Louisville Lip

When you come to the fight

Don't block the aisle and don't block

the door.

I'll say it again, I've said it before, Archie Moore will fall in four, Cassius Marcellus Clay's problem is that nobody wants to take him seriously. Now they may have to. Last week in Los Angeles, the cocky young Kentuckian, known to his friends as the Louisville Lip, made good his brag. Halfway through the fourth round, he knocked out tired old Archie Moore, whose age (either 45 or 48) and 220 fights should have put him in retirement long ago. The victory did something for Clay's prestige as the seventh-ranking heavyweight (Moore, after all, once was a champion), and it did wonders for his selfesteem, which was unbounded anyway.

At 20, Clay has undoubtedly traveled farther by mouth alone than any fighter in modern years. Winner of the 1960 Olympic light-heavyweight championship, he has fought only 16 pro bouts, and although he has won them all, his opponents have either been downsliding veterans like Moore, who were dazzled by Clay's speed, or lackluster youngsters who seemed mesmerized by his machine-gun prattle. But to hear him tell it, he is now ready to take on Heavyweight Champion Sonny Liston. "Ain't I beautiful?" he called to a female admirer. "I'm the greatest!-'' he informed reporters in the dressing room. "And I'm also the double greatest cause I took him out in four just like I said. If it were up to me I'd fight Liston right now. I'll go put on my trunks and fight him right now." Still another poem recited by yon Cassius:

As the people left the park, you could hear them say,

Liston will stay king until he meets that Clay.

What round? "Liston might last eight rounds." Snorted Sonny, who saw it all at ringside: "If Clay lasts eight seconds with me, I'll give him the fight."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.