Muhammad Ali

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"Don't count the days. Make the days count."

Muhammad Ali (1942–2016)

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Nothing lasts forever.

Muhammad Ali himself said that when he retired from boxing. I knew at the time that he was right, but I didn't want it to be true. I wanted him to continue to box — and to win — just as I had wanted Roger Staubach to continue playing football and how, many years later, I wanted Brett Favre to continue playing.

I knew he wouldn't live forever, either, but, again, I didn't want it to be true. His death yesterday affected people everywhere, even people attending a Paul Simon performance.

Somehow, though, it seems appropriate that he should be taken from us this year of all years — when so many have already been taken. And when many more, no doubt, will be taken from us before this year is over. It seems to be that kind of year, a deviation from the norm from politics to mortality. The political process has been the same, but it has yielded two unusually unpopular nominees.

And mortality is about the same as usual, but it seems to be taking more influential prominent people than it does in an ordinary year. Actually, that probably isn't true. It just seems that way.

Muhammad Ali was a human magnet, drawing people to him more through the force of his personality than his boxing skills (although they played a role in it, too, make no mistake about that).

The thing about magnets, though, is that they repel as well as attract. And Muhammad Ali certainly repelled a lot of people. It was a divisive time in America, the late '60s. From the vantage point of half a century later — and with a black president in the Oval Office — it is easy for those who weren't there to think that the '60s were all about civil rights, but that was really only one issue that divided Americans in those days. The war in Vietnam divided people, too, and it was Ali's refusal to fight in Vietnam that exacerbated the situation.

It was often claimed that Ali said, "No Viet Cong ever called me nigger" as justification for his refusal to be conscripted into the Army, but that isn't what he said.

What he really said was, "My conscience won't let me go shoot my brother or some darker people or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what? They never called me nigger. They never lynched me. They didn't put no dogs on me. They didn't rob me of my nationality, rape and kill my mother and father. Shoot them for what? How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail."

There were a lot of people in America who didn't like Ali when he refused to go to Vietnam. They derided him for what they saw as arrogance in the ring and cowardice outside of it. Some people attributed that to racism, just as some people today dismiss opposition to Barack Obama's policies as thinly veiled racism, too. I didn't buy it then because I knew many people in my small hometown in Arkansas who supported the war and spoke critically of antiwar demonstrators, too, and most of whom were white.

Race can be a convenient scapegoat, and I have no doubt it plays a role for some people but not all. For most of the people in my hometown in the late '60s and early '70s, race really had nothing to do with it. It was all about politics.

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When Ali fought Joe Frazier for the first time, in what was widely called the Fight of the Century, it became more than just a fight for many people. Folks who were against the war tended to support Ali, and folks who supported the war effort tended to support Frazier.

That, too, was called racism by many people, which never made sense to me, either. How could it be racist? Both Ali and Frazier were black.

Maybe it is true what they say about time healing all wounds, though, because I have heard nothing said about that time in Ali's life and career — except for the facts that he refused to serve and was stripped of his title. Nothing more than that.

Even from people who probably would be expected to be critical of Ali for his politics.

Remarkably, considering his chosen profession, Ali was a peacemaker. At the very least, that seems odd for a professional fighter, doesn't it? In trying to resolve this contradiction, comedian George Carlin described Ali's refusal to serve this way: "That's where I draw the line. I'll beat 'em up, but I don't wanna kill 'em."

Now, at the end of his life, Ali is being remembered for his pursuit of peace after his violent career. Part of his refusal to fight in Vietnam was grounded in his recent conversion to Islam, and he maintained his core beliefs throughout his life.

Last December, after the shootings in San Bernardino, California, Ali told NBC News, "I am a Muslim and there is nothing Islamic about killing innocent people in Paris, San Bernardino or anywhere else in the world. ... True Muslims know that the ruthless violence of so–called Islamic Jihadists goes against the very tenets of our religion. ... We as Muslims have to stand up to those who use Islam to advance their own personal agenda. ... They have alienated many from learning about Islam. True Muslims know or should know that it goes against our religion to try and force Islam on anybody."

There was a time when Ali was regarded as the most recognizable man in the world. Many saw him as an heroic figure.

