Frankie was ready for the big test--Ten-Time Winner of the world title. He was young and fit and able; also, he had Milt's cunning brain to direct every feint and punch. This left only one thing in doubt, the----
"Maybe I just do, Benny. Maybe I do."
Benny didn't have the answer to this heresy. By law this was Frankie's last fight--as a fighter. If he won this one and became a Ten-Time Defender he would have his pick of the youngsters at the Boxing College, just as Milt had chosen him fifteen years before. For fifteen years he'd never thrown a punch of his own in a fight ring.
Maybe because it was his last fight in the ring he felt the way he did today. He understood, of course, why fighters were mentally controlled by proved veterans. By the time a fighter had any real experience and know-how in the old days, his body was shot. Now the best bodies and the best brains were teamed by mental control.
Benny had an answer now. "Champ, I think it's a good thing this is your last fight. You know too much. After this one you'll have a good strong boy of your own and you can try some of this stuff you've been learning. Milt knows you're no kid anymore. That's why he has to be careful with you."
"I still have it, Benny. My speed, my punch, my timing--all good. There were a dozen times in those last two fights I could have crossed a right and gone ho
In the future, boxers are controlled in the ring by veterans--the old brains lending their experience to young bodies. But after nine directed heavyweight wins, Frankie wanted to win one on his own.
Fairly absorbing story.
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