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"Don't use those two last lines, though. Kipling was talking about his girl friends and it might make him look bad." And Jimmy waved himself off.
Tens of thousands of fight fans are currently engaged in a fascinated remote-control psychoanalysis of the Olympic heavyweight champion, Pete Rademacher, who will fight Floyd Patterson, the real heavyweight champion, in Seattle this month. What sort of martyr, they want to know, not only books himself a battle with a lion (see page 10) but takes care of financing the spectacle too? Last week a good many citizens of Charlotte, N.C. had reason to believe they had discovered a bubbling spring of the purest dope; one Neil Wallace, a 30-year-old heavyweight who is essaying a local comeback, came home after training, dining and engaging in long conversations with Rademacher at his Georgia camp.
"What," he was instantly asked, "are Rademacher's weak points?"
"Pete treated me awfully good in Georgia," he said. "I'd rather discuss his strong points."
"What are they?"
"He's big and he can hit."
"Can Rademacher be hit?"
"I sure liked the food down there," said Wallace. "Lots of steak and beef stew."
"Is Rademacher poised? Tricky?"