a big man could alluz beat a little man. that's why wilt chamberlain could murder jim brown if they ever fought.
chamberlain's seven foot tall, right? he's got a twelve-foot reach. it's geophysics. he's punchin' down on you with leverage. he cave your chest in.
blackjack burns coulds been the greatest ever --
that's right, he couldn't fight legit. one night at the garden about 1950, '51 -- he fought either jake lamotta or gus lesnevich, i think it was -- he took one o' those cream puff punches in the sixth -- the laziest left you ever seen -- missed him entirely. down goes blackjack without even workin' up a sweat and the whole garden gets up in its feet and i swear to christ, everybody starts singin' "dance with me henry."
what about you, doyle? who's the best fighter you ever seen?
what ya doin' out so late? hidin' from the cops?
they'll close you down if they ever get a look at those busted-valise broads you run with.
why not?
yeah!
where the hell do you think it is, potato head?
no wonder there's so many mafia around. ya couldn't find a puerto rican in spanish harlem.
i got this little chick i'm tryin' to hit on. she's about 20, 21.  i take her to jilly's last night and she's tellin' me about how she wants to settle down one day, get married.  i says, "hey, this is 1971, baby, i'm just a dirty old man lookin' to score with some pussy."
yeah. in the late innings. ya look like a night's sleep wouldn't kill ya.
when ya go back on?
whyn't ya stretch out on the pool table for a couple hours. the kid comes in at six will wake ya. a couple eggs and a beer is cheaper than keepin' a dog around the joint.