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SHOWMAN
ultant, "which corner do I take?" I crossed over and stood in front of Sullivan, shouting into his face, apparently mad with joy and confidence, "The same corner you'd take, Johnson— the lucky corner!" And then I turned and went tearing out of the room, shouting at the top of my lungs: "We've got the lucky corner! We've got the lucky corner!" It was one of the better acts of my life, and it must have told on John L.
We also managed to get him on the standard superstition that the first man to enter the ring is the last to leave it— meaning he'll leave it feet first. That was a pet notion of Sullivan's— he always tried to jockey his opponent into entering the ring before him and then appearing himself for a tremendous, soul-stirring ovation that would impress the other fellow. At fight-time, however, we stalled and stalled until we got word that Sullivan was on his way in. When we got within eyeshot of the ring, I saw it had been a dodge to trick us. The ring was empty and the crowd impatient. I held Corbett back. "Wait, Jim," I said, and turned round to see Sullivan coming along behind us, having been tipped off about our movements. We were blocking the aisle when he came up with us, glaring and snorting. "You're the champion, Sullivan," I said, "after you." After some backing and filling, we actually did force him to go ahead of us. And, as I neared the ring, I took particularly good care to shout to everybody in sight, good and loud, so Sullivan couldn't fail to hear me:
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