The Good of Boxing

 

                The Good of Boxing:  Some Ethical Considerations

This article looks at the good of boxing, and contrasts it with ring ethics, trash talk and distorted passions in trying to offer a more comprehensive overview of the sport’s ethical dilemmas. 

The Boxing Club

The good in boxing is often abstract. While it is primarily a physical activity, it also contains social principles. When considering the ethical dimensions of boxing it is worth noting the power of sport to bring people together and foster community.

Boxing acted as a magnet to Irish immigrants in London. For instance, the Fisher Catholic Boxing Club (still active) which was established in the early nineteen hundreds by the Monks of Downside Abbey was by 1958 a venue that, ‘caters for any young Irish boxers coming to work in England.’ Fast forward to the Troubles in Northern Ireland (1968-1998). Particularly, Eamonn McGee's (WBC- 2007) reflections on his time at The Sacred Heart Boxing Club in Belfast. He considered this club, 'a saviour and sanctuary’ and a safe haven where the local Catholic Community could congregate. 

Donald McRae expands on this kind of relationship and he contemplates in his book In Sunshine or in Shadow how ‘a strange business-like boxing could inspire the people of Northern Ireland, from all corners and sides, to believe that another way was possible.’ Two-time world champion boxer Carl Frampton, a protestant, who many consider to have cut across sectarian lines, felt that boxing transcending sectarianism was somewhat a romanticism but overall, it had a more progressive environment in comparison to different sports. 

Boxing as a  Community

Hence the boxing club can serve as a setting in which people of diverse, competing or hostile backgrounds might come together to create a good within the community. What boxing writer Catherine Dunn communicates through a sparring partner, ‘you might not know each other's names but, ‘come to know the deepest identity as you learn theirs. 'In this  respect, it could be said that sport and religion are similar. Particularly, if one understands religion as 'an organized community bound together by rules, rituals, and a shared understanding of human perfection.'

This phenomenon is perhaps best expressed through a Mexican politician Edward Roybal, who in the 1960s purchased an old church, in East Los Angeles, as a place in which the youth could be deterred from rioting ‘-offering the violence of the ring as a panacea.’ 

The Resurrection Boxing Gym was later bought by multiple world champion boxer and former gym member Oscar De La Hoya who added facilities to the building including a study place, tutoring, computers and family activity. Furthermore, in similar fashion George Foreman (two-time world champion-later ordained a Christian minister) erected The George Foreman Youth & Community Centre in 1984 and returning to the ring in 1987 as a way to preach -as a way of,’ getting people's attention and then tell them about Jesus.'

Take, for instance, Joe Frazier (HWC-1970-1973) who battled Muhammad Ali (HWC 1974 -1978) three times. 

His Philadelphia gym, according to Frazier, offers more than learning to fight. ‘We have five rules which include. Respect God: Respect your mother and father. Respect your brothers and sisters. Respect others.'

This can only strengthen one's resolve that the sport contains a number of goods, recreational/social life, cardiovascular health, knowledge, all of which have a final purpose. Be they social, educational or fitness related or to becoming an Olympian. It offers a route towards professional boxing which suggests financial benefits and prestige, but, as we shall see, it can have detrimental consequences. Yet, boxing is a way of moving forward. In this respect, it is intrinsically desirable and serves the will's final cause. 

This outlines the sport as much more than mere brutality.

In God We Trust

John F. Grabowski describes boxing, ‘as a solitary struggle in which one relies on perseverance, determination, and courage to help them overcome their opponent.' If this is to be considered reasonable the athlete must contemplate its worth. What is the price I pay? What do I get out of it? Through this process of deduction, the risks are weighed. If it is to be considered a noble endeavour that judgement is to be made freely. Hence the participant follows the activity as a good in itself. 

To quote Tommy Loughran (LHWC 1927-1929), ’…we’ve been given reasoning power, we’ve been given intelligence, we’ve been given free will, we’ve been given all the capabilities of reasoning, pondering things, judging what is right and wrong, and the only thing that I can hope for is that God is infinitely merciful to us in every way, and that He will allow for the influences there that cause us to do certain things at certain times.’

This reflects Loughran’s deep Catholic faith, and he like the priestly writer of Gen 1 held that,’ man is by natural endowment like God; not that he naturally acts like God, always choosing truth and right; but that he has the natural capacity to make those choices.’ Whereas, Wayne McCullough (BWC 1995-1997) does not question his choice or hope that God will be merciful. Instead, he believes that the talent to box is a God given. The risks are the risks that God has set out. That once we are born, God has already chosen the day we will die. He quotes Job 14.5 ‘seeing his days are determined, the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass.'

Hence the participant follows the activity as a good and is cooperating with God, in that they are fulfilling God's plan.

The Danger of Boxing v. The Danger of Life

For others it is not a question of free will or predestination. Yes, boxing has its risks, but life is full of risk. It can be argued that no activity or sport is free from death or injury. Take, for example, the danger involved in motocross, rock climbing, cave diving etc. What Lt. Col Wilber K. Anderson argued in Ring Magazine in 1951, ‘if I created the world, I would have made things different, though we must accept the world the way it is. The element of danger is everywhere. It is a paradox that when danger does not come, we seek it out.’ To which he references scaling the mountain tops of the world and marathon cycling which stretches the body beyond endurance. This argument, although it sidelines intent in boxing, is legitimate as sports that appear less violent often have high casualty rates.

Yet, the case against boxing is not based on statistics alone. It is grounded in moral considerations. Objections to boxing, such as, from the British Medical Association, stem, ‘not only, from the understanding that we as doctors have the biomedical facts surrounding boxing, but from a different, more moral set of values that most of us hold and apply as compared to boxing’s advocates and, more importantly, spectators.’ The argument of the BMA is as much in line with a moral consensus of community or the natural law than it has with medical concerns. This has been accused of coming from a standpoint of legal moralism. This, it is argued, is based on a simplistic understanding of intentions. That even if it caused no harm, it is simply immoral on the grounds that it contains violent intent. Therefore, the trouble with the sport is not injury or death, but that boxing more distinctly resembles a fight, when contrasted with say rugby. Yet, this fails to comprehend the human capacity to understand and interpret the world around them.  

