Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, March 1922 · page 47 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #31 — page 47: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a narrative poem about boxing, likely from the 1920s. The narrator describes becoming a boxing champion in the U.S., then traveling abroad (likely to Europe—"cross the drink") to fight for money and a championship title. The central plot twist: the narrator's opponent turns out to be "the Kid," apparently someone he knows personally. Despite the emotional conflict, "the Kid" insists they fight fairly and honestly rather than fake/throw the match, even though the crowd has bet money on the outcome. The satire targets the boxing world's corruption—the expectation that matches are rigged, that fighters would throw bouts, and that crowds knowingly gamble on dishonest contests. The "Kid's" insistence on honesty becomes ironic commentary on how abnormal genuine sportsmanship has become in professional boxing. The poem's colloquial language and casual treatment of bribery and match-fixing satirizes the era's widespread acceptance of sports corruption.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 45 And I was champ in U. S. A., And knocked 'em cuckoo every day. Now all McGee and me could think, Was how we'd like to cross the drink, And knock this bucko for a row, And grab a wagon load of dough. At last Mac got me matched all right, Five thousand smackers for the fight; Then me and him packed up our grip, And went to grab that championship. I done some trainin' and the night Set for the battle, sure was right; The crowd was wild, for this here bout Was set to last till one was out. The mob went crazy when the Pet Came in, I'd never seen him yet; And then I climbed up through the ropes, All full of fight and full of hopes. The crowd gave me an awful yell, ('Twas even money at the bell) They stamped their feet and shook the place; The Pet turned 'round, I saw his face! My guts went sick, that's what they did, For Holy Gee, it was the Kid! We just had time for one good shake, We meant it too, it wasn't fake. Whang! went the bell, the fight was on, I clinched until the round was gone, A beggin' that he'd let me take The fall for him—he wouldn't fake. Hell, no, the Kid was on the square, And said we had to fight it fair, The crowd had bet their dough on us— We had to fight (the honest cuss). The referee was yellin' "break," The crowd was sore and howlin' "fake," They'd paid their dough to see a scrap, And so far we'd not hit a tap.