As the latest Olympic Games end Sunday, it brings to mind an Olympics that took place 50 years ago.
This is the golden anniversary of the 1960 Rome summer games. And there was a goal of a young man at those Olympics to win gold.
He would become the greatest of all time.
To watch highlights of the fight click here
Years later, it was my goal to see the man who won that gold in Rome win in person.
To watch highlights of the fight click here
Muhammad Ali.
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It was already getting hot in Gainesville, Fla. in May 1975. But I was used to it. It was, after all, Florida. The impending heat, however, was not top-of-mind.
I’d be graduating from the University of Florida in a few months. And then there was always that pesky little thing of getting a job.
Life of a graduating college student: Nervous. Needy. Naive.
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As I thumbed through the local newspaper, I read an article on Muhammad Ali. He had upset the heavily favored George Foreman a few months earlier to retake the heavyweight championship belt. And now he’d be defending his title for the first time in Las Vegas.
He’d be fighting a guy by the name of Ron Lyle.
The fight was a couple of weeks away.
I’m not a huge boxing fan, but Ali really was bigger than the sport. Could I pass up this opportunity?
I scrounged together a few bucks, convinced my girlfriend, Maley (now my wife), this was a good idea — and off we went!
ooo
Ali was a much different fighter in 1975 than in 1960. For one thing, he wasn’t Ali back then. He was Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. He also didn’t have the punching power or the speed he had as a younger man.
But the moxie and bravado? At its peak.
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I knew watching Ali fight would be great theater. And our $50 tickets would have us in the front row! Well, OK, front row in the balcony.
As Lyle approached the ring a “Lyle, Lyle, Lyle” chant went up.
Huh?
I thought everyone was an Ali fan.
Then the champ entered. It didn’t take him long. With right fist above his head, he pumped it up and down, imploring the crowd. We didn’t disappoint.
“Ali, Ali, Ali!”
Game on.
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The enthusiasm of the Ali fans quickly turned into concern as the fight began.
Simply put, Ali was getting whopped. Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr.
This was supposed to be an easy fight against this journeyman. It was anything but.
He was taking a beating.
The rounds were slipping away and Ali was behind. “Long trip,” I thought, “to see the greatest get beat.”
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When round 11 began, I was resigned to the fact that Ali was not himself today. I would have to make the best of a losing effort.
Then, without warning, everything was made right. With a right.
Lyle was stunned. Shaken.
“Ali, Ali, Ali!”
Four lightning-quick lefts staggered Lyle even more.
“Ali, Ali, Ali!!”
Lyle was propped up in the corner now. Out on his feet.
“Ali, Ali, Ali!”
“Finish him,” I remembered yelling. “Finish him!”
And he did.
Ali was barely able to stand when it was over. Barely able to move. He looked at the fans and raised both fists.
“Ali, Ali, Ali!” I yelled. I reached my goal.
Lou Brancaccio is The Columbian’s editor. 360-735-4505; lou.brancaccio@columbian.com.
