It may be unfair to mention Billy Conn and Chad Dawson in the same sentence. But I just read Frank Deford’s masterful rendering of Conn in “The Boxer and the Blond,” and I can’t help make the comparison.
Conn was Light Heavyweight champion of the world. All that stood in the way of Conn being Heavyweight Champion was himself. The steel mill refugee fought Joe Louis, maybe the greatest heavyweight in the history of the sport (ask your father, or Bert Sugar), on June 18, 1941. A Pittsburgh native, Conn’s hometown baseball Pirates actually stopped their game in the middle so the crowd at the ballpark could listen to the fight. They had to. Otherwise no one would have come. Weights? Forget what promoter “Uncle” Mike Jacobs, the Bob Arum and-then-some of his time, reported to the Press. DeFord assures that Conn weighed in at 169, Louis 200. A later report from ESPN marked it as 169, 204.
Louis was more than a 3 to 1 favorite. But scheduled for 15, at the end of 12 rounds Conn had come to dominate the champion. Conn boxed, moved, slugged a little, and weathered a nasty cut. But after taking off the first few rounds to scout his opponent as he always did, Conn was up 7-5, 7-4-1, 6-6 on the judges’ cards. In the 12th round Conn hit Louis with a series of punches culminating with a left hook that rocked and staggered the champ and left him hanging on for dear life. In the corner, after the round, Louis’ long-time trainer let loose with the smelling salts and told the champ that he was losing—that he’d have to knock Conn out to win. According to Deford, the corner was only saying what everyone in America knew. Louis was beaten.
But Conn, emboldened by The Punch, went into the next round no longer satisfied with the prospect of a win. Amidst frantic protests from his corner, he told his trainer he wanted a knockout and then stood in the middle of the ring and slugged —until he didn’t. Conn failed to make the count at 2:58 of the 13th round.
Billy Conn and Joe Louis became very good friends afterwards, and Conn told Deford: “I told Joe later, why didn’t you just let me have the title for six months?’ All I ever wanted was to be able to go around the corner where the guys are loafing and say ‘Hey, I’m the heavyweight champeen of the world.’”
Louis replied: “’I let you have it for twelve rounds, and you couldn’t keep it. How could I let you have it for six months?’”
After the fight in the dressing room, Conn famously said, “What’s the sense of being Irish if you can’t be dumb?”
In the first century A.D., Julius Caesar is said to have remarked on an early encounter with Conn’s ancestors, whom he had seen knee deep in ocean attacking the waves with a sword like the fierce Irish Champion of lore, Cuchulain. “They fight just to fight,” Caesar said. Although it took England, Rome never did attempt to invade Ireland.
In a meaningless tune-up bout prior to the Louis fight, 27,000 fans showed up to watch Conn beat someone named Billy Knox in Pittsburgh. It was 1941, and the country was still in the midst of the Great Depression.
Unable to draw a crowd in his home state of Connecticut, Chad Dawson’s bout for the Light Heavyweight Championship was held in Montreal, Canada—the home town of his opponent, Jean Pascal. The doctor stopped the fight on an accidental head butt gash in the 11th round. It went to the cards and Dawson, cut bad, lost a unanimous decision. But he might have won. Having hurt a seemingly gassed Pascal, the fight that Dawson had squandered throughout the night was there for the taking. But he failed to punch; he failed to fight.
Unlike Billy Conn, who lived to 75 years old and died a legend—or even Joe Frazier, Mike Tyson or Tomasz Adamek, no one will ever accuse Chad Dawson of being Irish. Bad Chad’s primary objective throughout the bout remained just one side of the time honored equation: to not be hit. During the fight against Pascal, HBO commentator Larry Merchant asked with more than a trace of frustration and disgust: “Does Dawson ever just stand his ground and fight on the inside? Look at this.”
I’d just as soon not. No one can force another man to risk himself; but no one can force another man to buy a ticket either.
Boxing needs to Irish up.
Photo credit, Shizzy9989