In the summer of 1974, George Foreman looked indestructible.
His record backed up this assertion. He was undefeated in 40 professional fights, scoring 37 knockouts. A few months before, he had crushed high-ranking contender and ex-Marine Ken Norton with vicious efficiency.
Norton had split two fights with Foreman’s upcoming opponent. The fights were close, defined by seconds or a punch or two. This opponent was ringside when Foreman fought Norton. His jaw, broken during his first fight with Norton, had healed fine.
He said this after Foreman’s devastating knockout of Norton.
“I’ll retire George Foreman, he’s slow, he can’t hit me with that stuff, I’m a professional,” said the opponent, former heavyweight champion, Muhammad Ali. “He hit Ken Norton just like he do all his opponents. Caught him early. I admit he hits hard, but if a man can stay out of the way for five rounds, stick him, move, stay out of range, be in good shape – he’ll retire George Foreman. This man depends on getting his man in the first one or two rounds. If he don’t do that, he’s frustrated. Stick him with left jabs and right crosses, tie him up, and box him. And you will retire him.”
Ali spoke with his usual flamboyance but only convinced perhaps his fans and family.
I was in High School at the time and lived nearby. We had heard that Foreman was training for the Ali fight near us. After basketball practice, I joined my teammates in the bleachers at the Pleasanton Fairgrounds to watch the heavyweight champion of the world work.
It was something I’ll never forget.
When the man from Marshall, Texas entered the makeshift gym with a ring set up in the middle of the floor, the place went quiet. He was as big as a mountain, with muscles on top of muscles. His gait was confident.
It was as if he knew, you knew, he’d knock you out.
Following behind him were two boxing Hall of Famers, former featherweight champion Sandy Saddler, carrying a bucket, and ex-light heavyweight titleholder, Archie Moore.
Foreman, wearing red shorts, a torn tee shirt that revealed massive arms, and white boxing shoes, didn’t smile. He projected a surliness, like his idol Sonny Liston. Sandler and Moore nodded. They looked like they were enjoying themselves. After getting his hands taped, Foreman worked up a sweat shadow boxing for 15 minutes.
He stepped over to a dented heavy bag with boxing gloves on. The bag was swaying slightly–a groan escaping from it. It must have known what was coming. Head trainer Dick Sadler didn’t look happy either.
Sadler, who boxed professionally in the late 1930s and early 40s, started training Foreman in 1969. The trainer and fighter were total opposites in size and shape. Sadler was short and squat, while Foreman was burly and broad-shouldered. Sadler loved hats and owned many. One of them sat perched on his bald dome. The little man hugged the bag as Foreman, his head down, waited for a sound only he could hear. He began punching–his violent blows digging into the bag and echoing around us. Bombs were going off. I remember thinking about Joe Frazier going down six times against Foreman the year before.
Every punch jolted Sadler back a step. Several times, his eyes were closed, bracing himself. One shot knocked the fedora off his head. We laughed. Sadler didn’t. He picked up his hat but didn’t put it back on.
Sweat dripped off Foreman. Two fighters with headgear got into the ring–ostensibly to spar with Foreman. They waited for the Grim Reaper to join them. Maybe Foreman was in a bad mood that day because fighting was on his mind, not sparring. He wasn’t there to work on any weaknesses. He wasted no time knocking out his first “partner” in less than a minute.
I recognised the next victim to face Foreman. George “Scrap Iron” Johnson was a journeyman heavyweight who had begun his career in 1958. Johnson had fought Foreman in 1970, getting stopped in seven rounds. A young Joe Frazier and an old Sonny Liston had beaten him. He was tough and durable. Reliable.
The word was he was supposed to push Foreman. He tried, even landing a looping blow in the first round that appeared to anger Foreman, who stepped up his attack turning Johnson into a human heavy bag. A sledgehammer right deposited Johnson on his back for several scary minutes. He eventually got up and was helped out of the ring, wobbly, like a guy who had one too many.
An impassive Foreman watched from his corner.
The consensus was that Foreman would slaughter Ali. The former champ was 32 and inconsistent. Some said he was over the hill. Ali was my guy, but his speed wasn’t the same as earlier in his career – and Foreman’s power was frightening.
As we pondered this, the back door near the ring-opened. Sportscaster Howard Cosell came striding in with a broad smile on his face. Boos immediately cascaded around him. Cosell smiled bigger, baiting who was booing (everyone) to bring it on. We did. Cosell pointed at his gold jacket and shrugged. We weren’t impressed. Archie Moore and Sandy Saddler were laughing. They shook hands with Cosell.
Foreman had taken off his boxing gloves and exited the ring. He embraced Cosell. They stepped back into the ring where someone had placed two chairs. Foreman even smiled.
An air of invincibility floated around ‘Big’ George.
Moore was worried about Ali’s safety, “I was praying, and in great sincerity, that George wouldn’t kill Ali,” Moore said in The Fight, by Norman Mailer. Cosell agreed with Moore that Foreman would defeat Ali.
Ali found the talk hilarious. His self-belief was unaffected. He told Cosell he was crazy. “I’ve seen George Foreman shadowboxing, and the shadow won,” he said.
An almost 4-1 underdog on October 30th, 1974, Ali out-thought and out-fought the invincible Foreman. ‘Big’ George landed several bone-crushing punches, the same kind he had months before, but this wasn’t a heavy bag he was facing.
Ali said, “Is that all you got, sucker?”
It was. Ali shocked the world a second time by dethroning Foreman in round eight. He had shown that ferocious power can be neutralised by even greater skill and resolve.
