Becky Zerlentes died of a head injury sustained in a Golden Gloves boxing competition on April 2. (AP Photo/Front Range Community College)

Becky Zerlentes wasn't even born when boxer Davey Moore lost his life after a famous 1963 title bout against Ultiminio (Sugar) Ramos at Dodger Stadium.

Zerlentes joined the tragic ranks of pugilists who perished from injuries sustained inside the ring when she died two Sundays ago, less than 24 hours after lying in an unconscious heap on the canvas in an amateur bout in Denver. She was 34.

A college teacher and a former regional Golden Gloves champion, Zerlentes is the first woman to die of injuries from a sanctioned boxing match in the U.S., according to USA Boxing, the national governing body for Olympic-style boxing.

In the third round, Zerlentes took a shot to the head above her left eye (not unlike the thousands of routine blows that occur in boxing each year) and dropped to the mat. The blow caused internal bleeding in her head that eventually led to her death.

The Denver District Attorney's office reviewed the incident but decided there was no basis for criminal charges, saying the bout was "conducted in accordance with all applicable regulations and there were no reckless or negligent actions on the part of anyone involved."

The fight was conducted under the auspices of USA Boxing, which meant that Zerlentes and her opponent underwent a pre-bout physical, wore protective headgear in the ring and that a certified doctor was stationed ringside during the bout.

In the aftermath of Zerlentes's death, there has been no talk by local politicians to ban boxing. No groundswell of support in the medical community calling for tougher restrictions on the fight game. No outrage from religious groups condemning the "moral corruption" of the sweet science.

Instead, there has been a reasoned acknowledgement that Zerlentes's death was tragic but unpreventable. There was no such acknowledgement 42 years ago.

More than 26,000 boxing fans streamed into an almost-new Dodger Stadium on March 21, 1963 to watch Moore defend his world featherweight title against Ramos.

Nicknamed the Little Giant - he stood 5-foot-2 1/2 and weighed 126 pounds - Moore was a diminutive but tough boxer with a powerful punch who often joked "only 10 seconds separate me from being champion or nothing."

At 29, the fan-favourite Moore was in the fourth year of his title reign but faced a stiff challenge in Ramos, an up-and-coming 21-year-old Cuban refugee and the No. 1 contender to the featherweight crown.

The Moore-Ramos tilt, one of three title fights on the card, was staged with a ghoulish backdrop. Two tragedies within the previous year - the ring-related death of Benny (Kid) Paret, and Alejandro Lavorante lying in a coma in a Los Angeles hospital at the time of the fight - cast a dark shadow over boxing.

Shadow or not, local promoters hyped the card huge, as the gathered crowd -- the majority of them Latinos cheering on Ramos -- paid as much as $30 a ticket to see a battle between two gladiators.

"The fight had begun as a study in politeness," wrote Los Angeles Herald-Examiner columnist Melvin Durslag. "At the end of each of the early rounds, the boys did more than touch gloves in the sometimes friendly custom of the sport. They threw their arms around each other as if greeting an immigrant cousin.

"All the while, a savage war was developing."

Indeed. The younger Ramos battered Moore with punches early on, and in the fatal 10th round the young Cuban's pounding reached a crescendo. An offensive flurry by Ramos sent Moore staggering across the sweat-stained ring before a left hook shot him reeling backwards into the ropes and down to the mat.

Miraculously, Moore got up from the blow as the bell rang to end the round, but he lost the fight and the title when his manager threw in the towel.

Moore took a vicious beating, but he appeared to be okay when he walked back to the dressing room where he told reporters: "I'd like to fight Ramos again."

The situation took an ominous turn, however, when Moore complained of a headache and was rushed to a local hospital that night after falling unconscious. He never came out of his coma and died on March 23.

It was an aberration, a "one-in-a-million accident," said one doctor. But that did little to quell the storm of hysteria that was forming and the resultant public rage that rained down with Biblical fury on boxing.

California's Governor Pat Brown wasted little time in asking the state legislature to ban "this so-called sport." The April 5, 1963, issue of Time reported that bills to ban boxing were introduced in several states, including Ohio, where lawmakers wrote, "the legislature has seen fit to outlaw dogfights, bearfights and cockfights. The least they could do is the same for humans."

Public outcry reached as far away as Vatican City, where Pope John XXIII denounced boxing as "barbaric," and that "fist fights are contrary to natural principles."

The incident even inspired a singer no less famous than Bob Dylan to write a song about it. In Who Killed Davey Moore? Dylan condemned all those involved - from "the referee … [who] could've stopped it in the eighth" and "the boxing writer pounding print on his old typewriter" to the "man whose fists laid him low in a cloud of mist" and the "angry crowd, whose screams filled the arena loud" - for refusing to accept responsibility for their roles in the macabre drama that played out at Dodger Stadium.

Boxing was slow to take action after Moore died.

Softer padding enclosing the ropes and a looser fourth rope were introduced to prevent a similar accident from happening. However, it took another tragedy, the death of South Korea's Duk Koo Kim in 1982, to institute real change in the sport (see factbox below).

Thankfully, medical advances and rule changes have resulted in fewer deaths: boxing ranks eighth in fatality rates for all sports - 1.3 deaths per 100,000 participants, according to the Johns Hopkins Medical Institute.

These changes in boxing can't prevent more Becky Zerlenteses from happening, but they have resulted in far fewer Davey Moores.

The times they are a-changin'.

FACTBOX: Other notable boxing deaths:

Frankie Campbell squared off against future world heavyweight champion Max Baer on Aug. 25, 1930 in San Francisco. Baer unmercifully pounded on Campbell, eventually flooring him in the fifth round. Doctors scrambled to revive Campbell in the ring before he was rushed to a local hospital. He died from a severe concussion of the brain. Baer was charged with manslaughter, but was later cleared.

Former Argentinean champion Alejandro Lavorante suffered knockout losses to Archie Moore and Cassius Clay in 1962 (he was carried from the ring on a stretcher after the Moore bout) before losing a September fight against John Riggins in Los Angeles. He clung to life in a local hospital before dying more than a year later from injuries sustained in the Riggins bout. He was 27.

Benny (Kid) Paret slipped into a coma and died 10 days after being knocked out in a March 1962 title fight against welterweight champion Emile Griffith at Madison Square Garden. Paret's death was headline news as millions of Americans saw the fight live on national television. Paret was 25.

Former Canadian lightweight champion Cleveland Denny was knocked out in the 10th round of his bout against Gatean Hart on June 20, 1980 at Montreal's Olympic Stadium. Denny, 24, died 16 days later.

On Nov. 13, 1982, World Boxing Association lightweight champion Ray (Boom Boom) Mancini scored a knockout victory in the 14th round over South Korean challenger Duk Koo Kim. Kim, 23, sustained brain injuries and died five days later. In the aftermath, studies were conducted that showed a boxer usually absorbs more punishment after the 12th round. As a result, the World Boxing Council immediately shortened its title bouts from 15 to 12 rounds. The WBA, World Boxing Organization and International Boxing Federation later followed suit.