Monday, November 14, 2011
Smokin’ Joe Frazier died the other day and his death has prompted a great outpouring of grief among the media members who knew him. Frazier was the heavyweight champion of the world for two years in the early ‘70s, and is best remembered for his three brutal fights against Muhammad Ali. The first, on March 8, 1971, was called the “Fight of the Century,” and is still remembered as the first fight Ali lost. But for me, the memory of that fight is a personal one. It was the last public event I went to with my mother.
No, we did not fly to New York to catch the fight in Madison Square Garden. My parents and I watched it on closed-circuit television from a decrepit building called the Chicago Coliseum. We did not have pay-per-view television in the pre-cable era. For big events you had to go to some sort of arena or theater and watch a large television screen with thousands of others. Many sporting events were televised this way. Owners and promoters had not yet caught on that televising events increased their popularity. Even as late as the ‘70s they still feared local television would hurt live attendance. After all, to this day the NFL will black out any local game which is not sold out. As a child I remember that home Bears games were never broadcast and when we moved into a high rise when I was 13, we were excited that if the weather was good sometimes we could pull in the South Bend station which was outside the blackout zone.
This rule held true even for the playoffs. My father, brother and I went to old McCormick place (the one that burned down) in 1963 to see the Bears beat the New York Giants to win the NFL Championship. Of course this was before the Super Bowl and the game was held on the home field of the team with the best record. The Bears hosted the game at Wrigley Field, and the only way for us to see it was on closed-circuit.
By 1971, boxing had caught on that a great deal of money could be made selling tickets remotely for championship bouts. It is hard to imagine now how big boxing was at that time. In the ‘20s boxing was the biggest sport on the planet. Jack Dempsey made almost a million dollars one year, when Babe Ruth was legendary for making $80,000. The title “Heavyweight Champion of the World” was still revered in 1971. There was still only a single champion, unlike today’s hodgepodge of sanctioning bodies. Boxing was considered the “sweet science” a tactical and athletic contest rather than a mere slugfest.
The saga of Muhammad Ali had captured the nation. First, while still Cassius Clay, he won an Olympic gold medal (Frazier won one too). He knocked out the thug Sonny Liston to win the title in an upset, and then his stunning first round knockout of Liston in the rematch made him the talk of America. Ali danced like a welterweight and talked like P.T. Barnum. His brash self-promotion attracted many and turned off many others. I remember my brother bought a record of the young champ where he recited his own poetry pretty much calling himself the greatest fighter who ever lived, although he was not yet 25 years old.
Not only did he alienate, and even frighten much of America with his conversion to Islam in 1964, but his refusal to be drafted and the subsequent stripping of his title was a significant subplot of the Vietnam War. While in exile Ali lived in Chicago, I believe. I remember my father once pointing out a modest home not far from ours on the south side which he claimed was Ali’s residence. I don’t know if that was true.
Being pretty conservative from a family of Vietnam hawks, I had a strong dislike of Ali. His braggadocio rubbed me the wrong way, and his refusal to serve his country was dishonorable I thought. Still, his return to the ring was exciting, and the fight against Frazier transcended a mere sporting event. It was the biggest happening in America. Celebrities flocked to the event.
I have absolutely no memory of whose idea it was for us to watch the fight. I am guessing it was my mom’s. She was very sick by this point, bedridden most of the time. She had already been diagnosed as terminally ill, and died only a couple of months later. I bet she decided she wanted to be part of this despite her illness. She walked slow and was clearly in pain on the hard folding chair, but she never complained.
The Chicago Coliseum was literally falling apart. It was condemned later that year. But it was close to home. Seats were set up on the floor of the arena in addition to the fixed seats and it was full. Most of the crowd was black and strong Ali supporters. As a Frazier backer I watched primarily in silence. We had seats on the floor. The screen towered over us.
The atmosphere in the Coliseum was almost as electric as being there in person. The fans were boisterous, and unabashed in their support of Ali. With each punch the crowd cheered loudly. I can’t recall the fight specifically, but I will never forget the feeling of being at the event. The fight itself was a 15-round classic. Both fighters had good rounds and certainly the result was in doubt the entire time. When Frazier knocked Ali down thousands of people let out an audible gasp. I cheered inwardly. The entire experience was a thrill.
