Human nature what it is... most of us walking the planet sees an expert of something or other each and every night... when
peering into the mirror.
The white collar clerk convinced of superiority over the supervisor... laborer over the carpenter... combat sergeant more
qualified than the "loonie" platoon leader... and sports you ask?
Matters not which game... thus the time-tested football cliché "Monday morn' quarterback" ... and the beizbol manager
second-guessing come post season play... "I never woulda yanked Tobacco Juice in the 7th stanza" ... of course, neither
would the MGR had he known the game winning 4-bagger was coming, opening batter, inning eight.
And who more knowing than the fight fan ... they enter them century ending polls ... and contests ... they draw up lists of their
favorites in numerical order ... convinced theirs are top of the heap ... cream of the crop ... A number one.
But this one isn't about such silliness ... nonsense that can never be proved ... for if the dance isn't held, the winning prize also
remains on hold ... toss all them wasted papyrus to the recycle bin ... for some other time in some future century.
This is about the "second beginning"... was the late 1940s across the good ol' USA... advent of the magic-lantern...
arrived as a terrorist and took the fight fans hostage. And quickly, the tried and trusted radio voices of the day were sacrificed...
Sam Taub and Bill Corum ... and Don Dunphy... yes, we made jokes of likable Dunphy... how on each and every Friday
he'd describe another thriller... even while hearing a background chorus of "Let me call you sweetheart."
But it was all in good humor... harmless... and he worked well with renowned partner Bill Corum who did the between
rounds color... I mean, what mattered was which pug the $2- wager was on.
Enter Jimmy Powers... sports editor and columnist with NY Daily News... first of many that fite fans quickly learned to dislike
with a passion come the magic of televised boxing. With Jimmy it was more than one thing that grated on the viewer... voice...
would never have made it on radio... and answered opening bell in full support of the favorite... then quickly turned with each
tide of the fight.
Hardly a soul came away in agreement with Powers... but to be fair... he was a pioneer... no small task and pretty much a
one-person show back then. He eventually rode off into the sunset... others would follow... none nearly as abrasive... i.e.,
until the one called "Howie the shill." Cosell quickly drew the ire of fight fans... those to the north and south... and east and
west... and the magic of the media took on a whole new meaning... and "I just tell it like it is" became the calling card of the
day.
Then post-Cosell... at times a blend of the serious and the shtick... fight doctor Ferdie Pacheco and the vaudeville act of
Albert-O'Grady... a barrel of laughs kinda thing. And that other duo... Lampley and Merchant... not exactly a description of
"that old gang of mine"... shells of the "contract" fighters and all.
On that note prep me... and beam me up... I'm as ready as I'll ever be during the start of this new century 21.
Keep the faith guys and gals... and the hands up and head down.
GEL