Heroes usually need a reliable sidekick (i.e., Robin to Batman) or an arch rival (here I guess Larry Bird and Magic Johnson would fit the bill). Solitary heroes tend to have short lives in the spotlight.

In the ring, I suppose, Ali will always be remembered for his three epic fights with Frasier. As for sidekick ...

Broadcaster Howard Cosell was Ali's reliable sidekick, I suppose. He wasn't part of Ali's entourage, his traveling roadshow, but he always seemed to be ringside, providing the commentary at Ali's fights. It wasn't unusual to see the rich and the famous attending Ali's fights, but Cosell owed much of his fame and personal fortune to his association with Ali — as well as his Monday Night Football gig.

If you ever saw Cosell interviewing Ali, you could see what a symbiotic relationship they had. Ali had considerable skills and probably could have succeeded without Cosell. Cosell, though, might have found it much more difficult to succeed alone, being limited to only four months per year of Monday Night Football and Dandy Don.

Together they were an iconic pair, and now they're both gone.

Time doesn't march on, folks. It sprints.

Rumblin' in the Jungle

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"If you were surprised when Nixon resigned, just watch what happens when I whup Foreman's behind."

Muhammad Ali
October 1974

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"Forty years ago this month, the eyes of the world turned to Kinshasa [Zaire] to watch the 'Rumble in the Jungle,' the legendary boxing event that saw Muhammad Ali and George Foreman slug it out for the world heavyweight title," writes Thomas Yocum for The Guardian.

Muhammad Ali was a great fighter, one of the greatest of all time, as he frequently told anyone who would listen. He wouldn't stop there, though. Often, he would tell folks who did not want to listen.

He was also a master showman, and I guess he figured — correctly — that most people believed that a 32–year–old boxer who had been prevented from competing during his prime years because he refused to fight in Vietnam would be unable to stay with the heavyweight champ.

George Foreman was young and powerful. He had grabbed the title in 1973 with a hammering of Joe Frazier, and, in his second defense of his title, he brought down one of the top contenders for the title, Ken Norton, in similarly dominant fashion. Seemed he barely worked up a sweat in either. At times, you could have sworn he was actually bored.

Frazier and Norton, it is worth noting, were the only two boxers who had beaten Ali up to that time. Norton broke Ali's jaw.

In the three years prior to his bout with Ali, Foreman fought in 11 fights — all but one were done in two rounds or less, and that single exception was finished in five rounds. Foreman was used to fights that were scheduled for 15 rounds; he simply wasn't accustomed to fights that actually went that long.

Therein lay the key to Ali's upset victory. He knew that the longer he could keep the fight going, the more he would frustrate Foreman. Foreman would make mistakes, and Ali would wait for those mistakes, then exploit them. It was his "Rope–a–Dope" strategy.

Well, there was more to it than that, but that's a pretty good summary of the strategy. The "Rope–a–Dope" strategy was to force Foreman to use a lot of his energy pounding away at Ali, who would lean back on the ropes and cover his face with his gloves while Foreman hammered his midsection. Few, if any, observers thought Ali could take punches anymore, especially the powerful punches Foreman threw, but he surprised them all.

"They told me you could punch, George," Ali taunted Foreman in the early rounds. "Is that the best you can do?" An enraged Foreman tried to throw even harder punches — but with no apparent effect on Ali.

Foreman became visibly tired, and Ali was able to bring him down in the eighth round. It may have been a bigger shock to the sports world than his triumph over Sonny Liston 10 years earlier.

Originally scheduled for Sept. 24, the bout was postponed for five weeks because Foreman suffered a cut near his right eye while he was preparing for Ali.

When the men finally met 40 years ago tonight, their fight began at 4 a.m. local time to accommodate the closed–circuit audience in the Western Hemisphere.

The postponement gave Ali an opportunity to bond a little with the locals while he spent the extra time preparing for the fight.

I remember seeing footage of Ali running Rocky–like through the streets of Kinshasa, and the locals, young and old, running along with him or watching from the side, were chanting, "Ali, bomaye!" — which means, "Ali, kill him!" It quickly became one of the most recognizable sports–oriented phrases ever.

