"You ever try tranquilizers?" asked someone else. Nardiello seemed to consider the suggestion. "Unh-unh," he said soberly. "We can't use tranquilizers."
Ernie Braca, Anthony's manager, said the boy lost because "he didn't keep off the ropes. Hunter had him on the ropes all night. Tony's a boxer, not a rope fighter. He shoulda stayed away and kept his left up, moving in and out."
There was an exchange of glances around the crowded room and some nods as the manager's judgment was weighed. Then suddenly the door was flung open, and George Gainford, a mountain of a man who trains Hunter, burst into the dressing room to offer his condolences. "Tony!" he bellowed, "Tony, I got to tell you. You fought a really great fight. A really great fight. They gotta give you that, they certainly have. They gotta give you that."
Tony's manager forced a grin. "G'wan you bum," Braca said to the other fighter's trainer in mock anger. "G'wan, get outta here. You're the biggest con man I know."
Tony Anthony himself said nothing. He just sat there and hurt.
New Use for Old Fad
Where are the fads of yesteryear? Up in the attic most likely. The pogo stick, the mah-jongg set, the bongo board, the ouija board, the fox tail for the car aerial, the Davy Crockett coonskin cap and the huge morning-glory phonograph horn, there they all lie gathering dust along with, we venture to guess, a hula hoop or two.
Year after year these symbols of mortal whim and fancy are saved, not with the thought of use by some yet unjaded generation, but because a mystique demands that fads which provided such fun can't be coldly cast away as worthless trash.
Now comes word which may help clear the attic and give new heart to sentimental hoarders. Small boys, it seems, have been observed tying three or four fishing lines to hula hoops and using the hollow plastic tubes as bobbers. The hoops, which lie in delicate balance on the water, quiver exquisitely at the slightest fishy nibble, helping them fulfill their new purpose perhaps better than any other form of bobber.