Word: hurley
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...There's a lot of conversation to boxing," admits Boxing Manager Jack Hurley. He ought to know. In 40 years of guiding good boxers, light-fisted clowns and human cauliflowers through the sweaty jungles of prizefighting, he has learned to use the language as effectively as a Sixth Avenue pitchman. Out of his rowdy-ringside wisdom he has fashioned some fine tigers, e.g., Lightweight Billy ("The Fargo Express") Petrolle. Sometimes he has taken a tame tabby, such as Heavyweight Harry ("Kid") Matthews, and conned the public into believing he was a killer. With either breed of cat, Hurley...
Time has whitened his hair and the nervous agonies of his trade have given Hurley ulcers. In the past two years he has taken Matthews, his managerial masterpiece, to New York to see him flattened by Rocky Marciano, and home to Seattle to watch him taking a licking from British Heavyweight Champion Don Cockell. A lesser man might have given up. Hurley was undaunted. Last month he arrived in London with Matthews in tow, and announced with infinite gall that his tabby could knock over Cockell...
Home-town Decision. Moving in to the attack. Hurley caught the home-town sportswriters off guard. "Cockell," he told them, "could beat Rocky Marciano on the best day Rocky ever knew. Marciano can't box. He's just a big, crude swinger. Who has Marciano beaten anyway...
...Matthews wasn't beaten by Marciano," Hurley countered. "He was beaten by Yankee Stadium. He was overawed, sort of. He would have beaten Marciano in three rounds in Seattle...
...Hometown decision," snorted Hurley, as if he meant it. "There's been a lot of jealousy in Seattle. We fought there too often, I guess...