Sport: The Bad Guy

There was frank animal hatred in the obsidian eyes. The harried champion felt it. He shuddered involuntarily and looked away. On his chest, rivulets of sweat sparkled in the harsh glare of naked lights. Patiently, coldly, the massive-shouldered challenger stalked his prey, drawing his circles tighter and tighter, until the champion was trapped against the ropes. A thudding left to the belly doubled up the champion. Another left to the head made him drop his gloves. The challenger swung his right . . .

This is the dream of Charles ("Sonny"') Liston, 29. It...

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