The psychology of John L. Sullivan’s fights.
“You go get a reputation first”. The champion’s words echoed in the big man’s ears as he hugged a blanket to himself, fending off the chill of the Hudson river. His breath steamed in front of him as he sized up his opponent. Flood, the man’s name was. An enforcer for some of the river front gangs; his reputation was as foul as his appearance. Darting eyes peaked out from under a thick brow. Stubble covered any scars on his face, but those on his arms and torso were plainly visible. His nose displayed a twisted cant – a memento of several previous breaks. He was one of the roughest men in one of the roughest cities in America. He had brought with him a crew of toughs and low lives, who passed these final minutes in betting and drinking. Some would occasionally scan the river in case the police sought to interfere, but even if any were about, few constables would dare to tackle a barge full of rowdys. And out in the river, who were they hurting except each other? The call came to toe the scratch. The big man shrugged off his blanket as his seconds exited the ring. As he squared up to his opponent there was no flicker of doubt. As the round began he rushed forward, firing a volley of lefts and rights which beat the other man down. Each blow that connected landed with the force of a sledgehammer. “I can lick this sonofabitch” he thought to himself.
John L. boasted he never took a boxing lesson in his life. He learned how to fight by doing it. (Whether this was as the aggressor or the defender is never clear, though give his tendency to aggression and bullying one might reasonably suspect the former.) Most street fights between males do not end in serious injury. It just isn’t hardwired into us. In fact a lot of fights are about dominance – and we need to be clear about the difference between fights for dominance and fights for survival. (There is an approximate, though not perfect, correlation to sport fighting and self-defense fighting in martial arts). John L would quickly have learned that steamrolling someone is very effective in a street fight. Hit first, hit hard, and be aggressive. This is opposed to a more measured, technical “scientific” style. Which can be seen in trained athletes like Jem Mace, Mohammad Ali, Anderson Silva and Lyoto Machida. He quickly overhwelmed most of his opponents psychologically which, I would argue, was every bit as important in understanding his ring prowess as the more well known facts about his hitting speed and power.
John L. holds an impressive ring record; 40-1-2 over his career. Thirty four of those forty wins came by way of knockout. What I am about to present is a short argument, based on that record, that John owed as much of his winning style to the psychology of his fighting style as he did to his speed or punching power. I’ve already written upone contemporary account of the Strong Boy’s legendary fistic prowess, but this seems like a good opportunity to elaborate on some of John’s fights.
One fight which appears in Christopher Klein’s biography, but not on Sullivan’s official record, is said to have taken place at Harry Hills’ (an infamous venue, known as “the most reputable den of vice in New York”. It featured stage shows, singers, exhibitions of boxing and wrestling, and was also a hangout for several local worthies involved in local gangs) and involved a Tammany Hall brawler called John Mahan, who had previously trained with Jem Mace and Paddy Ryan. When time was called, Sullivan rushed the older and more experienced Mahan, hitting with great rapidity and forcing him against a wall. Mahan hit the ground five times in the opening round. In the second, his seconds threw in the towel. One of New York’s most notorious street fighters could not withstand four minutes of Sullivan’s blows.
Later, in a match with Jack Burns which does appear on his record, Sullivan’s performance was even more impressive. Having knocked Burns down within twenty seconds of the first round, he allowed the shaken man to get to his feet, only to lift him off of them with a blow powerful enough to launch him straight into the audience. Two other matches of this period, those with Fred Crossley & Dan McCarty, were also measured in seconds with both men being put out in the first round. This impressive series of performances earned him his reputation, and John got his title match with Paddy Ryan.
After losing his championship to Sullivan, Paddy Ryan is reported to have said “I never faced a man who could begin to hit as hard… One thing is certain, any man that Sullivan can hit he can whip”. (Klein, Strong Boy, pg 50). The fight with Paddy Ryan was, by all contemporary accounts, largely one sided. Sullivan rushed the champion and blistered him with headshots, while Ryan himself landed few meaningful blows. The fight ended after 9 rounds of this action with Ryan too exhausted and weakened to toe the scratch. Despite being dominated, however, it is worth noting that Ryan lasted longer against all of the opponents I outline above put together.
What is unusual is the brevity of all these fights. Nine rounds for a championship fight under LPR rules is almost ludicrously short. For reference, Paddy Ryan won his title from Joe Goss after eighty-seven rounds of fighting. Joe Goss had himself won it after twenty-one rounds. (And had previously lost a title shot to Jem Mace in 19 rounds).
To stop an opponent in the first round was uncommon, to routinely stop opponents in the first round was almost unheard of, and yet John L. was capable of dispatching very tough ring fighters with great rapidity.
This pattern continued throughout Sullivan’s fights, and if anything it intensified after he defeated Herbert Slade and went on his famous “knocking out tour”. Sullivan crossed America offering hundreds of dollars to any man who could stand four rounds with him. He never had to pay out once.
