Lomski rushed forth, and there followed two minutes of the rawest melodrama. Tommy took a terrible shellacking but remained upright. He not only finished the fight, but won on points. It was a memorable battle. A salute to these great Irishmen for enriching the story of the ring! Not all the thrills I received as a reporter came from boxing. Wrestling had its share. It was truly a sport then, not the burlesque which it has become in recent years. Those were the days of George Hackenschmidt, Frank Gotch, the Zbyszko brothers, Stanislaus and Wladek, Ernest Roeber, Gus Schoenlein, Ed Strangler Lewis, Jim Londos, Jim Browning, Joe Rogers, Dr. Roller, and many others. I knew them all and covered the career of each in my book _From Milo To Londos_. My association with Jack Curley, the Tex Rickard of the mat sport under whose guidance the masters performed around the country, brought me into close contact with these world leaders. I often dined with Curley, George Bothner, and William Muldoon, a champion of the old school, and it was through my meetings with them that I gained my knowledge of wrestling. Frequently I would sit at the ringside of the old Madison Square Garden for two or more hours watching the skillful maneuvering of the contestants. I recall vividly the longest match I ever witnessed—that between Strangler Lewis and Stanislaus, the elder Zbyszko. It got under way at ten o’clock and it was well past one the following morning when we left the arena. Unlike the burlesque of current matches, their technique was masterly. I reported those wrestling affairs as I handled boxing—in detail—for the public was fascinated at the time. Watching Fred Beall apply his double-nelson; Jenkins his crotch and half-nelson; Lewis his famous headlock; Zbyszko his lightning rushes; and Joe Stecher his scissors hold, gave me as much of a thrill as I got out of viewing an exciting bout between top pugilists. [Illustration: 20] LAUGHS AND ODDITIES Often, though the contestants in a bout were of mediocre caliber or the fight lacked thrills, some amusing incident developed that enlivened the affair. There were many such over the years that I jotted down in my diary. It was in the spring of 1916. Billy Gibson, who managed three world champions, was operating at the old Manhattan Opera House in New York City, on West 34th Street. He matched Charley Weinert, Newark heavyweight, not yet nineteen, with rugged veteran Andre Anderson in a ten round bout. Despite his youth, Weinert already had established himself with the nation’s front-line heavyweights. The Jersey youngster’s speed and flashy boxing had carried him to victories over the likes of Battling Levinsky, Jim Coffey, Tom McCarty, Porky Flynn, George (Boer) Rodel, Gunboat Smith, and Jim Savage—all top men.