“All he wanted to do was fight, fight, fight.” Paul Gallico He tore out of the Great American Desert to make a mockery of the carefree Jazz Age, trailing behind him the dark shadow of the lawless frontier, snarling, heeling, butting, permanent stubble underpinning his perpetual scowl. From the High Plains he scratched his way […]

To begin with, he does not resemble a prizefighter. There is the receding hairline, unusual for such a young man, but you can almost imagine a puckish little cowlick plastered on his forehead whenever he is away from the gym. Then there is a hint of mischief in his look; his pursed lips almost seem […]