Was just a kid ... but still recall it was James J. Braddock who Louis claimed the heavyweight bauble from way back in 1937 ... but ask me who on that night was the "third man in the ring in charge of the action" and I'd have to research it ... which of course I did.

Name was Tommy Thomas ... nothing all that notable here ... just another faceless ref who's primary qualification in working a Louis fight was a proven ability to count from one to ten. Interesting that during the Louis championship era - a longevity record of over 11 years with 25 consecutive defenses - that one Arthur Donovan worked a dozen of those bouts ... still, guess here is, within a week following each mismatch he too was a forgotten entity to most fight fans of the day.

Back then the referee responsibilities were fairly basic ... break clinches and watch for flagrant fouls ... and also share in scoring assignment with two judges at ringside ... left little time to see himself as part of the "entertainment." Then the changes ... come the glorious '70s or thereabout ... and the fite hierarchy making some adjustments ... for the better of course ... yeah, right.

At first they were subtle ... "safety" measures ... a fourth ring strand ... to protect those sitting ringside from becoming crushed by a dreadnought exiting via the top strand of rope. Other insights resulted in the standing 8-count and three-knockdown rules ... a helper of sorts ... to assist the "third man in the ring" in calling a stoppage earlier rather than later. And then the coup-de- grace ... a third judge ... and the referee no longer took part in scoring a fight ... too much responsibility they said ... for a ref to control the action and also recall which fighter had the better of things during each candle. And so it was inevitable ... that the once faceless participants would now become a visible member of the "entertainment" cast ... all that was missing was a pioneer.

Enter Davey Pearl!

Little guy ... only muscle in entire bod' was hidden within athletic supporter ... no problem ... barked orders like a drill instructor ... shouted pre-fite instructions with things like "Got that ... got that?" Also brought to the pro game the amateur style of verbal commands when breaking clinches ... when he touched a fighter it was in the form of slapping the arms of one he saw as doing the holding. Enjoyed shouting "Punch ya way out" ... but not physically doing the breaking to assure neither combatant gets the edge.

Today they're everywhere ... like Pearl cultists ... Frank Cappuccino ... only difference is Frank's hot-cold thermostat-like controlled personality. When working club fights he's Mr. Nasty ... when it's a marquee fighter it's a warm smile while doin' the "scolding."

The Donovans, Josephs, Fullams ... and Felix, Conn, LoBianco and Berl of yesterday are long gone ... the cold water flats, ice boxes and overhead pull-chain toilets of boxing's' yesteryear. Today it's a Smoger ... but the names don't matter ... clones of one another ... showtime ... as is the mannequin with the pulse and heartbeat ... the Buffer guy with the unique choreographed announcing style ... but his is a story for another day.

Keep the faith guys and gals ... and the hands up and head down.

Semper fi,

Geo El

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