Skip to main content

The Old Man on a Boxing Novel from 1905 by Mark Hatmaker

 




The Game by Jack London

He lacked speech-expression. He expressed himself with his hands, at his work, and with his body and the play of his muscles in the squared ring; but to tell with his own lips the charm of the squared ring was beyond him. Yet he essayed, and haltingly at first, to express what he felt and analyzed when playing the Game at the supreme summit of existence.

“All I know, Genevieve, is that you feel good in the ring when you’ve got the man where you want him, when he’s had a punch up both sleeves waiting for you and you’ve never given him an opening to land ’em, when you’ve landed your own little punch an’ he’s goin’ groggy, an’ holdin’ on, an’ the referee’s dragging him off so’s you can go in an’ finish ’m, an’ all the house is shouting an’ tearin’ itself loose, an’ you know you’re the best man, an’ that you played m’ fair an’ won out because you’re the best man.

This 1905 boxing novella from the author of The Call of the Wild, White Fang, The Sea Wolf and many a fine Yukon and adventure tale seems right up the alley of a man such as myself.

Here are the boxes it checks…

One—It’s about old school boxing. Aces!

Two—It’s by Jack London. I am a fan of much of his Yukon work and consider his story “Love of Life” one of THE exemplars of survival fiction. [Reviewed by, yours truly here.]

Three—Stories by real life doers, that is, men and women who truly lived experiences always move me more than mere “I’ve read a lot in my day, now here’s me offering up a quilt of what I’ve read of other’s lived experiences.”

Four—The man offered up so many fiery quotes of Go! And LIVE! It is hard to choose one as a stand-in. So, here I go with several verbal spurs to Live. [None from this novel.]

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.”

“The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

“Life is so short. I would rather sing one song than interpret the thousand.”

“The function of man is to live, not to exist.”

“It is so much easier to live placidly and complacently. Of course, to live placidly and complacently is not to live at all.”

“Limited minds can recognize limitations only in others.”

“You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”

“I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.”

“Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.”

Jack London was a doer. A sailor, a Gold Rusher, a boxer, a… well, he did many things in his lifetime.

Here, he wishes to bring his own boxing experience to life.

Of this novel he has said, "I have had these experiences and it was out of these experiences, plus a fairly intimate knowledge of prize-fighting in general, that I wrote The Game."

So, with all of the above praise, how is this novel?

Unfortunately, rather weak. It has streaks of the London panache here and there, but it is also a bit heavy on the pulpy “He-Man & Adoring Female” side of things.

This is our female admirer on our “Hero”, London’s fictional stand-in.

“And yet, while it frightened her, she was vaguely stirred with pride in him. His masculinity, the masculinity of the fighting male, made its inevitable appeal to her, a female, moulded by all her heredity to seek out the strong man for mate, and to lean against the wall of his strength.”

Yeah, that’s a little…well.

What London overshoots in his male-female relationship he gets more than right in a few ring particulars.

We have this…

They came to the hall, on a dark street-corner, ostensibly the quarters of an athletic club, but in reality an institution designed for pulling off fights and keeping within the police ordinance.”

·        We must not forget boxing existed in a long shadow of out and out illegal to quasi-illegal status for decades.

·        For more on this facet of history put your ears on our brief podcast on this very topic Illegal Boxing.

We have this common ring instruction of the time.

Joe Fleming fights at one hundred and twenty-eight,” he said; “John Ponta at one hundred and forty. They will fight as long as one hand is free, and take care of themselves in the breakaway. The audience must remember that a decision must be given. There are no draws fought before this club.”

And we have such observations as this, which can only be written by one who has fought and learned that wasted emotional effort can be as debilitating as wasted physical effort. Something that many of today’s “action authors” never nail as, well, I doubt they’ve ever rolled or taken a shot.

“The effect was bad on Ponta. He became more frenzied than ever, and more impotent. He panted and sobbed, wasting his effort by too much effort, losing sanity and control and futilely trying to compensate for the loss by excess of physical endeavor.”

London loved the game of boxing, yet what he wrote here is not a love story. The Game is a bit grim and gritty.

It is said that Gene Tunney read this volume in the late 1920s and this contributed to his decision to retire.

True or not, I cannot say, but I can vouch that this is no love letter to boxing.

But that is not the reason for a minor thumbs down.

It is simply that the melodrama of the novel, the long sections that are not boxing, well, they lack the bald-face realism that London exhibits in his best work.

There is better boxing literature to be read, but kudos to Mr. London for stepping into the ring and gives a few glimpses of verisimilitude.

Done readin’? Wanna Train Like They Did Back When?

Resources for Livin’ the Warrior Life

The Black Box Store

https://www.extremeselfprotection.com/

The Indigenous Ability Blog

https://indigenousability.blogspot.com/

The Rough ‘n’ Tumble Raconteur Podcast

https://open.spotify.com/episode/2fTpfVp2wi232k4y5EakVv...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Apache Running by Mark Hatmaker

Of the many Native American tribes of the southwest United States and Mexico the various bands of Apache carry a reputation for fierceness, resourcefulness, and an almost superhuman stamina. The name “Apache” is perhaps a misnomer as it refers to several different tribes that are loosely and collectively referred to as Apache, which is actually a variant of a Zuni word Apachu that this pueblo tribe applied to the collective bands. Apachu in Zuni translates roughly to “enemy” which is a telling detail that shines a light on the warrior nature of these collective tribes.             Among the various Apache tribes you will find the Kiowa, Mescalero, Jicarilla, Chiricahua (or “Cherry-Cows” as early Texas settlers called them), and the Lipan. These bands sustained themselves by conducting raids on the various settled pueblo tribes, Mexican villages, and the encroaching American settlers. These American settlers were often immig...

The Original Roadwork by Mark Hatmaker

  Mr. Muldoon Roadwork. That word, to the combat athlete, conjures images of pre-dawn runs, breath fogging the morning air and, to many, a drudgery that must be endured. Boxers, wrestlers, kickboxers the world over use roadwork as a wind builder, a leg conditioner, and a grit tester. The great Joe Frazier observed… “ You can map out a fight plan or a life plan, but when the action starts, it may not go the way you planned, and you're down to the reflexes you developed in training. That's where roadwork shows - the training you did in the dark of the mornin' will show when you're under the bright lights .” Roadwork has been used as a tool since man began pitting himself against others of his species in organized combat. But…today’s question . Has it always been the sweat-soaked old school gray sweat suit pounding out miles on dark roads or, was it something subtler, and, remarkably slower? And if it was, why did we transition to what, and I repeat myself,...

Fightin’ Words: “I’m Gonna Clean your Clock!” by Mark Hatmaker

To our ears quaint, in a former time formidable, the expression “ I’m gonna clean your clock! ” was not a mere amusing gibe heard bandied about in a 1930s film but a bondafide threat with a meaning well understood by all. Until the 1940s the pre-dominant mode of mass-transportation in the United States was via railway. Indeed, America had embraced the automobile, but railroad tracks spanned and spider-webbed the nation whereas roads, while plentiful, were not quite what we may expect. In 1927 the first transcontinental highway in the world, Lincoln Highway, was only continuously paved from New York to Iowa. From there paving was intermittent, signage rare, roadside markers almost nonexistent. In the words of one contemporary user of the road, the highway was “ largely hypothetical .” So, while the automobile was on the rise the railroad dominated. Everyone knew railways, had some experience with them and to an unusual degree the railroad was held in a bit of romantic regar...