A Left-Handed Message

SUGAR RAY HAS HAD IT, FULLMER BY

LIKELY KO, forecast a sport-page banner line in the New York World-Telegram and Sun. And indeed, in the first three rounds the outcome seemed certain. The old man had nothing left. Sugar Ray Robinson was a cautious shuffler just two days shy of 37, and he two-stepped away from Gene Fullmer, the brawling, 25-year-old Mormon elder who had taken away his middleweight championship four months ago. At ringside in Chicago, the experts exchanged knowing nods: age had soured Sugar.

With cocky confidence, Fullmer chose again the same tactics that won him the title. Bulling in from outside, he lunged for Robinson's lean, graceful body, whistling home numbing roundhouse rights and ripping uppercuts. Robinson planted his feet and mostly waited; when he did fight back he was as right-hand crazy as a preliminary boy. Held high, Sugar's left was only an ineffective shield. Piling up points, Fullmer showed his contempt for the fading skill of Robinson, once the greatest craftsman of his generation, by landing with awkward, sprawling right-hand leads. Robinson backed off. He waited.

In the third round, as he anxiously watched his fighter, Robinson's manager, George ("The Emperor") Gainford, noticed a Fullmer weakness: the champion was dropping his hands after taking a body blow. Before the fourth, Gainford advised Robinson to throw a right to the heart, and then follow with a left hook to the chin. Robinson nodded. He saw no chance in the next round, but midway through the fifth, Robinson drove a right into Fullmer's body. In Pavlovian style, the champion lowered his hands, and for a split second uncovered his chin. It hung there, as naked and as obvious as the Rock of Gibraltar. Robinson planted his dancer's feet and swung his left. The hook landed with precision and power, and Fullmer went down. At the count of eight, he strained to get up, fell back and lay there as the crowd cheered. It was the cleanest of knockouts.

Winner of the middleweight championship for the fourth time in his 17-year professional career, Sugar Ray grabbed the mike and laid praise about him. "I owe much to millions of people who had faith in me and who prayed for me," he said. "I owe much to Joe Louis for his moral support and knowledge of boxing. I owe much to Father Lang [the Rev. Jovian Lang of Roman Catholic St. Joseph's Seminary in Westmont, Ill.] for spiritual guidance." Robinson, explained Manager Gainford later, is a tolerant freelancer. "He will go anywhere--synagogue, Protestant Church, Catholic Church, anywhere."

"I just thank God that I got in the punch," said the recrowned champion in the dressing room. "He got the message." He had barely showered before the promoters were guessing that an outdoor bout this summer between Robinson and Carmen Basilio, the free-swinging welterweight titleholder, would gross $1,000,000. Debonairly ignoring three Internal Revenue Service men who lurked in a nearby showerstall after attaching $23,000 of his $67,000 purse, Robinson said that he was more than ready to slug with Basilio. Said the champ: "Fighting's my business."

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