Head to head, heaving body on heaving body. Heart Vs. Heart. Sheer desire against an absolutely equal amount of the stuff. On the part of one fighter, a genuine willingness to die rather than yield or admit defeat. THE most brutal, damaging and unforgettable world heavyweight title fight the so-called civilised world has ever seen.
It’s half a century since heavyweight immortals Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier supposedly settled their bitter, greatness-enhancing rivalry, this inside a sweltering arena in Manila; one that was almost unfit for any sporting event. Today, the demand for air-conditioning would have been firmly placed in the contracts of both fighters. But not back then. Ali and Frazier waged war in almost 120F heat, or 49C heat.
It was agony, and that was just for the spectators, who watched the violence under a sweat-soaked brow, while wearing drenched clothing. “There wasn’t a breath of air,” said Frazer’s friend and assistant, Denise Menz. So, imagine how the fighters were suffering. It was a hell-pit. It was a venue that was so hot, the devil himself would have taken relish in pulling up a ringside seat.
Indeed, the intensity, in fact, the blood and guts at the centre of this “sporting” rivalry had long-since marched to a different beat. This was not sport – this was a battle of beliefs, of how the American life should be lived. Ali was all-Muslim, country Joe was a so-called mainstream “Uncle Tom.” In the end, neither divisive would triumph. And, according to the last surviving boxing writer who was there, suffering like the rest in attendance – this as he stared at the ring behind a concerned frown as the heavyweight champion and the former, desperate to rule again former champ waged a so hard-to-watch war – nothing was ever settled in when it comes to who was/is the greater fighter of the two, either.
95 year old Jerry Izenberg, who called Ali and Frazier friends, not merely prizefighters he had the credentials to watch duke it out (Jerry also being close and important to other legends, including George Foreman, Larry Holmes, Mike Tyson…..and on and on), freely admits the gruelling fight of half a century ago was too much. “Someone has to stop this,” Izenberg said to his reporter buddy, Jerry Lister during one of the later rounds. “They ought to stop it, tell them they both won, and send them home.”
Because even for hardened ringside observers such as Izenberg – who watched them all: Sugar Ray, Floyd Patterson, Hagler, Hearns, Holmes, Norton, Cooney, Tyson, and plenty more I have no doubt forgotten – this was going too far. It was way too much. Ali was exhausted by the later rounds, to the point where he was literally having to stop himself from falling asleep as he sat on his stool between rounds (and let that sink in). Frazier was almost blind by the latter rounds. And both men were operating on nothing but instinct.
This fight was never really close to being one that would be decided by skill; it was a primal showdown, in this case a final showdown, that would be decided by raw courage. It was a bloody example (perhaps the bloodiest) of who wanted it more. Which man had more to lose, and vice-versa? Who was more willing to catch a shivering glimpse of the Grim Reaper in order to walk away (or be carried away) the victor?
God knows how many brain cells Ali and Frazier dropped in the ring that night, or early morning local time. In terms of internal organs, this is where “Smokin’ Joe” was most obsessed with doing permanent damage. Joe had said that Ali, “could keep that pretty face,” that it was his body that he wanted to hurt bad, to torture, to break. And Frazier did it; to the extent that Ali was left attending to, amongst other nasty things, two hips that were each afflicted with a haematoma.
Ali could barely walk after the 42-minutes he had somehow endured in the ring with Frazier. Frazier could barely see, such was the damage Ali’s still-fast hands had inflicted on both the flesh around his rival’s face and on his forehead in particular. Joe too was left nursing a haematoma; this one on his head, not his body.
Finally, after an excruciating battle the kind of which none of today’s fighters could even imagine having to go through, Joe’s humanitarian cornerman Eddie Futch pulled out his busted up but still snarling warrior. It was over. There would be no round-15. Frazier may have forgiven Futch for what he did, maybe not (there are conflicting reports, but – and for what it’s worth – Frazier told me, back in 2010, that, yes, he knew Eddie “was looking out for me, and he could see what I couldn’t see), but Ali had scored the first and only stoppage win of the three-fight rivalry.
There was, quite insanely, some chatter of a fourth fight – “I’ll knock Clay out in super fight IV,” read a Frazier quote, this on the cover of a now sadly gone boxing magazine in 1977. But it never happened, thank God. Instead, Ali won the series 2-1. Just.
But as Izenberg still points out today, neither heavyweight great really did prove to be supreme over the other.
“There’s only one choice I can ever make,” Jerry said to me on the subject of the greatest fight he had ever seen, this when kindly agreeing to an interview a while back. “It’s the greatest heavyweight fight ever held. Joe Frazier and Ali, their third fight. There was no loser in that fight. As a matter of fact, you know who decided that fight? It was God. That and the anatomy of Joe Frazier.
“In the late rounds in Manilla, he had to straighten up. He had to fight out of his [customary] crouch, because he couldn’t see. He had no chance. You know, I don’t pay too much attention to the scorecards of the judges. One of the reasons is, sometimes they don’t seem to see body blows. I trust myself. And going into the last round of Ali-Frazier III, I had Ali ahead by a point. That means, if Frazier wins the [15th and final] round, it’s a draw [on my card.] If Frazier knocks him down, he wins the fight. But there was no 15th round.
“Who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t cut the gloves [of Ali] off…….. I know Joe couldn’t see too much, but one left hook, and who knows? But, no, I don’t think they ever settled that rivalry, over who was the greater fighter of the two. They were fighting for the championship of each other, and that [who won] has never been settled.”
It was, simply put, the biggest test of will on both sides ever witnessed inside the squared circle; it was a savage test of heart, of guts, of remaining skill. And, yes, to not be overly dramatic about it, this was a fight that may well have been decided by who was most willing to die in order to win had that final round been allowed to go ahead. Yet nothing was truly decided that day of 50 years ago, as Jerry rightfully and sprightly says all these years after the event.
Both MEN, Ali and Frazier, gave their all in the ring that day. Yet here, some five decades later, their collective toil, their almost supernatural ability to dig in, to dig deeper than any boxer should ever be called upon to dig, has to be seen as a failure, at least in terms of either all-time great proving who the better, or maybe, if you want to say it, the more righteous fighter/legend/political tool/hero really was.
And that’s a tough, tough thing to write.
Frazier always said he would outlive Ali; that he would attend his funeral. Instead, ravaged by Parkinson’s and other ailments that Frazier is once said to have taken pride in saying he inflicted on his eternal rival, Ali was there when Joe was laid to rest.
But no matter who you think won the battle, or the battles, we all know Ali and Frazier gave us fight fans far, far more than we are worthy of. At least in terms of being entertained, excited, and, as was the case in the Philippines a half century ago, Thrilled.
Thank you, Muhammad. Thank you, Joe.
