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matter how nifty he is with his hands, a box fighter without absolute confidence in his ability to weather whatever unexpected hurricane of smashin' wallops he may run into durin' the course of a muss is a box fighter without no good reason for remainin' in a tough game. He may outpoint the clumsy, slow-thinkin' dumb-bells, but the hard-boiled baby which can take it and grimly wait till the openin' comes for one solid smash has the edge on this guy every time. The faint-hearted bird is no good when he's hurt; the real fighter is no good till he's hurt! In other words, the clever but weak-spirited boxer is usually a world beater among the tramps and a tramp among the world beaters.

But confidence, boys and girls, is a heady drink—too much is as dangerous to success as too little. You want to dilute it a bit, reduce its high proof with a little respect for the other guy's chances. Instead of thinkin' that every cuckoo and every situation you're called upon to face in this game called life is a set-up for you, allow leeway for the unreckoned break, the bolt from the blue, the chance that you might slip on the banana peel Fate or be flattened by the thunder