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HOST: Starring t o night,

Chuck C o nn o rs,

Gary L o ckw oo d,

and J o an Van Ark.

Good evening.

I might offer this small admonishment

if you happen to be a purist in your judgment of art.

These are not your ordinary canvases.

You don't find Monet in a mausoleum,

or a Van Gogh in a graveyard.

This item here

commentative on what A.J. Liebling referred to as "the sweet science,"

obviously having something to do with the manly art of self-defense.

Boxing.

But if the Marquis of Queensbury mayhem

doesn't particularly turn you on,

don't turn this off.

This painting tells a story infinitely more intriguing

than a couple of fast boys mixing it up.

It's called The Ring with the Red Ve I vet R o pes.

And it te Il s y o u the ta I e o f precise I y wh o is

the rea I Heavyweight B o xing Champi o n o f the W o r I d.

And I think y o u'll be surprised.

Surprise happens t o be o ur st o ck-in-trade.

Because this is the Night Gallery.

Give us a break, huh?

(ALL CLAMORING)

Give us a break boys. Listen, fellas.

Press conference tomorrow morning 10:00.

MAN: Hurry up, huh. Please.

Tomorrow morning 10:00 at the hotel. All the time you want.

Okay. So long.

(CHUCKLING)

Champion.

Say it again.

Champion.

Champion.

Come on, come on, come on.

That bum didn't even lay a scratch on me.

Ah, come on, kid. Big Dan Anger was never no bum.

(PHONE RINGING)

I'll get it.

Hey, Max, if that's Nina, tell her to go straight to the party, okay?

All right. Hello.

Yeah, I can take it.

No, he's too busy to talk.

Hey, Big Dan, what are you doing here?

Champion.

(LAUGHS)

You just think you're a champion.

Okay. Okay. We can talk re-match tomorrow.

Go get yourself patched up, huh?

You're no more of a champ than I was.

MAX: Yeah. Yeah. I'll tell him.

Jim, that was Curly on the phone.

He had to take Big Dan to the hospital.

I don't know. Something about bone splinters.

Big Dan? Yeah.

They got him on the operating table right now.

But I was just talking to him.

Huh?

Hey, don't look at me like that, Max.

I'm telling you Big Dan was just standing there.

Uh, look, kid. That was a pretty rough fight you was in.

(WATER RUNNING)

All right, now, look. I want you to come in here and take a shower.

And then you and me are gonna go and check with Doc Hoffman.

Yeah, I just saw him.

I saw him.

Okay, okay, you saw him.

Now give me those trunks and get in there.

Now! Now!

Okay!

FIGG: Curly must've been putting you on, Max. I tell you.

Big Dan was standing right in the middle of the doorway.

You hear me, Max?

(SHOWER TURNING OFF)

Hey, Max!

Hey, Max, you hear me?

Hey, Max, you out there?

Why don't you answer me, Max?

The name is Hayes, Mr. Figg.

Where's Max?

How did you get...

There now, Mr. Figg.

That's better, isn't it? Hmm?

I trust the accommodations are to your liking, sir?

Yeah.

Why don't you let it all go and tell me like it is, huh?

Things are as they seem, sir.

Yeah, well, don't you double talk me, you little runt.

Now, I'm the Heavyweight Champion of the World. You got that?

Now, where is this place and how did I get here?

I'm sure your hosts will be happy to answer your questions, sir.

Who?

What host?

Mr. and Mrs. Roderick Blanco, sir.

Now, then, Mr. Figg,

I think you'll find everything here that you need.

There are some casual and dress wardrobe in that closet there.

Everything in your size, sir.

Personal toiletries in the bathroom, sir.

Lunch will be served...

Hey, buster, you run that number on your own time, huh?

And who's this guy Blanco? Blanco?

Mrs. Blanco hopes you will join her in the game room, sir.

A phone.

There's gotta be a phone someplace around here. There's gotta be a phone, huh?

Hayes! Hayes, you open this!

(THUMPING)

(WAVES CRASHING)

HAYES: Mr. James Figg, Madam.

Lady,

you got some high-powered explaining to do because...

I'm Sondra Blanco, Mr. Figg. Roderick's wife.

I've so wanted to meet you.

Yeah.

Look, Mrs. Blanco...

Sondra.

Sondra? Sure. (CHUCKLES)

Um...

Look, I figure I've been drugged and kidnapped.

I mean, if you were in my place you'd be sore, too, right?

Now, maybe you people ought to think this thing over.

Kidnapping is a very serious charge.

I'm sure it must be.

Coffee?

Lady.

Sondra.

I don't think I'm getting through to you.

I happen to be, as of last night, the Heavyweight Champion of the World.

There must be 100 people looking for me already.

Not to mention the TV, wire services, FBI.

Drink.

Go on.

Drink? Mmm-hmm.

Better?

I saw the fight.

You have a magnificently developed body.

Yeah.

Uh...

Ringside?

I mean you had good seats?

Very.

We watched it here.

From here?

But the fight wasn't televised. I mean, not on the home screen.

Do you like the ocean, Jim?

(THUDDING CONTINUES)

Yeah, I like it okay. As long as I know which ocean it is.

Oh, how delightful. A sense of humor.

Oh, I am liking you, Jim.

Do you feel me liking you?

