In this sensational bout, Phil McGovern was fighting Benny Leon. Terry and Hugh McGovern were handling Phil in his corner, while Casper and Jack were looking after Benny. It was a marvelous scrap, and eventually Benny knocked Phil flat with a right cross. Terry McGovern, tricky as ever, reached for the arm of the timekeeper to prevent him from counting Phil out. Casper Leon took in the situation in a flash and rushed toward Terry. The audience stood on its feet yelling as these two ex-monarchs of the ring tore into each other. Before anybody knew what was happening, Hughie McGovern had dashed over to Terry’s aid and encountered Jack Leon en route. In an instant the crowd forgot all about the fight between Phil and Benny. The timekeeper made no attempt to count; it was hopeless. The spectators were in for an unexpected scrap of a kind that hadn’t been seen for years. To deafening cheers, the battling brothers went at it like infuriated terriers. The fighting blood of the Jews and the Irish was at the boiling point—and it was streaming down the faces of the contestants. Some of the spectators, unable to contain themselves, dashed into the fray, and then a full-dress riot began. It raged for the best part of half an hour and was quelled when Captain Reynolds and his police reserves rushed to the scene. These reserves knew their job. They were accustomed to being called out to subdue the riotous McGoverns, who spent the greater part of their time beating up the New York bluecoats! [Illustration: 18] FIGHTING COURAGE I’ve traveled the world—by road, rail, sea, and air—in pursuit of stories of boxers and boxing. The five continents have been my hunting ground. I don’t know how many thousands of miles I have traveled nor how many thousands of fights I have seen, but I do know that I wouldn’t exchange the memories of that wonderful half-century in the fight game for all the gold and diamonds in the world. The great names flash through my mind like a dazzling star-studded parade: Jack Johnson, Tunney, Dempsey, Corbett, Willard, Attell, Driscoll, Leonard, Langford—down through the years to Louis, Marciano, and Floyd Patterson. I’ve known them all—in triumph and adversity, in poverty and luxury, in victory and defeat. Champions have wept on my shoulder and confessed their troubles to me. World-famous promoters have sought my advice. Managers of great, and not so great, fighters have burdened me with their worries. That’s all been in the game, the greatest game in the world—the fight game. For fifty years it has been the love of my life. I have criticized it, praised it, and lashed out at its shortcomings, but I have always been faithful to it. It is humanity personified, for it brings out all the qualities and failings which are in the make-up of man. The greatest of these qualities is courage.