As prize fighters grow old, they become decrepit; young bruisers whom they could once have walloped, beat their battered noses and knock their false teeth out of mouth. Yet, rebels against time, because they love the sound of invisible watchers in the dark or because they know that they will be unable to earn a living in some other profession, they continue to fight, in little arenas and smelly, half filled armories.
One old fighter, famed Jack Britton, 43, onetime welterweight champion of the world, last week, in...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
