, when he lost points with a immense future double contender to the title of the world, Buddha Baer, ​​brother of the world leaves Max.

Jack fought towards a crack in the British heavyweight title, but the outbreak of war seriously hindered his ring activity and only September 1944 had a chance. London [inset]Until then, a veteran 31 from Łyse, 31 years, faced the 25-year-old star of Rising Freddie Mills (the master’s featherlight) for a free crown of heavyweight. Despite the fact that he is 36 pounds lighter than London, Mills overtook him three years earlier. In the fight, the return divergence was even greater – stunning 43 pounds!

Watching a pair that devotes himself to the Newsreel clip on YouTube, a huge difference in weight is not obvious, because phenomenally powerful Freddie looks like he learns Jacek almost on equal conditions. It was not a fight for lovers of sweet science, but the crowd got money that is worth watching how these two gladiators went to the skin for 15 rounds, after which London won the decision, and the British titles and the Empire, just to lose them 10 months later, 10 months later, 10 months later. Bruce Woodcock.

Fight the fans whose memories, dating back to 1960, will probably meet Jacek best for his role in the infamous fight in Porthcawl, when tension after the ugly fight between Brian London and Dick Richardson caused that even uglier scenes when a massive fight broke out, and his older brother (and colleague professional) Jack Jnr and Jack Snr proved that he could aid in Samowners as a sanction. The material of this is also available on YouTube and is worth seeing.

Shortly before the Olympic Games in Atlanta in 1996, I was on the phone with Muhammad Ali.

“Will you go to the Olympic Games?” I asked.

“I can’t tell anyone,” Ali answered. “It’s a great secret.”

From this I thought that Muhammad was actually going to Atlanta and most likely lit the Olympic Kauldron.

The boiler lighting is the most essential event of the opening ceremony at every Olympics. The torch is illuminated in Olympia, Greece. The flame is transported in the relay to the country hosting the upcoming games. The journey ends at the main stadium in games where the boiler is fiery and burns until the fire expired during the closing ceremony.

Traditionally, someone from the host country ignites the boiler. At the 1984 Olympic Games Decathlete Johnson Rafer ” In 1992, in Barcelona, ​​a Spanish archer shot a Caldron arrow, waking up the flame.

Ali was an ideal choice for the lighting of the Olympic Kauldron in Atlanta. At the age of eighteen, fighting under the name Cassius Clay, he won a gold medal in Rome. Then he achieved glorious highlands as a boxer and traveled the globe, spreading joy and much more. Atlanta was particularly essential to him. There, after three years of exile from boxing, he returned to the ring to defeat Jerry Quarry. He supplemented the Olympic spirit and was probably the most essential citizen of the world.

But the organizational committee in Atlanta wanted Evander Holyfield (resident of Atlanta) to be the last carrier of the torch. The NBC sports president took Dick Ebersol (whose network was television matches) five months to convince local Olympic officials that Ali should be honor.
The identity of the final torch carrier was a closely guarded secret. The moment of consideration took place on July 19, 1996.

Discus Thrower Al Oerter (former US gold medalist) wore a torch with a flame at the last stage of the trip to the stadium. Holyfield flame passed, who moved the torch through the maze of tunnels to the track, to which the winner of the gold medal of Voula Patoulidou from Greece joined. Holdfield and Patoulidou circled the track and handed over the flame “Od to ​​Joy”.

Evans took the torch towards California. Ali, his own torch in hand, appeared.

Tens of thousands of people began to chant: “Ali! Ali!”

Evans reached out and lit Muhammad’s torch with her own.

Ali was in less than good health at that time. The ignition device designed to rise to the boiler above was ponderous to lightweight when Muhammad touched it. His body was shaking.

Over a billion people around the world look at the flames of the torches, Ali licked his hands and shoulders. But he wouldn’t give up. He did not refuse to release the torch until the work was done. And he won. The flame moved from its torch to the boiler.

It was one of the most memorable Olympic moments in history. No one who noticed that night will forget about it.

