How A Champion Trains

Professional boxers, as a class, are clean, hard working, ambitiousyoung men who win good money and a wide reputation by strictapplication to business. The day of pugs and bruisers has largelygone by though certain state legislatures don't seem to recognizethe fact. Johnnie Kilbane is a fine example of successful athlete.

IRST of all I want to disillusionizeyour mind of the ante-bellum ideathat fighters are necessarily bruisers.

In the old times it was undoubtedly so. Themost popular ringster was one who couldoutdrink his supporters, and one who didnot think it beneath his dignity to " goto the floor" with an antagonist in a bar-room brawl. To-day there is not a titleholder from Jess Willard to Jimmy Wildewho does not live a clean, exemplary life.

How often, in scanning the newspaperover your bacon and eggs, do you come

across an item concerning street fightsin which star boxers are concerned?Seldom, I'll warrant. In fact, I cannotcall a single one to mind.

Perhaps it is as one boxer I know ex-pressed it when urged into a street scrap.He said, " I ' m not afraid of that fellow,but if we are arrested, public opinion willbe against me. Whether I am right orwrong people will sneer and say, ' What elsecan you expect? He's only a prize-fighter.'The old game has a lot to live down, andI ' m going to do my best to help it. Be-sides, fighting is my stock in trade. I sellit as a salesman does his goods. And youwouldn't catch any salesman standing ona street corner, giving away a thousanddollars worth of his samples, would you ?"

What has brought about this radicalchange in sentiment? Well, there is one

outstanding reason in my mind. That isthe change in the type of man with whomthe fighter is brought into close personalcontract. After 1860, when the Britisharistocracy abandoned boxing because ofHeenan's abonimable treatment in his in-ternational battle with Savers, the pugil-istic game fell into decided disrepute. Theriff-raff of society were in many eases thedominant factors, and bare knuckle fight-ing—aside from its insensate brutality—became the crookedest and most criminallyinfested sport in the world.

The modern boxing bout is as differentfrom old time fights as a fencing bout isfrom a duel with rapiers, and the classof men who conduct the business end ofthe game has changed just as radically.Instead of professional gamblers, thievesand cheap politicians big, successful menlike " T e x " Rickard, Jimmy Dougherty,Matt Hinkle, Jimmy Dunn and scores ofothers have found in boxing a vent fortheir business and sporting inclinations.They understood that if pugilism was everto be classed on a level with baseball, foot-ball, etc. its exponents would have to beas clean as they wanted the game to be.

Publicity, of course, is the biggest factorin making a man or an undertaking a suc-cess. Years ago the fight interests triedto make themselves agreeable to newspapermen through the medium of "boozeparties." Notice how differently we arebrought in contact now.

One Sunday, while I was training formy unlucky bout with Benny Leonard, thelightweight title holder, the Philadelphiasporting writers were invited to spend aday at the quarters. Jimmy Dougherty,

Johnnie Kilbane and his daughter Helen

Scientific Treatment as Applied to Conditioningfor a Big Bout

By JOHNNIE KILBANEFeatherweight Champion

FJohnnie Kilbane's fighting face

Photos by American Press

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who promoted the bout, and who is as bighearted as he is muscular, arranged asplendid program, beginning with a base-ball game between the newspapermen andthe boys of the camp, and winding up witha. splendid supper. There was laughter andgood cheer and healthful exercise—andthere was a lack of any feature that mighthave proved objectionable to the mostsensative.

But you asked me to tell you how achampion trains, and here I 've wanderedoff into a defense of the boxing game.Now I'll get down to brass tacks.

Strict training is the well defined rutwhich every boxer must follow. They usedto say that Aurelia Herrera, the wonderfulMexican lightweight, ate and drank whathe chose, and smoked black cigars fromthe moment he rose until he went to sleepwith one between his teeth. But Herrera'scareer was cut short by his defiant disre-gard of training rules, and it remains awarning to the athlete with a grain of sensein his head.

