Griffin cuts him with the left. Braddock is stepping in postholes.

Keep him in front of you!

Lure him in, Jim.

Jimmy’s finally moving his head.

Pick your spot.

Pop, pop - now!

Griffin is down!

Where the hell have you been, Jimmy Braddock?

One. Two. Three.

He’s up at three. The referee wipes his gloves.

That’s it! That’s it! No daylight!

Take it to him!

- Another big right by Braddock. - Finish him, Jim!

Knock him back to the goddamn Ozarks!

Griffin is ready to go!

Break it up.

Get back.

Get back to your corner.

Jimmy!

This fight is over! This is incredible!

Corn Griffin, the number two contender in the world

has just been knocked out by Jim Braddock in the third round.

- What an upset! - You son of a...!

It’s pandemonium here in the Garden.

Settle down, for Christ’s sake!

Jesus H. Christ.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

Mary Magdalene, all the saints and mothers and... Jesus!

Did I say Jesus? Where the hell did that come from?

When my hand was broken, I had to work down the docks and I had to use my left.

- So... Well, no, that and luck. - Luck?

- Sheer, dumb-ass Irish luck. - Don’t give me that luck of the Irish crap.

Lucky? That’s something you ain’t been in a long time, brother.

- Everybody’s due. - Due or not, I’ll take it.

You had the left. The left - but you were bouncy.

You were bouncy. You went: pop, pop, bang!

Pop, pop, bang!

Unbelievable. Pop, pop, slide.

- Sliding, slipping. You were like a cat. - I did that on hash.

Imagine what I would’ve done to him if I’d had a couple of steaks.

Jimmy?

That was one hell of a goodbye.