SCHAAF

The death of Boston's youthful heavy-weight contender has called forth from the press an inevitable gush. Mawkish sentiment has become a characteristic of American journalistic expression; it helps to boost circulation. But beneath the columns of effusion one senses an occasional spark of sincerity. Schaaf played the game ably, cleanly, modestly.

His character is in strange contrast to the feverish managerial gibberings which have attended his death. The field is wide open for trenchant innuendo. His handlers had little to win, much to lose by a victory over Carnera. He was allowed to enter the ring after a brief training period of ten days which followed all attack of influenza. The association of these two facts admittedly proves nothing; according to medical advices it had nothing to do with the boxer's death. But it focuses an ugly light on the managerial claim, that "He had to die to prove he wasn't a faker."

Boxing impressarios will doubtless take full advantage of the publicity which attends a popular tragedy. And the monetary rewards will be great. But in the eyes of any man capable of the most elementary reason, the pugilistic racket is at the lowest point of a rotten career.