Killing people wasn't Ali's way, though. Any boxing expert will tell you that the fighters who take that mentality into the ring with them are the sluggers, and Ali was no slugger. He was a finesse fighter, more likely to win on points than on a knockout. The ironic part is that Ali did win most of his fights by knockout. That's the thing that people often forget. It's the thing that Foreman apparently forgot, and it cost him his title.

That was the key to the success of the "Rope–a–Dope" strategy. Ali had a reputation for outlasting opponents and winning on points, even though three–quarters of his wins up to that time were by knockout, so his approach likely made sense to Foreman, probably the best slugger of the time. He didn't expect Ali to go for the knockout after Foreman ran out of gas, though. He probably expected Ali to land a lot of punches in the later rounds in an attempt to pile up points — and Foreman walked right into the trap, landing punch after punch to Ali's midsection — proving repeatedly that Ali could take a punch.

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I suppose it would be natural for him to be bitter about the outcome.

"I hated Ali," Foreman told The Daily Express. "Hated him."

Understandable. Foreman was deceived. I guess everyone was.

Ali's "Rope–a–Dope" strategy wasn't evident in the first round. It was more evident in the second round — enough that Frazier, who was sitting ringside, remarked about it and wondered on the air, in response to British TV host David Frost's question, why Ali was leaning against the ropes so much.

By the end of the third round, Frazier was criticizing Foreman for being too wild in his punches and not thinking things through. He needed to be more deliberate and strategic. The champ was going to wear himself out, Frazier said prophetically.

Tellingly, when the fight was over and Ali was mobbed at center ring by admirers, Foreman and his entourage slipped quietly away almost without notice. Foreman's head was hanging in the dejection of defeat.

Nobody wants to mob a vanquished champion.

The Fight of the Century, Part II

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Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier fought three times.

The first was known as the "Fight of the Century." Frazier was the defending world champion, and he defeated Ali on that occasion. It was Frazier's only victory in three bruising confrontations.

The third fight, the "Thrilla in Manila," was fought a year and a half after the second fight, which took place in New York's Madison Square Garden 40 years ago tonight.

Neither man was champion on this night 40 years ago. Frazier had lost his title a year earlier to George Foreman, and the winner of the second fight figured to get a shot at Foreman's crown.

In boxing lore, the second fight between the two men is seen as the least significant of the three, but I disagree with that assessment. It was scheduled for 12 rounds, and it went the distance — no quick decision. Ali was the winner by unanimous decision, but that does not mean it was a lopsided fight.

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It is an exercise in futility to rank the Ali–Frazier fights. It was a great rivalry, and each fight had its unique traits.

I always believed Ali–Frazier II was not the least significant of the three fights. True, no title was on the line, but the winner was expected to get a shot at the heavyweight championship — and, in fact, it did lead to a title shot for Ali later that year.

What's more, Ali cashed in on his opportunity, defeating Foreman in the famed "Rumble in the Jungle" in October.

But that was still nine months in the future. On this night in 1974, Ali got off to the kind of start that was typical for him — scoring enough points to be the unanimous winner of the first two rounds. That came as no real surprise to veteran fight watchers. Frazier always was a slow starter.

Frazier — who was thought to be seriously hurt near the end of the second round — began to score some points with the judges, winning the third round and doing well enough in the fourth to get two of the judges to score the round a draw.

The fifth and sixth rounds went to Ali, then the seventh and eighth went to Frazier. Ali was the unanimous winner of the ninth and 11th rounds while Frazier won split decisions in the 10th and 12th rounds.

It was a unanimous decision — all three judges had Ali winning — but it was far from unanimous as far as all observers were concerned. Sports writer Red Smith of the New York Times, for example, thought Frazier had won a narrow victory.

The rivalry had what any good rivalry should have — a healthy dose of good old–fashioned hate. At least, it appeared to have plenty of hate coming from the Frazier corner. Prior to their rematch, the men reviewed the tape of the first fight at the ABC studio, during which Ali called Frazier "ignorant," and a fight broke out in the studio.

That might have been a show. Ali was known to be a showman, and Frazier might have been persuaded to play along.

But, if it was a show, it was mighty convincing.

