When Jack Sharkey, jowled, beefy and 31, climbed into the ring of Philadelphia's Baker Bowl one night last week he became $25,000 richer. When Tommy Loughran, likewise 31, slack-bellied and scarred from 16 years of prizefighting, entered the opposite corner he knew he would collect not one cent for what was about to happen.
Loughran's "end" was a percentage of the gate receipts in excess of Sharkey's guarantee; and less than 8,000 persons felt like paying to see a fight which could decide but one thing: which of two outworn heavyweights was due for immediate oblivion. Loughran, a quiet, well-liked fellow, had...
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