Armory. A month after that, heâd taken on Jimmy Slattery, the âBuffalo Adonis,â in Madison Square Garden. An eight to five favorite, Slattery was a brilliant boxerâa flickering, flitting, dancing ghost whose opponents found impossible to tag. Amazing his fans and astonishing his critics, Braddockâs terrific right hand had caught and smashed the ghost by the end of the eighth round. By the ninth, Jim had KOâd him.
Now, as Braddock prepared to face Feldman, he tried to keep that ninth-round Slattery KO in mind. Anything was better than remembering his disastrous match against Tommy Loughran.
July 18, 1929, one year after Braddock had defeated Griffithsâand three months before the stock market sent the countryâs economy from the canvas to the morgueâpromoters had finally consented to let Braddock take a shot at the world light heavyweight title by fighting the champ. In fifteen harrowing rounds in Yankee Stadium, Tommy Loughran, one of the best boxers in the history of the game, had crushed Jimâs hopes for a world title.
Braddock should have learned a lot from that humiliating match against Loughran, it just wasnât a memory he was keen on recalling before he had to step into the ring one more timeâ¦
âLetâs go,â said Gould.
Heâd finished double-taping Braddockâs bum right and lacing on his gloves. Now it was time for the stout little manager to lead his six-three boxer down the main aisle of the Mount Vernon Armory, past the wooden bleachers and into the ring.
The crowd was an anemic crew compared to Jimâs Madison Square Garden daysâand not just in volume. Leaner in face and shabbier in attire, there was a desperate look about them, as if the bets theyâd made tonight were going to pay the grocery bills tomorrow. They sat murmuring beyond the ringâs hot lights, a sea of fedoras and caps sending up clouds of smoke.
Closer to the action sat a small cadre of flashy gamblers with glossy-lipped companions. A long ringside table held tonightâs three official judges, the sports reporters leaning on their black typewriters, a few photographers with flashbulbs ready to pop, and a single radio commentator prattling into a heavy steel microphoneâ
âJim Braddock, just five years ago, was considered first in line for the world championship. But in the last year, heâs lost ten fights and hasnât managed a single KO.â
Tell me something I donât know , Jim muttered to himself as he climbed through the ropes and began to shadowbox in his corner. Gould massaged his shoulders, told him to relax.
The hallâs low buzz began to rise, swelling into yelling and whistling. Braddock turned to see Abe Feldman making his way down the crowded aisle with a vigorous gait and high-spirited punches.
âNow Braddock faces Abe Feldman,â the radio man continued, âan up-and-comer with seventeen wins, one draw, and one loss. In less than two years he has recorded nine KOs.â
Jim froze. This was the âbumâ Joeâs grandma could beat?
Under his hands, Gould felt Jimâs shoulders go completely rigid. âWho whipped Latzo?â Gould barked to his boxer.
âI did.â Jimâs voice was barely there.
âWho KOâd Slattery in the ninth when everybody said he didnât have a rainmakerâs chance in hell?!â
âI did.â
âThatâs right. But we should pucker our assholes over Feldman?â
âNo.â
The spectators clapped and whistled as Feldman climbed into the ring. Abe was the crowd favorite, young and golden like Braddock used to be with an untouched nose and two pretty ears. Jim felt his gloves begin to sink.
âJimmy, Jimmy, look at me!â Gould grabbed Jimâs gloves, brought them back up. âIs there someplace else youâd rather be?â
âNo.â
âGood. So what are you going to do?â
Braddock
Sophia Johnson
Kimberly Claire
Payge Galvin, Meg Chance
Greg Gutfeld
Richard Newsome
T. Michael Martin
Stephanie Laurens, Victoria Alexander, Rachel Gibson
Patricia Wentworth
Terry Deary
John Julius Norwich