Ken Norton: The Often-Forgotten 'Giant'

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Ken Norton, who died Wednesday at the age of 70, was good enough to win the heavyweight championship in the conventional way.

Instead he was awarded the title when the champion, Leon Spinks, refused to fight Norton, the top contender, in his first title defense as mandated by the World Boxing Council after he beat Muhammad Ali in February 1978. Spinks was stripped of the WBC title, and Norton was given the title retroactively — on the basis of a fight he won the previous year.

I'm sure Norton would have preferred to win the title the old–fashioned way — in the ring. He came so close at times. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Ali, Norton's most noteworthy contemporary, did it three times.

Norton fought Ali three times and won the first one — when Ali was in his prime. The only other fighter to do that was Joe Frazier.

Like Frazier, Norton lost his next two bouts with Ali, but Ali's victories against each fighter were different. In each succeeding fight with Frazier, Ali seemed to get better but Frazier did not. Norton — competing "in what can now be viewed as a golden era of heavyweights," writes The Telegraph — maintained his level of excellence.

Norton came into his third fight with Ali supremely confident, and he was confident he had outfought Ali when the final bell rang. There were even those who thought Norton won that final bout with Ali. A victory would have given Norton the title, but he came up short, just as he did against George Foreman.

As I say, he eventually won the title, anyway — but not in the ring. I guess, for some fight fans, that diminishes the accomplishment, even though the WBC insisted it was based on a real victory in the ring. It just wasn't recognized at the time as a title fight.

Perhaps that is, to a degree, why the only Ken Norton who is recognized by many modern–day sports fans is Norton's son and namesake.

There was an embarrassment of riches in the heavyweight division in those days.

Or, as Gregg Doyel of CBS Sports writes, that was when boxing was "the most amazing sport around."

I read Doyel's piece on Norton a couple of times, and, both times, I found myself nodding in agreement when I read this: "[O]nce upon a time boxing was full of true sporting giants," one of whom was Norton.

It must have been hard to stand out among all those other giants.

Down Goes Frazier

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Ever since his victory in his much–anticipated bout with Muhammad Ali in 1971, Joe Frazier had stood atop the boxing world.

He defended his title twice in 1972 but against inferior opponents who required him to spend little time in the ring before stopping both on TKOs. I remember hearing nearly all the grown–ups in my world say that, since Ali had been turned back, no one could topple Frazier.

(That was just fine with many of the men I knew, too. Many had pulled for Frazier against Ali, largely because the majority of adults in Arkansas supported the Vietnam War. Ali, of course, had spoken against the war and refused to fight in it.)

Always in the distance, though, was the imposing figure of George Foreman, the gold medal winner at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City. He turned pro the following year, and, once in awhile, I heard a grown–up speculate that Foreman could beat Frazier.

Even though Foreman was five inches taller than Frazier (who won an Olympic gold medal in Tokyo in 1964) and enjoyed a 10–inch reach advantage, Frazier was a 3–to–1 favorite when the two men met in Jamaica 40 years ago today. I suppose that was based on his years of experience as a pro — as well as his triumph over Ali (who was in every boxing conversation in those days, even if he wasn't on the fight card).

But both men entered the fight undefeated. And it didn't take long for observers to conclude that Foreman's height and reach advantage really did make a difference.

I've heard people ask if Foreman's victory on that night was an upset. I can't really say it was a big upset, even though it was regarded as an upset by many. I presume that was because Frazier was the champion and Foreman was younger, less experienced but already seen as a man who would one day be heavyweight champion of the world. Whether his win 40 years ago tonight was seen as an upset depended, I suppose, on whether the observer believed his time had come.

As it turned out, Foreman's "time" to be heavyweight champion came twice — on this night in 1973 and again 21 years later. He lost the title to Ali about a year and a half after winning it from Frazier.

The three–knockdown rule had been waived for the bout, but Frazier almost immediately became the poster child for why such a rule has a valid purpose. He went down three times in the first round and three times in the second before the fight was stopped.

"Foreman's last punch, a perfect right uppercut, lifted Frazier's stocky body into the air for an instant before he hit the canvas yet again," recalls The History Channel. "Frazier struggled to his feet, but at that point, 1:35 into the second round, the referee Arthur Mercante called an end to the bout."

