Like Napoleon

The squatty lad with the Irish name looked no more like a prizefighter than any other Mexican in Southern California. He had a baby face, black curly hair, a noticeable lack of pugilistic rip & tear, an immense, nerveless calm. Last week, Nick Moran bounced into a Los Angeles ring to be butchered (the odds were 12-to-1 against him) by World's Lightweight Champion Bob Montgomery. Before the fight, reporters tried to elbow their way to his dressing room and were shushed away with: "He's like Napoleon ... he can sleep anytime, and he's sleeping now."

When the bell sounded, Mexico's 20-year-old sleeping beauty was wide awake. Fighting from a crouch, Moran sparred awkwardly with the polished champion for a second or two. Then he landed a crushing left that made Montgomery's knees buckle, followed with a right cross that suddenly lifted the champ clear of the floor, sent him into a ridiculous skid on his backside. Nothing but inexperience kept the Mexican from exploiting his Sunday punch with a clincher. After groggy Montgomery picked himself up, Moran danced and jabbed his way to an easy win on points.

Before last week's nontitle fight (Sergeant Montgomery will not defend his title for the duration), Moran was a third-rater with dim prospects. In ten rounds he became a white-hope challenger for the world's postwar lightweight crown.

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