Some scribe, with a mathematical bent,estimates that I received thirteen hundredand eleven dollars a minute for my bout

with Benny Leonard. He neglected toestimate the hours and days that I workedto get in condition. And since that wasmy last—and one of my most important,if unfortunate, battles—I'll tell you howI prepared for it.

When all arrangements to stage thebattle in Philadelphia had been completedI motored there from Cleveland, with myfamily and that of Jimmy Dunn, my man-ager and dearest friend. The women folksand children were sent off to AtlanticCity. I took up training quarters atJimmy Dougherty's Colonial Hotel inLiepersville—a sleepy little village on theChester Pike between Wilmington andPhiladelphia.

I started the hardening process almostimmediately, and let me tell you it was ahardening process. When I was fightingin the preliminaries some ten years ago,training consisted of a haircut and shaveafter the day's work. This sort of train-ing is somewhat different.

My day commences at five o'clock, whenan infernal alarm clock rattles and bangsme out of bed. The sun in just peepinginto the world when I get on the road,

Johnnie Kilbane and a group of well known sport writers who staged a baseballgame at Liepersville as a part of the former's Boxing Training

with the sweet, clean country smell in mynose, to do a stiff six mile run. And letme tell you, boys, the fellow who neversees the break o' day except when he'srolling home from the carbarets misses atonic that is as good for his soul as hisbody.

The six mile jog ends at a quarry pondabout a quarter of a mile from Dougherty'shome. A cold plunge puts the finishingtouch to that bounding, exhilirating feel-ing that makes just living so vitally inter-esting to a healthy, hungry man.

For an hour and a half after breakfastI just loaf around, and let the meal digest.Then comes more exertion in the form ofbroncho-busting. Jimmy Dougherty hadpurchased an unbroken saddle horse for hisdaughter, and getting that horse tractablewas one of the most difficult yet pleasingstunts on the calendar.

It is in the afternoon, though, thatevery boxer does his hardest conditioningwork. In my case I box forty five min-utes with Dunn, who was once a cracklightweight, and Jimmy Downs, my spar-ring partner. Dunn is a big man, able totake as well as give a punch, and we goat it hammer-and-tongs. Of course, thegloves are big, but when a punch landsit stings.

My work-out with Dunn develops mypunch and ability to withstand heavyblows. Sparring with Downs helps myspeed, for Jimmy is about my weight, andis lightning fast. Working with those twomen for three quarters of an hour a day isno joke. On the contrary, it is the hard-est kind of toil.

After that comes the more montonouspart of the routine—skipping the rope,punching the bag, and fooling with themedicine ball. If monotonous it is wonder-fully beneficial in limbering and toughen-ing the muscles and aids in developing thewind as much as road work does. I keepthat up for an hour or more, and by thattime I am dripping with sweat and readyfor a session with Mike Graelis, mytrainer.

After a refreshing shower bath I stretchout on the rubbing table, and Mike mas-sages me, and attends to any bruises orcuts I may have accumulated during theday. That bath and rub-down banishesany slight feeling of fatigue, and when itis over I grab up a ball and glove, andhead for the diamond.

Fighting is my business, but to me base-ball is the greatest sport in the world.Not a clear day passes that I do not play.Entirely aside from the pleasure it gives,baseball is as good a conditioner of menas can be found. I stay on the diamonduntil the supper bell rings, and alwaysleave it reluctantly.

After supper I usually motor about thecountryside for a couple of hours, return-

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(Continued from Page 550)ing in time to turn out the light and crawlbetween the sheets by nine o'clock.

That sounds like a pretty full day, butthere are dozens of other things that mustbe attended to. Newspaper men are con-tinually after photographs and informa-tion. Friends and acquaintances come into shake hands and introduce friends oftheirs. There are letters to write. In factthere are a thousand and one things to doin a few odd moments even when one hasan efficient manager as I have.

