From Radical to Icon: The Strange Public Career of Muhammad Ali

Published

11 years ago

December 5, 2013

Muhammad Ali was not always been beloved. In fact, he wasn’t even always Muhammad Ali.

Ali was born Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jr. on January 17, 1942 in Louisville, Kentucky. After being introduced to boxing at age 12, Clay established himself on the amateur boxing scene by winning six Kentucky Golden Gloves titles, two National Golden Gloves titles, an AAU National Title, and a gold medal in the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome, Italy.

Clay made his professional debut the very same year, and was named number one contender to heavyweight champion Sonny Liston just four years later. Despite being only 22 years old and a heavy underdog in the fight, Clay was already certain he was “The Greatest.”

Others were not so sure. Indeed, the wit and witticism he later became so celebrated for was barely tolerated before his 1964 title fight against Liston. An audacious challenger, Clay taunted Liston by calling him a “big ugly bear.” He told anyone and everyone who would listen to him that he would “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee” in the bout, and dethrone perhaps the most feared heavyweight champion in all of boxing history. Still, Clay was considered by most a good-looking and funny flake with very little chance of actually lifting the title from Liston.

But that’s just what he did. Clay dominated the fight with his tremendous footwork and blindingly fast hands, and he was declared the bout’s winner when Liston refused to answer the bell for the seventh round. After the fight, Clay famously exclaimed “I shook up the world…I must be the Greatest!”

Maybe he was. The boxing world, at least, was starting to notice the brash and flashy puncher from Louisville, but Clay’s precociousness wasn’t exactly winning people over. At least, not yet.

Clay met Liston in a rematch one year later. By then, Clay had converted to the Nation of Islam through the teachings of polarizing Black Muslim leader Elijah Muhammad and changed his name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali. Ali quickly dispatched Liston in the rematch in just one round, with a short, hooking-type punch he dubbed an “anchor punch” akin to what he learned from former heavyweight champion Jack Johnson.

But despite solidifying himself as the best heavyweight in the world, it was Ali’s newfound religious conviction that had made the deepest impression on the public. At the time, the Nation of Islam was widely regarded by Americans as a dangerous and extreme organization bent on the separation of black Americans from society. So much so, in fact, that it’s most prominent member, human rights activist Malcolm X, had severed ties with the group in 1964.

The few writers who had supported Ali before his conversion felt betrayed. One referred to Ali as a “once likable loudmouth.” Another called Ali’s conversion “calculated deception” meant to drive up ticket sales for his fight.

Things were about to get worse.

“My conscience won’t let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America,” said the World’s Heavyweight Champion, Ali, in 1967 after refusing induction into the United States military based on his religious beliefs. “And shoot them for what? They never called me nigger, they never lynched me, they didn’t put no dogs on me, they didn’t rob me of my nationality, rape and kill my mother and father… Shoot them for what? …How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail.”

Ali’s boxing license was almost immediately suspended, and he was arrested and sentenced to five years in prison for draft evasion. In appealing the decision, Ali was thrust into becoming something more than just a boxer who’d held the title from 1964-67, more than just a man with a polarizing religion. He was now a civil rights activist who’d help spark opposition to an ongoing war.

During his exile from boxing, Ali traveled around the United States and gave lectures at college campuses. The topics included everything he knew about boxing, the Nation of Islam, the Vietnam War and racism in America. Ali, nicknamed “The Lip” back in his younger days, had the gift of gab and it showed.

The public at large was split on Ali. For young people growing up in the late 1960s, Ali became a symbol of rebellion against both the Vietnam War and authority itself. For the establishment, Ali was another harrowing reminder of an ever-advancing subculture of people whose values differed quite significantly than their own.

Pulitzer Prize winning author David Remnick, who authored a biography of Ali entitled King of the World, noted, “As he had before and would again, Ali had showed his gift for intuitive action, for speed, and this time he was acting in a way that would characterize the era itself, a resistance to authority, an insistence that national loyalty was not automatic or absolute. His rebellion, which started out as racial, now had widened in scope.”

Ultimately, the Supreme Court would overturn Ali’s conviction and his life inside the ring would begin again.

As the 1970s progressed, so, too, did Ali’s public reputation. Back in his element, the sweet science, Ali solidified himself as one of most successful boxing champions in history. As a heavyweight, only Joe Louis’s reign of 25 title defenses over nearly 12 years rivals that of Ali. Unlike Louis, Ali faced the most remarkable group of heavyweight contenders in the history the sport. There is simply no heavyweight in history that defeated as many fellow all-time greats as Ali.

