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By JAMES J. KILPATRICK
An old pro fighter by the name of Eddie Simms died in Las Vegas last October. John ,L. Smith, sports columnist for the Review-Journal, wrote an obituary. His piece reminds us once more of the top-notch writing that often appears on our sports pages.
Smith recalled that when he first met Eddie Simms, “he wore the history of the fight racket on his face.” It was “a face that launched a thousands hooks.” The old pug habitually wore a sports coat “redder than any nosebleed.” His hands were “as broad as bricks.”
The obit ran to less than a thousand words, but a full-length biography could not have brought Eddie Simms more vividly to life. The little images added up to a big picture. Readers of Smith’s column could see the old man reminiscing of the time he took a punch from Joe Louis. Smith let us smell the smoky arenas of the 1930s. We could hear Simms playing his accordion for old friends. Here was a writer at work. J
In the same vein in November, Associated Press writer Steve Wilstein provided a profile of boxer Jerry Quarry, punch-drunk at 50, with no long to live:
“Once one of the most popular fighters in the country, a top heavyweight contender in 1960s and ‘70s, he needs help shavings showering, putting on shoes and socks. Soon, probably, diapers. His older brother, James Quarry, cuts meat into little pieces for him so he won’t choke, has to coax himto eat anything except the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios he loves in the morning.
“Jerry smiles like a kid. Shuffles like an old man. Slow, slurred speech. Random thoughts, snagged on branches in a dying brain. Time blurred. Memories twisted. Voices no one else hears.”
Notice Wilstein's careful use of sentence fragments, subtly suggesting a mind broken into shards. Note especial
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