Ali-Frazier, 50 years later: How the 'Fight of the Century' changed everything (2024)

Of all the words he had to endure from the Louisville Lip, it was on boxing’s ultimate night — the “Fight of the Century” — when Joe Frazier delivered his ultimate response.

Muhammad Ali, with a jail term hovering over him for standing as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War, had returned from a three-year-long absence over his personal protest to find himself trailing on the scorecards as the 15th round arrived at Madison Square Garden. If there was one ace Ali tucked away, it was the comfort in knowing he could unleash a multi-punch barrage that no man could match for a duration of at least 18 seconds.

The flurry opened that final round, Ali’s feet shuffling as he landed hard blows on Frazier’s head from both fists.

“Fool, fool, you’ve got to fall,” Ali recalled saying to Frazier in an interview with author and boxing writer Jerry Izenberg. “God said I’ll be champion forever. You can’t stand up against God.”

Frazier, also unbeaten at the time, knew what was coming. He managed to slip the final punch of that combination, retorting, “Well, God’s going to get his ass whipped tonight.”

He then landed a vicious left hook firmly on the former champion’s jaw, watching Ali crash to the canvas, sealing Frazier’s victory by unanimous decision.

Monday marks the 50th anniversary of the bout considered perhaps the most significant sporting event of the 20th century. It was a showdown that tied together both the sporting interest in two unbeaten champions squaring off for the world heavyweight title with the tension of a divided nation drawn together to watch the symbols of their differences slug it out.

“It was much more than a fight. It was about civil rights, and if you don’t know what the racial tensions were at that time, then you just got it all played back during the last four years,” said Tim Ryan, the veteran sports broadcaster who served as the lone English-language radio blow-by-blow man that night at the world’s most famed arena.

“The attention that fight received — it was an event more than a heavyweight championship fight — made it so not one person who attended didn’t have an opinion about it. It was out of a movie. This tension of, ‘Which way is this going to go?’ These people in there were wondering, ‘What the hell is going to happen so my political and racial point of view can be justified?’”

Ali’s principled position ultimately prevailed, and he proceeded in two more Frazier bouts to twice defeat the proud Philadelphia fighter, a series that diminished both men but started so magnificently.

“It was the perfect night, the greatest sporting event of my lifetime, and the greatest social event,” Hall of Fame Philadelphia fight promoter J. Russell Peltz said.

Peltz, 24 at the time, was lured to Frazier’s Broad Street gym to watch the champion train, with the boxer’s son, Marvis, collecting $2 a head for those interested in observing. Peltz had started promoting local shows and was making around $5,000 a year when he caught up with Frazier managerYancey “Yank” Durham, who had a business proposition.

Durham was clutching about 20 complimentary tickets to Ali-Frazier I and asked Peltz to ease his fears of doing something dodgy by selling the tickets.

“Yank wanted me to sell them over face value, which I just couldn’t do because I wasn’t street smart yet,” Peltz said.

Inspecting the tickets, Peltz saw one in there priced for $150, a ringside seat to the sporting event of a lifetime. He wrestled with the question of whether to buy it himself or get rid of it. He decided on the latter and sold it to someone he knew from his bar on Broad and South.

Peltz ventured instead for an overnight train ride to New York to buy a $20 upper-deck seat for himself at the Madison Square Garden box office.

“So, I sit in my $20 seat with my binoculars, and from way up there, I’m looking around down at the first row and I spotted that bar owner with Frank Sinatra, Diana Ross, Burt Lancaster,” Peltz said. “I said to myself, ‘What a putz! That could’ve been you down there!’ I blew it.”

From his broadcast position halfway up the Garden stands, Ryan, from New York radio station WPIX, had taken on a prideful, pro-bono assignment to call the bout for the Armed Forces Radio Network after fight promoters Jack Kent Cooke and Jerry Perenchio were shamed in a New York Times article for attempting to charge the military for broadcast rights.