Practical Reasoning: Fighting the Good Fight 

The sport is often aligned with poverty and the vast majority of boxers come to the sport from backgrounds of privation. Such rags-to -riches stories are represented by boxing champions such as Jack Dempsey (WHC 1919-1926) who grew up poor, and frequented hobo camps before his career was elevated. What makes this element of  Dempsey's life worth mentioning is that the inclination to box appears less intimidating. For, ‘the backdrop of such a harsh urban [or rural] environment, boxing can hardly seem particularly violent.’ This deduction depicts a rational desire for boxing, which not only offers a capacity to escape, but a means of advancement too. Therefore, the boxer is not moved by brute force or ignorance but by their will. 

Life is little more than a boxing match, and so it ever has been -from the time of Adam and Eve. But I will take it from Cain and Abel, down to this of Humphries and Mendoza

British boxer Randolph Turpin (WMC 1951) who like Dempsey before him and Mike Tyson (WHC 1987-1990) observed fighting as a fundamental way of life. As did Floyd Patterson (WHC 1956 and 1962) who grew up in poverty and engaged in petty crime before discovering boxing. He noted that whether it [boxing] was a sport or not, he wanted it to be so, because it was the only thing he was good at. Turpin perceived boxing to be an extension of life. For, ‘I was fighting as a kid in the Leamington streets, fighting in the booths, fighting policemen, fighting as an amateur, fighting as a professional. It’s my life.’ The fact that other courses of action or possibilities may have existed, is only relevant if he had known all information or the full extent of which was inaccessible to an agent engaged in deliberation.

What was known was self-preservation which was achieved by fighting. Afterwards it became attractive as it offered rewards through professional contracts. The fact that the vast majority of boxers come from lower socio-economic backgrounds, and in fact don’t make it in the sport or are damaged by it was obscured. With all things considered, although their will was open to alternative courses of action and their choices are conditioned, yet chosen. The prize ring appeared rational as their backgrounds may cause their reasoned consideration to be obscured. It could be argued that they are not aware of the relative dangers because it has been withheld or their knowledge is limited. Hence, the criteria used to define these alternatives is guided by what are possible in a relative sense. In this deduction, boxing was a place in which skill, endurance and intelligence could flourish and one could reasonably advance. The harm in this sense is made insignificant. 

Controlled Aggression 

Catholic author Mark Galli argues that what takes place within the ropes is controlled aggression. For him boxing is a sport that operates within tight constraints. Yet, in keeping the match from becoming a free for all, those restraints must be honoured. He suggests that boxers need to be admired as ‘masters of control.’ Particularly as the aggression is contained within the ropes. Concentrate on a goal. The pain and injury they suffer and the damage inflicted on the other is but a necessary evil, yet, it is no more than that. 

There are boxers like the once multiple world champion Roy Jones Jnr for whom, ‘continuing to fight is not a choice … it’s in my blood.’ 

Professional boxing, however, is generally perceived as work, and in their average life athletes are not particularly violent. Take Bob Fitzsimmons (world titles in three weight divisions), a man described universally to be, ‘mild tempered, slow to anger, and swift to forgive.’ Yet, when he entered the ring, one adversary noted, he was capable of delivering terrific blows. 

This is reflected in Rocky Marciano (HWC 1952-1956). His wife felt that, ‘one reason I don’t mind going to the fights, is that I know they are all business with Rocky. ‘You see him punching hard in the ring, but I know that he is a good natured and generous man’ 

'For Marciano, ‘all that was not the fight was excluded from consciousness. '

For boxers like Marciano the intention was never harm for harm's sake, nor was it about anger. It was noted as far back as the 1870s that success in boxing consists of keeping your temper, ‘no doubt that it is aggravating to get a dab on the nose, but to be disconcerted by it, and lose your presence of mind, is to lose a fight.’

Marciano, who won mostly by knockout, did this in a state of calm. The aggression was not only concentrated, it was impersonal and,’ although the competition is intense and each will try to knock the other out, afterwards they are as friendly as competition admits.'

This was confirmed by Carl Frampton, who maintained in 2016, that he makes a psychological analysis of his opponent, measuring guts and skill with flicks of the jab and testing their stoicism with punishing body shots. However, it was done without emotion, as ‘feelings cannot come into it ‘’as soon as you enter the ring with anger, you’ve lost.’ Therefore, it can be assumed that the sport is free of homicidal will. The violence is not personal, the punches hurt but frequently they don’t. ‘It is but a small part of the dialogue you are witnessing.’

Men and Monsters in the Ring?

Floyd Patterson (HWC 1956 and 1962) on dislodging the mouth guard of a Chicago fighter named Mieszala and observing his opponent bent over and motioning to retrieve it, he did not attack. This would have been a perfect opening to score a knockout blow. Yet, Patterson, in consequent passion, chose to join Mieszala in search of the missing mouth guard. Furthermore, Patterson had not trained at the same gym as Mieszala in case it gave him an unfair advantage ‘inadvertently pick up some tips’ by watching Mieszala. Patterson later stood by these actions on moral grounds and in spite of criticism.

In this case, Patterson can be observed as a rational agent ‘protect and preserve life’ who did not have to check an external set of rules that had been written down. For within him was generated concepts that were recognisable as simply rational. In this sense, his judgement of reason acted in a manner that was contrary to his passions. The ‘killer instinct’ being a highly valued concept in combat sports. 

It is often the case that the boxer who appears the most brutal can be the most compassionate. A boxer wrongly perceived to have a killer instinct was Joe Louis (HWC 1937-1949). He had a high knockout ratio and was often depicted as cruel or someone who lacked emotion.

Harry Carpenter, a boxing correspondent who studied photographs of Louis for many years believed that Louis was never emotionally involved or that he ‘wears the same set mask whether he is signing an autograph, stepping on the scales, trashing a rival, or celebrating a win.’ 

This description casts Louis somewhat in the role of a machine, on the other hand, it also shows him to be a master of controlled aggression. Louis was in the ring to do a job and could not remember disliking any particular boxer. Recounting the fight with John Henry Lewis (LHWC 1935-1938), this was the first world title between two black men, held in 1939, Louis revealed himself as not someone who acted solely on instinct or stimulus response. Louis reasoned as a human being that, ‘I didn’t want that fight, when he came against me, he was finished. However, ‘they wrote and built it up that I would not fight another negro (Louis was under pressure to fight an opponent because of an issue of race). ‘I knocked him out in the first round.’ In this case the knock out was an act of mercy. Lewis passed his best and it was Louis’s intellect that brought the contest to a quick end.

