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The Old Magic. Last week, in the dank, chilly air of White City Stadium, Harry Matthews did his feeble best. Cockell, a clumsy, 210-lb. slugger whose overhanging midriff has triumphed over 14 years of British rationing, pushed him around for ten dull rounds and took a split decision. "I guess it was a good decision," said Hurley philosophically.
But the bout was hardly over when he was talking fast to get Cockell to come to Seattle. "Don can draw big dough in Seattle. He can fight Matthews again, or anyone else he chooses. He can have one fight, two fights—and make money while he's hanging around for Marciano."
The old, compelling magic was in Jack Hurley's conversation. Cockell and his manager agreed that a Seattle trip would be fine. What did it matter, as the Daily Mirror pointed out, that if Cockell beats Matthews for a third time, he ought to own him outright, like a tired old trophy?