Growing Up With The Greatest
Patrick Triplett
Published by Patrick Triplett at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Patrick Triplett
Ironically, my first memory of the man who would become my favorite athlete of all time was that I wanted him to lose. As I listened to the radio broadcast of the 1964 heavyweight championship fight along with my dad, his hope, and therefore mine was that champion and baddest man on the planet Sonny Liston would demolish the brash, mouthy newcomer named Cassius Clay and shut him up for good.
I was 16 and beginning to feel the passion that my dad had for sports. There were three pennants that hung in my bedroom, seemingly from birth - the Chicago Cubs, Chicago Bears, and the Iowa Hawkeyes. We listened to their games religiously on the radio and watched them on television whenever they were on. I grew to feel my dad's exhilaration when they won and his pain when they lost.
He was also a boxing fan, in my mind an expert. He told me about the legends, from Jack Dempsey to Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and Sugar Ray Robinson. I had never seen a boxing match before, but was enthralled by his stories and inspired by his fervor for the sport. He was able to paint pictures in my mind of the great fights in history, Louis vs. Schmelling, Marciano vs. Walcott, and Robinson vs. LaMotta. He talked about them in detail, virtually round by round, and left me spellbound.
On the night of February 25th, we listened as ring commentator Don Dunphy called the Liston vs. Clay fight. I knew a little about both fighters, having learned that Liston knocked out former champion Floyd Patterson twice in the first round and was considered to be invincible, while the cocky Clay guaranteed victory even though most experts predicted Liston would do to him what he had done to Patterson.
The fight didn't go as expected. Clay not only hung in there, but was winning on points until the fourth round, when he began retreating due to some mysterious problem with his eyes. Liston won the next two rounds and appeared to be on his way to winning the fight. But Clay regained his vision in round six and pummeled the champion, so much so that Liston refused to come out of his corner for the seventh round, ending the match and giving Cassius Clay an improbable victory and the heavyweight championship.
I remember my dad shaking his head in disbelief. The announcers weren't sure what had transpired either, with Clay having trouble seeing and then Liston quitting on his stool. They showed sporadic highlights of the fight on television the next day, but it was hard to tell exactly what really happened. The whole scenario seemed bizarre. We heard reports ranging from Liston's corner men having put an illegal substance on his gloves which impaired Clay's vision to Liston having suffered a shoulder injury, causing him to call off the fight.
We eagerly awaited the rematch, convinced that whatever had transpired in their first fight was a fluke and that Liston would regain the title over the unpopular new champion. Prior to the fight Clay did something that rendered him even more of a villain in the eyes of the public. He announced that he had joined the Muslim faith and changed his name to Muhammad Ali. He befriended radical extremists like Elijah Muhammad and Malcolm X, who labeled white Americans as racists. During an era when the heavyweight champion of the world was revered, this one was reviled.
I listened to the rematch on the radio along with my dad, confident that Clay or Ali, or whatever he called himself, would finally get what was coming to him and go away forever. It didn't happen. Halfway through the first round Liston was floored by a punch that no one seemed to see, including a young commentator named Howard Cosell, who was calling the fight. Chaos ensued as Ali stood over the fallen challenger, yelling at him to get up. But Liston didn't get up. At least not in time. The fight was over, and like it or not, we had to live with the fact that an egotistic 23 year-old black man with a foreign sounding name and a resentment toward white Americans was the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world.
As in their first fight, the match ended in controversy. People were calling it the “Phantom Punch” fight, and there was speculation that Liston had taken a dive. In watching replays, the whole scene looked odd, with Liston having gone down after what seemed like an ordinary punch and Ali standing over him, yelling for him to get up rather than going to a neutral corner. The referee was as confused as the fans, and chants of “fix” could be heard throughout the arena. The outcome certainly didn't help Ali's already shaky reputation. To say he was the most controversial and disliked athlete in the country would be an understatement.
The Sixties were a turbulent decade, ripe with social and political unrest over racial issues and the Vietnam War. But up until that time, no athlete in history, even the infamous Jack Johnson decades before, dared to take a stand the way Muhammad Ali did. He went against the grain, antagonizing the public rather than being content to accept their admiration and relish his status as heavyweight champion of the world.
