Without
a doubt, Patterson took the best headshot to the ringpost that I've ever
seen. Everyone, including me, was convinced that he'd just torn his
head off, as there was no question that his forehead had made contact with
that post...again, with perfect timing. In 1971, a headshot to the
steel ringpost meant only one thing: you had to be hurt, you had
to be cut -- it's only logical. When flesh meets steel, that equals
blood.
And
when Patterson got color, it always came from the right right side of his
forehead over his right eye. The blood flowing down just one side
of his face was very impressive to me, it seemed to give the injury a more
credible look. And that's what the San Franscico territory was built
on; logic and credibility. No helter skelter, impromptu, last-minute
finishes or decisions. Every angle, every finish, in every town,
was thoroughly thought-out and plotted by a brilliant promoter...