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m On Second Thought Rocky-Archie Go All Thats Left By BARNEY NAGLER NEW YORK, N. Y., June 23. There is no denying Archie Moore, not any more. There is no sense saying he hasnt got it because he has, even at this late date, and putting him in with Rocky Marciano in September is about the only thing left to do. Its a long road from St. Louis to San Diego, to Toledo, in Ohio, and Buenos Aires, in Argentina, but Moore has come all the way. Now only the chance to become come the tne heavyweight neavyweignt come the tne heavyweight neavyweignt m champion stands brightly before him. Not even Al Weill can deny him this. "Boxing needs this match," Moore said in the excitement of his dressing room at the Polo Grounds some 20 minutes after he had sent Bobo Olson scurrying out of the joint, a lamester running from the boys, strangely escorted by a squad of cops as though he were being run out of town. "Yes," said Moore, -still ineffably resplendent in his white gold-trimmed robe. "I want to do something for boxing, and this match can give it lift. I want to do something for the profession I chose for myself." This was Moore speaking: from the .pulpit, standing: high on a table, his arms outstretched in the stance of the revivalist. He was warm and friendly, quite willing: to answer .all questions, mostly foolish, but his speech was ornately styled, almost as bold as his robe. Only when Moore was asked if he thought Marciano was afraid of him did he falter. He spoke like a true fist-fighter. "He aint afraid of no man," the light- heavyweight champion said. "Youll beat him, wont you?" "I want to tell you about Marciano," he said. "Hes a much smarter fighter than people say. Hes got the best trainer around, little Charley Goldman, and he makes a lot of moves in there that are real good." "Then you arent sure about knocking him out?" "I dont know about knocking him out," Moore said, "but Ill beat him. I can beat any man in the world." This was no boast, not at this moment, so soon after Moore had taken care of Olson in three rounds, trapping his almost at his will and taking him out of there with two rights to the head, a fake right and a smashing left hook to the mouth that the ambitious if misguided middleweight champion never saw. Everybody else in the house saw it. Olson went down, tried to scramble up at eight, was still on all fours at ten, might have made it by 12, but didnt because it was all over and Ruby Goldstein, the referee, was blocking him from further abuse. He had won the first round by -sticking in a few hooks and right crosses, but even one who had come to believe he might win wasnt sure now because Olson was fighting out of shell of dismay. He seemed never to have been in it really, even when he was on his stool in his corner before the fight. His complexion was gray, bathed by beads of sweat that were as telltale as the two rights and left hook that ended it all. Olson had been expected to fight a battle of aggression; he was in retreat most of the way, even -when he was scoring, with Moore doing the work. And so the middleweight champ was exposed as a light-heavyweight in middle-weights clothing, totally unprepared for the job. "Hes a nice little fighter," Moore said of his victim. Thats the whole of it and it stands for all to see now that there was no need for 20-20 foresight to see this. Only the blind went for Olson. Our seeing eye dog, please. Out of it all comes the realization that ancient Archie is a most remarkable fighter, perhaps even better at this point than ever before, not so much because he knocked out a mere middleweight but because he called his shot even before it happened. "Did Bob show you anything?" Moore was asked. "He showed me he could keep out of my way for a while. I knew T could get him out of there when I hit him." Theres no second-guessing on this one. Archie knew it, a a lot of others knew it, .amL thatjs the., way-it .was