Upon his return, Ali was unable to reclaim his heavyweight title from newfound rival Joe Frazier when the two met in 1971, in a bout dubbed by promoters “The Fight of the Century,” losing a 15-round unanimous decision.

But Ali went 13-1 until he got his next title shot in 1974, amassing wins over Floyd Patterson, Jimmy Ellis, Bob Foster and a revenge match against Joe Frazier, who had since lost the title to a young and menacing slugger named George Foreman. Ali’s lone loss during this time came against Ken Norton. The two fought back-to-back bouts in 1973, winning one each by split decision. Ali would later take the rubber match in 1976 unanimously.

Ali defeated Foreman in 1974, employing what became famously known as his “rope-a-dope” strategy of luring the champion in close while having his back up against the ropes to encourage the younger, stronger Foreman to tire himself out by throwing punch after punch while Ali miraculously evaded them. Despite being a heavy underdog to the 40-0 Foreman (who had blasted out Ali rivals Norton and Frazier within two rounds each) Ali defeated Foreman by knockout in the eighth round.

By the time he defeated Joe Frazier again 1975, the Vietnam War had finally ended and the fruits of the civil rights movement were in full swing. Ali was now the most popular boxing champion since Jack Dempsey ruled boxing in the Roaring 20s.

Ali retired from boxing in 1981. HIs final ring record stands at 56-5 (37 KOs). Ring historians consider him one of the top heavyweight champions ever, most often being placed in either the first or second position. Ring Magazine ranked him number one among all-time heavyweight champions in 1998 while the International Boxing Research Organization ranked him second (to Joe Louis) under the same criteria in 2006. Moreover, Ali was named “Fighter of the Year” by Ring Magazine more times than any other fighter in history.

Ali’s legacy has continued to have a lasting impact outside of the ring. Not only was Ali the most famous athlete of his time, he was also named Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the 20th Century as well as the British Broadcasting Company’s Sports Personality of the Century. He has been the subject of countless books, films and magazines, and he has continued to be a human rights activist even as Parkinson’s disease has stolen his voice.

On January 8, 2005, Muhammad Ali was presented with the Presidential Citizens Medal by President George W. Bush. Later that year, he accepted the Otto Hahn Peace Medal in Gold from the UN Association of Germany (DGVN) in Berlin for his work as a civil rights advocate.

It is perhaps too easy to say any one thing contributed to his lasting appeal. Instead, one might say Ali has been many things to many people. As a member of the Nation of Islam, Ali was a voice for those seeking religious freedom. As a champion in exile, Ali became a lasting and impactful force for the burgeoning civil rights movement. In his return to the ring after exile, Ali became one of the finest heavyweight pugilists who ever lived.

And so maybe, in the end, it’s simply safer to say that Ali’s transformation from radical to icon was not one thing or another, or even two or three things put together. Rather, it was all things put together, his life, the things he said and did, and the man he came to be to both for himself and others.

Epilogue: Strange Public Careers of Other Heavyweight Greats

Muhammad Ali wasn’t the only heavyweight champion to enjoy a radical shift in public perception during his career. The first African-American heavyweight champion, Jack Johnson, was virtually despised during his fighting days. Johnson deliberately inflamed white animosity during the days of Jim Crow segregation by appearing in public with white girlfriends at his side. He defeated a caravan of “white hopes” during his seven-year title reign, most famously besting former heavyweight champion James J. Jeffries in 1910. Johnson’s resurgence in popularity continues to grow to this day, made most apparent by numerous bipartisan posthumous pardon attempts for his 1913 conviction of crossing state lines with a woman for “immoral purposes.”

Jack Dempsey’s image underwent stark changes in the 1920s. Now regarded as one of the most popular fighters in boxing history, Dempsey was dismissed as a draft dodger during the first part of his title reign. Dempsey was mostly reviled by boxing fans until he lost his title to Gene Tunney in 1926. After which, he became somewhat of a folk hero. By 1950, AP sportswriters liked him enough to vote him the greatest boxer of the half-century.

“Big” George Foreman retired from boxing in 1977. Despite winning a gold medal at the 1968 Olympics and becoming heavyweight champion in 1974, Foreman was largely considered a big, mean nuisance of a man when he retired from boxing in 1977. Foreman had a religious epiphany and became a Christian minister. Big George came back to boxing a changed man in 1987. Instead of his trademark scowl, Foreman was a smiling man now. He went on to become the oldest heavyweight champion in history when he knocked out Michael Moorer in 1994 at age 45. Foreman’s popularity has endured, and he’s had quite the third career selling his George Foreman grills.

