Baltimore Evening Sun (30 March 1912): 6.

The end came quickly. Through a rift in the rosin dust, which had been leaping from the mat in suffocating clouds, the spectators saw the shoulders of the Hon. Mr. Anderson yield suddenly to the titanic shove of the Hon. Mr. Crain—and it was all over but the drinking!
—Prosit!—

At once the dust clouds lifted and surgeons and seconds sprang into the ring. It was found that the Hon. Mr. Anderson had lost an ear, seven teeth and the ungual phalanx of the second finger of his right hand. In addition, the surgeons detected a fracture of the left humerus, a crack in the corresponding scapula and an extensive laceration of the flexor sublimis digitorum. Various contusions and abrasions completed a picture of appalling havoc. Both of the honorable gentlemen’s eyes were closed and but little hair remained upon his scalp.
—Skoal!—

His antagonist, though less seriously mutilated, still did not escape unscathed. The surgeons found that the bones of his right forearm, which had borne the brunt of his last devastating shove, were bent to the form of semi-circles, and that their accompanying extensor carpi radialist longior was torn from its mooring, and flapped lazily in the wind. The right eye, though still open, was extremely discolored. The left eye was a mere smudge. A series of small wounds in parallel series on the right cheek bore the aspect of teeth marks.
—Zum wohl!—

Both boys, however, seemed in fairly good shape despite their injuries, and the Hon. Mr. Anderson, when assisted to his feet, insisted upon addressing the crowd. Said he:

Bob throwed me fair. [Applause.] I give him that. [Cheers.] But one throw don’t show nothing. If he can put me down two out of three, then I take off my hat to him. What I want now is a rest. But when these doctors fix me up I’ll be ready for him again—and then maybe you’ll see something to make you holler. Don’t go away with no idea that I can’t come back. [Plaudits.] Just watch me! Thanking you one and all, I remain, yours truly. [Long-continued cheers and cries of “Good old Bill!”]
—Here’s how!—

The Hon. Mr. Crain contented himself with less extensive remarks. Said he:

Thanking you for your kind attention, I remain, yours respectfully. [Cheers.]
—Zwei mehr!—

After the boys had been removed to the infirmary, Young Cochran, Bill’s manager, stepped into the ring and issued a challenge for a return match. This challenge was promptly accepted by Jim Trippe and Elmer Cook, friends of Bob’s, and the details will be arranged at once. The spectators left the ringside greatly pleased with the entertainment they had witnessed. The contest had been waged with extraordinary ferocity, but both boys had observed the rules carefully and there were no charges of unfairness.
—Schnell, Otto!—

The only untoward incident was an assault upon one of the spectators, the Hon. Mahoni Amicus, of Baltimore. While the honorable gentleman was craning his neck to see the grappling and shouting encouragement to both boys, some miscreant sneaked behind him and gave him a wallop with a piece of curb-stone. The offender was at once tackled and overpowered by the gendarmes. He turned out to be a Johns Hopkins professor and on the curb-stone he had ascribed, in bad Greek, the words: “Tech School.” Fortunately enough, the Hon. Mr. Amicus suffered nothing more than a scalp wound, and later on he announced that he would not prosecute his assailant.
—Nicht so viel Schaum!—

Battle-cry suggested by a learned Latinist of our fair city:

Aqua pura sterilatum! Musca domestica swatum! Helpibus Henricuss damnatum!
—Bier hier!—

And with it comes the following ameliorative footnote:

Damnatum is in the ablative absolute case, and so qualifies the penultimate subjective musca, and not, as might be supposed, Henricus.
—Mit Geschwindigkeit!—

How the vote stands in the grand contest for the honor of nominating H. I. M. Ego-Ego on the floor of the Democratic National Convention:

—Pst! Herr Oberkellner!—

A hot fight, with a close finish in sight! Until last night the Right Hon. Jim Trippe seemed an easy and certain winner, but his sensational surrender to the hongoblins of the Johns Hopkins, those sworn foes of Old-Fashioned Democracy, appears to have caused a reaction against him, for this morning messengers brought in thousands of votes for the Hon. McCay McCoy. Just what candidate the super-Mahon himself is now supporting is a bit in doubt. At the start he was said to favor the Hon. Isaac Lobe Straus, and later on all of his closest friends were voting for the Hon. Mr. Trippe, but now the word seems to be passing that the Hon. McCay McCoy is the organization candidate. Meanwhile a rumor persists that the super-Mahon will disregard the result of the poll and do the nominating himself.
—Drei Dunkeln!—

The balloting will close on Monday, promptly at the first stroke of noon. Skilled tabulators will at once tackle the heavy task of counting the votes, and the result will be announced from the east portico of the City Hall at 1 P. M. Tuesday and printed in The Evening Sun of that day. —O Muenchen!—Here is the voting coupon, which now appears for the last time. Fill it out, sign your name and send it to the Judges of Election, in care of The Evening Sun, before Monday noon:

For the distinguished honor of placing H. I. M. Ego-Ego in nomination as Democratic candidate for Vice-President of the United States, I vote for
The Hon. .........................................
(Signed) ..............................

—Otto! Bitte!—

Only two days more of gouging and grappling at Annapolis! Then the humane entrance of the constitutional cop—and a clearing of the ring!