Prizefighting: Promises, Promises

It figured to be the most savage middleweight rematch since Zale and Graziano. Emile Griffith, the tough ex-street fighter from the Virgin Islands, had an elaborate revenge planned for Nino Benvenuti, the Italian fishmonger's son who took away his 160-lb. title last April. For starters, he was going to reshape Nino's roamin' nose. "I'm going to hit it and hit it and hit it," vowed Griffith. "I'm going to bend it. Then I'm going to knock him out." Bene, sighed Benvenuti, quaffing his Chianti—let him try. If it was a Pier Sixer that Emile wanted, Nino would oblige. "The first fight was rough," he said. "This will be rougher."

Promises, promises. The 20,000 fans who plunked $200,000 into the till at New York's Shea Stadium hardly got the battle they expected. To be sure, Griffith did bloody Nino's nose—by rubbing it with the laces of his gloves. He also speared Benvenuti in the ribs with his shoulders, butted him on the chin and belted him in the kidneys; Nino, who fights without a mouthpiece, retaliated by biting Emile's neck. But the only knockdown came in the 14th round, when Benvenuti collided with Griffith in mid-ring and fell, for a count of none. Neither fighter did any real damage to the other—legally, at least—and so few punches connected that the referee called the fight a draw. The two judges voted for Emile—9 rounds to 5, with 1 even. By a split decision, Griffith got his crown back. The promoters instantly started beating the drums for another rematch.