On this tour, something very interesting happened. Herbert Slade, who Sullivan had so thoroughly dominated in Madison Square Garden was a poor boxer. So when he and Sullivan had a falling out and it erupted into fisticuffs the result should have been a forgone conclusion, yet when the police arrived it was Slade who was on top, pinning Sullivan to the ground (Klein, Strong Boy – pg 86). The champion had to be helped to leave the establishment (though whether this was through injury or alcohol is unclear).
Desperate to see Sullivan toppled, Richard K. Fox, who had arranged Slade’s championship shot, arranged for Sullivan to fight an English pugilist called Alf Greenfield. The pair fought twice; two of the most desperately boring matches in boxing history. Sullivan charged the Englishman, but Greenfield, who was aware he simply had to last the four scheduled rounds, simply ran away. When he couldn’t run away he would clinch so that the pair would be reset and he could run away again. When neither of those things were working he simply fell down and took advantage of the ten count to slow Sullivan’s advance and stall out the round. Weirdly, it was these displays of boxer vs. sprinting acrobat that highlighted John L.s weakness and was to lead to his ultimate defeat.
Greenfield had hit on something; if John L’s rushes could be blunted there was little else he could do. John had no plan B. This knowledge enabled both Patsy Cardiff and Charlie Mitchell, two competent middleweight boxers, to claim draws against the heavyweight champion. The fleet footed middleweights simply outran the strong boy and fired jabs at him when he tired. With him unable to catch them, and them unable to finish him, the fights were declared draws.
It was in his final fight, against “Gentleman” Jim Corbett that this weakness was fatally exposed. Jim had both the footwork to outpace Sullivan and the hitting power to stop him. It was the only time that John L. was ever knocked out.
What I think happened is quite simple; John had a reputation as a fearsome hitter, a man whom nobody could stand before. That, combined with his ability to hit someone “like a telegraph pole shoved against [them] endways”, would give him a psychological high ground. John genuinely thought he was indestructible. That confidence made him take risks. He thought nothing of unloading everything into his opponent very early on in the fight.
If you are a more cautious, scientific fighter, that Blitz is overwhelming. The first time you see it, you are probably going to get hit by it. This has happened to me several times; I’ll be sparring with a new partner and suddenly they will be all over me and I have absolutely no answers. In a competition, that’s a loss. In sparring, I have the luxury of time, and can usually learn to recognise these rushes and work to counter them. Unfortunately, Ryan, Mahan and the others didn’t have the luxury of time – they had one of the best heavyweights in history hitting them in the face.
When you feel the rush come on and you have no answers, you become very defensive. Your entire fight psychology goes from “looking for openings” to “cowering, bleeding and praying whoever is hitting you gets bored” very quickly. I think this explains why Ryan lasted so much longer than the earlier fights – because he was experienced and because he was a champion it took him longer to think that he was being outclassed than the other men.
The bar fight with Herbert Slade brings home another aspect of this; in the ring Slade knew he was outclassed, and his demoralisation probably contributed to his defeat. In the bar, however, he was able to hold his own. It seems to me likely that two things were in play here; firstly Slade’s known ability as a wrestler, but also I think the Maori would be in a different mindset. Outside of the ring he would probably not be fighting so scientifically, probably not thinking as much, and therefore probably less concerned about Sullivan rushing him. Sullivan’s reputation and blitz would have so much less impact in this scenario because Slade was not thinking about the audience watching, how many seconds were left in the round, whether he was ahead or behind – he would simply be thinking about survival. His own safety came first and in a sports contest that can mean cowering in the face of an aggressive attacker – in a self defence context that means responding to that attacker with everything at your disposal.
Alf Greenfield, for all his fights with Sullivan might be panned, exemplifies the sport side of this. Aware he only had to last the four rounds, Alf was smart enough to realise the best way to achieve that was not to actually fight the four rounds. He focused simply on surviving. He cowered, clinched, ducked and dived his way into the history books.
Knowing that he didn’t have to stand up to Sullivan gave Alf the psychological advantage. He could act with impunity because “victory” for him meant something different to beating John L. down. Since this was the first time that such a thing could be said, Alf had moved the goalposts. All without telling the champion. Sullivan was awarded the win by decision, but these decision victories had tarnished the myth of his invincibility. His footspeed and stamina were exposed as weak points, and all future opponents had to do was learn how to take advantage of that knowledge.
This deprived Sullivan’s rush of it’s terrifying character. Instead of being an unstoppable force he was more of a storm to be weathered. That doesn’t mean that weathering him was easy, (notching up another 6 wins and only 1 loss after fighting Greenfield is evidence that he remained as potent as ever) but it was known that it could be done and this gave other fighters the confidence to really try. One of Sullivan’s main weapons was his rush, and when people stopped being scared of that he became a less formidable opponent – even if only marginally.
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