Original subtitles

- [Dion] San Francisco, Friday, the 7th of May, 1851.

At 9:15 this particular evening,

most citizens had their minds on gold

or business or pleasure, as usual.

(crowd shouting)

- Strong, ain't he?

- Strong? He's the strongest man in San Francisco.

(crowd cheering)

- I'm Sorley Boy MacDonald,

the strongest man west of the Mississippi,

and my slogan's "A curse on all the O'Neils."

(crowd laughing)

- My name's O'Neil, and I curse nobody.

- Oh, an O'Neil indeed!

- Now listen to me, champ. Do me a favor.

No brawling, not for free, champ.

- Stay out of this.

You were saying?

- Well, I was saying.

- Hammers of Cucaracha,

did you ever see such a punch in your life?

- I'm after the boy to turn to fighting.

Now, wouldn't it be a grand thing

if we could get the pair of them fighting in the ring?

Now, Mr. Mack has a great regard for you.

Now come and talk to him

and we'll have a fight for San Francisco.

- A title for the city right after the fight's over!

- Well, who could be doubting it?

- Sorley Boy's no fighter, Jack.

You'll make a fool out of yourself.

- He'll be a champion by the time I'm finished with him.

Come on, Cadger, come on.

♪ California, California ♪

- [Announcer] "The Californians".

♪ I've come to live where life is best ♪

♪ In the golden west ♪

♪ I'm gonna strike it rich in California ♪

(Jack humming)

- Ah, good morning, Molly, good morning.

- Good morning, says he, with the honey in his mouth

and the black murder in his heart.

- Molly, what-

- Mrs. McDonald to you, McGivern!

The decent wife of the poor, decent man

you're plotting to murder in cold blood.

- Molly McDonald, what are you talking about?

- It's nothing at all, darling.

- Nothing, says he!

And he plotting a Roman holiday.

- It's nothing of the sort! It's a sporting event.

- Sport to see a poor man murdered in cold blood?

- Why don't you go on and mind your own business?

- I'm not listening to you.

- Will you stop this shouting, stop it!

Now then, Molly.

It's me poor Sorley Boy.

They're going to make a prize fighter out of him,

against the champion of England.

- Jack?

- Well it's, it's just that some of the boys got together,

darling, and asked me to promote this match

between Sorley Boy and the other fellow.

It's just a sporting event, darling.

A clean exhibition of boxing, that's all.

- Exhibition? Murder, it is!

Sure my poor man can't fight at all.

- You wouldn't have said that if you'd seen him

in the Golden Nugget saloon the other night.

Oh, Martha, I swear to you.

I've never seen such a punch in my life.

Landed it straight on the jaw of the English champion.

- So you took it upon yourself

to arrange this disgraceful business.

- No, no I didn't.

No, no, some members of the fancy

just persuaded me to lend me name to it.

That's all.

- And who were are these members of the fancy

who approached you?

Walter Owens, for one.

- That jack-legged lawyer. Who else?

There was Cadger Malloy.

Now, he's just acting as Sorely Boy's manager, that's all.

- Cadger Malloy?

Since when did the likes of you

ever associate with the likes of him?

- Now lookit, that's neither here nor there.

Here we have a chance to bring distinction to our city.

Martha, think of it, think of it, huh?

A San Francisco man holding

the heavyweight title of England, huh?

- Mr. McGivern, you will take steps to break off

any agreement you've made in this miserable business.

At once.

- Oh no, Martha. - At once, Mr. McGivern!

- I will not.

As a sporting man and a follower of the fancy meself,

I'm going to take steps to see

that the whole thing goes through with it.

So there now.

Where are you off to?

- Come along, Molly.

We'll find somebody to stop this.

- Well, there'll be nobody stopping it, do you hear me?

This is a man's business.

The articles are all ready to be signed, do you hear me?

The articles are all ready to be signed

and I am going to sign them as promoter and referee

and you can't stop me, Martha, do you hear me?

You're...

Not listening to a word I'm saying.

- My man's no fighter, Mr. Patrick.

Gentle as a lamb, that's what he is.

They'll murder the poor lad.

- I can't reason with Jack, Dion.

He says he's going to promote it.

- Well, I wouldn't worry too much.

A punch in the jaw won't hurt Sorley Boy.

- It's not his jaw that worries me, Mr. Patrick.

It's his pride.

Oh, I know my man isn't worth much.

A good-for-nothing loafer that swills the ale

and hangs around the saloons

showing off them muscles of his.

And maybe a good beating would be good for him,

but it wouldn't be good for him

if he felt he let down his friends.

- What do you mean?

- There's a lot of people saw

how he hit the O'Neil the other night.

