Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 62 of 116
12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 62: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis: *12 Sports Aces* Pulp Magazine This is story prose from page 60 of *12 Sports Aces*, a pulp sports fiction magazine. The text depicts a boxing match aftermath in which Rowdy, a fighter, defeats Killer Blane in a carnival bout, then encounters Marty Allen, a former champion boxer wearing dark glasses, outside the ring. The two men reconcile past misunderstandings—Marty apologizes for doubting Rowdy's earlier claim of injury—and discuss their current financial struggles, with hints that both fighters need money and Marty's eyesight is compromised. The dialogue-heavy narrative captures hardboiled pulp style typical of Depression-era fight fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
60 | 12 SPORTS ACES FO De De Ws Boe dre ree Ore HGH Dt De Der Pro Pro Hs Pie Dee ers Sov Wehr Doo Dons + Gre Ber Gor oo Bir Ge oe Oe oD ees-Der rs Dee Per Gr Poe Ges Deo Pero Bes Doo Qe B+ Dee HePrPor See Qeo Here 0 the Killer’s chest. The carnival battler went back against the rope, bounced off like a diver off the high board. Rowdy met him with another straight left, this time to the mouth. Killer Blane went down like a poled ox. Rowdy went to his corner, He looked at the ref. The ref was frowning, his mouth open, The ref started counting. He was in _ no hurry. He took his time getting to five. Rowdy said, *‘I don’t want the lights to go off. I don’t want anything to happen. And you better speed up the count, bud, because I got another punch left.” The ref speeded up the count. He was green when he finished. So was the Kill- er. Rowdy stepped around the fallen bat- tler. He grabbed the ref. He said, “Two hundred fish. I want ’em.” | The ref said, “We'll settle after the show.” - Rowdy understood that one, too. He turned to the crowd. “This gyp artist don’t want to pay, friends. You laid your dough on the line to see a show and now it’s all over but the payoff. How’d you like to see "em count the money out right here?” The crowd pressed forward. They be- gan to mutter, The ref said, _ friend.” He had a session with the spiel merchant and a few minutes later he counted out the money. Rowdy climbed down. The crowd was filing out. Rowdy knew he was going to have to dress in there alone. He thought of the two hun- dred bucks. At that moment he spotted | Marty Allen. Impulsively he said, “Marty —take this dough. Meet me outside on the midway after I dress.” Marty hesitated. He was wearing his dark glasses again and the squint was gone from his eyes. A faint smile crossed his face as he stepped over beside the ring. . “T think,” he said “that I won’t need to take it outside, [ll wait until you dress. I don’t think we’ll be in any danger.” They stood there alone while Rowdy dressed, They were a little self-conscious at first, but it was a case of misery loving “You win the hand, . company. It was Marty who finally ‘broke the ice. Marty said, “IL owe you an apology, Rowdy. A couple. of months ago I was over at Jacobs’ Beach. Frosty was there. I heard him tell a guy that you were half knocked out the night you blasted me through the ropes. I didn’t believe it until I heard Frosty admit it. You tried to tell me. I was a dope not to listen.” Rowdy said, “It’s okay.” He suddenly ~ felt very fine. “I don’t blame you for what you thought,” Marty said, “You still pack a puneh, Rowdy.” “With my left,” Rowdy said. He held up his right. “This one smells. I don*t know if it’ll ever be right again.” Marty said, “What’re you doing here?” Rowdy said, “I read a piece in a fight magazine, I figured a couple of hundred would be nice. It looked easy, I couldn’*t connect any place else.” Marty nodded. “It’s a small ‘end: * he said, “Or a big ipa” Rowdy said. He looked hard at Marty. “Look—you’re on your uppers. You wouldn’t be fighting with your eyes in that condition if you weren’t. It’s none of my business, but—” Marty said, “No offense, Sure, I need dough. I made a lot, but a lot of it got away. I put everything into an annuity. The wife and kids get almost two hun- dred a month. But prices are going up. They could use more. The Army can’t use me and I’m sucker enough to think my eyes might get better.” Rowdy looked squarely at the ex- champ. “You don’t really mean that, Marty.” Marty shrugged. “Naw,” he admitted. He smiled, a sad, futile smile. “I’m whipped. It’s no more fight for me. {f wouldn’t admit it until now. But I know it tonight without these glasses—Oh, I'm through. . Rowdy said, “You got bad eyes and I got a bad hand. If you could use my eyes or I could use your hands, we'd get that title again. I— Marty blinked. His mouth came open. “Say that again.” He held out his hand, stopped Rowdy. “No! You don’t need to Gomichooks CO!