“My ribs hurt real bad, I think something’s broke.”
“Nothing’s broke; you’re just a little of out shape. Keep moving and jabbing but this time close the distance once in a while and hook and give him some straight rights. Let’s see how he can handle that.”
McCarthy nodded. He might be scared of Bobby’s power but he wasn’t a quitter. The bell sounded and he moved slowly off his stool and started toward the center of the ring where Bobby was waiting. This time he danced right, then left and moved in on Bobby first and snapped out a couple of jabs that hit Bobby’s gloves. Bobby glided again around McCarthy’s right, forcing him to turn and punch. When he did, Bobby threw the double left hook again, right to the solar plexus and upstairs to the nose. Blood started streaming again and McCarthy instinctively pawed at the swollen proboscis with his left glove. But as McCarthy turned Bobby had danced back around so that he was now at an angle where he ripped another solid left hook to the liver, and then again in the same spot. McCarthy dropped to both knees and rolled over.
Bobby stood over him for a moment and then walked away.
I jumped into the ring and ran over to McCarthy and waved my hands. “It’s over for today.”
A couple of fighters came into the ring and helped McCarthy back into the locker room. I walked over to the corner where Bobby was sitting, his head gear was off and a wide grin was spread across his face.
“You busted Mike up real good. He’s through, he won’t be back.”
“I was sick of hearing his mouth anyway. So who’s next, I’m just getting started.”
“That’s it, I don’t have anyone else. So you’re going to work the heavy bag for four rounds and then I want you to run afterwards. Since you’re so hungry for a brawl, I’ll have two sparring partners for you tomorrow.”
That afternoon Harry showed up at the gym. Jack was in the steam trying to knock another half-pound off.
“How’s he look?” Harry asked.
“Terrific. He ran five miles and then sparred three tough rounds. I used Mike McCarthy so he could have a lefty to punch at. Don’t think McCarthy’s coming back. Bobby busted a couple of his ribs.”
Harry arched his eyebrows. “The line in Vegas has Adams as the 8-1 favorite.”
“That’s about right, if you haven’t seen Bobby’s workouts since his last fight. But the word’ll be out about the beating he gave McCarthy today and it should narrow.”
Bobby came out of the locker and walked over to us. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans and looked relaxed.
“How do you feel, kid?” Harry asked him.
Bobby smiled. It was a big boyish grin. “I’ll be ready. More than ready.”
“What did the scale say?” I asked.
“One-fifty-one.”
“We’ve got four days left. You’ll make the weight easy. Better lay off the steam room, you’ll drop too much. Adams is a natural middleweight now and he’s had weeks to come down. After the weigh in, he’s going right back up.”
“I’ll send over another southpaw tomorrow,” Harry said. “Someone built more like Adams. Go four rounds with him. Okay?”
Bobby nodded.
“Then go on home and eat a good meal and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”
After he left, Harry asked, “Do you really think the odds are going to come down?”
“If you’re going to bet on him, call your bookie now.”
Word had spread quickly about the beating Bobby had given McCarthy. The next day two sportswriters and a photog showed up at the gym and watched the workout. I wouldn’t let the newsies talk to Bobby so they interviewed Harry. He played it cozy, not talking Bobby up or down, only promising that Bobby would make it a good fight.
3.
When Wednesday rolled around, we took a cab to the Garden for the noon weigh in. One-forty-seven was the contract weight for noon, with any fighter not making the weight given until six p.m. to make it at a second weighing.
Bimmy Franco, Adam’s manager came over and we shook hands. “This is a great opportunity for you, kid,” he said to Bobby. “I know you can’t win but make it a good fight. Crowd pleasers always get fights. Isn’t that right?” he said that last to me.
“Other than you, who says he can’t win?”
Bimmy grinned. “That’s right; you gotta have confidence in your fighter. Now let’s see what the scale says.”
Bobby stepped up on the scale, the towel still wrapped around his waist. “One forty-six even,” the official read. “Plenty to spare.”
Adams approached the scale, sauntering with the upper torso of a middleweight on his way to becoming a light heavy. His shoulders and arms were massive, his left shoulder and triceps covered by a huge green dragon tattoo. He posed for the news photogs and the dragon’s wings rippled as he flexed his muscles.
“Look at his face,” I told Bobby, trying to distract him from the obvious size differential. “It’s still all marked up from Soto slicing and dicing him for twelve rounds in the title fight. He’s as easy to hit as Mike was.”
Bobby grinned. “That was pleasure; this is business.”
Adams stepped on the scale, smiling for the photog. “What’s it say?” Harry asked.
“Just over one-forty-seven.” Adams smiled and dropped his towel.
4.
I led Bobby into the arena, his head covered by the cape and his gloves resting on my shoulders and we danced down the aisle to the ring. In the ring, I pulled his cape back and he danced around, throwing combinations at the air.
When the fighters were introduced there was only a smattering of applause and lot of boos for Bobby. The cheers were all for Adams, after all he had been the champ and this was a comeback fight.
“Just fight him like you did Mikey,” I told him. “Slip and hook, slip and hook.”
Adams smirked as they touched gloves. Bobby just stared at him. Back in the corner, I told him again to take the first round slow, get a sense of his southpaw rhythm. The bell rang and Bobby danced out and met Adams in the center of the ring. Adams came in high with his left carried low, trying to entice Bobby into an early exchange. They circled warily; throwing jabs at each other, Adams landing a pair on Bobby’s left cheek. They were moving along one of the sides, Adams keeping his left still low, flicking sharp rights out at Bobby’s head and ribs. He was sure he was the faster fighter but was surprised when Bobby suddenly threw two right hooks, landing both of them, the second right under Adam’s left ear, causing him to cover up against the ropes.
“Don’t punch yourself out,” I said to him in the corner. Jimmy rubbed extra Vaseline on his left cheek, covering the bright red spot where Adams’s jabs had hit their mark. “And get your jab off first, force him to counter from that low position.”
Bobby winked at me as he got off his stool for the second round, ready to go before the bell sounded. I could see Adams still seated on his stool.
Both fighters were still cautious, mainly trading jabs, looking for any weaknesses that they might exploit. Near the end of the round, Bobby double-jabbed at Adams’s nose and Adams threw a counter right hook, catching Bobby on the left cheek. I could see the flesh swelling almost instantaneously.
“You’re doing great,” I said when he came back to the corner, his cheek looking a ripe peach. “Don’t talk, just listen. Keep landing on the dragon, you’ll bring his left down further. Then you can double