The beautiful thing about writing is also its ugliest thing: writing is feast or famine. Sure, there's writer's block, but there are times when everything has been said about everything. Fortunately, I am young enough to gather mounds of material... or at least late enough in the game.
Call this a feasting time.
Lately, I have been consumed by media of classic boxing. Though life has its ways of limiting a heaping plate of black-and-white videotapes, there has been enough Sugar Ray Robinson* and Joe Louis highlights to whet a boxing fan's appetite. Since mid-January, there have also been several books and documentaries at the public's disposal. Recently, a new biography on Sugar Ray hit bookstores, with much of the controversial private life brought to the forefront by his son, Ray II. In April, USA Network premiered its documentary,
"Ring of Fire: The Emile Griffith Story", which profiled the life of the former welterweight champion who was the lightningrod of the first televised boxing death back in 1962. And those who decided to donate to Public Television in January probably watched the acclaimed Ken Burns documentary
"Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson", an early twentieth century boxer who bacame the sport's first black heavyweight champion. A much more detailed and comprehensive book by Geoffrey C. Ward was released a month before. Bill Gallo of the New York Daily News said it back in March; "So, why the interest when boxing is supposed to be "dead?" Go figure."
Unfortunately from the casual voyeur's point of view, the sweet science lost its luster and interest when Mike Tyson became a spectacle of behavior than boxing. It may have lost its shine over a decade before the Iron Mike Era when Larry Holmes manhandled an aged Muhammad Ali. The heavyweight division, more than all of the other classes, has taken the greatest acclaims and criticisms in the sport's history. Though the lower weight classes have shined in varying degrees over the past twenty-five years, the idea of men of abnormal sizes punding each other always drew more attention. Fair or not, heavyweight fighters will always hold the future of the sport.
That being said it's time to get to the meat of this dinner.
Most of the old clips that have been on ESPN Classic as of late were the prominent matches involving Cassius Clay-turned-Muhammad Ali. Ali, without a doubt is one of the greatest figures to step in the squared circle. To borrow a term from Scoop Jackson, he was Sugar Ray "remixed": a 6' 3", 215 lb. jabbing and hooking machine with a middleweight's deftness on the canvas. Though he could beat you with his fists and enraged you with his wits, his greatest asset was his... feet? Yes, his speed and conditioning were far superior to most of the fighters he faced. Notice that he could never get a three-round KO against the other greats of the sixties and seventies. That's because those were toe-to-toe boxers that would have annihilated Muhammad if he tried to outpunch them as Ken Norton proved in three fights against him between 1973 and 1975. Instead, he danced around his opponents because he understood that he would tire them out over the course of the match. He would move in with taps, sometimes flurries that would win the crowd and judges. He would also hold the neck and head of his opponents
a lot, using his reach and height to bear into the opponent's body. As the match wore on,
BOOM! Jabs, hooks, crosses and the famous "rope-a-dope". He talked mucho trash, knowing how mad an opponent would get, even after press conferences and media-heavy warm-ups had blown his top off. In the ring, Ali was one of the greatest ever. With all of this read, why, UptownMastermind, is he just
one of the greatest?Maybe it's just me, being too young for the Ali experience when it was at its fever pitch. Maybe being an evolving student of sports history and the business had led me to abscond from popular opinion. Coming up in the Tyson and Lewis years? Possible. Or just the fact that Bernard Hopkins has been showing a dominance unseen by anyone younger than 60. Yet, I wonder why is Ali considered the greatest and the rest fall by the wayside. Why does he hold the standard when there have been boxers that have arguably been better than him, even in his time?
In every reference to Ali, most people point out his life outside of the ring. In a time of social rupture, a 22 year-old undefeated phenom named Cassius Clay's defeat of Sonny Liston gave birth to a legend that will never waver, nor should it. As he changed his name, Ali embraced an ideal foreign to much of the nation, but most importantly, the media that covered it. A ha! The m-word! From the second he shocked the world after defeating Liston, the media hounded for questions and answers, press conferences became spectacles themselves and the workouts had the look of a WWE lockerroom during 'RAW'. And before Ahmad Rashad fetched Michael Jordan his coffee, there was Howard Cosell, quite possibly the
worst sports broadcast figure in history. Why was Ali embraced so much?
