Sport: Then There Were Two

In London last week ancient (42) Archie Moore peered curiously for nine sparring rounds at a raw West Indian named Yolande Pompey before calmly knocking him kicking in the tenth to hold on to his light-heavyweight title. This business settled, Archie sat back to await the outcome of a fight he found more interesting: the twelve-round battle in Manhattan between Floyd Patterson and Tommy “Hurricane” Jackson. As Archie—and most of the boxing trade—figured it, the winner would have to fight him in the fall for the heavyweight title, up for grabs since Rocky Marciano retired last April.

The two came to Madison Square Garden in tough trim—sleepy-eyed Floyd Patterson, at 21 about the most exciting young fighter in the game, and wild-eyed Tommy Jackson, 24, a fistic freak whose boundless energy and impervious head have thwarted most of the best men in the heavyweight division. To prove he was ready for man’s estate, young Patterson needed to knock the ears off Jackson.

Lithe and trim at 178 Ibs., Patterson gave away 15 Ibs. to Jackson and came out slugging with both hands. He darted under the amazing (80-in.) reach of Jackson to slash right and left hands to the head. It was like punching a bowling ball. Jackson (193½ Ibs.) merely blinked, plowed forward. Patterson was so eager that he frequently resorted to amateurish tricks, even tried leaping-kangaroo right hand leads that would have invited destruction from a smarter opponent.

Patterson, for all his 21 K.O.s in 29 pro victories, could not even tumble Hurricane. The tall boy merely scowled, in the seventh even had the strength to blow up a storm of his own. His bee-swarming attack of pushes and pawings mixed with a few punches had Patterson going backward for the greater part of three rounds. But Patterson was more chastened than hurt; he came back in the final rounds with a crowd-rousing demonstration of a light-heavy frappéing the brains of a cast-iron heavyweight. Jackson somehow stayed on his feet, twice taking the scenic route back to his corner, but always up and eager for the next round. “How can Jackson stand up under that?” a woman asked in the stands. “It’s not human!” Said her escort: “He’s not human.”

When all was totted up, Patterson’s lashing attack had won him a split decision, proved he was a first-rate pro—but postponed his try for the heavyweight title. In the dressing room Patterson discovered why his right hand had hurt since the sixth round: the fourth metacarpal was broken. This would probably postpone a September fight with Moore, probably would match Moore with Jackson in a nontitle match. Either way, old Archie Moore was not particularly perturbed. “I’ve seen both Patterson and Jackson fight—they’re good boys, but young,” he said. “Experience takes a lot of beating.”