Sport: No One to Hurt Him

In the first round. Challenger Ezzard Charles jolted the heavyweight champion with a right uppercut. Rocky Marciano lowered his head, and an irritated scowl flickered across his splayed features. Then, unperturbed, Rocky plodded back into the fight. He had taken the challenger’s best punch; Charles was already a beaten boxer.

Last June Rocky needed 15 bloody rounds to punch out a decision over Charles. Last week the husky (5 ft.11 in., 187 Ibs.) champion was back at his brawling best. By now no one expected him ever to learn how to box, but it did not matter. There was no one around who could hurt him.

In the second round, Charles went down under two looping rights and a left. In the $40 ringside seats at Yankee Stadium, the well-heeled fight mob howled for blood. “Don’t kill him so quick. Rocky,” begged an ex-pug, his fists doubled. “Cut him up first!” Charles was up at the count of two. With some of his old. dancing skill, the ex-champion rode out the round.

For five more rounds, Charles covered up while Marciano plodded forward with the clumsy, rugged power of a reformed streetfighter. In the sixth, Charles battled back briefly, bloodied Marciano’s broad nose. In the eighth, he opened a small cut over the champion’s left eye. Then he made his mistake. Stepping away from a clumsy left hook, he dropped his own protecting left hand. Rocky crossed with a roundhouse right to the jaw. Limp and empty-eyed, Charles sagged to the canvas. He was up at the count of four. Rocky was all over him, pumping those stubby arms with awful, awkward power. Down for the third time. Charles took the count of ten. He was still groggy when he stumbled across the ring to congratulate the champ.

In his dressing room, the beaten challenger stubbornly refused to face facts. “I could have lasted out the eighth,” he said slowly, still trying to remember what had hit him. “I could have taken him in the next couple of rounds. He was cut up real bad.” Charles almost convinced him self. “When do I fight again—for the championship, I mean?” he asked one of his handlers. The handler scuffed at the floor in embarrassment. “It may take some time, Ez,” he said softly. “It may take some time.”