Word: rickards
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Last week saw the second installment of Tex Rickard's heavyweight boxing elimination contest, being intermittently staged in Madison Square Garden in Manhattan. (TIME, Feb. 21) One Paolino Uzcudun, Spaniard, unofficial champion of several European precincts, climbed into the ring with one Knute Hansen,* semi-ferocious great Dane. At the end of ten mildly bloody rounds Uzcudun's hand was held aloft by the referee in token of victory. The small crowd was amused but unimpressed; predicted an early cropper for Paolino...
...married in June. Most of her trousseau was ready. Her fiancé, Edward Sullivan, sports editor of the Macfadden New York Evening Graphic, was sitting at her bedside in a Chicago hospital. Flowers from Gertrude Ederle, Jack Dempsey, Tex Rickard and many another were brought in by her parents. She had been sick for 92 days. She, who had many times looked up from thrashing waters and laughed at the sun, grew pale, saw no sun. Sybil Bauer had ceased to live; her family, her fiance, sports lovers, bowed their heads...
...lunchtime in St. Louis one day last week, Gene Tunney signed his name to a piece of paper giving Tex Rickard the privilege of arranging a fight for him, in Manhattan, next September, for a guarantee of $475,000 and half of the net gate receipts over $1,000,000 against any opponent Mr. Rickard picks out. To find the opponent there will be an elimination tournament involving Jack Sharkey, Jim Maloney, Jack Delaney, Paul Berlenbach and Michael Paolino. The winner of the tournament will fight Jack Dempsey (if Dempsey needs money badly enough to get in the ring...
Boxing Profits. George L. ("Tex") Rickard computed the income of the professional boxing bouts he promoted. In 1924, 1925 and 1926, gate receipts totaled $7,790,993. Of this 1/20 went to state taxes and 1/10 to Federal taxes...
...will be a merry row for all concerned. All that is lacking is some musical Tex Rickard who can promote this battle of music in the best way possible --that and a city official. C'est la guerre, Bostonians, c'est la guerre...