This is what makes a human action distinct from that of fighting cock and other non-human creatures. We see this again when Louis faced his rival Max Schmeling (HWC 1930-1932). He recounted, …I wanted to knock him out as a man who was in there trying to knock me out. He described hating as,’ something that comes deep. I never learned that.’ Yet, as Roberts noted in his biography of Louis, a man who fought coldly and without rage or anger, the second fight with Schmeling carried the concerns of black America and white America in the face of Hitler’s champion. In a team sport the weight of a nation rests on a group’s shoulders. In boxing it can be a test of manhood between rival nations which is decided by fists. Louis was concerned by this, and that he might destroy Schmeling. This outlines his humanity, but it also outlines the dangers of the ring and how a contest can become a ‘death fight.’ It is where we find a deviation in Louis’s passions. He, however, was aware of this and he told a friend pre-fight that he was scared. Not scared for himself but, ‘scared I might kill Schmeling tonight’

During the fight noted Harry Carpenter Louis knew what was to be done and he did it with cold precision and power, ‘a startling application of the often-quoted ‘killer instinct’, yet done with scarcely the flicker of an eyebrow.’ Yet Louis was perplexed, noted the referee ‘and I think frightened -as, ‘I most certainly was -that death was going to strike in the ring.’ The last 124 sec of the battle was described as the most concentrated and destructive in two and a half centuries of prize fighting.

Distorted Passions

This begs the question. Can one love one’s neighbour while trying to subdue. It is, after all, a game of injuring, maiming, and rendering an opponent unconscious. It remains the boxer's job, wrote L. A. G. Strong in 1938, to put each other out. If they find a weak spot, they naturally concentrate on it. For, when the opportunity presents itself, ‘one plays for an already damaged eye as the quickest way to finish the fight. ‘For, as Joyce Carol Oates wrote, ‘once the boxer disrobes at ringside, they must also disrobe from reason and instincts caution.’ The desire is to win and more broadly it might encompass a desire for power, riches, fame or for virtue or friendship or community. Yet, what may appear to be good can be distorted by sorrow or fury. The ethically minded Floyd Patterson discovered this in 1960 after a rematch with Ingemar Johansson (WHC 1959-1960).

Patterson later admitted that for, ‘the whole year, I lived with hate, which was brought out through the viciousness which I displayed’ The fight itself was good in that it offered some career and financial reward. However, the intended good was at too great a cost or was disproportionate in unintended effects. Hate had made Patterson miserable, for,’ when a man hates he can’t have any peace of mind.' Clearly his emotions were disordered, misdirected, hence unreasonable. In fact, when Johansson hit the canvas, he stayed so still that Patterson thought he had killed him.

Patterson, a man known as compassionate, had rational desires which were distorted by hate. As we have seen, a boxer can be merciful. Yet, this is not always possible, and especially for  an individual who risks all to achieve an immediate goal. Tony Bellew (CWC 2015-2016) perhaps understood this when he stated that, ‘we all have a bit of craziness in us- it was being a fighter that I’m willing to go further than anyone else. It made me realise that I was willing to die in a boxing ring. I’m not proud of it but at least now I’m aware of it. Bellew was willing to accept his own death. Which contrasts with the very thing he was fighting for, to flourish. Yet, in the ring Bellew never resigned ….’ I have never quit. I’d die before I gave up. Nobody ever kept me down on the floor. I’ve never been left asleep on the canvas. And never once have I chosen to watch from one knee as a referee counted me out. Even when I couldn’t get up, I still got up. Even if after I’ve dragged myself up, I’m like a fucking zombie. I’ll carry-on fighting.’

It appears that he was living moment to moment rather than taking his life as a whole. This appears irrational, yet, boxers regularly scrape themselves off the canvas, rise on wobbly legs or convince a referee they have been okay and go on and win. This risky behaviour is frequently praised as the winning mentality, and while it is the product of free judgement, it does not promote bodily integrity or contribute to human flourishing. Generally, because it is dismissive of the real danger. Bellew, reflecting on this unreasonable instinct, is now aware of his passions. What is needed in this case, as John Finnis has noted, is ‘cool reflection’, clear-thinking as a human person which brings that person to the same set of basic goods

Trash Talk

The boxer may during a press conference, expresses a desire to hurt, to kill an opponent. This could be considered a symbolic death as the knockout and otherwise rendered unconscious is not designed to kill and each non-fatal knockout is therefore symbolic. Yet, the lines between real and representative are often blurred. It is generally accepted that a boxer does not engage in a fight for personal animosity which is unlawful and therefore criminal activity. Nevertheless, trash talk, talk of killing, maiming or hurting an opponent is often legitimised in boxing. Such sentiments real or imagined are sent out into the world. It is often unclear if this is true and the graveness of their words can have consequences. For instance, Canadian lightweight champion Gaetan Hart after winning the title from Cleveland Danny in 1978, commented, ‘you can be friends with the guy before the fight, but in the ring, you have to hate him. Hart claimed that he focuses on the other's face and repeats the word hate. To which he adds, ‘if he has a cut, punch it, if his nose is broken, swing at it.’ This could not possibly be a part of his training. Yet, fighters like Hart are trained to dominate the other. For instance, they are thought to imagine that they are punching a spot behind the head of an opponent.

Professional boxing does not correlate with play as described by John Finnis. Sports historian Randy Roberts confirmed this when he wrote, ‘you don’t play, ‘cut eyes, swallowing your own blood, trying to move away from an opponent in a dull metal fog.’ Yet, this aspect of it can be diminished or ignored, which reflects the idea that boxing is a game and therefore unreal. For example, Hart admitted that men do die but he never dwells on it. The implications, in fact, are very real. Case in point, Hart and Danny met again in the boxing ring in 1980. Danny died 16 days later following a knock-out.

