A certain veteran heavyweight whose face had been beaten as flat as a pancake by too many thudding fists finally managed to land a match in an out-of-town club. He rushed there as fast as he could, weighed in, and then went to a hotel fur a nap before the contest was to take place. While he was snoozing, his manager was notified that the bout was off, due to an injury to the other fighter. The manager decided to let his man sleep, and tell him about the postponement when he woke up.
Soon after midnight, the beat-up old pug was awakened by a longdistance phone call from his girl. “Hello, sweetheart,” she gurgled over the phone. “How did my baby make out in his fight tonight?”
The fighter pried open his bleary eyes and looked around the dim room, trying to recall what had happened during the evening hours. Then at last he sighed and answered. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “I guess I got flattened again.”