My mom’s condition deteriorated quickly after that, and I don’t recall discussing the fight with her, but I am happy that I still have the program. There is something special about having a family memory tied into a big event. Every time I read about the fight or the fighters I smile.
No, we did not fly to New York to catch the fight in Madison Square Garden. My parents and I watched it on closed-circuit television from a decrepit building called the Chicago Coliseum. We did not have pay-per-view television in the pre-cable era. For big events you had to go to some sort of arena or theater and watch a large television screen with thousands of others. Many sporting events were televised this way. Owners and promoters had not yet caught on that televising events increased their popularity. Even as late as the ‘70s they still feared local television would hurt live attendance. After all, to this day the NFL will black out any local game which is not sold out. As a child I remember that home Bears games were never broadcast and when we moved into a high rise when I was 13, we were excited that if the weather was good sometimes we could pull in the South Bend station which was outside the blackout zone.
This rule held true even for the playoffs. My father, brother and I went to old McCormick place (the one that burned down) in 1963 to see the Bears beat the New York Giants to win the NFL Championship. Of course this was before the Super Bowl and the game was held on the home field of the team with the best record. The Bears hosted the game at Wrigley Field, and the only way for us to see it was on closed-circuit.
By 1971, boxing had caught on that a great deal of money could be made selling tickets remotely for championship bouts. It is hard to imagine now how big boxing was at that time. In the ‘20s boxing was the biggest sport on the planet. Jack Dempsey made almost a million dollars one year, when Babe Ruth was legendary for making $80,000. The title “Heavyweight Champion of the World” was still revered in 1971. There was still only a single champion, unlike today’s hodgepodge of sanctioning bodies. Boxing was considered the “sweet science” a tactical and athletic contest rather than a mere slugfest.
The saga of Muhammad Ali had captured the nation. First, while still Cassius Clay, he won an Olympic gold medal (Frazier won one too). He knocked out the thug Sonny Liston to win the title in an upset, and then his stunning first round knockout of Liston in the rematch made him the talk of America. Ali danced like a welterweight and talked like P.T. Barnum. His brash self-promotion attracted many and turned off many others. I remember my brother bought a record of the young champ where he recited his own poetry pretty much calling himself the greatest fighter who ever lived, although he was not yet 25 years old.
Not only did he alienate, and even frighten much of America with his conversion to Islam in 1964, but his refusal to be drafted and the subsequent stripping of his title was a significant subplot of the Vietnam War. While in exile Ali lived in Chicago, I believe. I remember my father once pointing out a modest home not far from ours on the south side which he claimed was Ali’s residence. I don’t know if that was true.
Being pretty conservative from a family of Vietnam hawks, I had a strong dislike of Ali. His braggadocio rubbed me the wrong way, and his refusal to serve his country was dishonorable I thought. Still, his return to the ring was exciting, and the fight against Frazier transcended a mere sporting event. It was the biggest happening in America. Celebrities flocked to the event.
I have absolutely no memory of whose idea it was for us to watch the fight. I am guessing it was my mom’s. She was very sick by this point, bedridden most of the time. She had already been diagnosed as terminally ill, and died only a couple of months later. I bet she decided she wanted to be part of this despite her illness. She walked slow and was clearly in pain on the hard folding chair, but she never complained.
The Chicago Coliseum was literally falling apart. It was condemned later that year. But it was close to home. Seats were set up on the floor of the arena in addition to the fixed seats and it was full. Most of the crowd was black and strong Ali supporters. As a Frazier backer I watched primarily in silence. We had seats on the floor. The screen towered over us.
The atmosphere in the Coliseum was almost as electric as being there in person. The fans were boisterous, and unabashed in their support of Ali. With each punch the crowd cheered loudly. I can’t recall the fight specifically, but I will never forget the feeling of being at the event. The fight itself was a 15-round classic. Both fighters had good rounds and certainly the result was in doubt the entire time. When Frazier knocked Ali down thousands of people let out an audible gasp. I cheered inwardly. The entire experience was a thrill.
My mom’s condition deteriorated quickly after that, and I don’t recall discussing the fight with her, but I am happy that I still have the program. There is something special about having a family memory tied into a big event. Every time I read about the fight or the fighters I smile.
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