Thurles-man Paddy Ryan, one-time heavyweight champion of the world who ‘helped change the face of boxing’, died on this day in 1900.
Ryan was born in Thurles on 15 March 1853 but his family emigrated to New York state when he was eight years old. In his early 20s, he opened a bar in a rough and tumble neighbourhood in west Troy, New York. To set the no-nonsense tone for his own establishment, Ryan hung a sign behind the counter that read, “All the fighting done here, I do”.
Stories of his combat prowess invited challenges from various reprobates wanting to test their mettle. Eventually, Jim Killoran, athletic director of the nearby Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, invited Ryan to channel the aggression and to hone his fistic talents in a more formal setting.
During one of his first amateur bouts, the trainer repeatedly smacked Ryan with the leg of a chair between rounds because he was going too easy on his overmatched opponent. In his very first professional outing, he defeated the English champion Joe Goss (who taunted “You Irish son of a bitch!” throughout) for the de facto world title at Collier’s Station, West Virginia in June 1880. It was a brutal contest that lasted eighty-seven one-minute rounds. The contest was fought under London Prize Ring Rules that allowed for as much grappling as punching spawned the victory ballad:
“The referee the time did call.
But Joe could not reply
And the fight was freely given
To our bold Tipperary boy”
Ryan agreed in October 1881 to fight John L. Sullivan, an up-and-coming Irish-American boxer from Boston. The bout was scheduled for 7 February 1882 in New Orleans.
Richard Kyle Fox, the visionary Belfast-born publisher of the National Police Gazette, the most popular tabloid of the time, wanted to cash in in on the pair's enmity and he ensured that their bout became the first truly modern sports event with the Gazette providing forensic coverage that included diaries from both training camps. Ryan's regime of muttonchops for breakfast and a bottle of Bass ale with his dinner perhaps didn't reek of a professional approach. Oscar Wilde, then in Philadelphia, was caught up in the excitement, declaring, "I'd go farther than New Orleans to see a good fight like that between Ryan and Sullivan is going to be."
Louisiana Governor Samuel D. McEnery declared the bare-knuckle fight illegal, so Sullivan, Ryan and their respective parties moved the fight to Mississippi. In cities across America, massive crowds gathered outside newspaper and telegraph offices to hear updates from the wires following each round.
Even though Ryan was taller and heavier, Sullivan proved himself much the better fighter and dispatched his opponent with a broken jaw in the ninth round. Ryan's corner threw in the sponge before the 10th. His reign had ended but the way in which the fight had been promoted and sold changed boxing forever.
Joe Marti, the Cuban poet, in his account of the contest wrote:
They rush at each other again and deal each other mace-like blows; their skulls resound like anvils beneath the hammer. Ryan’s jersey is crimson with gore, and he falls to his knees. The Strong Boy skips back to his corner, laughing. The roar is deafening. Ryan rises shakily. Sullivan moves in for the kill with his lips twisted in a smile
Ryan fought two subsequent gloved fights against Sullivan. Police stopped the first (19 January 1885) after thirty seconds; Ryan was knocked out in three rounds in the second (13 November 1886).
He retired from boxing in 1897 and developed Bright’s disease shortly afterwards. He died on 14 December 1900 in Green Island, New York.
Sources:
https://www.dib.ie/biography/ryan-patrick-a7877
https://www.irishtimes.com/sport/other-sports/america-at-large-how-trojan-giant-paddy-ryan-helped-change-the-face-of-boxing-1.4210981
http://www.ibhof.com/pages/about/inductees/pioneer/ryan.html