The Inexcusable Sport

In the end, what makes this so ethically flawed is that the person who inflicts the most punishment is the winner. Ralph Whiley, sports writer, termed ‘assault and battery with deadly weapons the fists of men.’ This is a ’sport’ that makes light of brutality. Tom Callahan of Time Magazine, shed light on this during the lead up to Tyson vs. Spinks. He termed Mike Tyson ‘the monster that men have worried was at the heart of their indefinable passion, of their indefensible sport, has come out in flesh to be the champion of the world.’ In other words, ‘the baddest man on the planet was not only a man who knocked other men out but a man with a distorted moral view. This badness can be translated as an action that distorts, damages or corrupts or impedes a person and so is a privation. Tyson confirms this by speaking of bad intentions, to attack vital areas by blows to the heart, kidney and liver. The shattering of an adversary’s eardrum who would ‘cry like a woman’

Tyson was the poor kid who channelled ‘the dark power into a good’ Yet as David Remnick noted the dark side overwhelmed him. His clouded reason and overpowering emotions were channelled into fights, ‘I was hitting him with murderous precision. I was out for blood. I wanted the title and no way was I coming home without it’. Again, the very essence of the winning mentality, yet, was the pursuit of a particular good jeopardising the good of the whole man. This was made manifest by Tyson when he bit the ear of Evander Holyfield during their second contest for the WBA World Heavyweight Championship. 

Tyson noted, "I bit him because I wanted to kill him. I was really mad about my head being bumped and everything," Tyson said. "I really lost consciousness during the whole fight. It took me out of my fight plan and everything." Evidently, human actions can be either in accordance with the order of reason or not. ‘Even if the action is indifferent in kind, it violates the order of reason to perform that action in inappropriate circumstances or for the sake of an immoral end.’

When a boxer is self-indulgent or hedonistic they look past the bad act. They might feel remorse, but the pleasure is always good irrespective of the context. Had Tyson been in good working order, more complete, more fulfilled this aggression may not have manifested in this way. Tyson now seeks harmony with God and has since grown in his religion and no longer worships himself instead of something bigger. He said ‘’so I decided in life to be a good person more than a great person. And that’s just been my concept, good is so much more than great when it’s used in the proper context.’ It is evident that the violence in boxing distorts the moral actor or that violent people distort boxing. The words and actions of Tyson and others have done little to embellish the sport. Instead, their actions remain a talking point on the sports morality. And, there is much to ponder when contrasting ring ethics, trash talk and distorted passions. If this article fails to address such questions it may instead offer a more comprehensive overview of the sport’s ethical dilemmas. 

In many respects, the negative actions associated with boxing are considered a fundamental element of the professional game.

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Daniel Mendoza and Perceptions of Jews in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century England.

 

Daniel Mendoza: The Prize Ring and Perceptions of the Jews in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century England.

By Ray Esten 

This article endeavours to show ways in which Jews in late eighteenth and early nineteenth century England transcended oppressive structures through challenging myths of inferiority.

Reading in the early eighteenth-century one might come upon the name Jew beside words and phrases like vicious, corrupt, physically weak or easily victimized. Beside such common tropes, however, existed a more benevolent attitude, like that of Sir Walter Scott who sympathetically depicted the Jews as a people who had nobly endured terrible persecution. Yet, there was another category made manifest through the Jewish boxer Daniel Mendoza, 1764-1836.

In the eighteenth century, prize fights were attended by the social hierarchy, including King George III. They celebrated pugilism as a form of 'democratic courage.' This meant that the plain John Bull—or the working-class Englishman—could look upon the champions of the noble art as heroes to be regarded with awe and admiration.

The prize fighter symbolised  Englishness, especially during the French Revolution and threats of war with France. In this context, the Prize Ring (a place that encompassed varied sets of groups and individuals) was but a manifestation of a coming together or a commonality of diverse people during a time of unpredictability. A situation that may have aided Mendoza’s rise up the societal ladder.

Whatever the case, Mendoza began challenging stereotypes of Jewishness or what it meant to be a Jew ? when he entered into the Prize Ring in the 1780s. His early successes, often over larger men, presented him as a man superior to his gentile neighbours. And while, his first fight with Richard Humphries (marketed on racial hostilities) reinforced his position as ‘the Jew’ or other. His subsequent wins over his old mentor highlighted Mendoza as a particularly skilled pugilist.

His prowess in the ring attracted high-ranking individuals, including the Welsh 'baroner' Sir Thomas Apprice. Mendoza was a constant companion at his villa in Epping Forest. This relationship not only helped redefine Mendoza’s social mobility but also influenced wider society’s perceptions of Jews. It was perhaps symbolic in its achievement—something the lofty language of social reform had often failed to accomplish. What is evident is that the noted ‘fighting Jew’ would be grudgingly acknowledged and then celebrated.

England and the Sephardic Jews

The word Sephardic refers to the Jews of the Iberian Peninsula (modern day Spain and Portugal). The Spanish Inquisition established by the Catholic Monarchy in the fifteenth Century served as a tribunal to identify heretics. Johnathan Ray estimates that in 1492 it expelled some 80,000 Jews which resulted in the end of open Jewish life in that country. The Portuguese Inquisition which followed in 1536 was equally as brutal in that recalcitrant Judaizer, and other offenders were to be, for example, burnt alive. Some of those who escaped settled in European countries, who had previously excluded them. The Sephardic community who spawned Daniel Mendoza gravitated to England They appear to have found London as satisfactory, as they would Antwerp or Rotterdam.

All Jews had been expelled from England in 1290 and returned during the rule of Oliver Cromwell (c. 1655). While there continued to be anti-Jewish sentiments in England, however, it had not adopted the Ghetto system which existed in Rome for three centuries, with its gates opened at dawn and shut at dusk. This may suggest a closer working relationship between Jews and Christians. In consequence, it could be expected that they might attend or practice the same sports. In London they encountered sports like cockfighting and bull-baiting.

Rowdy affairs which supplemented drinking and gambling. This reflected a loosening of morals during the Restoration of the Stuart Monarchy 1660-1685. While there is scant reference to boxing at this time. The prize fighter was soon to become a feature of cities and towns. This practice as its most basic concerned two individuals fighting with bare-knuckles, until one went down and could not rise again.

It does not appear that the Sephardic community, affluent and associated with commerce and banking, gravitated towards it. Their reasons are manifold, and gambling, for instance, a central feature of rowdy sports, went against Jewish teaching.