It was during that brief bout that sportscaster Howard Cosell, doing the blow–by–blow for that era's equivalent of a pay–per–view audience, uttered what may well be the most memorable line of his career:

"Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!"

Years later, Foreman confessed that Frazier was the only fighter he ever feared.

The Greatest Is 70

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When I was growing up, Muhammad Ali — who was born in Louisville, Ky., 70 years ago today — was an inspiring figure.

In the eyes of many, he was a braggart, a smart aleck, the embodiment of the antiwar movement — even though, to my knowledge, he never participated in an antiwar march or protest after being stripped of his heavyweight title for refusing military induction during the Vietnam War.

It is appropriate, I suppose, that this milestone birthday comes one day after the national observance of Martin Luther King's birthday. Ali's stand, it was said, persuaded King, who had been hesitant to speak out against the war, to reverse his policy.

He took his share of scorn from those who supported the war, though, and, as I wrote last year on the 40th anniversary of Ali's first fight with Joe Frazier, the war was the reason most of those people rooted against Ali when he was in the ring.

They said he was arrogant, and they called him names like "the Louisville Lip" — an anti–Ali spin on his own declaration that he was "the Greatest" — but I always felt it was mostly a case of transference. The war was the real reason for their opposition.

Maybe they really did dislike Ali — he could be abrasive at times — but the war was their excuse.

I don't know if Ali was the greatest of all time, as he claimed. Perhaps the very suggestion was offensive to those who remembered Joe Louis or Rocky Marciano.

But I felt then — and I still feel today — that he was the best in my lifetime. Admittedly, some of that may have been due to my youth and susceptibility. But not everyone who saw him fight was as young as I was — and even many of those who disagreed with his politics acknowledged, however grudgingly, how talented he was.

His talent was never an issue for me. When Ali said he was "the Greatest," I never thought he was boasting. I thought he was stating a fact.

And today he is 70. And, strangely, I am the one who feels older.

Happy birthday, champ.

Joe Frazier's First Title Defense

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It is somewhat ironic that Joe Frazier died less than two weeks ago because today is the 41st anniversary of his first defense of the title he won in February 1970 — against light heavyweight champion Bob Foster in Detroit.

It was the 26th professional fight for Frazier, who won a gold medal at the 1964 Olympics, and it ended like the first 25 did — with a victory. It was his quickest triumph in a year and a half.

It was also his last fight before the first of Frazier's legendary trilogy of bouts with Muhammad Ali.

In hindsight, perhaps the Foster fight should have been something of a cautionary tale for Ali.

"Joe was a vicious wrecking machine against Foster," boxing trainer Emanuel Steward told the Detroit Free Press. "He was like an animal (in the ring)."

Frazier's performance against Foster certainly contributed to his reputation.

"Even for those born long after Frazier hung up the gloves, Smokin' Joe is a boxing legend," wrote Jake Emen for Yahoo! Sports when Frazier died earlier this month.

Emen wrote, as everyone does, that two of Frazier's fights with Ali — the "Fight of the Century" and the "Thrilla in Manila" — were the greatest two moments of his career, but he also mentioned Smokin' Joe's two–round triumph over Foster as being one of his "solid victories" between the fight in which he won the title and his first fight with Ali.

Frazier's fight with Foster, a Hall of Fame light heavyweight, was, indeed, a solid, workmanlike effort, finishing off his challenger in two rounds. The decisive punch was one of Frazier's trademark left hooks, and Foster couldn't beat the count.

For Smokin' Joe, the prelude to the chapter of his life's story that will always be remembered was over.

Next for Frazier would be the first of his bouts with Ali — the only one of the three that he won and the one that would secure his spot in boxing history as one of the great heavyweight champions of all time.

Rest in Peace, Joe Frazier

If you were a sports fan in the 1970s, there were certain athletes, certain teams, certain events that will remain in your memory forever — Muhammad Ali, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the tragedy of the 1972 Summer Olympics, the list goes on and on.

You can't think of those Olympic Games without seeing, in your mind's eye, hooded terrorists and a somber Jim McKay telling viewers that the Israeli athletes had been killed.

You can't think of the Steelers of that time and not think of the team they beat in two classic Super Bowls, the Dallas Cowboys.

