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Discharged from the Marines in December, Spinks decided to cast his lot with Top Rank, the Bob Arum boxing promotion group. His manager of record is Mitt Barnes, who trained him as an amateur in St. Louis, but Butch Lewis, a Top Rank vice-president, will call all the shots. For a substantial bonus, Spinks gave Top Rank exclusive promotional rights for the next 4� years. At the moment they are trying to coax Fidel Castro into letting Teo Stevenson, the Olympic heavyweight champion, fight Spinks at a neutral site.
Sugar Ray Leonard took a third route. First, his attorney Mike Trainer incorporated him, then he sold 21 short-term shares at $1,000 each. All that the shareholders were promised was that their money would be returned in four years, plus 8% interest. Then, said Trainer, "I'd like to open the closet door and let Angelo Dundee in." Dundee, who has trained or managed four world champions in addition to Muhammad Ali, agreed.
A short, squat man with the neck of a weight lifter, Resto has a 12-58-7 record. "When I saw that 12-58 I thought it was his birth date," said CBS publicist Beano Cook.
"Don't sell the little guy short." said Teddy Brenner of Madison Square Garden. "The last time he was in a gym, it was by accident. Most of his fights were taken on one-day notice. He'll be there at the end."
Resto thought so, too. In fact, he predicted he would knock out Davis. "He's an amateur. There's no way he's going to beat a pro like me," said Resto. But he almost didn't make the fight. At the weigh-in, 24 hours beforehand, he came in 1� pounds over the 136-pound limit, and rushed off to a downtown gym where he sweated off the extra weight. Then he became so intrigued by his first contact with Keno that he was still up at 3 a.m. Saturday, staring in wonderment at the numbers board.
"Don't worry about my weight," Smith, who weighed in at 185, confided mysteriously. "I'll have it down to 180 by tomorrow. I didn't know I was fighting until three days ago, when they found me where I was, helping this guy at his butcher shop in Brooklyn, but I'm always in good shape. I saw Spinks fight on TV. He's crazy, he's wild. He's not developed like me. I'm really a tough guy and I've whupped them all—22 out of 25—and if he whups me, he'll go all the way. But he can't knock me out; he's just an amateur. He's got to go up to Joe Frazier's gym and learn to fight."
The closest anyone could get to an official record for Smith was 6-1-1, spread over almost as many years. "Is that what the book says?" said Smith frowning. "Well, I took a couple of years off when I got married and lost my power punch."
For both Olympians the only worry they professed was being able to go six rounds after years of fighting no more than three. Davis had confidence in his flashy moves; Spinks was certain no one could stand up to his firepower.
As it turned out, except as a stage for the Olympians, the fights were not terribly exciting. Resto was durable, but no match for the blinding speed of Davis who soon was raining blows on Resto's stubborn and unbowed head. It is impossible to determine which are quicker: Davis' hands or feet. When he wills, both become blurs. Together they make his jab seem eight feet long.