Although he’d proceed to serve as a regular fight caller for CBS alongside trainer Gil Clancy, Ryan was working just his seventh boxing match. He scanned the crowd, saw Sinatra snapping photos for Life Magazine, Ross and Bob Dylan at the height of their fame, with Academy Award-winning actor Lancaster providing overbearing color commentary on the television broadcast.

“The fans saw the cardinal of New York in there, the mayor, everyone from hookers to clergy. So much colorful attire,” Ryan said. “Mink and ermine coats. Men and women flaunted their wealth … there was this clear sense of flexing your identity, seeking the cameras. It was great and glamorous. The fight gave them all the opportunity to show off.”

It was on Ryan in his pre-fight opening to capture the deeper meaning of the bout. About a year earlier, hard-hat construction workers and hippies fought with bats and pipes in Time Square.

“There was racial tension in the air. Joe was like an adopted white guy because some considered Ali a draft dodger and thought of Ali as a showman with an ego versus this workman-like, smiling, polite guy in Frazier,” said Ryan, who writes about the evening in his book, “On Someone Else’s Nickel: A Life in Television Sports and Travel.”

Izenberg, who would go on to write the book “Once There Were Giants: The Golden Age of Heavyweight Boxing,” covered Ali’s defiance of government pressure.

“I’m convinced Ali would’ve gone to jail if necessary and I knew this from talking to Ali at Sully’s AC Gym in Toronto, a place they could make a boxing movie in,” Izenberg said of an interview that happened before Ali took two late 1970 bouts against Jerry Quarry and Oscar Bonavena.

“I told him American men looking to flee the draft were coming to Canada. I told Ali I came to ask if he was going back to America. It was the only argument we ever had in 50 years. He jumped off the rubbing table and got in my face, shouting.”

Ali roared: “You should know better! What’s the matter with you? The honorable Elijah Muhammad went to prison because he didn’t believe in World War II. I will go, just like him, because I don’t have any problems with the Viet Cong. If my going (to war) would help the millions of Black Americans to get their rights, you wouldn’t have to draft me. I’d go.”

Ali showed major effects of ring rust against Quarry, his first bout in three years.

“His belly is heaving, his mouth is open, he looks like a beached whale,” Izenberg said at the time.

Ali, however, cut Quarry badly with a right hand and the fight was stopped in the fourth.

He labored again during 14 uninspired rounds versus Bonavena, but then delivered “the greatest left hook he ever threw in his life,” according to Izenberg, and finished Bonavena in the 15th to set up the dream match.

In the promotional buildup for Frazier, Ali shed his appreciation for the American champion who gave him money to complement the college-campus speaking fees and Broadway show payments Ali earned during his layoff. Frazier had also worked diligently to ensure the showdown would happen without the type of platitudes and marination that still plague the sport.

But Ali’s betrayal in the name of mind games and promotion had no mute switch. He questioned Frazier’s allegiance to white people and then made his way one day to Frazier’s gym (with reporters attached, of course), pounding on it and urging the champion to exit and fight Ali in the street.

Frazier accepted the invitation and headed out the door, but Yank Durham put his fighter in a headlock and scolded, “If you think I’m going to let you stage the fight of the century on a side street across from the Philadelphia Railroad Station, you’re out of your mind.”

Setting aside the rage and relying on his work ethic powered Frazier’s relentless effort when they finally met in the ring.

“Ali wasn’t really ready to deal with this machine who throws a million punches,” Ryan said. “He couldn’t handle the three-minute onslaught for all 15 rounds.”

Disappointed, Ali’s primary promoter, Bob Arum, looked on inside MSG.

“I didn’t know much about boxing then, so I didn’t think Ali would have much trouble,” Arum said. “I was extraordinarily confident Ali could win. Even though Bonavena had given him a tough fight before that, Ali dominated most of the rounds and finally knocked him out while Bonavena had two close fights before that with Frazier. But as the fight ensued, my confidence was badly shaken, and I was very sad going into the last round — even before the knockdown — because I couldn’t see any way that Ali could win the fight.”