And you can't think of Ali without thinking of his three epic fights with Joe Frazier.

Frazier died of liver cancer late Monday. He was 67 years old.

He was an intense battler in the ring, a great champion in his own right, but he will always be remembered for those three fights he had with Ali. Smokin' Joe actually won the first one, much to the delight of right–wing boxing fans who felt Ali should have gone to Vietnam, and survived their grueling finale in the Philippines, dubbed "the Thrilla in Manila."

I suppose it's that first Ali–Frazier fight that people think of the most when they think of Frazier — and that is ironic, I guess, because, as I say, that is the only fight of the three that Frazier won. But it was the third fight that Ali said was the closest he ever came to death.

I always felt that first fight was too mired in politics. The two men became political symbols, whether that was what they desired or not. Supporters of the Vietnam War gravitated to Frazier, opponents gravitated to Ali. Very few seemed to be interested in the fight from a purely athletic perspective, and, consequently, relatively few recognized it for its boxing brilliance. It was called the "Fight of the Century," and many fights have been called that, but that first Ali–Frazier duel really lived up to it.

Frazier took a lot of abuse from Ali in public, and he resented it for much of his life. But those who should know say that he forgave Ali for everything in recent years, and the two apparently became friends.

Much will be said about Joe Frazier in the days ahead, and he deserves all the accolades he will receive. I'm sure some of the warmest will come from Ali, who is forever linked to Frazier — like Affirmed and Alydar, they were thoroughbreds whose legends would have been incomplete without the other.

Smokin' Joe Has Cancer

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"Ali always said I would be nothing without him, but who would he have been without me?"

Joe Frazier

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Smokin' Joe Frazier has liver cancer, so they say.

It was diagnosed a few weeks ago.

I don't have any medical training. I don't even know what type of liver cancer Frazier has. But I know that people rarely survive such diseases.

I'm hoping for the best for Smokin' Joe. I was a fan of Muhammad Ali when I was growing up, but I always admired Joe Frazier.

And his contemporaries literally feared him. George Foreman may have been the most powerful fighter on the planet when I was a teenager, but, more than 15 years after Foreman took the heavyweight title from Frazier in two rounds, he confessed to Johnny Carson that Frazier was "the toughest guy I'd ever seen."

Frazier was tough, no doubt about it. If anyone can beat liver cancer through sheer force of will, it's Joe Frazier. He was always scrappy. He stood 5'11½" in the ring, but he looked short when he was up against Ali (6'3"), Foreman (6'4"), even Jimmy Ellis (6'1").

If you look at tape of his fights, he looks like someone's little brother trying to persuade people he was one of the big kids.

He always stood tall, though, physical appearances notwithstanding.

Good luck, Joe.

The Fight of the Century

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Forty years ago tonight, Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali met in the much–anticipated "Fight of the Century."

Technically, I guess you could call it the first "Fight of the Century" — at least in my lifetime.

There have been other fights that have been known as the "Fight of the Century" — the 1910 bout between Jack Johnson and James Jefferies was known by that name, and so was the 1938 fight between Joe Louis and Max Schmeling — but most modern fight fans would tell you it can only apply to a showdown between Ali and Frazier.

Ali and Frazier met three times in the 1970s, and their first bout was on March 8, 1971. I guess some folks would say it was the best of the three — but, to reach that conclusion (when the third fight was the famous "Thrilla in Manila"), one was required (practically) to be pro–Frazier and/or anti–Ali.

It was, after all, the only one of the three fights that Frazier won.

It was an epic showdown. Both men were undefeated as professional fighters. Frazier was the defending champion. Ali was a former champion.

In 1971, though, if one was pulling for Frazier, it said more about that person's politics — specifically, one's position on Vietnam — than anything else. It was as telling as the length of one's hair or the style of one's clothes.

Ali had served a suspension from pro boxing in the very prime of his career for refusing to serve in the military during the war. He had been stripped of his title in April 1967 and then allowed to return to pro boxing in October 1970.

Frazier, on the other hand, was a darling of the pro–war elements in American politics in those days. He said that he didn't serve in the military because he was a father, but he would have no problem serving if called upon to do so.

Before he retired from boxing, Ali became the first man to win the heavyweight championship three separate times. He is considered by most boxing observers to be one of the greatest heavyweights — if not the greatest — of all time.

But, in 1971, he was really no more significant than any other man who had held the heavyweight title at one time — just more flamboyant than most, certainly more controversial than most. He had fought twice since 1967, and he was being thrust into the ring to face the defending heavyweight champion, a fighter who was known to be a punishing puncher.

It was often suggested that he hadn't had enough time to get into peak condition for a shot at the title. That was a fair assessment, I suppose.

It certainly was better than many of the things I heard people say about Ali at the time, that's for sure.

Perhaps no challenger up to that time had been as reviled as Ali. I've heard that Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion, took a lot of abuse while he held the title (but not, I believe, before that time) whereas Ali was always a lightning rod, whether he was the champion or the challenger.

Whether his surname was the one he chose (Ali) or the one to which he was born (Clay).

In 1971, there was a lot of residual anger directed at him from those who supported the war in Vietnam — and resented it when Ali refused to be drafted into service.

In hindsight, I guess the irony is that even those who opposed the war weren't necessarily supporting Ali. My mother, for example, was strongly opposed to the war, but she didn't particularly care for Ali, either.

She was a supporter of civil rights, though, so I'm sure she sympathized when Ali said, "I ain't got no quarrel with the Viet Cong. No Viet Cong ever called me nigger."

As I recall, Frazier said nothing that was in the least bit incendiary — which was a big part of his appeal to conservative Americans.

I guess the Vietnam angle spilled over into other areas. Although both men were black, Ali was something of a champion in the black community — whereas Frazier was often seen as the "white man's champion."

Tickets to the fight sold for $150 — a figure that, as Tim Dahlberg of the Associated Press remembers, was an "astonishing sum" at a time when the minimum hourly wage in America was $1.60.

There was no pay–per–view in those days. For those who were willing to part with the cash, one could see what was called "closed–circuit" coverage of a big fight at selected movie theaters. And there was no bigger event in the boxing world than Ali–Frazier I.

I don't know what tickets to closed–circuit venues went for in those days, but it was simply out of the question for me. I wanted to see the fight, but I just couldn't.

Years later, I finally saw a tape of it, a tape that included the pre–fight stuff that the people who bought the closed–circuit tickets saw that evening. Fight Night brought all the celebrities and publicity hounds to Madison Square Garden, the folks who cared more about being seen than what they were seeing — even if what they were seeing was historic — and the paparazzi of the day were only too happy to oblige.

I remember that night vividly. There was radio coverage — but each round description was broadcast after a delay, and the fact that it was delayed was announced before each round began (I always assumed that was to discourage gambling) — and I remember reclining on my parents' bed and listening on the radio in their bedroom to the announcers' descriptions of Ali and Frazier trading blows.

It was a chilly night, and, at one point, my mother, who had been listening to the fight with my brother and me, suggested that she fix mugs of hot chocolate for us. The image of the three of us sitting around that radio and the memory of that warm, chocolatey liquid insulating me against that early March evening while I listened to the fight will always be with me.

That's one of the things about my memory of that evening that is so special for me now. Mom enjoyed some sports, but she had no real interest in boxing — and, as I said, she wasn't too keen on Ali, either. On that evening, though, she listened to the radio broadcast with my brother and me — and she talked about it with us. Not because it mattered to her, but because it mattered to us.

When we started listening to the fight, I just knew we were in it for the long haul. Maybe boxing fans who were brought up during the Mike Tyson era can't understand, but Ali and Frazier always gave fans their money's worth. No first– or second–round knockouts whenever these guys were in the ring together.

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I guess the trend was established 40 years ago tonight. Ali and Frazier went the distance, 15 rounds, before Frazier was declared the winner by unanimous decision.

The speculation by the radio announcers was that Ali was trailing on the judges' scorecards as the men began that 15th round, and he probably needed a knockout — or at least a couple of knockdowns — to prevail. The men had been about even through the first 11 rounds, they said, but Frazier seemed to seize control with a shot late in the 11th round that might have knocked Ali down if not for the ropes that caught him and kept him on his feet.

As I listened to the final round, it occurred to me that it was already over and both Ali and Frazier, as well as all the folks who were in Madison Square Garden that night, knew the outcome. But I didn't. Not yet.

About 30 seconds into that 15th round, Ali was knocked down for what may have been the first time in his boxing career, pro or amateur. Already viewed by many as arrogant, he had come into the fight with red tassles dangling from each ankle, almost defying Frazier to knock him off his feet. The sight of those tassles briefly occupying the area where Ali's face had been must have seemed like justification to his detractors.

I can't describe the sound of the announcers as they reported the blow Frazier had delivered and how it knocked a startled Ali on his back. There was an excitement in their voices that I had never heard before.

It was many years before I saw a tape of the fight, but when I saw Ali knocked on his back and those tassles flying wildly in the air, it looked exactly as I had always pictured it. Frazier, who sometimes seemed to be dragging in the late stages of the fight, appeared to be revived by that and hammered away at Ali following a mandatory eight–count, landing a punch midway through the round that should have dropped Ali to the canvas again.

Ali didn't go down again, but the damage had been done — in more ways than one. Both men went to the hospital after the fight — there were even rumors, for a time, that Frazier had died. Ali swore that he would retire from boxing if those rumors turned out to be true.

Fortunately, they were not.

As a child, I always felt that Frazier and Ali really didn't like each other. Ali was constantly calling Frazier names and suggesting that Frazier wasn't very smart, and "Smokin' Joe" really seemed to smolder whenever Ali spoke to him in public.

A couple of decades later, when NBC brought the two of them together to watch a tape of the fight and reflect on that event, the two men seemed to patch things up. Ali, who had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease several years earlier, said it had all been in fun, and Frazier said there were no hard feelings.

Neither was there any doubt who won the fight.

George Willis writes in the New York Post that Ali eventually admitted that Frazier had been the better fighter that night.

"I watched the fight over and over trying to find excuses, saying they robbed me or didn't like me because of this or that," Ali said, "but I watched the fight, and the first fight he did win."

The Thrilla in Manila

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For me, it is really incredible to think that it has been 35 years since the "Thrilla in Manila," the third and final fight between Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali.

Few rivalries between individual athletes could match Ali and Frazier in the 1970s. The nation truly was transfixed every time they fought. I always felt that was because they represented — symbolically, at least — each side of the cultural divide that existed in those days. Ali, with his rebellious nature and his refusal to fight in the increasingly unpopular Vietnam War, seemed to represent the doves, whereas the obedient, establishmentarian Frazier represented the hawks in American society.

I was a great admirer of Ali as a boy, and one of the things I appreciated about him was that, after he won the title from George Foreman, he brought boxing back to the people. Prior to the second Ali championship era, most fights were shown only on closed–circuit TV. But after Ali defeated Foreman, most of his title defenses were on commercial TV.

Of course, at that point in his career, few of Ali's foes were truly on his level. But that didn't matter. I remember eagerly looking forward to those fights.

But the "Thrilla in Manila" was an exception, in more ways than one. Not only did it match Ali with a worthy adversary, but the fight was televised by the fledgling HBO network — which was then, as it is now, a subscription service — and its broadcast via satellite from the Philippines can be reasonably said to have been a pioneering event in the development of modern satellite TV transmission.

And, too, I always felt that, if it wasn't the initial inspiration, the "Thrilla" must have had some influence on the story that was told in the original "Rocky." At the very least, it was a damn good example of art imitating life — or perhaps anticipating is a better word.

In Manila, the defending champion Ali and his entourage did not take the fight seriously, believing they were doing Frazier a favor by giving him one more moment in the spotlight. But Frazier took the fight very seriously and went 14 rounds with Ali before losing by technical knockout.

Ali — whose blase approach to the fight encouraged many distractions that were unrelated to what he needed to do in the ring — was suitably impressed with Frazier. Before the fight, he believed Frazier was just a shell of his formerly dominant self after his humiliating loss to Foreman two years earlier.

But after the fight, Ali told anyone who would listen that Frazier "is the greatest fighter of all times ... next to me."

That was pretty high praise coming from a man who fought Sonny Liston (twice), George Foreman and Ken Norton, among others.