The Christian Pugilist

The first champion of the Prize Ring James Figg (1700-1734) received the sponsorship of wealthy backers who ensured that he had his own indoor boxing arena. And Jack Broughton (1704-1789) a protégé of Figg and later champion was endorsed by the Duke of Cumberland. Both Figg (of Oxfordshire) and Broughton (of London?) may have reached local or regional celebrity before they became national ones. For, national identity had not really taken root until the late nineteenth century, for local, and regional identities served to complicate and compromise. However, the fact that Figg was acclaimed Champion of England and Broughton was financed by Cumberland does suggest a strong sense of identity.

Whatever the case, this identity was fundamentally Christian, and both Figg and Broughton were, if practicing or not, Church of England members. The England in which they operated could be characterised as a confessional state, one which officially recognised and practiced a certain religion, at least at the highest level in society. However, as is evident, it was not a society wholly dependent on popular morality, piety, or denominational uniformity (be they Dissenters or Anglicans). Though, what they did share was Protestantism. In the Prize Ring, it reflected a form of bravery that was considered Protestant too.

The Jew as ‘other’

Despite this, we do find Jewish pugilists in the eighteenth century, for instance, a severe prize fight was undertaken by the noted fighting Jew and the little fighting shoemaker at Stepney Fields in 1771. Nevertheless, the ‘noted ‘fighting Jew’ was not yet a component of English identity. In comparison to their Christian neighbours, Jews were perceived to be physically weak and easily victimized. They could also be unscrupulous in business and criminal in character, or so it was claimed.  Such simplism was expressed by one critic writing in the Public Adviser in 1772. This author stated that the Jews should be the objects of revenue. Whilst he does not state outright that their heavy taxation would have the effect of forcing them from the Kingdom. He does see them as undesirables. For ‘they pursue their interests without restraint or administration.’

Without reserve he adds that ‘’every individual of the whole body of the Jews, if born in England or not are not only aliens, but they are at this day by virtue of the act of parliament what never has been appealed, under the Anathema and predicaments of exiles and outlaws and therefore this being true, their residence in this country is utterly illegal.’

Besides questioning the status of Jews as citizens, the writer recites common tropes, counting usuary (money lending), the clipping of coin and the Jew as an expert forger. That they had ‘made England ‘the land of milk and money’ and have ‘never sweat at a mechanical art or striking a single stroke of trade’ Whilst claiming, at the same time, that such exiles and outlaws gather around the Royal Exchange in such numbers ‘that you would think they carry the commerce of the nation.’

On such account, observers may have found it unlikely that Jews possessed the physicality or mental resolve needed for prize fighting or what the Fancy (followers of pugilism) called ‘bottom’ which was a combination of wind (physical training and diet) and more importantly spirit (courage) the first equipment of a pugilist. That, ‘without this substantial thing, both art and strength will avail a man but little.’ It could be that the Prize Ring remained, ‘’ not only an English sport ‘it was the English sport,’ a stern, stark, fierce contest between two brawny specimens of English Protestant manhood. 'Hence, pugilist glory revolved around a particular form of English courage, which manifested especially when the war with France loomed (1778-1783).

The making of a Jewish Prize Fighter

Clive Emsley has argued that capitalisation of industry and industrialisation was perhaps the most significant aspect of British society from 1780-1830, however, in the conscience of the people it was war. This particularly loomed large between 1793 and 1815. This could be argued to have helped sustain a Protestant identity, in opposition to Catholic Continental Europe. Then again, this danger could equally have fostered a commonality amongst a diverse population. When, prize fighting, which reached its zenith in the 1780s, was at its most diverse.

It was dominated by a whole host of identities, often competing, counting religious identities of course Protestants, but also Jews, Catholics, mostly Irish, alongside Gypsies and those of African descent. While the aristocracy, who had abandoned prize fighting on Broughton’s defeat in 1750, once again showed interest. Most considerably, the Prince of Wales and other wealthy backers helped ease the position of the Jews in England by offering royal patronage. While also marking out Daniel Mendoza, a Sephardic Jew as a particular specimen of pugilistic courage.

 Who was Mendoza, ‘the Jew'

Daniel Mendoza (1764-1836) was born in London to second-generation Spanish and Portuguese parents. Just fourteen years after the Jew Bill introduced by Pelham as reform measure which would soften the civil disabilities of the Jewish community in Britain was met with intolerance and high church hostility and was as a result repealed. The Sephardic community which he belonged to had been traditionally quite wealthy. The Mendoza family may have been marginally middle class. Mendoza received a Hebrew education, though not beyond his bar mitzvah. His views on religion would be harder to distinguish. Though a story published in Famous Fights cites his visit to Jesus College, Cambridge, where he paused at a map of Egypt and the Holy lands and in what has been described as ‘very choice English’, he gave his opinion on Moses (not complimentary) as well as miracles and the passing of the Red Sea. The vigour of his language and lack of reverence was recorded. Even so, what it is to be Jewish or a Jew is infinite and what is being illustrated in this context is identity rather than dissent or devotion. Mendoza was a Jew as he was born into that community.

Fighting back

Yet, in contrast to the earlier position of Jews and as the child of immigrant parents he would have gained the right to own property freely. Though he was still excluded from, if he so wished, holding public office. The various jobs he obtained, however, before seeking significant prize money, did relate to the poorer classes, the best perhaps a tea dealer. Which may challenge his middle-class status or signal a fall in status.

In the account of his early life published in 1816 The Memoirs of the Life of Daniel Mendoza he depicts incidents and insults which caused him to raise his fists. His first fight at the age of sixteen ensued in a dispute with a tea porter. It was more of a street fight than an organised prize fight. Mendoza entered the Prize Ring in September of 1787. At this time, ‘the Jew’ was affixed to the end of a name so as to set it apart from Christian opponents (afterwards adopted by Mendoza). In comparison to his adversary Harry ‘the Coal Heaver’ a heavyset man Mendoza appeared small. Yet he won the contest convincingly, even if he did not fit the profile of a heavyweight, with a weight of around 73 kg with a height of 5 feet 7 inches.

