A blind dog in a meat house is exactly what Wilson classified his money maker - Milford, a heavy weight monster plundering the body and head of his bewildered opponent. Milford was bloody and worn from the interchange as he returned to his corner. Milford was glad the twelfth round was over as he dropped heavily on the stool; his breathing lumbered, and his right eye, a baseball size bulge, purple and inflamed; a small cut just below his other eye.
As soon as Milford sank into his seat, Wilson, his trainer, started his routine of commands - bring up your elbow, bend your knees more.... Wilson pointed out all the weaknesses in the opponents stance; and, just before the opening bell sounded, Wilson spoke pearls while maintaining a frown of assured confidence.*
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