Those who saw Paul Berlenbach win the world's lightheavyweight championship last year from that sly old Irish Reynard, Michael McTigue, were confident that he would not long retain it. He was no boxer, that was plain; his one weapon was a left hook that crippled metaphor, but looked as easy to dodge as a freight train. He was not pretty to look at either, being a somewhat scarred ex-taxi-driver with a thick nose, thick jaw, thick mouth and a pair of cold, slow, brutal eyes. He seemed a fighter without imagination, he...
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