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THE 100 GREATEST
BOXERS OF ALL TIME
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Back in the days when men were men and women were
damn glad of it, the man most men wanted to be was a
boxer with swaggering virility named John L.
Sullivan--simply stated, the strongest man in the
world. In a day and age when America was cocksure
and confident of its future but in need of a
national hero to tie its patriotic kite tail to,
John L. Sullivan provided just such a hero. And
more. Much more. He was an institution, a deity, a
national obsession. The preoccupation with Sullivan
took on the form of myth-making and nicknaming, as
he became known as "The Boston Strongboy," "The
Hercules of the Ring," "The Prizefighting Cesar,"
"His Fistic Highness," and just plain ol' familiar
"Sully."
His pride was the pride of a newly emerging nation, and his
"I-can-lick-any-sonuvabitch-in-the-house" defi was
the rallying cry of a young nation intent upon
making itself heard in the world back in those early
days of Manifest Destiny. It was a pride that
inspired anyone who had ever met him, with thousands
of men holding out their hands to others and
proclaiming, "Shake the hand that shook the hand of
John L.."
Sullivan was part real man, part folk legend. But he
continued to rewrite the legend with his fists,
devouring his opponents as easily as he devoured the
free food and drink at his neighborhood saloon. One
opponent was to remember nothing of his battle with
John L. other than that his awesome right "felt like
a telephone pole and been shoved against me
endways." Another said his right "felt like the kick
of a mule."
He drank as he fought, prodigiously, never meeting a saloon
he didn't like. And, again, the nation loved him for
it. He lived for the din of the brass bands, the
raucous cheers of the crowd, and the acceptance of
the fans, especially the Irish fans to whom he
became a special symbol.
For almost twelve years he lead the parade himself, usually
fighting in secluded spots one step ahead of the
local constabulary and always winning. It was said
that if the government had toppled and our most
precious assets were stolen during a Sullivan fight,
nobody would much notice, such was the excitement he
engendered. Finally, his living and lack of training
caught up with him and a John L. with a tumorous
belly, sagging skin and eyes hanging low in the
sockets to match, was beaten by James J. Corbett.
But even then he became a martyr, less to failure
than to booze, and as such, retained his place in
the hearts of fight fans everywhere. |
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Bert Randolph Sugar
John L. Sullivan ranked #50
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