Mike Tyson was the youngest and perhaps most feared heavyweight champion ever when he burst on the scene in the early 1980s. He’s ferocious style inside the ring and tremendous success made him popular if not well-liked, but a lot of that crumbled when he was convicted for rape in 1992 and sent to prison for three years. His return to the ring afterward was marked by more controversy, perhaps most famously biting off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear during their 1997 title fight. After retiring in 2005, Tyson’s popularity has risen to all-time highs. He’s been featured in numerous books and films, and he travels around the world giving his one man show to rave reviews.

Kelsey McCarson is a boxing writer for The Sweet Science and Bleacher Report. Follow him @KelseyMcCarson.

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Kelsey McCarson

Thomas Hauser’s Literary Notes: Johnny Greaves Tells a Sad Tale

Published

1 day ago

May 11, 2025

Thomas Hauser

Johnny Greaves was a professional loser. He had one hundred professional fights between 2007 and 2013, lost 96 of them, scored one knockout, and was stopped short of the distance twelve times. There was no subtlety in how his role was explained to him: “Look, Johnny; professional boxing works two ways. You’re either a ticket-seller and make money for the promoter, in which case you get to win fights. If you don’t sell tickets but can look after yourself a bit, you become an opponent and you fight to lose.”

By losing, he could make upwards of one thousand pounds for a night‘s work.

Greaves grew up with an alcoholic father who beat his children and wife. Johnny learned how to survive the beatings, which is what his career as a fighter would become. He was a scared, angry, often violent child who was expelled from school and found solace in alcohol and drugs.

The fighters Greaves lost to in the pros ran the gamut from inept local favorites to future champions Liam Walsh, Anthony Crolla, Lee Selby, Gavin Rees, and Jack Catterall. Alcohol and drugs remained constants in his life. He fought after drinking, smoking weed, and snorting cocaine on the night before – and sometimes on the day of – a fight. On multiple occasions, he came close to committing suicide. His goal in boxing ultimately became to have one hundred professional fights.

On rare occasions, two professional losers – “journeymen,” they’re called in The UK – are matched against each other. That was how Greaves got three of the four wins on his ledger. On September 29, 2013, he fought the one hundredth and final fight of his career against Dan Carr in London’s famed York Hall. Carr had a 2-42-2 ring record and would finish his career with three wins in ninety outings. Greaves-Carr was a fight that Johnny could win. He emerged triumphant on a four-round decision.

The Johnny Greaves Story, told by Greaves with the help of Adam Darke (Pitch Publishing) tells the whole sordid tale. Some of Greaves’s thoughts follow:

* “We all knew why we were there, and it wasn’t to win. The home fighters were the guys who had sold all the tickets and were deemed to have some talent. We were the scum. We knew our role. Give some young prospect a bit of a workout, keep out of the way of any big shots, lose on points but take home a wedge of cash, and fight again next week.”

* “If you fought too hard and won, then you wouldn’t get booked for any more shows. If you swung for the trees and got cut or knocked out, then you couldn’t fight for another 28 days. So what were you supposed to do? The answer was to LOOK like you were trying to win but be clever in the process. Slip and move, feint, throw little shots that were rangefinders, hold on, waste time. There was an art to this game, and I was quickly learning what a cynical business it was.”

* “The unknown for the journeyman was always how good your opponent might be. He could be a future world champion. Or he might be some hyped-up nightclub bouncer with a big following who was making lots of money for the promoter.”

* “No matter how well I fought, I wasn’t going to be getting any decisions. These fights weren’t scored fairly. The referees and judges understood who the paymasters were and they played the game. What was the point of having a go and being the best version of you if nobody was going to recognize or reward it?”

* “When I first stepped into the professional arena, I believed I was tough. believed that nobody could stop me. But fight by fight, those ideas were being challenged and broken down. Once you know that you can be hurt, dropped and knocked out, you’re never quite the same fighter.”

* “I had started off with a dream, an idea of what boxing was and what it would do for me. It was going to be a place where I could prove my toughness. A place that I could escape to and be someone else for a while. For a while, boxing was that place. But it wore me down to the point that I stopped caring. I’d grown sick and tired of it all. I wished that I could feel pride at what I’d achieved. But most of the time, I just felt like a loser.”

* “The fights were getting much more difficult, the damage to my body and my psyche taking longer and longer to repair after each defeat. I was putting myself in more and more danger with each passing fight. I was getting hurt more often and stopped more regularly. Even with the 28-day [suspensions], I didn’t have time to heal. I was staggering from one fight to the next and picking up more injuries along the way.”

