The Manly Art of Boxing Gone Wrong
A local man's humorous attempt to improve his health through boxing with his younger brother leads to broken brackets and a bruised nose.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
I have just returned from a little two-handed tournament with the gloves. I needed healthful exercise and, after failing at billiards, my younger brother suggested boxing. The gloves were soft, or so he said. We shook hands to show we were friendly, but I warned him not to get excited. At that moment, I dealt him a blow, but through a clerical error, it went over his shoulder and shattered a small hollywood bracket in the wall, for which I paid $3.75. Soon the air was full of mittens. I tried to land a punch, but ran into something with the pit of my stomach that made me throw up my dinner. In the next round, I forgot about my adversary's right, and ran my nose into the middle of his boxing glove. I am now thoroughly convinced that while the 'manly art' yields health to the puncher, it provides a 'wad of glad surprises' and nosebleeds to the punchee.
“I am still coughing up pieces of boxing gloves, and when I close my eyes I can see calcium lights and blue phosphorescent gleams across the horizon.”
This reflects the 19th-century obsession with 'muscular Christianity' and the strenuous life. While today's Seattleites might prefer a spin class or a trail run, the desire to find vigorous, sometimes self-inflicted, physical exercise to combat the stresses of urban life is a familiar urban rhythm.
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