This Day in Death

9.1.13: Boxer Tommy Morrison – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 8:30 am September 6, 2013

TOMMY_MORRISONHOLY CAT BALLS WHAT THE SHIT IS HAPPENING HERE?! *That’s* boxing?! I always assumed it was, like, you know… aggressive hugging. Did… did they just knock each other’s facial features off? Is that how Foreman lost his hair?

 

As my regular readers (aka Viagra spambots) know, I don’t do sports posts too often. That’s mainly because it brings up too many painful memories of the scandal that ended my promising dressage career. In my defense, nowhere in the rulebook is it clearly stated that you’re *not* supposed to throw away your horse after each use.

Regardless, we’re covering the death of boxer Tommy Morrison today, and definitely not just because I got confused and thought Toni Morrison had died. Uh. That is to say, who’s Toni Morrison? If her work happens to be that of some master storyteller who illuminates the human condition with equal parts glorious wonder and devastating, jet black sorrow, all set against a backdrop of the tarnished American dream, well, that’s simply not something you’d ever find in my mancave, I can tell you that much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s high time I tune my widescreen television unit to the ESPN. If I have to go one more minute without checking the score results of my favorite local sport groups I’m totally gonna spill my alcoholic beverage all over my sporting jersey blouse.

Morrison won his first 28 professional fights, beating faded champions such as Pinklon Thomas along the way. His career reached its apex in the summer of 1993 with the unanimous decision over Foreman, then in the midst of a comeback, to claim a vacant title.

Morrison claimed to be a grandnephew of John Wayne, which is how he got the nickname “The Duke.” If I were a boxer I’d probably go with a nickname that’s not so much intimidating as it is completely inexplicable, like “Ruby Sandwich” or “The Outdated Courtship Ritual” or something. That way, while my opponent is trying to figure out what my name might mean, I could throw some dirt in his eyes, which should cause enough chaos to allow me to steal some sweat towels and beat a hasty retreat. That’s why they call boxing “the Sweet Science.”

 

Source: ESPN

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