Boxer's wee friend to Spooner

Usage examples of middleweight.

On April the first, the day after the disastrous payday, Pvt Icl Bloom the potential middleweight, Pvt Icl Malleaux the new man and potential featherweight, and several other Pfcs who were potential went on Detached Service with the new class at the Regimental NCO School.

She learned that she had just missed a Wild West pageant, recreated from Earth's ancient past, as well as a much-ballyhooed match for the freehand middleweight championship of the Inner Frontier.

He was chocolate skin on a middleweight wrestler's frame, she was tall, pale, and coltishly slim.

I told him about my plans to spend the upcoming month-long Christmas break in the Albany, New York, training camp of “Gentleman” John Griffin, a political science major at Brockport who was putting himself through school by moonlighting as a professional middleweight boxer.

He was a Mex middleweight out of El Monte, fast, with knockout power in both hands and a crablike defense, guard high, elbows pressed to his sides to deflect body blows.

He looked like a fourth-rate middleweight whose manager has let him be outmatched.

My assignment was to cover Rocky Fratto, an undefeated junior middleweight who hailed from Geneva, in the nearby Finger Lakes region.

I really wanted to see how the middleweight wrestler was going to do against the light heavyweight.

Charlie, now a light middleweight, couldn't wait to get in the ring while Tommy somehow managed to keep himself out of the firing line, although both of them became aware of Captain Trentham's menacing presence as his swagger stick continually struck the side of his leg.

I thought about being good but not really good, about keeping my weight down when I could have put on an extra ten pounds and fought heavyweight, about fighting tortilla-stuffed Mexican middleweights at the Eagle Rock Legion Hall where my old man went to his Bund meetings.

He ordered a martini, then sought out a small booth in the shadows at the back of the room, and spent the next hour nursing his drink while watching a procession of fights leading up to the main event, which featured two Oriental middleweights whose names were unfamiliar to him.

He remembered staying in a ratty pink hotel with two other middleweights, and he remembered getting drunk on Saturday nights and, out of sheer boredom, beating the shit out of skinny Cuban refugees who lived in the city parks.

I've run from more than I can count, and lived never to regret it, and this lean ten stone of quivering, fighting fury, obviously nimble as a weasel and built like a champion middleweight, was the last man I wanted to try conclusions with-well, I'd been ill.