By Mike Dunn

When Bob Fitzsimmons defended the heavyweight championship of the world against challenger Jim Jeffries on June 9, 1899, at Brooklyn’s Coney Island Athletic Club, Fitz had big advantages in certain key areas.

For one, Fitz had a great deal more experience. The man who was born in Cornwall, England in 1862 and raised in Timaru, New Zealand, owned a 44-3-7 record and was a fearsome hitter. Fitz won more than 85 percent of his matches by knockout. His record was littered with the top names of his day. Not least on the list of those vanquished by Fitz’ power was former champ Jim Corbett, deposed suddenly and decisively in the 14th round in Carson City, Nevada in March of 1897 by a perfectly executed left to the solar plexus, one of the most famous single punches ever landed. A single blow from Fitz had deposited highly regarded Peter Maher into dreamland in the first round in a celebrated elimination bout for Corbett‘s title in 1896. Fitz had also dispatched of another legendary foe, Nonpareil Jack Dempsey, in 13 rounds to the win the middleweight championship of the world in January of 1891.

Jeffries, by contrast, had engaged in just 12 professional bouts, posting a 10-0-2 mark. The two draws had come in 20-round encounters against two of the top opponents he had faced, Gus Ruhlin and Joe Choynski. Peter Jackson was a KO victim, but he was well past his prime when he faced Jeff. Rugged Tom Sharkey was a legitimate contender whom Jeff had beaten him by a 20-round decision, but Fitz had done even better against Sharkey three years earlier, knocking the ex-sailor out with a single blow to the body (although referee Wyatt Earp had wrongly disqualified Fitz for a low blow.) There was no question that experience and grade of opponent weighed heavily on the side of the champion.

Another key advantage for Fitz was that he was accustomed to the fanfare and media circus that always accompanied a fight for the heavyweight title. He had been champ now for more than two years and even though this was his first official defense of the crown, he had come to anticipate and enjoy the accolades and attention that the man at the top draws from the public at large. Jeffries, by contrast, was shy by nature. He had come east from San Francisco and all but one of his fights had been on the West Coast. How would the challenger, raw in ability and new to public relations, handle the glare of the New York spotlight and the specter of fighting in front of the biggest crowd of his brief career? Would it make him nervous? Would it affect his ability to focus?

Oddsmakers seemed to think so. Fitz was installed as a 10-6 favorite to successfully turn back the California strong boy.

What the oddsmakers weren’t taking into consideration, perhaps, were the advantages that Jeffries owned over the champion. Jeffries had huge advantages in two of the crucial areas -- age and weight -- that often determine the outcome of prizefights.

Jeffries had recently turned 24 years old; Fitz had recently turned 37 years old. In some vocations, 13 years doesn’t mean much; in boxing, it can make a world of difference. Jeff was also much bigger and stronger. Even though he stepped into the Coney Island ring at a weight of 206 pounds, lowest of his career, Jeff was still a giant among the men of his generation. His trade as a boilermaker had built mounds of hard muscle on his 6-foot, 2-inch frame. Fitzsimmons weighed just 167 pounds and stood 5-11 ½. His trade as a blacksmith growing up in New Zealand had earned him wide shoulders and strong arms, but his body was otherwise not impressive. Almost every contemporary description of the champ refers to his legs as “spindly” and photos bear that out.

Fitz weighed 39 pounds less and was 2 ½ inches shorter than the challenger. His reach was five inches shorter. So what? The general consensus was that Jeffries, green as a non-ripened tomato, would be hit hard and hit often. Jeffries was bigger and stronger, to be sure, but who could withstand a battering at the hands of the heavy-fisted champion?

The fight was scheduled to go 25 rounds.

After referee George Siler -- the same man who had waved the fatal 10 count over Corbett in Nevada -- gave the fighters their instructions before a capacity crowd at the indoor arena, the bell rang and the battle ensued. Fitz noticed something unusual right away. He had watched Jeffries decision Sharkey and had seen him against Choynski. Back then, Jeff had employed the orthodox fighting stance of the day. Now, the big man was coming at Fitz in a crouch with his left arm pushed forward like a battering ram.

It was the challenger’s secret strategy. Jeff had been working out with former middleweight champion Tommy Ryan in preparation for the title fight and Ryan had suggested the tactic.

In the first round, it worked. Jeff’s style befuddled the champ, who was unable to get close enough to land his telling body blows. In the second round, the strategy worked even better. When Fitz pressed the action, Jeff nailed him with a straight left and bloodied his nose. When Fitz tried to mix it up again later in the round, a left dropped him to the seat of his pants for a short count.

In the third, Fitz landed his best shot to that point, a vicious right cross to the challenger’s neck. Jeffries just blinked and pushed forward. The fourth round also belonged to the strong younger challenger. It was beginning to look like a new champion would be crowned this night.

In the fifth, though, Fitzsimmons finally began to find the range. A rapier left cut Jeffries above the right eye. The champ quickly nailed Jeff with two more lefts and, for the first time, had him backing up. Fitz tried to end it with a single left to the chin, but he missed and fell to the canvas. When he got up, it was up Jeff who was pressing the action once more. Before the end of the round, the best of the fight, Jeff would land his own left and have Fitz reeling.

Fitz spent the next three rounds using his educated left to try and deepen the cut over Jeffries’ eye. There was a price to be paid, though. Even when Jeffries wasn’t landing cleanly, his blows were taking a toll on the smaller champion.

In the ninth, Fitz feinted with his left and attempted to get the right home again. In response, Jeff crouched even lower and kept his left out, impaling the champ whenever Fitz threw his right.

The next round, Jeffries finally came out of the crouch. He could sense Fitz’s strength ebbing and his wind waning. After an exchange, Jeff straightened and found the mark with a powerful sweeping left to side of the jaw. Fitz swayed on rubbery legs and went down hard, hitting his head on the ring mat. The champ had pride, even he didn’t have much strength left, and he was up at the count of seven. He tried to grab Jeffries  but the bigger man wouldn’t allow it. Jeff threw him down like a rag doll. Fitz got up again. At the end of the round, the champion was against the ropes fending off a two-fisted assault. Everyone knew the end was near.

Guts alone brought the champ out of his corner for the 11th round. Jeffries landed a clean left early, pushing the champ’s head back. Fitz gamely countered with a right of his own. It landed flush on Jeffries’ jaw but it lacked the steam to do any damage. Jeff brushed it aside and continued to pursue. A left had Fitz reeling again. Another left brought a new flow of blood from the nose. A heavy right finally and mercifully ended it.

Fitz ended up flat on his back. He was counted out by Siler, the same man who had counted out Corbett when Fitz had ascended to the crown.

Now it was Jeffries’ turn to reign as champ. Deservedly so. The strong boy from California was crude, but he was strong as an ox and tough as a leather saddle. He and Tommy Ryan had developed a tactic for Fitzsimmons that worked so successfully that Jeffries would use it for the remainder of his career in the ring.

Fitzsimmons had owned significant advantages in experience and in performing in big bouts. It turned out not be enough to offset the advantages of youth and strength enjoyed by Jeffries, however.