“BUMMY GETS BUMRUSHED” and “FUZZY AND THE SHARK”
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878. AL “BUMMY DAVIS VS FRITZIE ZIVIC
WELTERWEIGHT NON-TITLE FIGHT
NOVEMBER 15, 1940
MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
QUALITY OF PLAY—6.82
DRAMA—7.63
STAR POWER—6.82
CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—8.05
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE-—-6.86
LOCAL IMPACT—7.79
TOTAL: 42.97
“BUMMY GETS BUMRUSHED”
The Friday night fights at Madison Square Garden were the headline events in Manhattan in the Golden Age of boxing. But mid-week fights, held across the five boroughs, were extremely popular in their own right. Tuesday night bouts at the Broadway Arena in Brooklyn (944 Halsey Street in Bushwick, to be precise) were always well attended and attracted excellent fighters and matchups. The smoke-choked, low-ceiling arena held about 4,500 for fights, fans who knew the fight game and weren’t afraid to express opinions—loudly. It was a proving grounds for boxers who dreamed of making a card across the river at the World’s Most Famous Arena on Eighth Avenue.
One local boy made good was, ironically enough, mostly loathed around town and the nation. Al “Bummy” Davis was born Avrohom Davidoff in a cold-water tenement in Brownsville. He got his nickname as a shorthand of “Vrommy” or “Bommy,” not because he was a denizen of skid row.
But he fought like a bum. Extremely short-tempered, Al could generally be relied on for cheap shots, hitting while the ref wasn’t looking, and assorted other tricks of the trade. Davis considered it merely part of the pro fighter’s tool kit, but the fisticuffs public didn’t cotton to it. It was a shame, for Bummy was a heck of a fighter, as he showed when he ended the career of New York fighting legend Tony Canzoneri in 1939 at the Broadway with a third-round knockout.
That earned Bummy a shot at the big time, and it came on Friday night, November 15, 1940. Davis took on an even dirtier—and more accomplished—fighter, Fritzie Zivic, the welterweight champ. The best of five fighting brothers from Pittsburgh, Zivic had been through the ring wars, as proven by his misshapen nose—broken so often Red Smith of the Times likened it to a “mine cave-in.”
The "Croat Comet” was the undisputed master of cheap ring tactics. “When it came to refinements,” opined one sportswriter at the time, “such as inserting a thumb into an adversary’s eye, drawing the laces deftly across the mouth, employing the skull, the elbows or the shoulder as a weapon, no fighter was more polished than Fritzie Zivic.”
“When you are in the ring you’re prizefighting,” explained Fritzie, “not playing the piano."
Six weeks earlier, Zivic had upset the great Henry Armstrong to take the welterweight belt, and a rematch was set for early in 1941. In the meantime he gave Davis a shot to keep himself busy. The belt wasn’t at stake, but with a good showing, Bummy would be in line to get a crack at the Zivic-Armstrong winner with the title on the line. Zivic brought a loud cheering section to Manhattan with him from Pittsburgh, while the local kid was mostly booed by the sellout crowd of 17,101. Such are the vagaries of fight fans (some good old-fashioned anti-semitism was at play as well). In a twist, the referee, Billy Cavanaugh, got some cheers from the crowd, who perhaps realized Billy was in for a long evening with these two rule-benders in the ring with him.
They had no idea.
Zivic came straight out at the bell and threw a myriad of rabbit punches, almost decking Bummy with a right cross while Cavanaugh was trying to separate the two men from a clinch. Zivic repeatedly whaled away while the ref’s back was turned to him. Tiring of the sneak attacks, Zivic then jumped around Cavanaugh to smack Bummy in the head with a couple of right hands while Davis had his arms down, sending Al reeling to the floor. As the bell rang to end a first round that had the Marquis of Queensbury rolling in his grave, Frtizie raked his laces across Al’s eyeballs.
“He’s trying to blind me!” Davis yelped.
Realizing he was getting no help from Cavanaugh, nor from a crowd that wasn’t getting on Zivic, the “Brownsville Bum” took matters into his own fists. As the second round began, Davis began to unload one low blow after another into Fritzie’s nether regions. He was firing away without any control of himself. After his tenth shot below the belt, Cavanaugh disqualified him, giving Zivic the win. That didn’t faze Davis, who kept flailing away, as did Zivic, whose cup was clearly of industrial strength. Nevertheless, the sustained weight of the low blows caught up to him. “I was nearly paralyzed,” he said.
Fritzie's cornermen jumped into the ring and went after Davis. “The Brooklyn blonde became almost insane with rage,” wrote Jack Cuddy for the United Press. Bummy started to swing at Zivic’s seconds, even sending one down to the canvas. The police came in, too, and Al didn’t slow down to offer any quarter to the boys in blue. At one point he kicked Zivic full in the stomach, at least with that blow staying above the waist. The stirred-up crowd began to pelt Davis with debris, as cups, coins and all manner of collateral was hurled toward the squared circle. A full-blown riot was in the offing when a dozen or so cops managed to haul Davis from the arena.
If he wasn’t despised before, Davis surely was now. For his part, Al wasn’t apologizing. “That Zivic is a quittin’ bum,” he said in his dressing room. “He gives me the works and then deliberately stepped into my body punches to make them appear foul. I hit him in the belly and he quit.”
“That, as far as we are concerned, is the last we will see of Mr. Davis around here,” announced State boxing commissioner D. Walker Wear, who was ringside for the fight.
“He’s through.”
AFTERMATH:
Davis indeed received a lifetime suspension from the New York State Athletic Commission in the wake of the brawl. But the ban was lifted during the war, on the condition Davis fight Zivic again for an army charity event—cleanly, this time. The two men shook hands, all was forgiven, and Zivic eviscerated the rusty Bummy over ten lopsided rounds. Davis recovered and went on to fight the era’s great champions, including Armstrong, Rocky Graziano, and Beau Jack. Al was still mostly despised by fight fans, however.
