On Valentine’s Day 1951, boxing arch-rivals Jake LaMotta and Ray Robinson faced each other in the ring. The bloody fight went down in history as the “Valentine’s Day massacre”.
By Martin Armbruster
This article first appeared on RTL.de
On February 14, 1929, Al Capone sent a five-man hit squad from his South Side Gang to north Chicago. In a garage at 2122 Clark Street, the Italo mobsters lined up seven members of Ireland’s North Side Gang against a wall, drew two machine pistols and emptied their magazines. The execution went down in American criminal history as the “St. Valentine’s Day massacre”.
On February 14, 1951, a prizefighter named Jake LaMotta stood a few miles away at Chicago Stadium, as defenseless as the seven garage victims had been 22 years earlier—but he stood. Stood despite the fact that Sugar Ray Robinson, arguably the greatest boxer of all time, had been beating him for minutes in the fight for the middleweight world championship. When referee Frank Sikora stopped the carnage in the 13th round, even the most die-hard spectators breathed a sigh of relief. Since then, boxing has also had its Valentine’s Day massacre.
The end of the “Valentine’s Day Massacre”: referee Sikora ends the fight. Robinson cheers, LaMotta still stands.
© Harry Hall / Picture Alliance
LaMotta: A boxer with supernatural powers?
There are people who have a supernatural ability to absorb shock and endure pain. LaMotta undoubtedly belonged to that species of come-what-homo-erectus. “If planes were made out of Jake LaMotta’s skull, I wouldn’t be so scared of flying,” one YouTube user commented on one of the countless videos of the “Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre”. The pictures are still so unreal today, 70 years later.
Like LaMotta, the “Bronx Bull,” hanging on the ropes. Too weak to raise fists. How Robinson beats him up. At will. How the “Harlem Prince” maltreated the world champion’s head and ribs. How what’s left of LaMotta’s nose after 95 pro fights evaporates. How LaMotta stops.
A reporter veteran was counting that Wednesday night in Chicago. Robinson missed his opponent no fewer than 56 shots in that 13th round alone. Some prizefighters can’t do that in a whole fight.
“If the referee had let me stand 30 seconds, Sugar Ray would have collapsed from all the hitting,” LaMotta joked afterwards. After the bloody Valentine’s date, Robinson stated: “He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever fought. I’ve never seen anyone who was so aggressive and rough.”
Even after five duels an open account
Robinson vs. LaMotta: Not just any fight in early 1951. It was part VI of an epic fistfighting saga that began in 1942 with a Robinson victory. In 1943, the rivals fought each other twice within three weeks: In the first match, LaMotta inflicted the “Sugarman’s” first (and only until the summer of 1951) defeat as a professional, and Robinson won the revenge again.
“I’ve fought Sugar Ray so many times, I think I got diabetes,” LaMotta used to joke well into old age. In 1945 the two met twice again, again Robinson won. But his last victory was so close and controversial that the bill remained open.
Six years later, welterweight king Robinson broke the 147-pound limit and challenged LaMotta, who had captured the 1949 middleweight title with a “dirty” win over legendary Frenchman Marcel Cerdan.
LaMotta’s pound problem, Robinson’s battle plan
Stylistically, everything was clear: Bronx bull LaMotta would charge forward, champion boxer Robinson would prance, counterattack and score from a distance. “I’ve got too much heart and stamina to be his valentine for 15 laps,” LaMotta snorted ahead of time. Robinson was a 3.5-1 favorite at bookmakers.
In terms of heart, the Italian-American was right. However, the condition of the then 28-year-old was not in the best of shape. LaMotta struggled with the weight. The day before the fight, he was six pounds over the middleweight limit of 160 pounds (72.6 kg). On the day of the fight, LaMotta weighed exactly the required amount, but the cooking cost substance.
Robinson, then 29, with an insane record of 121 wins, one loss and two draws behind him, was aware of his archrival’s pound problems. The boxing mastermind had concocted a corresponding battle plan, which was: Bodyshot LaMotta early, tire the cop, take him out at the end of the fight.
The heart of the bull
When the gong rang at Chicago Stadium in front of a crowd of 14,802, Robinson executed the plan precisely. Again and again he mauled the ribs of the world champion, literally burying his fists in the bull’s body LaMotta.
But because his heart was pumping as ever, one of the best middleweight fights in history developed in the first eight rounds – without any subsequent drama.
Valentine’s Day Massacre: LaMotta ahead after eight rounds
As expected, the “Raging Bull” rushed towards his red cloth. If the matador wasn’t on his guard, it was painful for Robinson. After eight of the scheduled 15 rounds, according to referee Sikora and judge Spike McAdams’ slips, LaMotta was just ahead (judge Ed Klein had Robinson ahead).
After that, the defending champion noticeably decreased. Although LaMotta continued to march forward, his pace slowed. For the technically vastly superior Robinson, the champion was now the hoped-for easy target. Rounds nine and ten – a clear affair.
No mercy
In the 11th, LaMotta launched the last major attack, hitting Robinson with everything he had left. Without success. The challenger parried the attacks and thundered back. In round twelve, Robinson gave LaMotta such a beating that even his biggest fans begged for mercy. Vain. This is how the “Valentine’s Day Massacre” happened.
In the 13th round the bull was only fair game for Robinson. Uppercuts and rib breakers, technically high-quality straights like wild swings rained down on LaMotta. But the champ stopped. As in his previous 95 fights, LaMotta’s body did not submit to the laws of boxing gravity. Horror spread, a minute before the end of the round the referee finally stepped in and protected the supernaturally stubborn LaMotta from himself.
Legend Cloth
Big cinema. In Martin Scorcese’s masterpiece Raging Bull (1980), Robert de Niro as LaMotta mumbles to his tormentor after the breakup, “You never put me down, Ray.” A dramaturgically permissible exaggeration. In truth, after the fight was stopped, LaMotta had to be propped up and led to his corner. The dethroned world champion crouched on his stool for 20 minutes before he had enough strength to shuffle into the dressing room.
Sugar Ray Robinson continued boxing after Valentine’s Day in 1951 until 1965. For many, the greatest boxer in history died in 1989 at the age of 67.
Jake LaMotta hung up the gloves in 1954 after stepping on the boards in one of his last fights two years earlier. Now the Bronx bull preferred to appear in his own nightclub in New York, the diabetes joke with Sugar Ray became a running gag. LaMotta died in 2017 – at the age of 95. In 2010 he married a seventh and last time. A wonder of nature.