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Experts Wail What TV’s Done Shouldn’t Happen To Boxing To A Dog Along that little stretch of Manhattan asphalt known rather oddly as Jacobs Beach, the wailing of the fight mob is horrible to hear. TV, goes the groan, is debauching the grand old science of self defense. In the old days, say the sons of Jacobs Beach, the ring was full of classy boxers, men like Jim Corbett and Gene Tunney and Philadelphia Hurricane Jackson, becalmed by Valdes. Jack O’Brien, who used to bowl over the muscle-bound sluggers one-two- three. Today? Fighters, they claim, aren’t fighters at all. They mug, posture, strut, telegraph their punches and dance before the cameras. The boys have another complaint. Fighters today, they snort, don’t even want to be fighters. They want to be TV actors—like Rocky Graziano. “In the dressing room,” says one of the mob, “I see them monkeys every night, making faces in the mirror. “If I’d a got a gun,” he adds, “I’d shoot them all.” “Another thing,” says a second savant (a man whose opinions have been tolerated, if not respected, on Jacobs Beach for years). “You take a fighter today, when he wins a fight on TV, instead of just saying, ‘Hello, Ma!’ into the mike, he’s got to make a speech.” They tell a story about a pug—let’s call him Joe—who went out to fight a champ. The fight lasted two rounds, Joe all the time dancing around in front of the camera, grimacing like a gargoyle. Then the champ nailed Joe and Joe went down with all the aplomb of a stricken water buffalo. The camera played on his quivering carcass as the referee counted him out. In the dressing room after the fight, Joe smiled through disheveled fea¬ tures. “I know he stiffened me,” he said happily. “But I went down with my good profile up!” Guys like Joe get very little sym¬ pathy along Jacobs Beach, where the philosophers hold that TV has ruined even the announcers. Gone are the bluff, hearty, whisky-voiced spielers who used to gab and gab and gab. They’ve been replaced by a close¬ mouthed, noncommittal crew. But let us return to the gladiators. A typical cauliflower in TV’s or¬ chard was a heavyweight named Hur¬ ricane Jackson. Until pickled by an- 10