Sport: Martin-Goldstein

In Manhattan, two minute gamecocks stepped close, pecked, stepped out, ducked, strutted. They were bantams. Their eyes glared bloody for a golden prize—the bantamweight championship of the world. One was a Jewish gamecock from Harlem—Champion Abe Goldstein; one was an Italian gamecock from Brooklyn—Challenger "Cannonball" (Eddie) Martin. For 15 rounds the pecking, the strutting, went fiercely on. Then from 1,200 smoky throats a great shout went up. Bantam gamecock Cannonball Martin, he was champion.

Had it not been for that great shout, Referee Tommy Sheridan might have had good cause to shake for the safety of his own well-padded ribs. Never was a title awarded by a closer decision. Of the 15 rounds, six were indubitably Goldstein's, six as indubitably Martin's. In the dubious three, Goldstein was heady, agile, defensive; Martin eager, fresh, intrepid. Hard had Champion Goldstein pecked in the third and fourth, to no avail. His rights impaired Martin's jaw, failed to touch his spirit. Discouraged, Goldstein played safe, boxed, lost the decision. Yet not a few smoky-throated ones went home muttering that six of one and half a dozen of the other was a draw.