They're ready to bet their shirts

and their bottom dollars on me Sorley Boy.

He'd let himself be killed sooner than

lose their money for them.

Please, Mr. Patrick, I don't want him dead.

(somber music)

- There's me name.

- There you are, gentlemen.

Articles of agreement for a pugilistic contest

for the heavyweight title of England,

between the champion Tully O'Neil of Liverpool

and Sorely Boy McDonald of San Francisco, the challenger.

- And what happens if he don't show?

- He forfeits the purse.

- And what about any wagers laid on the fight?

- In the event either man fails to show,

his backers forfeit their bets.

Well, gentlemen, I think we can look forward to

an evening of great sport.

- Bloody butchery, you mean

Jack, did you put your name to anything?

- I agreed to promote and referee the fight, yes.

- Then give it up.

- What are you talking about?

- And you, Sorley Boy,

I thought you were at least an honest loafer.

- Why, I don't know what you mean, Mr. Patrick.

- How in the world did they ever talk into this mess?

- Now, just a minute.

- Shut up, Owens.

As for the rest of you,

I'm putting you on notice right now.

I'm going to expose this mismatch

if it's the last story I ever run in the "California Star".

- Now, just a minute. It's my paper.

I have something to say about what goes into it.

- Are you trying to tell me what to write?

- No, I'm not, but I deserve a little consideration.

After all, I put my name behind this fight, you know.

- You'll find my resignation on my desk

effective as of right now.

- Dion!

(door slamming)

Excuse me, gentlemen.

- I'm not so sure that I like this.

- Me neither.

- I think in the interests of sports,

our young friend should be watched.

(somber music)

- Let me tear this up, will you?

- No.

- Will you at least listen to me?

- Look, when I took this job,

you said I could call the shots as I saw them.

- I've never interfered with your calling the shots.

- Until now.

- Well, not even now.

Look, Dion, you and I are pals.

I can't run this paper without you, and you know that.

All I am asking is that you,

you don't print anything without proof.

- All right.

All right, Jack.

I'll get the proof.

(suspenseful music)

- Now come on, Champ. Let's get going.

Now with the left well out.

No, no, the left, the left, the left.

Now, come on, come on. Start punching.

Now come on, hit it. Hit it again.

Now cross your right.

Now step in for the kill.

Look, will ya watch them flat feet, ya clumsy ox?

- What's that again?

- Ah, just a slip of the tongue.

Just a slip of the tongue.

Now go on, my brave boy, start in again.

- I'm thirsty.

- All right, I'll give you a nice glass of water

when your training is done.

- Been sweating like a mine mule and you offer me water.

- All right, all right.

I'll give you a nice glass of ale.

- Two.

- All right, two.

Now come on, me pride and joy, get goin'.

The press is here.

Well, how are you, Mr. Patrick?

- So that's your tiger, huh?

- Now take a good look at him.

Look at them muscles.

Look at them muscles, look at them.

And look at that chest, as big as a barrel of beer.

- Yeah, listen to him puff.

He's like a broken-down riverboat.

- Oh, nothing that a little training won't help.

Now that's enough, me darling boy.

That's enough. That's enough.

Now have a, have a go with the bag.

Wait till you see this.

- When do I get me ale?

- Now just show Mr. Patrick what you did this very morning.

- Then do I get my ale?

- Ale, and nourishing but liquid food.

What a great muscle-builder.

Now come on, son.

Have another go with that bag.

- You say he did that before, huh?

- He does it every time.

- Downstairs, Champ, in the belly.

Now the jaw.

Now the old one-two.

That's it, me bucko, set him up again.

Great, isn't he?

- You mean he's the champion of England?

- Well, right now you're seeing him at a disadvantage.

He's a little stiff from traveling.

- Well, does he always fight that way, left-handed?

- My boy, 'tis the secret of his championship.

Throws his opponents off balance every time.

- Who's gonna win the fight?

- Us.

- All right, I'll say the champion's manager

was very confident of victory.

See you later, O'Neil.

- Well, what have we got here?

- Mister, do you have to come around in the broad daylight?

- Ah, sure. Nobody'll notice us.

Been entertaining the sightseers again?

- Oh, you should see the eyes of them

when Sorley Boy busts the bag with one punch.

- How did you work that? Weaken the seams?

- Sure. A baby could bust any of these bags.

- By the way, that Patrick has been nosing around again.

- The same here.

Now, I'm beginning to worry about that Patrick.

- I'm beginning to worry about the whole thing.

- Why?

Here, hold that bag while you're wagging your jaw.

- Why didn't you tell me that Jack McGivern

was the head of the vigilantes?

