A Good Fighter Usually Knows,

For The First And Only Time, I Was More Worried About Getting Hurt By The Crowd Than By The Guy I Was Fighting. I Got A Pretty Good Blast When Introduced. The Crowd Was Hollering And Raising Hell. I Looked Around For My Bodyguard, A Colorful New York Character Named Wild Bill Lyons, Who Packed Two Pearl-handled Pistols And Used To Talk A Lot About His Days In The West. Wild Bill Was Under The Ring, Hiding.

Honey, I Just Forgot To Duck.

I Was A Pretty Good Fighter. But It Was The Writers Who Made Me Great.

Champions Get Up When They Can't.

Tell Him He Can Have My Title, But I Want It Back In The Morning.