For many years I was asked what I consider to be the heritage of Ali, except for its size as a warrior. Each time I point to his example of black pride and his refusal to accept the introduction to the United States Army.

“He became a lighthouse of hope for oppressed people around the world,” I explain. “The experience of being black changed to tens of millions of people because of Ali. Every time he looked in the mirror and said,” I’m so pretty “, he said that black is lovely before becoming fashionable. And when he refused to introduce the United States to the army, he stood in the army around the world, supporting the proposal that unless you have a very good reason to kill people, he is bad. “

But I also started to believe that there is an equally essential element of Ali’s heritage. He was the embodiment of love.

The boiler lighting at the Olympic Games in 1996 was the last main element of the composition for the legend of Ali. Muhammad lived for another twenty years later. But on July 19, 1996, it was a great blessing for the hero’s life.

People who witnessed Ali’s fight in Atlanta were united and look after one man. Hundreds of millions of people around the world, even for a moment, removed all hatred and prejudice from their heart.

Thomas Hauser is the author of Muhammad Ali: His life and times and Muhammad Ali: Hold for the greatest. His e -mail address is thomashauserwriter@gmail.com. In 2004, the boxing Writers Association of America honored Hauser with the NatLeischer Award for career perfection in boxing journalism. In 2019, he was elected the highest honor of boxing – an introduction to the International Gallery of Fame.

Ordinary readers of this column will know that I usually write about British boxers and their stories, but from time to time I like to wander around the Atlantic and cover some of the more intriguing aspects of the world championships in massive weight and its prosperous history. When I was first interested in these championships, in 1973, there were only 24 masters, and as a 15-year-old I watched, with great interest, like the latest of them, Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier I George ForemanThey were involved in their titanic fight for superiority. Inspired by their feats, I wanted to learn more about their predecessors, so without the internet that will support me, I started to Newcastle Central Library and asked for a related copy of the local newspaper for the third quarter of 1927. On these pages I could read how the second competition between Jacek Dempsey and Gene Tunney was submitted at that time. I saw granular materials from the fight on television and knowing that it was the richest fight in the history of sport and the one that contained the most controversial incident, a long number, fascinated me more than any other, and it still fascinates me.

Recently, spending an intriguing day, browsing the collection of my good friend Larry Braysher, I came across a photo that caught my attention, and I play it here [see facing page]. Dempsey and Tunney fought twice in Philadelphia and Chicago, and both competitions were scheduled for 10 rounds. I think that even to this day these are the only two championships that will be questioned at this extremely compact distance. Partly for this reason I assumed that Tunney, a defense master, simply poured his rival and despite the fact that he was infamously for about 14 seconds in the fight against Chicago in 1927, he basically held himself because of the damage, and withdrew from a basic victory, as he did in 1926. It certainly looked like the way I saw.

In recent years, the film of this fight has been colored, but neither the original nor this novel film material reveal the real range of damage that Tunney’s eternal and true stab on Dephore’s face. This is the accompanying photo certainly. You can see that needy Jack has some mess. I suspect that the photo was taken during the ninth or 10th round. At that time, Jack was a compact period of success, when, not going to the neutral corner on Tunney’s floor in seventh place, the count began only after Tunney was already on canvas for about five seconds.

Tunney replied perfectly, knocking on Dempsey in eighth place, then gradually defeated him in the last six minutes. I should have read the boxing messages more carefully, because their duel report stated that in the ninth round “Tunney ripped the lion and his right on his face so speedy that Dempsey fell into the clinic and the master seemed to be bathed in the blood, but he was Deppssey, because he was practically non -volatile. In the last round the report added that “Dempsey was mercilessly driven all the time and was practically on his feet when the last gong passed.”

Dempsey was in a very needy condition when the fight ended, as shown in the photo, and if 15 rounds were planned, not 10, I don’t think Dempsey could go full distance. In my opinion, Gene Tunney was one of the most underestimated heavyweight masters and one hellish warrior.

About two weeks after the fight, the Film Film came to Great Britain and in the whole it was shown in the cinemas of the length and width of Great Britain.