Frazier had achieved the defining moment of his career. But he soon learned there’s more to the game than just fighting.

Frazier was no match for Ali’s brilliance as a publicist, and within 48 hours, Ali launched a tour of late-night network talk shows to spin the notion that politics and other conspiracies contributed to his downfall.

“Look at my face: There’s not a mark,” Ali told Johnny Carson. “Look at him: He’s in the hospital. I won that fight. They stole the fight.”

Izenberg’s father-in-law died unexpectedly the night before the fight, and he had no choice but to miss the event, left to watch a fight tape a friend sent him three times. But a light went on as he watched Ali campaign and realized he needed to go see Frazier in Philadelphia.

Once there, Izenberg, Frazier and two friends decided to drive to the deli for sandwiches. As they strode to the fighter’s Rolls Royce, three kids ran down a hill at them screaming.

“Joe Frazier!” they yelled.

Frazier told one of his men to retrieve some signed photos from the trunk for the boys. Just then, one of the children looks up at Frazier and says, “My daddy says Ali was drugged.”

Frazier was aghast. He sank to his knees so he could look the 8-year-old square in the eyes, the other three men riveted to the encounter.

“You go home and tell your daddy he’s right. He was drugged — by five left hooks,” said Frazier, who threw a left hook in the air as the kids scurried away.

Frazier then turned to Izenberg with an unforgettable and prophetic lament that followed Frazier the rest of his days.

“You saw it. You saw the tape three times. You know it happened. Now you tell me what the hell I have to do to make people believe?”

Said Izenberg: “Joe was great in the first fight. In that moment, he was the king. He was convinced that proved everything. Of course, it really didn’t because Ali took it away from him. And within those two nights of late television, Frazier was now the guy who got a gift.”

Ali defeated Frazier in their January 1974 rematch but then surprised the eight reporters who accompanied him to Malaysia to fight Joe Bugner in 1975 by saying he was planning to retire afterward.

They frantically filed their stories, but then Izenberg walked past Ali’s hotel room and overheard him criticizing Frazier in a recent bout.

“So now we know he’s fighting Frazier for a third time,” Izenberg said, and Ali copped to it: “I’m just trying to sell the (Bugner) fight … fellas, go back and write I’ve un-retired.”

The “Thrilla in Manila” in 1975 required no promotion, but Ali’s creativity never stopped. So when he was in New York for a media stop to hype the third meeting, he ducked in a novelty shop and purchased a miniature gorilla as a needed press conference prop.

“It’ll be a killa and a thrilla and a chilla when I get the gorilla in Manila,” Ali said after tucking the rubberized toy in his shirt pocket, then taking it out and popping it with several left hands as news cameras rolled.

That’s where Frazier’s hatred of Ali was born. Not too much later, Frazier’s son Marvis came home with facial bruises. When Frazier asked what happened, he said kids at school called his father a gorilla.

“I’ll say this about Joe: When it came to his kids, nothing came before them. And that hate festered inside him because they made Marvis cry,” Izenberg said. “It may sound foolish to us. It was not foolish to Joe. It was the gorilla thing that really ripped him apart.”

“The Thrilla in Manila” would go down as arguably the greatest fight ever, a remarkable test of wills decided when a badly fatigued Ali capitalized on Frazier’s eye swelling to batter him mercilessly in the 14th round.

Izenberg, who was ringside, explained it this way:

“Ali’s ahead. Frazier’s ahead. Ali’s ahead. In the last four rounds, Frazier has to straighten up from his crouch because his eyes are closing. His arms are hanging by his sides. His legs are quivering like wet spaghetti. Ali is about a foot and a half away. All he has to do is take one step forward and push him and the fight is over. Ali could not take that step forward. They both stood there and the bell rang.