People wanted someone to dethrone him – anyone, black or white. But it would soon become apparent that wasn't going to happen. In watching taped replays of Ali's fights I was able to witness what I had only until then heard and read about. What I saw was a man who toyed with opponents like a cat toying with a cornered mouse before devouring it. Circling around the ring, dancing and flicking lightening quick jabs into his opponent's face – three, four, five at a time, then retreating out of harm's way when they tried to retaliate, only to repeat the process again and again, eventually rendering them demoralized and helpless before moving in for the kill.
One by one I watched them fall. Floyd Patterson, George Chuvalo, Henry Cooper, Brian London and Karl Mildenberger. Ali even predicted the round in which it would happen. On November 14th, 1966, Muhammad Ali put on a display against number one-ranked challenger Cleveland Williams that defied belief. The fight was televised, and it soon became obvious that my dad and I were witnessing something special. Ali's blinding jabs, foot speed, defense and punching power all came together that night in the Houston Astrodome while 35,000 onlookers, mostly rooting for Williams, stood frozen, as if unable to fathom what they were seeing. After going to the canvas for the fourth time in the first seven minutes, the referee mercifully stopped the fight. Analysts at ringside estimated that Ali had landed 98 punches to just three for Williams.
I remember looking over at my dad afterward and asking him why Williams didn't put up more of a fight. “He couldn't,” he said. When I asked him if it was because Williams was a bad fighter my dad replied, “He's a good fighter. He just didn't know what to do.” I then asked, “Is Ali really that good?” He looked at me and nodded, as if he didn't want to admit it but couldn't deny it.
That night left a lasting impression on me. It was one of those moments that must have been like watching Babe Ruth hit a home run, or Bobby Jones hit a golf ball. The look on my dad's face that night told me everything I needed to know. I had witnessed greatness.
From that night on I began revering the man whom I once hated. By 1967 Ali had become so dominant that watching his fights were longer contests, they were virtuoso performances. After watching him dispose of Ernie Terrell and Zora Folley I was convinced that no one could stop him in the ring. I didn't foresee that someone could stop him outside of it.
On April 28th, 1967, Muhammad Ali refused to enter the draft for induction into the military, claiming he was a conscientious objector and famously stating, “I ain't got no quarrel with them Viet Cong. They never called me nigger.” As a result Ali was stripped of his title and suspended from boxing. In June he was sentenced for having committed a felony and faced five years in prison. His attorneys would spend the next three years appealing to have his sentence overturned.
The greatest fighter of his era, perhaps of any era, was denied the right to fight. Ali went on a speaking tour of colleges and universities, becoming a proponent of civil rights and a spokesman for the injustice of the war in Vietnam. Ali became a hero to the young generation who opposed the war and to those who fought for racial equality.
Support for Ali continued to grow. Athletes, politicians, and journalists lobbied on his behalf to have his sentence overturned and his title restored. Among his biggest supporters was sports commentator Howard Cosell, who publicly broadcast to the nation that the verdict against Ali was unfair and should be overturned. Eventually the U.S. Supreme Court reversed the decision and allowed Ali to fight again. But his title would not be restored. It now belonged to a man named Joe Frazier.
In 1967 the New York State Athletic Commission decided to hold an elimination tournament to fill the vacated title. Frazier refused to be a part of the tournament, but agreed to fight the eventual winner, Jimmy Ellis. The undefeated Frazier destroyed Ellis, knocking him out in the fourth round and being recognized as the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world.
That set the stage for the most dramatic confrontation in ring history. The “Fight of the Century” would take place in Madison Square Garden on march 8th, 1971. It would mark the first time that two undefeated fighters would square off for the undisputed heavyweight championship. To call it the most anticipated fight in boxing history was a given. It may well have been the biggest sporting event of all time.
The big question heading into the title match was whether Muhammad Ali's brilliant skills had declined due to the three year layoff. He looked ring rusty and sluggish in his tuneup fights against Jerry Quarry and Oscar Bonavena. Meanwhile, at 28 Joe Frazier was at the top of his game. A fierce puncher with a lethal left hook, “Smokin' Joe” was primed and ready to face the man whom many considered to still be the rightful champion.
As was his routine, Ali taunted his opponent in the days leading up to the fight, predicting he would easily dispose of Frazier and reclaim his rightful title. The fight was shown live worldwide on closed circuit in theaters, and my dad and I were among those in attendance. While I was rooting heavily for Ali my dad had mixed feelings. I recall him telling me before the bout that he didn't care if Ali won, as long as he knew he was in a fight. He got his wish and then some.
In a savage display of boxing, both fighters landed shot after shot from the opening bell. Frazier continually swarmed in, hoping to get land one solid punch while Ali jabbed away at him. By the 12th round Frazier's face was puffy and bloody, his eyes nearly swollen shut, yet he kept coming at Ali, throwing thunderous punches. At the start of the 15th and final round the fight was virtually even. Halfway through the round, Frazier finally landed his trademark left hook flush on Ali's jaw, knocking him down. Ali got up at the count of four and finished the fight, but the knockdown was enough to award Frazier the victory.
I had watched my share of sporting events by then, including World Series's, Super Bowls and NBA championships, but I had never see anything that compared to that night. Two men fighting non-stop for 15 rounds, neither willing to give an inch while taking incredible punishment. It was easily the greatest sporting event I had witnessed to that point in my life.
Then it hit me. I hadn't considered the possibility that my hero, the man who spent three years in exile waiting for this moment, would lose. I was so caught up in the drama of the fight that the reality didn't sink in until we had left the theater and were headed home. Suddenly nothing seemed right. It was like Superman losing to Lex Luthor. The good guy lost and the bad guy won. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work.
The big event that millions throughout the world had eagerly awaited was over. And Joe Frazier was undisputed champion of the world, though he certainly didn't look the part. Photos of him after the fight showed a man who looked like he had been in a car accident. His face was so distorted that he was barely recognizable. We later learned that he had to be taken to a hospital, and reports surfaced that he was in critical condition.
Meanwhile Ali, while no doubt devastated over the loss, claimed that he had won the fight and demanded a rematch. To his multitude of fans he was still “The Greatest,” and would set things right as soon as he was given another shot at Frazier. We ignored the reality that Ali had lost much of the quickness in his hands and feet that experts had feared would happen. We convinced ourselves that he was still the old Ali and that he just needed more time to get back into fighting shape.
Frazier eventually recovered after three weeks in the hospital and took nearly a year off before successfully defending his title against two journeymen fighters as a tuneup for his bout with undefeated newcomer George Foreman. Ali continued to fight too in preparation for the much anticipated rematch with Frazier. He defeated ten straight opponents and was scheduled for a rematch with the champion after the Foreman fight.
On January 22nd, 1973, Joe Frazier and George Foreman met in Kingston, Jamaica for the heavyweight title. Though Foreman was big and powerful and undefeated to that point in his young career, few gave him a chance against the reigning champion and the only man to defeat Muhammad Ali.
What transpired that night in Jamaica shook the boxing world. Frazier was knocked down by a Foreman punch halfway into the first round, causing commentator Howard Cosell to utter perhaps the most famous nine words in the annals of boxing, “Down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier.”
The stunned crowd watched in disbelief as Foreman continued to pound away, knocking Frazier down five more times before the fight was stopped in the second round. For the first time in a decade neither Joe Frazier nor Muhammad Ali held the championship belt.
The shocking defeat set the boxing world on its ear. Muhammad Ali's goal of regaining the title was shattered. His scheduled rematch with Frazier would now be nothing more than a non-title bout. Ali, no doubt disappointed, suffered the second defeat of his career two months later at the hands of Ken Norton but avenged the loss by winning the rematch in September. Ali now set his sights on the only other man to beat him.
During a Howard Cosell interview on live television prior to their rematch, Ali, in his usual style began trash talking and calling Frazier “ignorant.” Suddenly Frazier got out of his chair and approached Ali, saying, “Why do you call me ignorant? How am I ignorant?” It became obvious that while Ali was merely putting on a performance, Frazier was deadly serious. Recognizing that, Ali stood up and grabbed Frazier, pulling him down to the floor and attempting to subdue him. The two men began scuffling on the ground, with Frazier striking Ali several times before they could be separated. That moment ignited a spark between the two men that went beyond a sports rivalry. They had become bitter enemies, setting the stage for the rematch.
The fight took place once again at Madison Square Garden on January 28th, 1974, and once again my dad and I attended the event on closed circuit theater. There was no way that it could match the first fight for drama and intensity, but it would come close. Ali, wary this time of Frazier's explosive punching power, suffocated his opponent, not allowing him full leverage on his punches. Ali jabbed away as he had done in their first fight but this time grabbed onto Frazier, forcing the referee to separate them multiple times.
Still, Frazier managed to break through Ali's guard and hit him with several thunderous shots in the eight and ninth rounds while absorbing tremendous punishment. By now it had become obvious to Ali and the rest of the boxing world that Joe Frazier was willing to sacrifice everything in order to beat his hated rival. Ali prevailed in a close decision, but it took everything he had to do it. And it took a lot out of both men.
Though battered from his fights with Frazier and his skills diminishing, Ali still wanted to regain the championship that he felt had always belonged to him. In order to accomplish that he would have to beat a man who by now had become the most dominant force in boxing. Since his victory over Frazier to win the heavyweight championship, George Foreman defended his title three times, knocking out every opponent within the first two rounds, including number one contender Ken Norton. Foreman wasn't just a great puncher. He was a lethal machine, and by 1974 no one wanted any part of him – save one.
Despite friends, family, ring analysts and commentators advising against it Muhammad Ali agreed to fight Foreman for the heavyweight title. The bout would take place in Zaire, Africa on October 30th, 1974. No one gave Ali a chance. He entered the fight as an 8-1 underdog, with most experts predicting he wouldn't last two rounds.
I can vividly recall every detail of that night, even though I never got to witness the fight. My dad and I once again were there to watch it on closed circuit theater, and as much as I loved Ali and wanted him to win, I had to face the reality that he was 33, had slowed over the years, and had lost to two men who Foreman defeated in two rounds. My hope was that Ali could somehow make a fight of it and not be embarrassed or get seriously injured.
As the fighters were being introduced in the center of the ring, the telecast suddenly went blank. Technicians tried in vain to restore the picture while rowdy fans grew impatient, hurling chairs at the giant screen and threatening to tear up the theater. The manager went on stage to a chorus of boos and promised to refund everyone's money if they were unable to fix the problem. Meanwhile, we had to be content with listening to the audio broadcast over the speakers.
Hoping that the telecast would come back on, my dad and I sat there trying our best to figure out what was happening amidst the noise in the theater. I remember hearing the announcer say something about the fifth round, which meant Ali was still hanging in there. Then the sixth, then seventh, and the eighth. Midway through the round we could hear the crowd screaming, drowning out the announcer. Something big had happened, but we didn't know what until moments later when we heard the words, “Muhammad Ali is the new world heavyweight champion.”
My dad and I stared at each other in disbelief. Had we heard it right? Could Ali have actually beaten Foreman? The telecast never came back on and we were refunded our money at the ticket office. It wasn't until we got to our car and turned on the radio that we found out Ali had indeed won, knocking out Foreman in the eighth round. It was one of the most disappointing yet memorable nights of my life. It was arguably the greatest win of Ali's career and I missed it. We went to the nearest bar we could find hoping to see highlights. For the first time I could remember, my dad was actually happy that Ali had won and happy for me knowing how much it meant. We toasted to his victory on a night I will always remember as the moment I bonded with my dad.
Eventually I was able to watch the fight in its entirety on television. Ali did something that shocked everyone, including his own corner men. Instead of dancing around and avoiding Foreman, Ali laid against the ropes, inviting the champion to pound away at him. Manager Angelo Dundee screamed at his fighter to get off the ropes, but Ali stuck to his game plan, and eventually Foreman, who hadn't gone beyond two rounds in over three years, was exhausted. In the eighth, Ali went on the attack, pummeling a worn-out Foreman at will and finally knocking him out. The strategy which Ali had kept to himself worked to perfection.
Once again Muhammad Ali had defied the odds and proved the experts wrong. The stunning victory elevated him to legendary status. The fighter who was once hated was now revered by millions throughout the world. Muhammad Ali had transcended sports and was universally recognized as the most famous person on the planet.
For George Foreman, the loss was devastating. Ali had not only defeated him in the ring, he destroyed his spirit and along with it the myth that Foreman was invincible. It was the first time he had known defeat, both as a professional and an Olympic gold medal champion. There would be no rematch. Foreman would not fight again for nearly two years. For Ali, there was one more challenge that lay ahead.
Joe Frazier called Ali out, claiming that their rivalry stood at one win apiece, and for a third match to decide not only the heavyweight title but equally as important who was the better fighter. Ali accepted, little realizing what he was in for.
The match was to take place in Manilla, Philippines on October 1st,1975. In the days leading up to the fight Ali played to the crowd, showboating in front of cameras and predicting an easy win over his arch-rival who he believed was past his prime and not the threat he once was. Ali mocked Frazier, calling him an “ugly gorilla.”
Unbeknownst to Ali, Joe Frazier trained for the fight like a man possessed. Ali's taunting became Frazier's incentive. Simply winning was no longer the ultimate goal for Frazier. He wanted blood. His deep-seated hatred for Ali had become so intense that he was willing to lay everything on the line for the sake of personal redemption. He was ready to die in the ring.
In what would be forever known as “The Thrilla in Manilla,” Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier staged one of the epic battles in the annals of sports. Once again my dad and I were there to see it on closed circuit television. Ali came out clowning and dancing to the delight of the crowd, while a relentless Frazier bore in on him. As in their previous two fights, Ali inflicted serious damage to Frazier's face while the challenger swung away, hoping to land one big punch. By the fifth round it became obvious to Ali that this was more than a fight. He was in for the battle of his life.
Through 14 rounds the two men engaged in a war that surpassed anything in the history of boxing. Frazier, swollen and bleeding from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, somehow managed to keep coming at Ali with furious blows. The champion threw everything he had in his arsenal but couldn't stop the challenger from attacking him like an enraged Pit Bull.
At the end of the 14th round both fighters staggered back to their corners, totally spent. Frazier's eyes had swollen shut and was rendered virtually blind. Ali slumped on his stool, gasping for breath as his corner men tried to revive him for one final round. Manager Eddie Futch looked at his fighter and said he was going to stop it. Frazier insisted on going back out, telling him, “Give me one more shot at him, boss.” But a teary-eyed Futch refused to see his fighter take further punishment and stopped the fight. Ali attempted to stand up in celebration, but fell face first to the canvas, unconscious.
Had Frazier been allowed to continue, many experts felt that he would have won the fight. Unbeknownst to Frazier's corner men, Ali had told Angelo Dundee to cut off his gloves, that he was dying and could not continue. One could only speculate what would have happened had Futch not called off the fight.
On the night of October 1st, 1975, Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali waged a spectacle than transcended sports. Those who witnessed it could not cheer. They stood there numb, trying to fully grasp what they had seen. My dad and I didn't say a word after the fight. There were no words that could justify it.
Neither man was ever the same after that. Both continued to fight, but were a mere shell of the fighters who had entered the ring that night in Manilla. It was the ultimate test of man's courage, determination and will to win. No one had seen the likes of it before. And in all probability no one will see the likes of it again. Ali said afterward, “It was the closest thing to dying I have ever known.”
I had the opportunity to meet Muhammad Ali in person some years later. It was January of 1980. Ali was promoting a friend of his who was running for congress. My dad's health had started to deteriorate, and could not attend the event. I went with a friend of mine who shared my admiration for “The Greatest.” We didn't know what to expect that night. Simply seeing Ali in person would have been enough. Getting his autograph would have been memorable.
The room was filled with adoring fans, there just to catch a glimpse of the living legend. Ali spoke at the podium in behalf of his friend, and then came down from the stage and began mingling with the crowd. My friend and I tried our best to get close to him, hoping to shake his hand and get his autograph. What happened next was something I will remember the rest of my life.
Ali spotted me among the crowd and looked me in the eye. “You're about my size,” he said. “Want to go a few rounds?” He began throwing jabs, striking me in the chest. I was able to compose myself enough to put up my hands in defense as my friend stared in disbelief. After a few moments Ali said, “Good match,” then shook my hand and flashed that famous smile that had become his trademark.
I don't recall anything after that until I got home and my wife asking me if I had a good time. There was no way of being able to aptly describe to her what happened or how I felt. That the left jab that I watched pummel the chests of Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier and George Foreman had struck mine. I lifted my shirt in the hopes that Ali had left an everlasting imprint, the ultimate autograph. But all that remained were a few red marks and the memory of the moment when I got to meet my favorite athlete of all time.