Durelle had his problems, too. He was, for one thing, getting a mere $15,000 for a fight that was to pay Archie a fat $175,000. Though this weighed on him somewhat, and led to financial sulking in his corner, he shrugged it off at last—until he arrived at the Forum and found that one of his entourage had forgotten to bring the dice. Deprived of his customary crapshooting workout in the waiting time before a fight, Yvon glumly submitted to a deviate version of gin rummy.
A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE
Maybe he won at gin, or maybe it was the cheers of the partisan crowd, 11,555 of whom paid to get in, but he did seem incongruously cheerful before the bell. A gap-toothed smile darkled on his lips at a witticism of Trainer Charley Goldman, who had been specially hired to make a brick without straw, just as he had done with the awkward Rocky Marciano when Rocky was 27. The awkward Durelle is 29.
"Once he gets hit," Charley said after the fight, "this fella forgets everything you tell him."
Durelle did in fact show some signs in the first round that he had had a mite of kindergarten schooling. He carried his right hand professionally tucked against his left jaw and he threw two combinations—a 1-2 and a 1-2-1. He also crouched a bit. That was all. Archie won the round easily with rights and lefts to the head.
Then Durelle made his first mistake. He went on punching after the bell. This breach of etiquette ruffled Archie. He went glowering back to his corner and in the next round, though one of the three judges (referees do not vote in Montreal) gave it to Durelle, Archie taught Yvon his manners, slamming him with rights and lefts to head and body. Durelle threw a lot of punches, too, and they may have influenced the minority judge, but they landed mostly on Archie's crisscrossed arms. One left hook to the body did clearly hurt Moore.
The third round ended it. Moore went out to finish the fight, partly because Durelle had hit him on a break in the second round, partly because the day has come when Archie's years make it dangerous for him to prolong a fight. After bashing Durelle with a succession of three-punch combinations he delivered the key blow—a hard left hook to the heart which, short of his knockout deliveries, is as punishing a punch as the learned Archie knows. It so weakened Durelle that moments later he was almost helpless when Archie caught him with a left-right to the head that put him down for a nine count. Up again, a left uppercut sprawled him through the lowest rope, and he stayed down for another toll of nine. By this time he was so unsteady that a mere left jab sent him staggering backward through the ropes. He was, furthermore, dim-witted enough now to be up at six, instead of taking a full, head-clearing count of nine. The final knockdown was on a smashing right to the head. Virtuoso Archie had used four different punches to put his man away.
After the fight, in a futile effort to escape the swarming press, a despondent Durelle retreated to a small cubicle in his dressing room and sat there wiping his tear-dimmed eyes.
"I'm just no good," he wept, as he had wept when Moore beat him in their first fight. "I was useless, no good for nothing. My conscience is hurt more than anything else. It won't be too long before I retire. Two more matches and I am through. There is no more future now. I am heartbroken. Sick, sick, sick."
But then, he thought, he might just try the heavyweight division, where there would be no problem of weightmaking. The idea seemed to cheer him.