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SHOWMAN
worst of it was that all these men were the kind of fighters least suited to Corbett's style. Cleverness in boxing has its limits. There's no telling when a wild slugger will batter down the most expert defense and land one crushing punch to put a fine sparrer out of business. That was why Corbett was particularly justified in having a considerable case of "ring-fear"— the shyness about defending the title which hits almost all champions as soon as they reach the top. It isn't really fear with a man of Corbett's fighting courage— it's just the result of realizing that luck plays its part in boxing, too, and that, whereas the challenger has everything to gain in fighting, the champion has everything to lose. That was the vantage point from which we had to contemplate this aggressive array of rugged, battering challengers, all able to take punishment till the cows came home and all packing punches.
About that time Charley Mitchell, the gamest little Cockney who ever put up his dukes, returned from England to add the final complication to the picture. If anybody should have had the Sullivan fight, Mitchell was the man. He'd already fought Sullivan twice— once in New York to no decision, once in Chantilly, France, to a draw, which ended up with both men in jail. And he came loaded for bear. With him was a man he was handling, Jim Hall, an Australian heavyweight who had beaten Fitzsimmons in Australia, and a fellow named Squire Abingdon Baird with half the Bank of England in his pocket to back Mitchell and Hall with.
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