The “Brownsville Bum” remained a staunch Brooklynite, buying and operating a bar, Dudy’s, on Remson Avenue in Canarsie. He sold it in early autumn of 1945. On November 21 of that year, Bummy went over to Dudy’s for a farewell belt or two. Shortly after he arrived a quartet of thugs entered and held up the place, taking $150 off the new owner. Davis couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Why don’t you leave him alone?” he snarled at the armed men. "He just bought the joint.” He then got off his stool and charged the pistoleros. He took three slugs for his troubles. Davis died before the ambulance could reach him. He was 27, and left behind a wife and 2-year old son.
WHAT THEY SAID:
“Davis put on one of the most disgraceful performances in the history of boxing in New York.”
—The New York Times (unbylined)
FURTHER READING:
East Side, West Side by Lawrence Ritter
877. U.S. OPEN GOLF CHAMPIONSHIP
FINAL ROUND
JUNE 18, 1984
WINGED FOOT GOLF CLUB
QUALITY OF PLAY—6.82
DRAMA—7.33
STAR POWER—8.12
CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—8.05
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE—6.86
LOCAL IMPACT—6.79
TOTAL: 42.98
“FUZZY AND THE SHARK”
When Winged Foot Golf Club was designed and built, there was no conception of the idea that 20,000 fans would tramp up and down the course in order to watch the golf being played there. As such, it is a poor place for spectating. The Times helpfully published some tips for making the most of the viewing:
“Suggested rules include:
Rule No. 1 - Carry binoculars.
Rule No. 2 - Have patience.
Rule No. 3 - Remember Rule No. 2 when all is lost to view.”
So a golfer who enjoyed playing to the galleries the way Fuzzy Zoeller did was thought to be lost at the Foot. But at the 1984 U.S. Open, the man born Frank Urban Zoeller did his damnedest to engage. “It's only my career, folks,” he moaned after missing a putt, in between drags of his omnipresent smoke and the occasional surreptitious swig from a bottle of wine. Folks who think John Daly invented golf course shenanigans during high-stakes events never saw Fuzzy (or Lee Trevino, or Jimmy Demaret, or Walter Hagan) entertain the masses.
“I don't think of myself as a celebrity or a superstar” Zoeller declared. “I'm just an ordinary guy who makes his living in a crazy way.” Needless to say, the New York crowds fell hard for him—those who could see him, at least. Everyone was having fun, not least the players, who ten years earlier had been crushed by an unplayably difficult setup at Winged Foot (see #999), won by Hale Irwin at seven over par.
Zoeller took firm control of the ’84 Open on Sunday’s front nine, with a flurry of long birdie putts that put him four strokes clear of the field. Irwin, the leader after 36 and 54 holes, was shanking his way to a final round 79 and swiftly fell out of competition (he later admitted nerves played a large role in his collapse).
Meanwhile, lurking in the shadows, waiting for an explosive strike to the surface of the leaderboard, was the golfer nicknamed the Great White Shark. Aussie Greg Norman was perennially a bridesmaid at majors, but his talent and overall game were unquestioned. He had just won his first US tournament at the Kemper Open, and sharps were toting him for the U.S. Open title. He was three back after 63 holes, in third place, generally unremarked upon but ready to emulate Mr. Whitey with a predatory ambush attack.
He saved his run for the “whole golf course,” what folks called the final three holes at Winged Foot, a trio of 450-foot, par-4 monsters. Norman hit his second shot on the 16th into the rough, but pulled off a tremendous save to par the hole. 17 was even more miraculous. Norman yanked his tee shot up against a tree bordering the course, and could only dribble out onto the fairway with his second. Somehow he unleashed an incredible six-iron to within ten feet from the hole, and he parred the putt to pull into a tie with Zoeller, who bogeyed the hole playing in the group behind Norman.
On the final hole, Norman’s second was that same six-iron. This time he cranked a ridiculously wayward shot into the grandstand (incredibly, a spectator caught the ball on the fly). His third shot after a drop wound up 40 feet from the hole, on the fringe of the green. The Shark somehow dropped the long putt for par, evoking a biblical roar from the crowd. “Norman played the last three holes by way of his native Australia,” wrote Dan Jenkins in Sports Illustrated. Yet somehow he had saved par on all three.
Zoeller, hearing the roar after Norman’s amazing putt all the way back down the fairway, waved a white towel in mock surrender—he assumed the reaction was for a Norman birdie. When he got to the green he learned the truth—that two putts from twenty feet would mean a tie and a playoff. Fuzz sunk his second, and the two men would need 18 holes on Monday to decide the tournament.
Zoeller had won the ’79 Masters in a playoff, and he summoned that extra-time magic once more, demolishing Norman the following day in an anticlimactic 8-stroke blowout, shooting a 67 to capture the open and his second major.
AFTERMATH:
Zoeller’s Open was his final major title, though he had a fine career subsequent to the win at Winged Foot. Norman would settle for just a pair of majors himself, finally winning the British Open in 1986 and 1993. Today, ironically, both golfers are pariahs. Fuzzy of course revealed a little too much of his coarse “humor” when he unleashed a bigoted tirade directed at Tiger Woods at Augusta in 1997. Norman wound up a shill for Saudi Arabian petrodollars and the largely loathed face of the LIV Tour.
WHAT THEY SAID:
“I’m not a great player. But I’m a damned good one.”
—Fuzzy Zoeller
FURTHER READING:
“Fuzzy Wasn’t Fazed By The Shark Attack” by Dan Jenkins, Sports Illustrated
VIDEO: