BRUTAL EPIC THAT GRIPPED THE WORLD
Sinatra turned photographer to get a ringside seat, other stars were turned away, a record 300m tuned in. Frazier v Ali in 1971 was a…
TWAS the night of a thousand stars. So many glitterati out on the town that not all the most fabled could buy, beg, borrow or snaffle a ticket.
Bing Crosby, still counting the royalties from his latest White Christmas rendition, had to be chauffeured from Madison Square Garden, across Broadway and over 20 New York City blocks to join an overflowing 6,500 watching a giant screen in a vast cavern known as the Radio City Music Hall.
Frank Sinatra swerved the humiliation of the limo by finagling a roving photographer pass. As many pictures were snapped of Ol’ Blue Eyes as of The Greatest and Smokin’ Joe beating the hell out of each other inside the ropes.
But the dramatic, cleverly angled shot which made the cover of the ensuing issue of Life magazine was one taken by Sinatra himself. Norman Mailer was commissioned to write the words inside.
Burt Lancaster talked himself into a broadcast commentary position. Fellow leading man Paul Newman opted to stay in Hollywood for the closedcircuit transmission. As did Elvis Presley in Memphis.
Nelson Mandela, an avid boxing aficionado, watched ‘very excitedly’ on a flickering TV within his cell on Robben Island.
Dustin Hoffman, Diane Keaton, Woody Allen, Gene Kelly, Diana Ross, Bob Dylan and jazz icon Miles Davis were among the celebrities who made the cut.
The in-vogue artist of the era, LeRoy Neiman, turned up and was given a pitch from which to paint the action. Senator Ted Kennedy led a quorum of political heavyweights.
Fifty years ago on March 8, 1971 a then-record 300million people around the globe tuned in. They included BBC TV peakviewership at that time of 27.5m, plus 90,000 Londoners crammed into cinemas and sporting clubs in the early hours.
Thus the frenzy for this occasion with the original working title of simply The Fight exploded into what became rebranded as The Fight Of The Century.
That accolade was enshrined by brutal combat between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, following a war of savage words which left scars on these two protagonists more permanent than the wounds inflicted during 15 rounds.
The kernel of this most bitter of feuds was rooted in Ali’s labelling of Frazier as an ‘Uncle Tom’ and ‘the white man’s champion’ — throwing in the insult ‘gorilla’ for good measure — while proclaiming himself the standard bearer for African-Americans.
Frazier’s raw response: ‘ I’m going to kill him.’
White America’s so-called moral majority — still incensed by Ali’s refusal to fight in the Vietnam War, his conversion to Islam, his name change from Cassius Clay and his espousal of Black Muslim activism — hoped Smokin’ Joe would do just that. As it happened, he came close. By the cruellest of ironies, these two had grown together in boxing as friends. When Ali sought to end his three-year exile from the ring for rejecting the army draft it was Frazier who testified to Congress on his behalf, Frazier who arranged for him to petition President Nixon in person for a pardon from his suspended five- year jail sentence, Frazier who drove him to the White House for the meeting.
Two warm-up wins later Ali pronounced himself ready to challenge again for the world heavyweight titles of which he had been stripped and which Frazier had picked up during his absence.
Both men were 29, both golden Olympians, both undefeated in the professional game.
Ali tried to excuse the barbs as ‘just selling the fight’ to ensure each of them received their $2.5m guarantees. Frazier was less interested in the money than the demeaning of him as a black person.
For two and a half rounds Ali picked off the squat, shorter, champion with quick, crisp, hurtful jabs. But a few seconds from the end of the third Frazier landed cleanly for the first time with his trademark left hook.
Frazier had found his path to glory. The more frequently those crushing lefts hit the target the more they slowed down Ali and he was clearly tiring at the end of the sixth.
Ali refused to go down from an enormous hook in the eighth. When he touched the canvas with both gloves and one knee in the 11th referee Arthur Mercante Snr ruled he had slipped on water spilled near Frazier’s corner.
At the start of the 15th Frazier finally dropped him for real with a sledgehammer of a left. Somehow, although under heavy fire and with his swelling jaw visibly broken by that impact, Ali made it to the closing bell.
The unanimous verdict, scored back in that day by rounds not points, was inevitable. Referee Mercante had it 8-6 with one even. Judges Artie Aidala and Bill Recht carded it 9- 6 and 11- 4 respectively. All for Frazier.
Ali’s immediate reaction, just as predictably, was to declare it ‘the white man’s decision’. The uproar in the Garden veered between shock at his defeat and elation with undertones of racism at his unexpected demise.
Both Ali and Frazier were hurried to hospital for examination and observation. When Ali emerged the following morning he was greeted by a jostle of cameramen and reporters. One shouted: ‘How you feeling, champ?’ Ali replied: ‘Don’t call me champ. Joe’s the champ now.’
So he was, at least for the 22 months until Big George Foreman knocked him out in two rounds.
Ali and Frazier would go on to complete an epic trilogy in the ring. Their second meeting, back in the Garden three years later, provided a routine 12-round non-title equaliser for Ali. The third, the following year, produced a war even more violent than the first.
The Thrilla in Manila evoked further reference to the potential for fatality in prizefighting. After 14 unbelievably punishing rounds Ali begged his eminent trainer to cut off his gloves and call a halt.
Angelo Dundee was on the brink of responding when he saw his counterpart in the opposite corner, Eddie Futch, telling the referee he was refusing to let the virtually blinded Frazier go out for the 15th and final three minutes.
As Ali was acclaimed the victor he staggered to his feet, saying: ‘This is the closest I’ve ever been to death.’
As usual, Frazier ignored him. Whenever they were dragged together for TV commemorations of their historic rivalry Frazier blanked Ali’s requests for his phone number.
Poignantly, it was Frazier who died first, in 2011 from liver cancer aged 67. He took the grudge with him to the grave, resentful of Ali’s redemption from alleged war traitor to America’s eventual acceptance of him as The Greatest.
When both retired from boxing in 1981 the colourful ring historian Bert Sugar reflected thus on the Fight Of The Century and its legacy: ‘ As Ali’s image, myth, name and reputation grew, Joe’s was sure to suffer. The winner that night was the loser and the loser that night was the winner.’