Tomato Can Comeback

Sonny Durban had been a slugger, but he wasn’t as dangerous as Felix Gallegos. Nobody liked fighting Gallegos—a vicious body puncher who fought dirty even when winning, with a left hook even more devastating than his elbows and head butts. Gallegos was also becoming a right-of-passage for welterweights who wanted to move up into contender status. Brumek had gotten Long Tom into the top ten the first time without going through Gallegos. But Tom and Kolodzei had to take a twelve-rounder with Gallegos in order to secure Sal Thalberg’s promotional services. Thalberg was the only promoter who would touch “Tomato Can Garrick,” despite the convincing performance against Bobby Drake. And the Gallegos fight was his first condition. The bout was on the undercard of a Joey Maxim headliner in Milwaukie, so it was a big deal with lots of press coverage. I visited Tom’s dressing room before schlepping my typewriter over to ringside. Kolodzei acted downright civil to me. I would say he was pleased by my company, but that might be pushing it. “Hey, Mr. Schwartz,” Tom said upon seeing me. “Hiya, kid. How you feeling?” The kid shrugged. “As ready as I can be, I guess.” “You’re ready,” Kolodzei said. “You’re in great shape, and you’re better than this Pachuco wildcat.” The kid looked loose as he shadowboxed, with healthy color and a sheen of sweat. “Seems like he didn’t use to sweat so much,” I remarked. Tom bounced on his feet and worked his neck muscles a bit. “Sarge lets me drink a lot of water. So far, it hasn’t caused any problems.” “Just watch this guy’s dirty stuff,” Kolodzei said. “Drive him backwards into the ropes. He ain’t got much in the way of defense, so put him on the ropes and hammer him.” Tom nodded his acknowledgement and continued to move. “Hey, kid,” I said. “Can I buy you a cup of joe after the match?” “Sure,” he said. “If I’m still in one piece.” “Good luck to you,” I said, and turned for the door. I stopped short when one of the Pollack’s ham-sized mitts clamped down on my shoulder. “That was a good story you wrote, Schwartz, about the Drake fight. Good headline, too.” “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.” He stepped in close and lowered his voice. “I’m thankin’ you for it. Me and the kid can use all the fair shakes we can get.” “He’s been doing good work in the ring,” I said. “And you’ve been doing great in the corner.” We shook hands. “Sorry I was a sore-head before,” Kolodzei said. “I guess you’re okay.” “In that case, I’ll buy you a cup, too.” *** When Felix Gallegos made his entrance, I was a little surprised at his appearance. Most professional fighters are in superb physical condition as a matter of necessity, but Gallegos was chunky, with visible flab hanging on his torso. He was very short, and would probably be a flyweight without all that blubber tipping the scales. The capacity crowd cheered Gallegos. Probably resigned to a points decision in the main event with Maxim later, they might witness at least one bloodbath with Gallegos inside the ropes. When Tom came down the aisle, there were jeers, boos and chanting of, “Tomato can, tomato can!” After the opening bell, the two men charged each other and clashed in the center of the ring. Despite his unimpressive physique, Gallegos could really hit. He attacked Tom’s body with savage hooks to the stomach and a low blow the referee didn’t see. Tom stood toe-to-toe and traded leather. The bloodbath had already begun and the crowd couldn’t be happier. One of the reasons nobody wanted to fight Gallegos was that he was a small target and difficult to hit flush from angles that allowed any leverage on the punches. Something else I noticed early was the fallacy of Kolodzei’s advice to drive Gallegos back. That meant Tom had to keep advancing. That negated the reach advantage of a tall fighter like Long Tom, allowing Gallegos to get inside. And that made it Gallegos’s fight. Long Tom could punch just as hard, but at close range, the top of Gallegos’s head and shoulders were the largest target surfaces, areas that could absorb a lot of pounding without suffering much damage. At the bell to end round one, Gallegos swaggered back to his corner with a cocky grin and triumphant gestures for his cheering fans. Tom slumped on his stool, looking frustrated. “You’re letting him get inside,” Kolodzei told him. “That’s not a good idea. Use your reach. Keep him where you can do more damage than he can.” Good advice, I thought, but impossible if he persisted in his strategy of driving Gallegos backwards. In round two, Tom tried to hold the little man at bay, scoring with one solid shot before Gallegos slipped past to get inside. Once there, the mauling resumed. In addition to the rib-cracking hooks, Tom caught an elbow to the cheek and another uppercut south of the border. Blood was dripping from his chin at round’s end.