The public, who make contests of this kind possible, do not sufficiently realise in what way they directly affect the future of boxing in England. The majority of onlookers at a big show have only the haziest notion of what good boxing is. They are bored by too much clinching, but, determined to get some of their money’s worth, they would be still more bored, if, after due warning, the referee disqualified a man, or, the fault being equal, ordered both men out of the ring. A strong referee, with the best interests of the sport at heart, does this. It seldom pays the promoters of big show contests to appoint strong referees. This fight between Burns and Beckett was clean in comparison with many others, and is described here because it was between two very well-known men and because it typifies the futility of the return to active service of long retired veterans who are not in good condition. Also it was typical of the modern show-boxing of which, since the war, there has been so much. The only thought in the mind of either man was a knock-out. Men who stand up and hit straight with exceptional skill (like Jem Driscoll) also think of a knock-out, but only as a fortunate termination to a well-laid scheme and lengthy preparation. They wear their men down by real boxing and then seize an opportunity. Men like Joe Beckett, on the other hand, not being really good boxers, aim for a knock-out all the time, and hit straight once in a blue moon. It is true that in fighting Burns, Beckett wore his man down until he failed to stop a finishing blow, but it was the finishing blow that he was trying for all the time. Burns, on the other hand, in persistently trying for a knock-out, was perfectly right; because, though a better boxer than Beckett, he hadn’t the strength to meet a young man on his own ground. He must have known that he couldn’t last very long, and that he must dedicate his superior skill to the landing of a knock-out blow before he was too tired. His superior skill was not enough, and so when he got into danger he helped himself and hindered Beckett (though not for long) by holding. In doing that he was breaking a cardinal rule. But it is the sentimental or dramatic element in boxing--quite a real one--which draws the closest attention of the crowd. So long as a fight is comparatively fair and one of the men is well-remembered as having caused much excitement ten years or more ago, what more can be needed? The veteran wins, or the veteran is beaten. In either case he is under the white glare of light put up on behalf of the cinematograph operators. The crowd, unless its money is upon the issue, don’t much mind what happens, who wins, provided they get their money’s worth of excitement. CHAPTER VII JACK JOHNSON AND JAMES J. JEFFERIES