- What about it?

- Well, for one thing, I don't fancy wearing a rope collar.

- Now don't walk out on me, Louie.

I've put in a lot of time on this.

- Well, why pick on a pigeon like McGivern?

- Don't you see, you foolish man?

It's McGivern that makes the whole thing possible.

Now, what do you think'd happen

if one of us tried to promote that fight?

Why, they'd take one look at that weasel's face of yours

and see that it was fixed.

- And I suppose you've got such an honest-looking face.

- Well, with a man like McGivern,

him self-promoting and refereeing,

there isn't a soul in the city will twig anything wrong.

They'll be bettin' high, wide, and handsome.

There'll be bettin' on Sorley Boy.

- And then?

- He'll be flattened in the first round.

Tully'll murder him.

- Well, then everybody will know something's wrong.

- Of course they will.

But they'll put the blame on Jack McGivern.

And when they get 'round to us,

we'll be gone with the betting money.

- I checked around, Jack.

There's at least 50,000 bet on the fight

and Owens is taking most of the bets.

- That's no proof of anything.

- You know Owens as well as I do.

He wouldn't risk a five-cent piece

on anything that wasn't a sure thing.

- So that's the big proof you been looking for?

- All right, so it's not proof of anything.

But I will tell you one thing.

If that fight is crooked,

there are gonna be a lot of people coming here

looking for the man who promoted it.

And that, my friend, is you.

- Look, Dion, I'm going to be the third man in that ring.

The fight won't be crooked.

What makes you so suspicious, anyway?

- Everything.

Everything since this poor Sorley Boy of yours

was maneuvered into making the match.

- Maneuvered?

- That's what I said.

You know, I've never seen that big moose fight anybody

since I've been in San Francisco.

He used to dodge fights.

Now all of a sudden he's turning into a tiger. Why?

(dramatic music)

- A fine one you are, Sorley Boy McDonald,

sitting there soaking your hands in brine

while me own are falling off with the tiredness in them.

- Oh, it's to toughen them, darling.

- Don't you darling me.

Toughen them mitts?

It's the wrong thing you're toughening, Sorley Boy McDonald.

It's your jaw you should be soaking in brine.

(someone knocking)

- Answer it, will you, Molly?

- Oh, come in, Mr. Patrick.

- Hello, Molly. Sorley Boy.

- Toughening up me hands, Mr. Patrick.

- Wish ya.

- You really think you have a chance in this fight, Sorley?

- I wouldn't be fighting if I didn't, Mr. Patrick.

- Sorley Boy, I want to ask you a few questions.

You don't have to answer if you don't want to.

- Shoot, Mr. Patrick.

- Why did you pick the fight with Tully O'Neil?

- Because he's an O'Neil.

It's a family obligation to drop anybody

with the name of O'Neil.

- The McDonalds and their pride.

- Why the O'Neils?

- Well, you've no doubt heard of Hugh O'Neil.

- The high king of Ireland in the days of Elizabeth.

- He called himself that.

King of as much as his shadow could cover,

that's the kind of king he was.

Why, me great ancestor, the original Sorley Boy,

was twice the man, three times the chieftain,

and 20 times the soldier,

till he was drowned by the dark treachery

of that same dirty O'Neil.

- 300 years ago!

- Aye, but only 300 seconds in the mind of a McDonald.

And it's my family duty to beat the O'Neil.

- Beat the O'Neil! You couldn't beat batter.

- How many people knew how you felt about the O'Neils?

- Ooh, it was no secret. Everybody.

- Then they knew when Tully O'Neil walked in that night

that you would fight him on sight?

- Sure. It was my duty.

It was something that had to be done.

Beat the O'Neil!

(dramatic music)

- Don't you see, Jack? They knew how Sorley Boy felt.

They arranged the whole thing.

- Oh sure, yes.

And O'Neil took a punch in the jaw that'd fell an ox.

- For a professional fighter, he was mighty easy to hit.

- Are you trying to tell me that the champion of England

deliberately took that punch to set up a fixed fight?

- How do you know he's the champion of England?

- Well, I'll prove it to you.

Martha doesn't approve of the fancy,

so I have to keep my sporting papers locked up in here.

Here we are. "Gentleman's Fancy", published in London.

Let's see. Ah, here we are.

Take a look at that.

Tully O'Neil, heavyweight champion of England.

- He fights left-handed.

- Well, so does our boy.

- Oh yeah?

- Are you trying to tell me that Tully O'Neil,

our Tully O'Neil, isn't really left-handed?

- Well, thanks for the idea.

- What?

(suspenseful music)

- Would you say the same hand wrote both these signatures?

