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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 9, Issue 11 (February 1, 1935)

The Battlefields of Sport — The Fall of an Idol

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The Battlefields of Sport
The Fall of an Idol.

A Murmur which swells to a shout, to a roar. The vast crowd, packed tier on tier in the gigantic wooden stadium sees the champion come at last. For hours, in that sweltering heat, they have sat close-packed through the interminable preliminary bouts, while the heavy clouds above have been penetrated by a dull golden glow. Remote music from some band is stilled now, and the cries of sandwich men, of peanut vendors and men with welcome bottles of drink, are obliterated in the mighty roar of welcome which goes up from a hundred thousand throats. Carpentier is here.

He comes in a flurry of seconds, advisers, managers, backers, and mounts nimbly to where the announcer stands with his megaphone in the fateful ring. The idol of France, the champion of Europe, he comes though he does not know it, to the virtual end of his boxing career. Behind him moves the bright-eyed, volatile, many-sided Descamps, the maker of champions. And about them roar thousands of fans who have come thousands of miles to see Georges, their hero, take his rightful title of champion of the world. There is a field of waving straw hats, before which Carpentier calmly bows. He knows his strength and speed, and is not troubled as to the outcome of this combat. He has thrashed Bombardier Wells, the hope of England, in less than two minutes; he has proved himself undisputed master of every fighter in Europe. This fight to-day will do no more than reassert the superiority of the Old World, the home of boxing, over the New. Carpentier and Dempsey, the two kings of the boxing world, the two men without peers in their different lands, will settle in this roped space the question of who is to reign supreme.

Carpentier moves away to his corner, his brilliant dressing-gown swaying into new colours in the strange light. Hardly has he gone than Dempsey comes. Bigger, more powerful, his six-feet-two towering above the body of the magnificently-built Frenchman. Dempsey is met with cheers, but his reception does not equal that given to his rival, the most famous and most accomplished fighter of the day. The American goes to his corner, and the electric Descamps is there at once, wreathed in smiles, full of words, but keenly examining the appearance of his champion's adversary and watching the seconds as they fold the tapes about Dempsey's hands. The preparations move to a conclusion, the two fighters go to the centre of the ring. They grip hands as the referee speaks a few words, and Carpentier, assured and sleek, pats Dempsey's shoulder with a kindly movement. The gloves are drawn on and fastened, the seconds vanish from the ring at command and then—the bell!

The two men leap towards the centre of the ring as a deafening uproar comes. Twice Carpentier's glove flashes out, twice it connects with Dempsey's jaw. It is a test of Dempsey's mettle and an exhibition of the Frenchman's punching power, but the American appears quite unshaken. He lands a heavy counter on Carpentier's body, and the lighter man is obviously staggered. Carpentier has learned with the rapidity which has marked all his fights. He cannot fell Dempsey even with his powerful punch, and he must not lay himself open in such fashion again. He keeps away now, and the two men wheel, feint and dodge. Dempsey, loosing those terrible drives of his, and Carpentier countering with sudden upper-cuts and swings to the head. They fall into a clinch, and Dempsey flashes into life again. His gloves are everywhere, on the ribs, jaw and chin. Carpentier sways before this whirlwind attack, and as they break away he is already showing terrible punishment. He stoops and swings a right to Dempsey's head, but the American is punching as hard as ever. Those fists, which are to hit the “Wild Bull of the Pampas” clean out of the ring, move as fast as before. The Frenchman is weakened already. He fails to cover himself against the fury of Dempsey's attack and falls into another clinch. They are parted, and Carpentier slips and falls over the second rope of the ring. Dempsey is cool; he steps back and runs no risk of a foul, so Carpentier is up at a bound and is fighting with the courage of desperation as the bell sounds his release.

There are shouts and roars from the great crowd. Their first illusion has gone; that Carpentier is quicker than Dempsey they no longer believe. Those who are seeing the American for the first time are amazed at his rapidity of movement and of punch. Those who foresaw this fight as a battle between a man with courage and weight and another with courage and skill, are beginning to doubt already. How long can the graceful Carpentier last at this pace? And now the bell sounds again.

This time Dempsey comes on with a low crouch, his head swaying, his left shoulder hunched to buttress his jaw against the Frenchman's punishing right. Dodging around the ring, the American waits for another opening to gain the position he held in the first round. But Carpentier is cautious now, he retreats and is poised on his toes. Suddenly he springs ahead and stabs his left against Dempsey's jaw, bringing his right across to the head, but the big man is scarcely checked in his malevolent pursuit. Again Carpentier flashes in, connects with a left hook, and is out again unharmed, to the joy of the onlookers. But the fight is already lost, for that smashing blow has broken his thumb. He keeps away, he clinches, only to be pounded unmercifully by the quick-moving Dempsey. The referee orders them to break, and the Frenchman emerges from that in-fighting
This engine float, entered as the Railways contribution to the procession held in connection with the Queen Carnival at Picton, 30th December, 1933, was awarded first prize.

