12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

KILL THE CHAMP! 51 OO Oren 2 Ose Oer Pere Pre O11 01+ Bre One Ooo Oee Berber Ore hee Oer Geo Ose Ore Ges Ber Genes Oi ves + Or Orn Ber Ber Ber Oer Gor Gre Oor rs Ger Ber Ore Orr Orr Ore Ber Ger Serer er Ger Per Gee GseOrr Ger GerGerOee openings. Then he cut them down. One round, two reunds ... three at most. A right to the jaw, a left to the head. One by one, he cut them down. Somewhere along the line Frosty Brown began to grow expansive. “Anoth- er Dempsey,” he’d tell the press. “The guy’s got executioner blood in his veins. Lookit what he done to the last guy! He murdered ’im!” The press began to talk about Rowdy Madden. They listened to the things Brown had to say and they printed them. Frosty was laying the groundwork for that title fight. He was building Rowdy into a killer. 5 The press did the rest. The press quot- ed Rowdy, when it was Frosty talking. “Get me the champ! Ill murder him! I'll tear him apart!’ Rowdy didn’t like it. He didn’t like anything about it. He wanted the champ and he was taking the short cuts. The championship was important. But he didn’t like the bloody way Frosty was putting it. : “Lay off,” he’d tell Frosty. “I’m no killer. ’m just a fighter with a job to do.” “I’m building a gate. Let ’em hate you. That'll make it a better gate when you do get the champ! I’m doin’ all right by you!” Well, Frosty had done all right. He had made them hate Rowdy Madden. He had made them look forward to the day when he would be in there against the champ. Tonight they had come in droves and had paid heavy sugar to see the show. And tonight, after three rounds, Rowdy Madden was reeling. The pop-off kid was paying for all the things he’d said. That was what the crowd thought. ... . The buzzer sounded. Rowdy was im- patient. Frosty was trying to tell him what to do. Rowdy swung around on him. His brown face was angry. “Listen,” he flared, “when you’re out there with the champ, you can’t follow a seript. You do the best you can and let it go at that. Shut up, Frosty!” Rowdy Madden heard the bell. He got up, went shuffling out. He studied the champ. Marty Allen was about Rowdy’s size and build. A six-footer with long, smooth-muscled arms and power in the shape of his shoulders. Marty Allen had been around a long time. But his face didn’t show #t. That face was almost unmarked. Marty Allen was that kind of a champion. The kind who knew how to protect himself. The crowd screamed, “Get that kill- crazy kid, Marty!” - The champ closed in, went to work on Rowdy’s body. Rowdy tried to cover. But the champ was clever. He got in- side Rowdy’s guard, rattled his belly with a left and right. He blocked Rowdy’s counter punches and danced away again. Smooth, the ehamp. Rowdy had a fight- er’s admiration for the way the champ worked. They sparred for an opening. Rowdy Madden tried to concentrate on the champ, but the crowd bothered him. The crowd was screaming at the champ, de- manding that he put Rowdy away. The champ wasn’t being influenced, though. He was dancing around, waiting for an opening. OWDY blocked a left and fired his right. He connected with the champ’s neck, jolted him. The champ tried to cover but Rowdy pressed him. He fol- lowed the advantage, lashed out with left and right to the head before the champ could hang on. For an instant they were locked in an embrace. The champ dug his chin in Rowdy’s neck. But Rowdy didn’t hate the guy for it. He could not hate the champ. Marty Allen was a decent guy. Ordinarily, the champ didn’t ride his opponents in the tie-ups. But tonight the champ was tired. The champ had taken his entire life’s earnings and he’d bought an annuity for his kids. He was going to enlist at a buck private’s salary. But he had one thing to do first—turn over a million bucks to the Army Relief fund. The champ wanted to do something big like that. For six months he’d toured the coun- try. Fighting as often as he could arrange a fight—turning over all his dough to the Relief Fund. Tonight he was fighting his last challenger. Rowdy Madden was pret- —com Ghooks (E@)