Eight seconds were left and then—the roof was blown off the arena as Ketchel drove both hands to the body and quickly followed with a swing to the jaw. The blow was so powerful it lifted Jack off-balance and sent him toppling back and down. His head bumped into the resin box in his own corner, which his handlers had forgotten to remove during the excitement of the previous round. As Jack’s head went into the resin box, the impact was sufficient to send him into unconsciousness. He was as inert as a stone. The bell clanged when referee Tim Hurst had reached the count of four and a brave battler was dragged to his chair. Did he win? Did he lose by a knockout? Confusion? Loads of it. The clock showed that O’Brien had been saved, since only four seconds had been counted when the fight ended. But the writers and spectators didn’t depend on that timepiece to settle such an all-important matter when thousands of dollars had been wagered on a kayo. As decisions were against the law in those days, additional interest was added to the arguments, pro and con, regarding the final status of the fight. The arguments continued well into the night and the sports desks of the various papers were flooded with calls. When the consensus in the morning and evening newspapers showed that the reporters present had declared O’Brien the winner by a shade, there was hell to pay from those who figured they had been unjustly deprived of their winnings. They simply couldn’t understand how the decision could be given to a man who had finished a fight stretched out on the canvas with his head resting in a pan. Never have I seen the duplicate of that classic ring battle—a no-decision affair in which it seemed that everybody wanted a verdict rendered. * * * * * A few months before Ketchel was shot to death, I journeyed to Boston with Tad Dorgan, Wilson Mizner, Hype Igoe, Judge Kelly and George B. Underwood to see him fight Porky Flynn. The bout took place on May 17, 1910. Flynn wasn’t much of an opponent, although he outweighed the champion, but Stanley was offered a sizeable purse and accepted the match. Flynn didn’t last any longer than expected, going down before Ketchel’s terrible fists in the third round. But before the men had entered the ring, Stanley had become involved in a discussion with a wealthy Boston sport who was backing Flynn. The Bostonian sneered at Ketchel’s ego after hearing the champion boast of what he intended to do to the local entry. Stanley got mad. “Now look here, you pretend to be a sport, don’t you?” he snapped. “Well, I’ll just bet you a thousand dollars, even money, or any odds you want, that I’ll knock Flynn out inside of four rounds. There’s a chance for you to back your opinion.”