“After the bell rang, (Frazier’s Hall of Fame trainer) Eddie (Futch) turns to (assistant George) Benton and says, ‘Cut his gloves off, I’m not sending him out there again.’ Frazier is yelling. ‘I’ll kill him! I’ll kill you! Don’t cut the gloves!’ They cut his gloves off. (Ali trainer) Angelo (Dundee) can see the fight’s over and he tells Ali. Ali couldn’t stand up.

“With these two guys, they would’ve gone on after the 15th round had there been one. Frazier would’ve been blind, Ali would have no breath. Somehow, they would’ve gone back out there … because the one thing these two guys did — they each made each other better.”

Ali later spoke to the writing legends at press row, including Dave Anderson of The New York Times, and said, “That’s the closest thing you’ll ever see to death.” Izenberg responded to Anderson, “I don’t want to see anything closer. Ever.”

With only a few minutes before deadline, he then sat down to write his lead:

“Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier did not fight for the WBC heavyweight title here in Manila last night. Nor did they fight for the championship of the planet. They fought as if they were on a melting ice floe in a phone booth and they were fighting for the championship of each other. And as far as I’m concerned, that wasn’t settled tonight. And it never will be settled.”

A 25th anniversary retrospective story was in order and Izenberg reached out to all of the survivors, including Ali and Frazier.

On the phone, Ali questioned why Frazier disliked him. Izenberg told Ali the story about Marvis.

“Well, I really feel bad about that. Are you going to talk to Joe?” Ali asked.

“As soon as I hang up with you,” Izenberg said.

“Well, please tell him I didn’t really want to hurt his kids,” Ali said. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Tell him I thought I was trying to make him more money.”

Izenberg hung up and called Frazier.

“Did you speak to him?” Frazier asked.

“Yes, he gave me a message to give you,” Izenberg answered.

“Oh, really? What’s the message? I want to hear it just the way he said it,” Frazier said.

“He said he was sorry about Marvis and the gorilla thing. He was just trying to sell tickets,” Izenberg said.

“That’s an apology?” Frazier asked.

“Well, that’s as close as you’re going to get,” Izenberg said.

“Do me a favor. When we get finished, call him back and tell him to take his apology and shove it as far as it’ll go up his ass,” Frazier said.

Arum knew how vitriolic it was.

“Ali took it to a totally different level and it became very, very personal. Until the day Frazier died, he never forgave Ali,” Arum said. “You couldn’t broker a peace. It wasn’t one insult. It was a designed attack on the man’s integrity and who he was and it touched Joe deeply.

“If Ali considered it at all, he would have regretted it. But realizing how (the mental gamesmanship) worked for him in the last two fights, he would’ve been a hypocrite to acknowledge that.”

Frazier’s hatred stirred again years later at a boxing writer’s dinner when, wearing a cowboy hat, he’d had a few drinks and inspected the ravages of Parkinson’s that had befallen Ali, who could no longer speak.

Seeing Izenberg at the table next to him, Frazier leaned over and tapped the writer on the shoulder.

“Look at him today. I know you like him, but look at him. Look at me. Look at the difference. That’s God’s justice.”

That extended divide by the resentment of their rivalry is such a sad conclusion for two men so inextricably linked by their incredible battles.

A better way to reflect on Ali and Frazier is to journey back exactly 50 years from Monday night, to that magical evening at the center of the world when everyone strove to be viewed as the best version of themselves.

Joe Frazier was, his arm held skyward in victory as proof. And Muhammad Ali found amazing resolve in the defeat, hellbent to affirm that only one heavyweight boxer will for eternity be recalled as The Greatest.

Muhammad Ali steps away from a roundhouse left thrown by Joe Frazier during their title bout here March 8. Frazier became undisputed heavyweight champ of the world by winning a unanimous 15-round decision. He decked Ali for an eight-count in the last round.

(Top photo: Associated Press)