All sorts of tactics are used in order to side-
step dangerous matches. Managers of heavy-
weights, lacking poundage restrictions, often
bid the ambitious challenger good-by until such
time as he has secured a reputation, fondly hop-
ing that in the process he will be soundly licked
and eliminated. Managers of bantams, feath-
ers, and lightweights insist that husky aspi-
rants shall "do the weight, ringside." Many
a man has saved his title by starving an oppo-
nent for a week before a match. The old-time
bare-knuckle warriors sneer at this sort of
thing. They were used to making matches,
"give or take ten pounds," but, as has been
pointed out, they were not business men. The
slogan, "May the best man win," has been
changed to "May the best-managed man win."

Biddy Cline was a great little fighter— prob-
ably the greatest at his weight that the ring
had seen during his generation. He was no
boxer, but a sturdy, willing, courageous chap^
who began fighting when the bell rang and con-
tinued to fight as long as the other man could
stand in front of him. His record was black

[67]



TAKING THE COUNT



with, knock-outs, though Biddy was not the typ-
ical one-punch fighter. His victims succumbed
to the cumulative effect of a thousand blows as
well as the terrific pace they were compelled to
travel. It was a very strong lightweight, in-
deed, who could play Cline's game with the
champion and hear the gong at the end of the
fifteenth round. Biddy's best fighting weight
was slightly below one-thirty-three, he had held
the championship for three years, and, under
Mike Badger's careful guidance, expected to
hold it for three years more.
