Vladimir YAKOVLEV

(Fragments from "Working Notebooks")

SERVES AS A PREFACE

1947 August, Megapolis Shankhai

Sensation of professional ring: the Portuguese champion Ramsey Bucks suffers an utter defeat at the Championship of China. The referees make it one way and the rival becomes the owner of the champion belt.
The rival , disregarding all pre-fight gossip that favored Bucks to win almost hands down, fought with his usual do-or-die sprit and scored a handsome win. Stylist Ramsey Bucks was altogether too shy,knowning of the rival's hitting power, was cautious throughout the fight, and once traded blows. Just after the first round - there were ten of them - the Bucks - Yakovleff mill literally brought the house down as cries of "Yakovleff, Yakovleff" swept across the auditorium.
And me - it was really me! - not changing the speed, throwing my punches to make myself the aggressor, didn't allow the eminent rival to collect himself and went to the triumph…to my first triumph.

Though almost half a century passed from that evening decisive fight, it 's not difficult for me to revise it in all the details.
Many yellow press-cuttings from the Shankhai papers of those times , which were kept and collected by my father, my friends, my wife Tatyana Vasiljevna - just she who has systematized them, glued them as a great value - help me to return into the past. The unique documents of the running trough life give me the possibility to tell about those events objectively.
I see myself very young again, again decision Bucks who was half-head taller than me, whose arms were longer, and who was a real professional I again feel myself very strong, "teas and explosive". Such epithets were thrown of from "China Press" reporter's pen, who was describing my rounds with Bucks in the article named: Yakovleff: decisions Bucks for crown"
It seems to me that I hear Sulevich's voice, he was the "fur ring" of Shankhai and at that time was among the fans. And again I feel those exciting moment when the millionaire, throwing me the keys over the heads, tells me that he gives me his luxury car for my victory. In my book I'll return to that match and you'll know how I was going to the "crown", my first "crown", gaining my box-rating to get the right to contend the title of champion. I'll reveal you the secret of Sulevich who gave me the keys of the car.

If you think that it was the act of recognition of my professionalism - you are mistaken.
But now other reminiscences agitate me, reminiscences connected with the described match. But they don't have the straight attitude to box. And however they determined my professional way in my life.

That was my farewell match. A month and a half later I boarded the ship "Ilych" to the Soviet Union. I don't know exatly just now what played fatal role more: the call of flood or romantic illusions or the skillful propaganda of the clerks of the Soviet embassy.
So one way or another I became a passenger of the Soviet ship with the firm decision to come back to that land where me first deep breath, first steps were made. I was returning to my Motherland, to Russia, from where my father had taken me to Shankhai when I was seven years old. And where, tree years later, I became the champion of the Soviet Union among feather-weight boxers.

Ashgabat, 1994

LESSON
A six-round match with a young French boxer had to be held in "Hi-li" that evening. I don't remember his name but have known him while fighting on the amateur ring. He wasn't strong enough for me, so my friends and I decided to relax and went to the paradise corner in the suburb of Shankhai "Rio-Rita" to rest, to bathe, to lie in the sun. We had fun. Two hours later I arrived at "Hi-li". I had even a little time to sleep. But when I appeared on the ring I understood that I had no strength to fight at all. The rival was weak and his coach, as far as I know, was afraid of my punches. But after the first round my breathing got started heavy, it left for several minutes, I just understood what a cub I had been in the professional box if I had been able to have "Rio-Rita" on the day before the match.

The tactical thinking had worked well. I didn't press the rival into the corner knowing that he was afraid of me. I thoughtfully decided to finish the second round using two or three punches, being tired I couldn't move on the ring. I simply began to throw over the weight of my body from one leg to the other moving the way my rival was going. I didn't allow him to go away from the fight and at the same time didn't blow the punches. If he moved to the right, I did the same to the left to cross his way ; if he moved to the left - I to the right. I was waiting for only one moment - when he would be in the corner. It happened very soon. Being in the corner, the rival raised up his hands to defend his heard (of course, he was afraid of my "cross") and opened his torso. My blow went to it. It looked very effectively. But really the blow was so weak because it's strength was left on the bank of the river. And if my rival exclaimed "oh,oh!" and jumped up - it really happened so - most likely he was waiting for the pain.

And almost at the same time the white towel, being thrown by his coach, flew onto the ring. That meant that the coach had refused to continue the match . At that moment I didn't understand what had happened. But then I guessed: I was known as a boxer with a very strong punch. My rival's coach couldn't even imagine that my punch was not only fatal but even didn't make his ward any pain. He couldn't indeed, it wasn't in accordance with his opinion of me.

I was simply lucky. But I was glad to have such a happy end. I won the fight tactically. But it taught me a good lesson. I never sunbathed on the day of the match! And I forbad my pupils very strictly to do it. .

Ashgabat,1994