Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, March 1922 · page 48 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #31 — page 48: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a first-person boxing narrative poem describing a brutal fight that ends in the opponent's death. The narrator, appearing to be an amateur or carnival boxer, defeats his opponent—called "the Kid"—but the victory becomes tragedy when the defeated fighter dies. The satire operates on multiple levels: the poem mocks both the violence of boxing and the crowd's bloodlust. Spectators initially accuse the narrator of "faking" when he hesitates to deliver a killing blow, then demand he finish the fight. The tragic ending—the Kid's death—indicts the sport itself and the mob mentality that drives it. The unrelated advertisement at bottom (about Ingersoll watches) is typical of *Whiz Bang*'s satirical format, using absurdist humor to mock consumer culture and false expertise.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
46 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang The second round we both begin, I caught a fast one on my chin; And stood like I was in a doze, Until I got one on the nose. I started landin' body blows, He hooked another on my nose, That riled my fightin' blood like hell, And we was sluggin' at the bell. The next round started, from the go, The millin' we did wasn't slow, I landed hard on him, and then, He took the count right up to ten. He took the limit on one knee, —A chance to get his wind you see; At ten he jumped up like a flash And on my jaw he hung a smash. I'm fightin' too there, toe to toe, And hittin' harder, blow for blow, I damn soon knowed he couldn't stay, He rolled his eyes—you know the way. The way he staggered made me sick, I stalled, McGee yelled "cop him quick!" The crowd was wise and yellin' "fake," They'd seen the chance I wouldn't take. That mob kept tellin' me to land, And callin' things I couldn't stand; I stepped in close and smashed his chin, The Kid fell hard, he was all in. I carried him into his chair, And tried to bring him to for fair; I rubbed his wrists, done everything, —A doctor climbed into the ring. And I was scared as I could be, The Kid was starin' and can't see; The doctor turned and shook his head, I looked again—the Kid was dead! * * * Just because you own an Ingersoll watch is no indica- tion you're a horological expert.