What do you think?
Rate this book
Tom Cribb: The Life of the Black Diamond
Bareknuckle fighter Thomas Cribb (1781–1848) was a sporting legend whose exploits still feature in thousands of publications on boxing, a primitive activity he dragged from the gutter into the smoking rooms of country houses.His most famous bouts were against Tom Molineaux, a black American. These fights really captured the imagination of the British public—the English patriot versus the black American slave. People slept in ditches and dangled from trees to catch a glimpse of a fight that would never be forgotten. The exploits of Cribb popularized boxing among the upper classes, and in 1821 Cribb was a page at the coronation of King George IV. Later, after he became Mine Host at the Castle Tavern in Bristol, his fame drew all kinds: famous writers and nobles including Lord Byron. Important new research on the life of this iconic fighter is brought to light. This story brings to life not only the sport of boxing in its infancy, but also paints a vivid picture of 18th- and 19th-century England.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2008
13 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
June 6, 2025
Tom Cribb: The Life of the Black Diamond. Black Diamond is not a racial reference, before his fighting career, and among several other jobs, Mr. Cribb worked in the coal trade. His was the time of bare-knuckle fighting and not boxing, when the Marquis of Queensbury's rules would have been judged suitable for girls.
The author makes the sheer brutality of the sport very clear: fights continued until one of the combatants gave in or collapsed from injury or exhaustion with contests lasting up to one hundred rounds. Knockouts were rare as punches to the head could damage the fighters' hands. Punches to the throat seem to have been a preferred method of downing an opponent. Cuts and swellings would be brushed away with cold water, faintness cured with several sniffs of sal volatile or a swig of neat brandy, and fighters were expected to continue with broken ribs, fingers or even a fractured arm.
The sport was not legal, being possibly seen as an extension of duelling, but it satisfied a lust for violence that permeated all classes of society and fights could always be arranged. The money that backed the events came from a group of gambling gentry known as the Fancy. While its older members may have watched the fights from the comfort of their carriages it seems to have been a matter of pride among the younger to be as close to ringside as possible and be sprayed by blood, sweat and saliva as part of the sport. Tom Cribb was one of the gladiators at the heart of the sport and I suppose to the classicly educated gentry there was an element of gladiatorial combat involved. The sport started to fall apart with the fights between Simon Byrne and Sandy McKay and later that between Byrne and a fighter known as Deaf Burke. McKay in the first fight and Byrne in the second were so badly mauled that they died from their injuries. Things had to change.
It is a very entertaining biography and often intentionally amusing, though the author gets carried away, as many sports journalists do, with hyperbole:
“While he sat on Gully's knee looking as queasy as a toddler in a bath of Bird's custard, Gully grabbed the brandy bottle and forced it between Cribb's blood flecked lips.”
“One fierce counter collided with Gregson's mug, erasing brain cells. Gregson fell like a ship's mast snapped by a force ten.”
“Cribb crawled around the stage like a baby that had been savaged by a sow.”
I don't really understand that last one but there are lots of examples and, to the author's credit, I don't recollect him repeating himself. Mr. Hurley also loves bringing in old terms such as tapping the claret (nose-bleeds), taking a shellacking (being punched insensible) or fib'd the poet's nob (I have to confess that one baffles me but it sounds painful.) There is a rich set of characters from Captain Robert Barclay, champion pedestrian - that is, he walked for money, in terms of bets - and Cribb's trainer and manager, through the ferocious list of scrappers: Jem Belcher, the formidable Black American Tom Molyneaux, Daniel Mendoza, Dutch Sam, and Tom Spring, Cribb's protege. If you don't mind wiping away the odd spot of spilled blood it's well worth a read.
The author makes the sheer brutality of the sport very clear: fights continued until one of the combatants gave in or collapsed from injury or exhaustion with contests lasting up to one hundred rounds. Knockouts were rare as punches to the head could damage the fighters' hands. Punches to the throat seem to have been a preferred method of downing an opponent. Cuts and swellings would be brushed away with cold water, faintness cured with several sniffs of sal volatile or a swig of neat brandy, and fighters were expected to continue with broken ribs, fingers or even a fractured arm.
The sport was not legal, being possibly seen as an extension of duelling, but it satisfied a lust for violence that permeated all classes of society and fights could always be arranged. The money that backed the events came from a group of gambling gentry known as the Fancy. While its older members may have watched the fights from the comfort of their carriages it seems to have been a matter of pride among the younger to be as close to ringside as possible and be sprayed by blood, sweat and saliva as part of the sport. Tom Cribb was one of the gladiators at the heart of the sport and I suppose to the classicly educated gentry there was an element of gladiatorial combat involved. The sport started to fall apart with the fights between Simon Byrne and Sandy McKay and later that between Byrne and a fighter known as Deaf Burke. McKay in the first fight and Byrne in the second were so badly mauled that they died from their injuries. Things had to change.
It is a very entertaining biography and often intentionally amusing, though the author gets carried away, as many sports journalists do, with hyperbole:
“While he sat on Gully's knee looking as queasy as a toddler in a bath of Bird's custard, Gully grabbed the brandy bottle and forced it between Cribb's blood flecked lips.”
“One fierce counter collided with Gregson's mug, erasing brain cells. Gregson fell like a ship's mast snapped by a force ten.”
“Cribb crawled around the stage like a baby that had been savaged by a sow.”
I don't really understand that last one but there are lots of examples and, to the author's credit, I don't recollect him repeating himself. Mr. Hurley also loves bringing in old terms such as tapping the claret (nose-bleeds), taking a shellacking (being punched insensible) or fib'd the poet's nob (I have to confess that one baffles me but it sounds painful.) There is a rich set of characters from Captain Robert Barclay, champion pedestrian - that is, he walked for money, in terms of bets - and Cribb's trainer and manager, through the ferocious list of scrappers: Jem Belcher, the formidable Black American Tom Molyneaux, Daniel Mendoza, Dutch Sam, and Tom Spring, Cribb's protege. If you don't mind wiping away the odd spot of spilled blood it's well worth a read.
May 8, 2021
Excellent read! Richly evokes the era of bare knuckle fighting and the colourful life and times of Tom Cribb and company!
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews