For fight fans of a certain age, tonight marks the 40th anniversary of "The Fight of the Century," that is, the historic first fight between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier at Madison Square Garden.
It was the first-ever fight between undefeated heavyweight champions, with Frazier winning by unanimous decision after an explosive left hook dropped Ali in the 15th round (title fights went 15 rounds back then). Ali gamely got back up and finished the bout on his feet, after which both pugilists went to the hospital.
I would have been 18 on March 8, 1971 (if I'm doing the math right), but I do remember that night as if it were, well, 40 years ago.
I was a huge Ali fan from before he won the title in 1964 with his gigantic upset over Sonny Liston, and not many people can honestly say that they were fans of the brash braggart Cassius Clay way back then--let alone after he embraced the Nation of Islam immediately following that first Liston fight. Something about his personality and poetry and sense of clownish fun appealed to me--and that he could back up his boastful predictions. Then, when he sacrificed the best three and a-half years of his career after refusing to be inducted into the Army at the height of the Vietnam War, he turned himself from great athlete/entertainer to courageous anti-war advocate.
The "Fight of the Century," between the two diametrically opposite undefeateds (Frazier was the classic puncher, Ali the boxer--and Frazier was a proud American with no political or religious controversies), was the most anticipated sports event of its time. And it was the only professional Ali fight I didn't see live, either on broadcast or closed-circuit TV.
I happened to be in Lincoln, Nebraska, visiting an aunt and uncle, and unable to get to a closed-circuit venue. So I stayed glued to a radio, where the best I could get was a reporter calling into the station after each round with a recap. The anxiety was excruciating, as was the gradual realization that my hero was going to lose.
Many years later I had the opportunity to become friends with the Ali camp, most notably Howard Bingham, his longtime photographer and best friend. But I also met Ali, his wife Lonnie, his trainer Angelo Dundee. I even met Joe Frazier after standing in line at Barnes & Noble to get his book autographed.
I'll always remember Ali hugging me after I told him, truthfully, that not one day passed that I didn't imagine him winning back the title, which of course he finally did in the "Rumble In the Jungle" of Zaire, when he beat the invincible George Foreman on the miraculous night of October 30, 1974. That one I did see on closed-circuit, back home in Madison, Wisconsin, at the Dane County Coliseum.
An odd thing happened to me that night. It was a small crowd, as Ali wasn't given much chance--in fact, some boxing experts were genuinely afraid that he'd be killed. But when Foreman went down in the eighth round, everyone in the pro-Ali crowd went up. And when I finally sat down again, overcome with joy, I was in another row.
To this day, it's the only time in my life that I ever levitated.
[For more on "The Fight of the Century," check out my account at examiner.com: http://exm.nr/i43dBk]
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