It goes back to some fifty years before the 1962 "shock". For years when Jack Johnson challenged for the heavyweight title, he was turned away by much of the media because
the idea of a black heavyweight champion threatened their sensibilities. When James J. Jeffries retired and essentially handed the belt over to Tommy Burns, writers slowly began to change thier tune (partially out of hatred for Burns). Johnson had punched, boxed, paced, outscored and taunted his way to the top, taking all comers to the point that there was no one left. When he finally got his shot and won the title on December 26, 1908, the ripple became a tidal wave. His bravado, none too different from the likes of past white champions, enraged the purists, the racists, even many blacks. Brandishing expensive cars and jewelry, associations with pimps and sports, mingling races in "black and tan" establishments... sounds like 2005, let alone a century before. Marrying three different white women didn't help, but added diesel fuel to a kitchen stove. He was villified so much that he was advised to stay away from the up and coming Joe Louis after his retirement. Louis was advised countless times to never become like Johnson.
Louis was followed by Robinson who was then followed by... the next era of boxing didn't produce the agreeable face right away. Most of it was because of the steady increase of black boxers due to the success of the predecesors. The 1960s presented a point where the media had
no choice but to acknowledge the black boxer. Rocky Marciano and Jake LaMatta were gone. And there was no Cinderella Man to crowd around. Ali, in my opinion of course, became the media's obsession. He was charismatic and well-spoken. His talking gave more soundbites than thirty Terrell Owens press conferences. And guys like me have to admit, he wasn't a ugly man by any means.
Yet, wasn't this done before? Well... yeah. Ali would tell you himself that he emulated the boxing styles of Robinson and
Archie Moore, that he used Louis' power... but most importantly, he found himself in Johnson. Johnson impacted boxing with his scientific approach, which did impress even the haters of his time.
His stance placed much of his power in his back leg while keeping the arms around his waist. He swayed his arms in a jumprope motion while circling the ring, waiting for his opponent to lunge at him. And he talked, taunted and dared all around the ring, from the opponent to the media to many of the racist fans that begged to see him fall. Sounds a bit like Ali, doesn't it? It wasn't just the physical style that was borrowed. In 1970 Ali saw the premiere of"The Great White Hope", which James Earl Jones played Jack Jeffries in a loose bio of Jack Johnson's life after becoming champion. Ali said afterwards that he saw himself in the role. Replace Johnson's peril of the Mann Act (the "white slavery" law that dogged him) with Ali's fight against serving in the military and his Muslim beliefs, they were one in the same.
Johnson + Louis + Robinson + the sixties & seventies = Ali.
Ali's gifts and keen sense of people made him one of the greats. Yet, what did set him apart from the greats that he went against was that he would play the media game. Have you ever read about Sonny Liston, Floyd Patterson, Ken Norton, George Foreman, Joe Frazier or Larry Holmes being media friendly? Probably not. Even in sports today, a guy like Patrick Ewing may never get his due because he went about his work and went home (most of the time). How about Oscar Robertson as opposed to Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson? Derrick Mason and Rod Smith to all of the elite receivers in the NFL today? Mario Lemieux will never get the credit like Wayne Gretzky because he didn't have that friendliness. Shoot, Sara Foster would be long forgotten once Danica Patrick gets her first IndyCar victory. See where I'm going?
So yes, I dare say it. Muhammad Ali is the greatest
figure, but not 'The Greatest' boxer. That distinction is hard to give to anyone of any sport. My mother, of all people, reminded me about a rarely discussed belief in sports as well as in life in general: a person becomes great based on circumstance. If Norton broke Ali's jaw in 1973, imagine what a young Tyson could have done. Imagine any athlete in any era. Would they still be as great as we remember them? Maybe if the casuals and the Cosell wannabes stand to the side, we can imagine.
And as of this post: I am introducing IDB's version of ESPN's Did You Know. We'll call it "Say Word?!?!"
"Sugar Ray Robinson" was born Walker Smith Jr. on May 21, 1921 in Ailey, Georgia. The name "Sugar Ray Robinson" came by accident... but you should check out "Pound for Pound" to learn of how.
