It's an old, seedy, run-down gymnasium on the lower West Side catering to
young and old boxers. Amidst the yelling, the smell of fighters sweating,
punching bags and each other, one of the boxers comes over to his corner
following three rounds of heavy hitting and says to his manager, "I really
want a shot at the kid, Kid Jackson. I know I'm getting old and a little
punchy, but before I retire I just want one chance in the ring with him!"
And the manager, wiping the fighter's face with a towel, says, "Look, if
I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: You're Kid Jackson!"
-- Soupy Sales