After all the training period must be aperiod of mental stimulation as well asphysical development. Many a fighter hasbeaten himself before he entered the ringby working himself into a nervous state,brooding on the outcome of the fight, orbecoming so overconfident that he un-consciously slacks his preparation.

It is all a matter of temperment, ofcourse. Jim Jeffries was always sullenand restless as each day brought the

HOW A BOXERTRAINS

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battle nearer. On the other hand, BillyPapke, once middleweight champion of theworld, looked on every fight as a joke, andoften entertained friends in his dressingroom before entering the ring. Abe Attell,from whom I won the featherweight title,was nervous before facing his antagonist,but became cock-sure as soon as the gongrang. In my own case, I never allowthoughts of what may happen to bother meduring training. My nerves are in goodcondition, and I figure that my opponentis the one to worry—not I. That isn'tegotism. It is merely self confidence—anda good digestion.

Of course, the worry experienced by mostfighters going into a championship boutonly crystallizes during the last two days,when the grind of training slackens suffi-ciently for them to conjure up the possi-bilities of disaster. The most nervous manin the world would not have time to worryif he kept as busy as I do while I 'm work-ing to get in trim. From five to nine—asI have said before—there is not a minuteI can call my own. After nine o'clock Iam asleep, so deep and dreamlessly thatit would take a good sized earthquake towake me up.

Every fighter has his own method ofbringing himself to top-notch physicalcondition. Some specialize in road work;others depend more on bag punching andshadow boxing; still others institute fadsof their own. When Battling Nelson wastraining for his fight with Terry McGovernhe took up Roko—a game invented byFenton Spink, of Cleveland—and claimedthat it did him lots of good. But, as awhole, the same general routine is fol-lowed. The boxer must develope wind,speed, strength and hitting power. Theneglect of any one will lose a battle onwhich thousands of dollars and his ownreputation depend.

The worst element of the game, particu-larly to a man who accumulates fat easily,is the constant effort to make weight. Aman whose best fighting poundage is onehundred and twenty six, for instant, hasoften to go through torture to rid him-self of the excess weight. Turkish baths,long runs, a minimum amount of watertends to weaken him. If he keeps thateffort up over a stretch of years the weak-ness is bound to become permanent.Jockies suffer in this respect more thanfighters, but many a ringman has shortenedhis life as well as his career in the effortto make weight.

Fortunately for me I never have anytrouble getting down to the featherweightlimit of one hundred and twenty twopounds, so I always am at my best when Istep into the ring. Many another cham-pion has not been so fortunate, however.

The fighting game has been good to me.It has carried me from poverty to comfort;it has brought me into contact with someof the finest men in the country; in short,

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it has given me everything I possess inthis world.

But let me whisper a word in your ear:I would enjoy it even more than I do ifI could somehow discover the formula forperpetual fitness, and skip the drudgery ofthe training camp.

SPALDING'S FOOT BALL GUIDEPUBLISHED

Edited by Walter Camp, as usual, Spald-ing's Official Foot Ball Guide has made itsannual appearance, its contents embracingall the familiar subjects and informationthat has made it so valuable to everyplayer and follower of the gridiron sport.The revised rules are, of course, the featureof the book, while Mr. Camp's All Americaselections and his comments on the season,together with reviews of the game invarious sections of the country by writersfamiliar with the play in their respectivelocalities, comprise the text, with PresidentWilson's letter to Mr. Lawrence Perryof the New York Evening Post, upholdingthe continuance of athletic activities in theschools and colleges, having the place ofhonor as frontispiece usually occupied bythe leading team of the previous season.The list of officials designated by theCentral Board is up to date, the excellentpictures are there as usual, and altogetherthe Guide, despite the difficulties in thecollection of material which have naturallyarisen, presents all the features which havemade it indispensable in the realm of football.

The Guide is published by the Ameri-can Sports Publishing Company, 45 RoseStreet, New York, and will be sent to anyaddress on receipt of 10 cents.

B A S E B A L L M A G A Z I N E