Is that your husband, the punching bag?

Your senses,

so alert, so aware.

I think I like you because you're different from the others.

The others?

Other champions.

There's an honesty about you.

You're like that in the ring, too.

Roderick thinks you're the best man we've had here in the last 10 years.

I think longer.

Ten years?

You don't look like you could've been married that long.

Oh. (LAUGHS)

See how nice you are.

Hey, uh...

Am I supposed to know your husband... This what's-his-name, Blanco?

Roderick?

I don't see why.

Oh.

So, what am I doing here and what does he need from me?

Roderick will explain.

No. Why don't you explain and don't tell me you don't know either, lady.

Sondra.

Lady. Yeah? Lady.

Look, I don't know where I am,

I don't know how I got here, I've never seen this place before in my life,

I don't know who you are and I sure don't know who this Roderick Blanco is,

but I'll tell you one thing, lady. I'm ready for him. Good and ready!

(THUMPING STOPS)

Something wrong, Jim?

The punching bag.

It stopped.

Yes. I know.

Roderick is coming.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Jim Figg.

Bare knuckle Heavyweight Champion of England.

You got the wrong Figg.

Well, let's hope so.

The pugilist I mentioned died in 1734.

He was beaten only once.

Sondra, leave us.

I don't suppose you know what the experts are saying about you this morning,

do you, Figg?

That I'm missing?

Kidnapped, maybe?

They're saying that your dispatching of Big Dan Anger,

suggests you're likely to hold the crown for years.

They're right, you know.

Are they?

Oh, the crown, but not the championship.

You'll do what Big Dan did.

He pretended to be the champion for four years

and nobody questioned him,

now, did they? Oh.

Who was the real champion all that time?

I knocked out Big Dan in the first minute of the second round.

You boxed Big Dan?

As I will you.

You and me? A match?

Well, you want to be the real champion?

Well, I thought I was.

What was that little brouhaha me and Big Dan Anger had last night?

A preliminary. I'm talking about a private match.

Nothing different from all the others I've fought.

Before Big Dan?

And before,

and before,

and before.

Bruises, breaks, blisters and blood.

Basics. Let's deal with those.

The prosaic approach.

You'll not leave here, Figg, until you've met me in the ring.

Reconcile yourself to that.

Talk to my manager.

Don't you understand anything, Figg?

No managers. No crowds. No public displays.

A private match in my ring.

You can hardly see from there.

It clearly states that the undersigned did engage in a bout with yours truly,

on the 10th of April this year and was defeated

by a knockout. It's signed Big Dan Anger.

What else have you got?

Ah! I've tweaked your imagination, Figg.

A rare accomplishment, I expect.

Does anybody answer a question around here?

Yes. You see that was an answer.

But to the earlier one, suffice to say,

when you sign the document stipulating the outcome of our encounter,

it shall rest here,

between the flyleaf and Big Dan's affidavit.

But Big Dan wasn't your first fight.

Not quite.

We'll fight Monday.

Whatever you need to prepare, will be provided.

Winner take all.

Hey, Blanco.

What's all?

(THUMPING)

Chef Alexander here.

Upstairs.

Was there something you wished, sir?

Yeah, how do you get an outside line?

Oh, I'd assumed you understood, sir.

There is no outside line.

G oo d night, Mr. Figg.

(THUMPING CONTINUES)

(WAVES CRASHING)

I think you can beat him.

He thinks so, too.

I can't remember when he's been so...

Apprehensive.

He's never been beaten before.

He hasn't, huh?

Let him win.

Never threw a match in my life.

This time it's different.

The stakes are different.

What's the matter? You afraid I'll hurt him?

No.

That's not what I'm afraid of.

What about the others?

They lost,

and left.

They never told anybody what happened here.

How could they?

How could you,

without admitting defeat?

Lose, Jim.

Lose.

(THUMPING)

I saw you working out today.

Are you going to lose?

REFEREE: Gentlemen.

You boys know the rules.

Keep your punches up. Fight in the clinches till I say, break.

In case of a knockdown, the fighter standing,

will go to the farthest neutral corner.

Now go to your corners and come out fighting at the bell.

(BUZZER BUZZING)

(BELL RINGING)

(BUZZER BUZZING)

REFEREE: Keep your punches up.

(BELL RINGING)

(BUZZER BUZZING)

(BELL RINGING)

(GRUNTS)

(BUZZER BUZZING)

(BELL RINGING)

(BUZZER BUZZING)

(BELL RINGING)

(GRUNTS)

All right. Over there.

(SPITS)

REFEREE: Two!

Three!

Four!

Five!

Six!

Seven!

Eight!

(GRUNTING)

All right, now go to that corner.

Three! Four! Five!

(GRUNTS)

Over there.

One! Two!

Three! Four! Five!

Six! Seven! Eight!

Nine! Ten!

Out!

What's the matter with you? Why didn't you stop it?

You saw what was happening. Why didn't you throw in the towel?

Don't you care? You're his wife.

Nobody should take a beating like that. Nobody!

The Champion is dead. Long live the Champion.

Who was he?

He was the real champion.

Having first taken the title from Jim Mason in 1861,

and having successfully defended it ever since.

Until tonight.

Winner take all, Jim.

For how long?

As long as you win.

(THUMPING)

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