Once upon a time, there was a boxing manager who was so honest that to keep himself in coffee and cakes he also had to run a gymnasium that catered to hopeful fist fighters. (No spitting on the floor, put cigar butts in cuspidors.) There he developed a surefire system for picking winners. "Their built don't matter so much," Bobby Gleason liked to explain. "What they gotta be if they want to get along in this racket is a little stupid."
Stupid may be a harsh word for the hard-muscled men who get paid...
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