Walker Smith had gone by the name Ray Robinson for 18 months or more at the time of his debut. In fact, the name change led to the general acceptance of the little white lie that Robinson was undefeated in the amateur ranks. He actually lost at least a few of his fights, because for years nobody bothered to look up earlier fights under his birth name.

Similarly, Armstrong changed his fighting name early in his career. He was born Henry Jackson Jr. and fought as Henry Armstrong since just after his pro career began. Fighting names, sobriquets and alter-egos had long been common in boxing, and fighters changed their names for any variety of reasons.

Both Robinson and Armstrong followed the path of Cuban star Kid Chocolate, born Eligio Sardinas. “The Keed” helped non-heavyweight boxing persevere through the Great Depression, drawing huge crowds and earning five-figure paydays when times were tough for most. Armstrong read about the money Kid Chocolate made and decided to become a fighter. Robinson claimed he once shined Chocolate’s shoes on Lenox Avenue in Harlem and received a five dollar tip and some early fighting advice.

After Armstrong lost his title to Zivic, he had every intention of reclaiming it. After all, like Kid Chocolate, “Hammerin’ Hank” was one of the fistic stars of the 1930s, indeed one of its biggest, likely surpassed only by Joe Louis. When it comes to history, Armstrong is a deified urban legend made flesh. He was the man who held three lineal titles simultaneously and came within reach of a fourth. No fighter before or since has done the same.

Armstrong never gave up easily, either. He lost his rematch with Zivic and flirted with retirement as the scar tissue around his eyes gave way in subsequent fights. Armstrong then achieved partial vengeance with a win over Zivic for no title. And he went 23-3 on what he openly called a comeback before running into a 22-year-old Ray Robinson on August 27, 1943, 83 years ago today.

Six months earlier, Robinson was an undefeated welterweight contender. His management team ran with stories that Sugar Ray hadn’t lost in more than 100 fights, going back into the amateurs. It was actually an old trick used by Kid Chocolate’s manager, Luis “Pincho” Gutiérrez.

Robinson ran into massive trouble against long-time nemesis Jake LaMotta in the second of their six fights in February of 1943, on the eve of Robinson joining the U.S. Army, losing a decision. He later defeated LaMotta for a second time, making their series 2-1 for the Sugar man, but any mystique of being unbeaten was gone and he looked shaky in a few other fights.

The primary issue with Armstrong’s style was that the intensity couldn’t last. Against Robinson he was only 30, which is usually considered well within a fighter’s physical prime. But in his 12 years as a pro, Armstrong fought more than 150 times. He also approached almost every fight as if it could be his last. His style wasn’t just relentless, but sustained mayhem. Some opponents waited for him to get tired and stop punching, and when it never happened, they were in hell.

Armstrong fought twice after Mike Jacobs, leader of the 20th Century Boxing Club, initially announced Robinson-Armstrong would take place at the Polo Grounds in New York. The fight changed venues in the lead-up, likely due to surprising interest considering the clear “young vs old” implications, and it moved to the Garden, where they shared a card three years earlier.

Apart from youth, Robinson had speed and incredible footwork on his side. Eye-catching stoppages and agile dancing maneuvers made Robinson a sight to behold even in his amateur days. His only real vulnerabilities were an inside game that wasn't his forte and questionable stamina. That left the door open for a potentially refreshed Armstrong to have success, some reasoned. The masses stood with Robinson, however, making him a clear 3-to-1 favorite in the betting.

Even at his best, Armstrong wasn’t a big welterweight. He rarely hit the 147-pound limit, and Robinson was about five inches taller. When they weighed in, Armstrong scaled five pounds lighter at 140 pounds, making Armstrong’s task even more difficult.

It could be that Robinson’s style was all wrong for both the 1940s version of Armstrong and the 1930s one. In the ring, forward motion and aggression are usually countered with movement, angles and speed, all in Robinson’s repertoire. Either way, this latter day Armstrong had no chance at even winning a round.

Nat Fleischer, founder and editor of The Ring, wrote: “Henry was out for the money, as he admitted. He hoped to make a good showing. He hoped to last the limit. He did the latter, but not the former. Other than a stout heart and a will to carry on as of old, Henry had nothing. Robinson was his master from the start.”

Robinson darted out of danger anytime it appeared, which wasn’t often. Armstrong was never a huge puncher, and his delivery system wore out anyway. When he lashed out at Robinson or charged forth, the young man was rarely there. For 10 rounds, Robinson played keep away, occasionally swatting the ex-champion with a sweeping right hand.

The crowd of more than 15,000 evidently felt Robinson intentionally missed chances to take Armstrong out, or at least ramp up the punishment, and they booed after Robinson won every round and a dominant 10-round decision.

Armstrong could have passed Robinson the proverbial torch had his flame not already slowly burned out. Sugar Ray was positioned for stardom whether he fought Armstrong or not, though the win for Robinson provided him with more fuel to call himself the uncrowned welterweight champion as he waited years for his shot.

In Armstrong’s dressing room, “Homicide Hank” quietly told reporters: “I am through with the ring. My comeback is at an end.”

Unsurprisingly, the retirement didn’t stick. Armstrong fought on for more than a year before he got out of the fight game for good. He may have ended up another name on Robinson’s resume, but a shocking number of great fighters suffered the same sweet fate.

Ultimately Robinson-Armstrong was a fight between two of the greatest of all time. Boxing, wanton in its cruelty, physically punished both men for their greatness. Sadly, the handful of years separating the heydays of both fighters also made for a cruel vindication of time’s effects rather than the incredibly meaningful matchup it could have been.