The ‘Star of Israel’ In the field and in the Synagogue

In 1788 he was back in the ring when he fought Martin ‘the Bath Butcher’ (opponents' colourful names reflect their employment and social status). Mendoza, better described as a middleweight, defeated the large ‘Bath Butcher’ most decisively. In attendance was the Prince of Wales and others of distinction. Subsequently, it was stated that Christians as well as Israelites gave Mendoza the applause he well deserved. Mr. Deard, a judge in these matters, exclaimed Mendoza to be, ’a Jewl of a fellow.' This was an early indication that as a Jew he could earn respect first within the ring.

Yet, there are still obstacles to his acceptance which are exposed by the criticism of his mode of fighting, which was described by one critic as’ dexterity without grace’ although he utilised, for example, the jab, fine footwork, and a crouched defence deemed which was described as ‘low and cunning’ In other words it was not a stand-up English fight associated with Christian bravery. Whereas, Mendoza’s style was possibly considered to be deceitful.

Nonetheless, afterwards he was accompanied triumphantly by thousands of Israelites with lighted torches and marital music. That Tuesday recorded in The Freeman’s Journal or The North American Intelligencer the whole synagogue sung Io triumphe to honour the Jew beating the Christian. Undoubtedly the deed was of such importance that it found expression in the synagogue While Mendoza was yet to obtain a championship he proclaimed to be one. However, at the time the term champion meant any fighting man who championed a cause which according to Christopher Johnson recalled the world of romance and chivalry. Possibly Mendoza could be championing another cause, Jewish equality.

Fighting for the Jews

In 1788, 1789 and 1790 Mendoza engaged in highly publicised contests with Richard Humphries. The fights tapped into late eighteenth-century fears of a burgeoning Jewish population. In fact, their first contest was also the first in which the fighters’ careers were marketed on racial hostilities. Mendoza lost this affair after he fell on the rain-soaked stage badly spraining his ankle and then reluctantly acknowledged the superiority of his opponent. It was necessary to release black pigeons to bear the gloomy news intelligence to the twelve Tribes of Moses. In the Derby Mercury’s assessment due credit was to be given to the Jew for his skill, and to the Christian for his courage. Humphries complimented Mendoza on his pluck but afterwards wrote to his patron, ‘I have done the Jew, and am in good health.’

Crabb: Other Fighting Jews

That June, The Times noted that the hunger for prize fighting had subsided. That Mendoza was to return to his butcher’s knife and Humphries to his occupation of a bailiff’s follower. As this brutal act could not exist long in civilised society. However, this concern was not expressed in every publication. A few days later the Belfast Newsletter heaped praise not on Mendoza, but Elisha Crabb ‘the Jew’ who faced the pupil of that famous English battler Ward. Crabb was seconded by the Irish champion Ryan, and it was said to be one of the best battles ’that we ever witnessed’ and Crabb ‘a creature of astonishing harness and can stand as much beating as any man in England.’ The Belfast publication (with a large Protestant readership) had given ‘the fighting Jew’ a certain respect. 

By this time, it must be noted that Mendoza was a popular trainer of the amateurs and it was reported, for example, that Jack Broughton, who introduced rules to the sport, planned to visit the Jew Academy (Mendoza’s Boxing Club). For the occasion Mendoza purchased a highchair which would serve as a throne for the father of boxing. It appears that his Jewishness was in good standing, however, when he travelled in Belfast just after, Mendoza let it be known that he would not distinguish himself in that city. He would be chiefly associating himself with people of the Jewish persuasion. That he would not fight unless receiving great provocation. By this time, however, it had attracted interest that he should meet Humphries once more. Which the Belfast Newsletter printed; it was ‘all my eye’ (complete nonsense). For they might not find any dupes to back a future contest or that it had already been decided for Humphries.

More crucially, perhaps, it made comparisons between Jews and Christians by relating John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost and the related work of John Dryden, The Sate of Innocence and the Fall of man. Contemplating how Milton made Adam his hero and Dryden had made the devil his. Both have a place in society. Perhaps it was that the Jew and the Gentile would now be reconciled, the wreath a symbol of a lost pure love or as it was more elegantly put at the time ‘as Dryden gave the palm to the devil perhaps the world may now give the wreath to the Jews.’

Mendoza, boxing celebrity

‘What a damnable shame to spoil’d by a curst little Jew from Duke’s Place’

Mendoza and Humphries fought during the French Revolution (1789-1794). Their last two fights dated 1789 and in 1790, decided decisively that Mendoza was the better man. The revolution in France had brought a change of status to Jews (1791), however, in England it only brought into question their loyalty. However, Mendoza enjoyed greater social mobility and, for example, he was a constant companion and an open guest at the villa of Welsh baronet Sir Thomas Apprice, an avid boxer.

Looking back to 1788, for instance, Mendoza’s skills in the ring were described discouragingly by the Edinburgh Magazine as ‘dexterity without grace 'which reflected assumptions of the cunning and devious Jew. Yet, by the following year he had released the very same skills in print, The Art of Manual Defence; or System of Boxing (1789). A publication that was well received and done much to enhance his celebrity, which also manifested as memorabilia. Yet, it was a precarious fame, for if boxing lost favour so would Mendoza. While always in defence of the Noble Art, understood only too well its dubious legality (and knowing that it had several moral enemies) conceded in the preface to the book The Modern Art of Boxing, as practiced by Mendoza, Humphries, Ryan, Ward, Watson, Johnson, and other eminent pugilists that it bordered on brutality and blackguardism.

A hero of the Britons perhaps?

Yet, blood sports still held a certain reverence, for it kept men fighting fit and ready for war. A commentator writing in the Morning Post in 1801, anticipating the decline of boxing and bull baiting as ‘components of British bravery’ quoted the misfortunes of 1783 (the end of the American Revolution and the formal recognition of the United States). Moreover, the writer points to Johnson, Humphries and Mendoza (without attaching ‘the Jew’ to the end of the latter’s name) as those who ‘elevated Great Britain, once more a commanding and sovereign power.’ Stating that neither Shakespeare or Congreve could perform without a sparring scene at the Theatre. That, the ‘glory of our nation may again revive, and Jacobitism, Republicanism, French principles sedition, anarchy, and everything else we have been fighting against will receive an irrecoverable and final knockdown blow’ This belief reflected a sense of nationhood which was sustained through rowdy sports, and was elevated by the great champions Mendoza.

