Round and round the manager circled, pudgy fists flailing, alligator shoes tap-tapping on the hardwood floor.
"Jab!" he shouted. "Weave! Bob! Jab!
Jab! Hit that moving target! Bust his nose! Rattle his teeth! Cut his eye!"
No emotion registered on the fighter's coffee-colored face. Blacksmith's arms folded across his chest, the giant looked impassively at his tubby little mentor and sighed: "Yessir, Mr. Benbow, yessir."
Thunder from the Right. Boxing has been Hugh Benbow's love ever since he left home at 15 with $50 pinned to his underwear. Forty fights later, Lightweight Benbow...
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