Boxing

Dempsey. Last week, Heavyweight Champion William Harrison Dempsey signed a contract with promoter Tex Rickard to fight two bouts with whomsoever Rickard should select--one bout this year, one next He agreed to post a "good faith" guarantee of $100,000. His first opponent will be Gene Tunney, pretty onetime marine, George Godfrey, Philadelphia Negro, or Jack Renault, lumberjack-in-the-box. Then, if not defeated, he will face patient Harry Wills. "Will you retire if you beat Wills?" asked a reporter. Said Dempsey: "Not me! I'm going to fight until somebody knocks me from under the gilded kelly . . . Say, I wish I was as fresh as the day I took Willard! Boy! A dollar a dozen the kind that is around now if I was like I was that day."

Depressing. When Lightweight Champion Benny Leonard retired from the ring (TIME, Jan. 26) in order to sooth the declining years of his mother, the New York Boxing Commission proclaimed a tournament to see who should succeed him. Two men reached the finals. This couple--one James Goodrich (Buffalo), one Stanislaus Loayza (Chile)--fought a depressing bout last week on Long Island. In the first round, Goodrich walked over to the Chilean, hit him in the face with his right fist. Loayza fell down, got up again. Goodrich hit him in the face with his right fist, etc. This operation was continued without relief for three interminable minutes. "Goodrich tires," yelled a hopeful voice from the cheap seats. But Goodrich did not. tire. In the second round, he repeated his merciless operations, when suddenly Loayzo began to hop about on one foot with the deranged, sickening absurdity of one whose mind and nerves have become disconnected. A towel flew from his corner; medical examination revealed that his ankle had been fractured. The decision, the World's Lightweight Championship, went to Goodrich.

Disgraceful. A crowd in Newark, N. J., hooted and jeered. Ringside humorists expressed the idea that they had come to see a boxing match, not a pillow fight between a couple of roommates. In the center of the ring Paul Berlenbach, cloudy-faced Light Heavyweight Champion, stood with his huge arms around Tony Marullo, New Orleans fondler. Now and then they stepped apart, dealt each other coy fillips. The referee warned the fighters against petting. They did not heed. Customers' catcalls grew louder. At length the referee ended the disgraceful scene, ordered both from the ring.

Darling. In Paris last week, patient Harry Wills was lionized, called "The Black Prince," "The Darling of Montmartre," showered with confetti, etc.