The fighting Jew as standard

               Dutch Sam

During the 1800s, and with the rise of Jewish battlers like Dutch Sam (active between 1775-1816) who received regular backing amongst Jews and Christians alike. The social reformer Francis Place could frankly state that Mendoza had spread amongst the Jews the art of boxing and they had become generally expert at it. The impression of the Jew as a boxer became ingrained in society that, for example, a play featured at Covent Garden in 1802 with a focus on Jewish love, and featuring the actor (John) Fawcett, incorporated a pugilistic scene. For in the third verse, Miss Moses, receives boxing lessons from her brother. When the play was first promoted, this scene brought a strong hiss from the pit and gallery. The hissing by some in attendance could have been by angry Jews or Christians that they took issue with Jewish boxing or that a Jew female could box. Nonetheless, it makes some reference to the ‘noted fighting Jew’ and the Morning Post noted that it was justice to the Jews who did not take part in the hissing but warmly applauded Fawcett and laughed with the Jewish love story.

Prize Fighting v. religious devotion

This is not to argue that rowdy sports were wholly embraced by Jews or for that matter Christians. A Christian sermon preached at Berks in 1802, for example, called into question, bull baiting, mercenary pugilism which had done little to service the soldiers or citizens. Equally, in 1805 two Jews who attended a prize fight were summoned to the synagogue by the high priest, in violation of the sabbath. They had to obey a penance and should do their utmost to ‘suppress practices so contrary to religion, morality, and the existing laws.' Yet, more broadly Mendoza could be held up as a figure of British masculinity. Notably during 1803-1805 when the country was under serious threat from France. The Spirit of boxing being frequently quoted in this period, as a mark of unity in a time of war.

Changing attitudes: The Mendoza Legacy

In conclusion:

It is hard to state categorically what influence Mendoza had on the equality of Jews. For, it cannot be claimed definitively that Jews received admiration by Christians thereafter. Jewish Emancipation being a long and arduous process. Yet, the symbolic ‘noted fighting Jew’ cannot be ignored. Markedly, as the Prize Ring at times seemed as a vehicle which transcended antisemitism. For this, we can point to Mendoza’s first engagement with Humphries which was marketed on racial hostilities. The next two had certainly altered perceptions. It could be that it reflected a new period of Jewish self-assertion. While it also may be suggested that a diverse populace of Christians Jews and others. These ‘John Bulls’, shared a single identity or at least experienced a commonality. That was tied culturally, to the true specimen of courage. The prize fighter.

A Geographical Overview

The Boxing Scene in Early to Mid-twentieth Century Dublin: A Geographical Overview.

By Ray Esten 

Theatres and Music Halls served as a cornerstone of entertainment from the eighteenth-century. Their relationship to boxing can be broken down into three phases. The first is the bare knuckle phase, when a pugilist who was engaged at a theatre or Music Hall covered their naked fists to display their skills to an audience. It attracted curious onlookers, the amateurs and those interested in self-defence. In the decades to come, bare knuckle boxers, who adorned gloves, were able to use the ring and stage in tandem. Performing their boxing skills as part of a theatrical show. And boxing (this being gloved sparring) was respectable enough that the manager of the Theatre Royal in Crow Street could facilitate boxing lessons at Temple Lane in Dublin.

What’s more, theatres like the Royal in London could advertise a pantomime that included the cream of boxing, like Belcher, Cribb, Dutch Sam and Dogherty, who employed their skill in partnership with the production. It was a form of entertainment that appealed to theatre managers and entrepreneurs alike. Had this not been the case, it could be said, the sport would have declined. 

These successes can be illustrated through Pierce Egan, the first chronicler of boxing. His book Life in London became an eminent depiction of life in the Regency period. It was so popular, in fact, that it was followed by a show. Egan was in Dublin in the 1830s and assisted Calcraft as a secretary, treasurer and business manager at Dublin’s Theatre Royal. His two characters from Life in London, Tom and Jerry, engaged in a boxing scene that excited lively interest in the city. Meanwhile, Dan Donnelly’s sporting parlour was considered important enough to have a facsimile background painted for Egan’s full burletta of Life in Dublin. It also featured a set-to between Mr. David Reese and ‘Corinthian Tom,’ boosting the sport’s popularity and respectability.

The Old Royal 

The next phase consisted of big fistic tours made popular in the late nineteenth century through renowned boxers like John L. Sullivan. It offered the public a chance to see their hero in an exchange with an accomplished sparring partner. 

The Theatre Royal was destroyed by fire in 1880. On the site was built The Leinster Hall which also facilitated boxers like Charlie Mitchell. It opened in 1886 and closed in 1897. The building was later remodelled and was known as the ‘new’ Royal. One of the biggest fights in Irish history Roche v. Burns occurred at this venue in 1908. 

The third phase, which materialised in the 1880s, and carries on in our time, involved the undertaking of actual boxing contests and not just gloved exhibitions. In this period prize-fighting had been displaced by amateur and professional boxing under Marquis of Queensberry rules. In London, the National Sporting Club (NSC) was opened as a private club in 1891, and served as a substantial boxing venue. And while it could only hold thirteen hundred spectators. It consolidated boxing and made it respectable. Boxing began to distance itself from an unsavoury sport, and became a national one. 

Boxing Venues of the Nineteenth Century: Not just Bricks and Mortar 

In Dublin there was no equivalent to the NSC. In the early nineteenth century boxing transpired at the Curragh, Portobello or Marlborough Barracks (McKee Barracks). While, the boxing promoters of that time made use of what was obtainable, including the Earlsfort Terrace Rink (roller skating rink) Parnell Square Hall (most likely the Ancient Order of Hibernians Hall) and Rutland Square Hall (most likely Fowlers Hall which served as an Orange Lodge) as well as parks, rugby grounds/ sports stadiums. 

Many of the unique and historic buildings that once hosted boxing events in Dublin, including the substantial Theatre Royal on Hawkins Street, are no more. Obviously, they were designed for entertainment. More importantly perhaps is their geographical location -they were easily reached by the docklands and inner-city communities, who desired an escape from the drudgery of working life. By the 1890s most could be reached from the suburbs, places like Glasnevin, Rathfarnham and Inchicore, on account of the new tram system. 