- Well, why not?

- Do you think he's onto it?

- I'm sure of it.

We'll have to take care of him.

- Now? - No, he'd be missed.

I'll handle him the night of the fight.

(crowd murmuring)

(bell ringing)

- Gentlemen, please. Your attention.

This will be a fight to the finish, London prize ring rules,

for the championship of England.

In this corner, Tully O'Neil,

the heavyweight champion of the British Empire.

(crowd booing)

And in this corner, Sorley Boy McDonald,

San Francisco's own challenger for the title.

(crowd cheering)

Now gentlemen, you know the rules.

A knockdown counts as a round.

If you are knocked down,

you must come to scratch when time is called,

otherwise you'll be judged the loser.

Now shake hands, men.

Go back into your corner and come out fighting.

(bell ringing)

(crowd shouting)

(bell ringing)

(bell ringing)

(crowd murmuring)

(bell ringing)

- Gimme some more, will ya?

- What do you think I'm trying to do?

- I told you he was no fighter.

Jack, he's getting killed. We gotta do something.

- No, he's all right. He's slow getting started, that's all.

- Well, I'm gonna do something.

You've got to stop this, Cadger.

You got to stop it.

- Hold it, Patrick.

That's a 41 caliber sleeve gun in your back.

Make a false move and you're dead.

Now turn slowly, and let's go.

(crowd shouting) (bell ringing)

(suspenseful music)

(gun firing)

- What are you gonna do?

- I'm gonna give you the same kind of a beating

Sorley Boy is taking in the fight you fixed.

Or maybe you'd rather talk, huh?

- I'll talk.

- I tell ya, I'm going to throw in the towel.

I won't get you killed.

- No. I'll never give in to an O'Neil.

(bell ringing)

(crowd shouting)

(gun firing)

- What the devil are you trying to do?

- It's all over, Jack.

This fight's over. It was fake from the start.

(crowd shouting)

Hold it, hold it!

- What about our money?

(gun firing)

- Here's the man who rigged the whole thing.

- I think the jig is up. Come on, let's get out of here.

- Stop those men!

You've got one chance to get out of this

with your next un-stretched.

Tell the truth.

- I don't know what you're talking about.

- All right. Listen to me, men.

This man is not Tully O'Neil.

(crowd shouting)

- Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!

Now which would you rather have, boys?

A chance to stretch their necks

or the money back from your bets?

(crowd shouting)

- Dion, that money was bet and lost fairly.

- It was not.

Are you or are you not Tully O'Neil?

- I ain't the O'Neil champ of England.

- Hold it, hold it.

Now, isn't it in the fight articles

that if either fighter fails to show,

he forfeits the purse and the wagers?

- That's right.

These articles called for a fight between Tully O'Neil,

the champion of England, and Sorley Boy McDonald.

Tully O'Neil did not show.

The purse and the wagers on O'Neil are forfeited.

(crowd cheering)

(dramatic music)

- Oh, me poor lamb. Me poor man.

If you could see the face on you.

Does that hurt, Sorley?

- Men.

- No, Martha, please don't.

- I have nothing to say to you, Jack McGivern.

- Ah, don't be too hard on him, ma'am.

Maybe in a way it was a good thing he done.

You see, it was showing off his muscles around the saloons

that made Sorley Boy the worthless creature he is.

Now with the lickin' he got

he doesn't dare show his face around town

so he has to go to work.

Don't you, me darling man?

So begging your pardon, ma'am,

but I'll have to be given your notice

that I won't be coming to clean for you anymore.

With a man working, there's no need for it.

- Won't be coming to clean?

Now see what you've done!

- What, darling?

- You've just made me lose the only

decent cleaning woman in San Francisco.

- Now Martha, we can-

- Don't you dare "Now Martha" me.

Let me tell you something, Jack McGivern.

From now on when there's cleaning to be done,

you're going to roll up your sleeves and pitch in.

- Oh, I will, I will!

- Thanks, darling.

You've given me back me man.

♪ California ♪

♪ Oh I've traveled here, I've traveled there ♪

♪ I guess I've been most everywhere ♪

♪ But I like where I am today and here is where I'll stay ♪

♪ Now one thing I just can't endure ♪

♪ Is being broke and being poor ♪

♪ So I've come west to take the cure ♪

♪ And here is where I'll stay ♪

♪ I've come to California, California ♪

♪ There's gold in them there hills in California ♪

♪ I've come to live where life is best ♪

♪ In the golden west ♪

♪ I'm gonna strike it rich in California ♪

♪ California, California ♪

♪ There's gold in them there hills ♪

♪ In California ♪

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