This engine float, entered as the Railways contribution to the procession held in connection with the Queen Carnival at Picton, 30th December, 1933, was awarded first prize.

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The decorated engine illustrated above drew the special train from Tokanui to Bluff on New Year's Day, 1934, and attracted much attention from holiday visitors to the southern port.

The decorated engine illustrated above drew the special train from Tokanui to Bluff on New Year's Day, 1934, and attracted much attention from holiday visitors to the southern port.

duel battered and bleeding, a woeful sight. But as he reels back it is to dart in again, to hit Dempsey between the eyes with terrific force, to swing left and right to the body and dance away out of danger, as the crowd goes mad with delight. That sudden attack turns the tide. Dempsey, shaken for the moment, lowers his guard, and his rival is upon him, raining blows. Jabs, hooks and a punch which sends Dempsey staggering back to the ropes, a right, flush with the jaw, create pandemonium. But Carpentier has been unlucky again, that last great blow, with all he had behind it, was delivered when he was a trifle off balance. A fraction more behind it and Dempsey would almost certainly have been so dazed that he would have been battered into submission. The Frenchman sees his chance, though, and connects on Dempsey's jaw with a beautiful right, which shakes him from head to foot and keeps him leaning dizzily against the ropes. Again the Frenchman goes in, but the excitement has affected him, has spoilt his judgment only momentarily, but long enough. He means to win, he hits with his left and misses, brings over his right and misses again, and then before he has another chance Dempsey has ducked into a clinch and is battering away at his ribs.

But Carpentier breaks clear, he goes from side to side and then brings home another punishing blow on the champion's face. The Frenchman hits again, but Dempsey blocks the punch this time and again ducks to clinch, only to run into a lightning upper-cut. Slow and leaden-footed now, Dempsey takes a terrible thrashing. The tables are turned, and blow after blow rocks the American. But Carpentier is not hitting cleanly; his hurts, the occasion, and the anxiety which he is feeling for the first time in his career as a champion are affecting him, and he is misjudging his distance. Even before the bell sounds Dempsey's head is less dizzy and he is taking the fight to his adversary, cutting him between the eyes as the gong goes.

Dempsey is up at the sound of the bell in the third round and goes towards the Frenchman quickly, but with more caution, and with his face well guarded. Suddenly he drives with his right, but Carpentier ducks, connects with right and left to Dempsey's jaw, and is away out of range. Dempsey's deliberate pursuit goes on, but he seems slow and heavy beside the dazzling footwork of the challenger. Out of Dempsey's clinches goes Carpentier, rattling home swift punches with both hands, but not landing the full effect of the blows on his opponent. Doggedly the American holds on. Carpentier dodges about, he fights back, he slips away, but Dempsey pins him at last and they are together. Carpentier's face is strained now as he tries to block this terrible in-fighter. A series of upper-cuts to his already bleeding face shake him. But again he springs in, brings over a hard right and checks Dempsey. Then just as suddenly the Frenchman staggers, and if ever a man despaired he does. The bell comes not a moment too soon.

Carpentier is prompt as the next round begins. But this time he leaves no doubt that he has had enough. He means to keep out of range and work for an opening for his deadly right. But he is wearied with useless punching, worn with pain, and feeling the vanity of his attack against a heavier man. That terrific pace is telling, and his punishment goes on. He lands a blow on the face, but receives back a body-punch, and clinches, only to suffer more punishment on ribs and face. He is weakening now, but is not finished. From time to time his old quickness shows and he shakes Dempsey with right and left. They are fighting at long range, now they fall into a clinch and then break again. The odds are hopeless; Carpentier cannot win. He grows weaker still, he clinches, a final series of blows land. “He's finished!” yells someone in the crowd. And the Frenchman's body, which has felt such terrible blows, sags, he drops on hands and knees and then rolls down, face to the floor.

The moving arm of the referee can be seen in the ring, his count cannot be detected in the terrific din. Slowly, though, the Frenchman rises. He glances about with an oddly puzzled air, he even makes an effort to smile with his twisted mouth. And now Dempsey has his chance. He leaps into action, blocks Carpentier's lead, and brings his right to the face. Vainly the challenger tries to avoid this rain of blows. He staggers, flings up his arms and falls again, while the referee begins the count. Once the unsubdued spirit of the Frenchman urges his body to rise. His arms and legs jerk, but the body is unequal to the task, he writhes there helpless, and the fight is over. Jack Dempsey has proved himself against the greatest boxer in the world.

What is defeat? Nothing but education, nothing but the first step to something better.—Wendell Phillips.

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