The Music Halls of Ireland and Britain facilitated an activity that encompassed new rules and equipment. For gloved boxing had earned a degree of respectability. It veered toward but never became pure entertainment. Its function was instead a distinct activity that’s essential ingredient was unpredictability. 

The Queensberry rules stipulated that gloves should be of a ‘’fair size’’ yet this could mean anything, and they were often skin tight, which made contests particularly spirited. The number of rounds that occurred do not seem to exceed twenty rounds. One exception perhaps was when Miler Keogh and Pat Scully fought over 30 rounds. Though this may be a misprint as the fight was ratified at Sport Office (83 Middle Abbey St) which indicates it occurred under Queensbury rules. This coincides with the National Sporting Club who scheduled twenty rounds maximum for championship fights. 

The Rotunda 

The Rotunda Round Room was one of Dublin’s earliest Music Halls, which began facilitating boxing from the 1880s. The formation of the Amateur Boxing Association in Britain in 1880 saw the rise of amateur boxing clubs in both Britain and Ireland. The Rotunda facilitated Irish clubs like the Dublin Amaterg Boxing Cub (not a misspelling). The Irish Championship of 1884 included categories in boxing (four weights) as well as wrestling, single-stick and foil. The County Dublin Boxing Club also held its annual competition at the Round Rooms in 1886, where it was noted that they needed a proper instructor. A good indication that amateur boxing was not quite developed in Ireland in this period. The Round Room also facilitated champion boxing and in March of 1888, for example, it hosted the Irish Boxing Championships. On offer, for the winners, five valuable sterling silver belts with five sets of Earl’s Boxing gloves for runners up which could be viewed at Johnson's of 94 Grafton Street.

The promoter John C. Earl promised to bring the middle and welterweight champions to the Imperial Theatre Royal Westminster for the all-England Championships. Peter Maher, who won the 1888 Middleweight Championship of Ireland, and the 1890 Heavyweight Championship of Ireland, learned the basics at the North City Gymnasium, but made his debut at the Rotunda, where he whipped a big fella named Sullivan. Later, Tony Sage, the veteran sportsman of Dublin took hold of him with a view of making him champion of the world. 

       Peter Maher Irish Champion 

In 1911 King Edward was at the races at Leopardstown, and many flocked to get a glimpse of royalty, yet, others spent their time at the Rotunda, to observe Con O’ Kelly (Hull based Cork man) face Packy Mahoney, also of Cork. Mahoney would gain the Irish title after defeating Dublin’s Dan Voyles at the NSC on St. Patrick’s Day 1913. Voyles, the army and navy heavyweight champion, fought an epic battle with Bombardier Billy Wells for the British Empire Title that same year. 

Notable contests that occurred at the Round Room included Johnny Curran Irish bantam champion and Johnny Hughes 8 stone champion of England. As well as London’s Harry Duncan who was billed as 8-stone champion of England and Dixie Kidd who was billed as the world welter champion (the ring being invaded a decision was not reached). An indication that such contests could be rowdy affairs. The Dixie Kid would face Duncan again at Blackfriars in England. The Rotunda remained a popular venue for boxing well into the late 1940s. In 1925 it drew so many spectators that the Dublin Committee recommended only 1,000 persons be allowed entrance to functions of this kind. 

Antient Concert Rooms 

Archiseek Image 

The Rooms as they would have looked originally. 

The Building has not changed much today.

The most important venue was perhaps the Antient Concert Rooms on Great Brunswick Street (Pearse Street). It was in many respects the home of Irish boxing by the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century. The building had originally been the Dublin Oil and Gas Company Gosling and Taylor, which was set up to extract gas from fish oil. It went into liquidation in 1834 and the 800 seat Antient Concert Rooms opened in 1842. This venue rapidly became the centre of Dublin musical life. 

Boxing at the venue started around 1890. One of the first recorded fights was between Alf Gunner and a man named Hacket. In December of that year, the Antient Concert Rooms advertised a high-profile contest between Joe McAuliffe Champion of California and Peter Maher. The fight had been brought about by the Irish sportsman and promoter Tony Sage, who also supplied a splendid cup for amateurs. It never went ahead, but this was a key moment in Irish boxing as rumours had circulated that the police might interfere. The fight was a test of boxing's legality, and it was cancelled not to risk any interference; however, it was stated that, ‘the exhibitions would have been one of scientific boxing only, and that the arrangements would have been found of the most perfect kind.’

A familiar face in the early days of the Concert Rooms was Myler Keogh of Donnybrook, the son of a prize fighter. He first came to public notice in 1889 when he fought at Ballsbridge—the same year John L. Sullivan fought his last bare-knuckle bout. Like Sullivan, Keogh covered his fists with leather boxing gloves. He became a regular at the Concert Rooms thereafter, fighting some 16 times over a five-year period. He knocked out Tom Lynch in 1893 at the Concert Rooms securing the Middleweight Championship of Ireland. In 1902 he returned to this venue to face Jem Roche of Wexford, he lost badly and retired a year later. Keogh’s acclaim, it may be said, was derived from James Joyce's passing awareness of his career and his mention of him as 'Dublin's pet lamb', in several passages of Ulysses. By the 1920s this venue was a cinema and ballroom, though, it was still utilised for amateur contests, and as late as 1926 St. Andrews Club put on a tournament there. 

Boxing also occurred at the Mechanics Theatre on Abbey Street where D. Reilly (Dominick F. C) fought Pat Whelan for twenty rounds and a large purse presented by the management. Another important boxing venue existed at 47 York Street which had previously been Father Matthews Total Absence Society in the 1880s. By the 1890s, however, it was Patrick Dowling’s School of Arms, where many a good contest was undertaken. However, that establishment was finished by 1900. A sale notice described the venue as a spacious house let out to clubs and societies. In the following year it was occupied by the Dublin Concert Halls Artists Association. In 1932, not far away at No. 42, a large Georgian room at the rear of a tenement facilitated the beginning of St Andrews Amateur club. That building has also been bulldozed. 

While there were efforts made to provide a venue for professional boxing in the city, it never came to anything. There were several venues, including Dan Lowrey’s Music Hall, the Empire or La Scala Theatre, that facilitated boxing. They cemented an old relationship between the theatre and this unique sport. The expansion and growth of this connection, it could be said, made boxing possible.