* “I was losing my toughness and resilience. When that’s all you’ve ever had, it’s a hard thing to accept. Drink and drugs had always been present in my life. But now they became a regular part of my pre-fight preparation. It helped to shut out the fear and quieted the thoughts and worries that I shouldn’t be doing this anymore.”

* “My body was broken. My hands were constantly sore with blisters and cuts. I had early arthritis in my hip and my teeth were a mess. I looked an absolute state and inside I felt worse. But I couldn’t stop fighting yet. Not before the 100.”

* “I had abused myself time after time and stood in front of better men, taking a beating when I could have been sensible and covered up. At the start, I was rarely dropped or stopped. Now it was becoming a regular part of the game. Most of the guys I was facing were a lot better than me. This was mainly about survival.”

* “Was my brain f***ed from taking too many punches? I knew it was, to be honest. I could feel my speech changing and memory going. I was mentally unwell and shouldn’t have been fighting but the promoters didn’t care. Johnny Greaves was still a good booking. Maybe an even better one now that he might get knocked out.”

* “Nobody gave a f*** about me and whether I lived or died. I didn’t care about that much either. But the thought of being humiliated, knocked out in front of all those people; that was worse than the thought of dying. The idea of being exposed for what I was – a nobody.”

* “I was a miserable bastard in real life. A depressive downbeat mouthy little f***er. Everything I’ve done has been to mask the feeling that I’m worthless. That I have no value. The drinks and the drugs just helped me to forget that for a while. I still frighten myself a lot. My thoughts scare me. Do I really want to be here for the next thirty or forty years? I don’t know. If suicide wasn’t so impactful on people around you, I would have taken that leap. I don’t enjoy life and never have.”

So . . . Any questions?

****

Steve Albert was Showtime’s blow-by-blow commentator for two decades. But his reach extended far beyond boxing.

Albert’s sojourn through professional sports began in high school when he was a ball boy for the New York Knicks. Over the years, he was behind the microphone for more than a dozen teams in eleven leagues including four NBA franchises.

Putting the length of that trajectory in perspective . . . As a ballboy, Steve handed bottles of water and towels to a Knicks back-up forward named Phil Jackson. Later, they worked together as commentators for the New Jersey Nets. Then Steve provided the soundtrack for some of Jackson’s triumphs when he won eleven NBA championships as head coach of the Chicago Bulls and Los Angeles Lakers.

It’s also a matter of record that Steve’s oldest brother, Marv, was arguably the greatest play-by-play announcer in NBA history. And brother Al enjoyed a successful career behind the microphone after playing professional hockey.

Now Steve has written a memoir titled A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Broadcast Booth. Those who know him know that Steve doesn’t like to say bad things about people. And he doesn’t here. Nor does he delve into the inner workings of sports media or the sports dream machine. The book is largely a collection of lighthearted personal recollections, although there are times when the gravity of boxing forces reflection.

“Fighters were unlike any other professional athletes I had ever encountered,” Albert writes. “Many were products of incomprehensible backgrounds, fiercely tough neighborhoods, ghettos and, in some cases, jungles. Some got into the sport because they were bullied as children. For others, boxing was a means of survival. In many cases, it was an escape from a way of life that most people couldn’t even fathom.”

At one point, Steve recounts a ringside ritual that he followed when he was behind the microphone for Showtime Boxing: “I would precisely line up my trio of beverages – coffee, water, soda – on the far edge of the table closest to the ring apron. Perhaps the best advice I ever received from Ferdie [broadcast partner Ferdie Pacheco] was early on in my blow-by-blow career – ‘Always cover your coffee at ringside with an index card unless you like your coffee with cream, sugar, and blood.’”

Writing about the prelude to the infamous Holyfield-Tyson “bite fight,” Albert recalls, “I remember thinking that Tyson was going to do something unusual that night. I had this sinking feeling in my gut that he was going to pull something exceedingly out of the ordinary. His grousing about Holyfield’s head butts in the first fight added to my concern. [But] nobody could have foreseen what actually happened. Had I opened that broadcast with, ‘Folks, tonight I predict that Mike Tyson will bite off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear,’ some fellas in white coats might have approached me and said, ‘Uh, Steve, could you come with us.'”

And then there’s my favorite line in the book: “I once asked a fighter if he was happily married,” Albert recounts. “He said, ‘Yes, but my wife’s not.'”

“All I ever wanted was to be a sportscaster,” Albert says in closing. “I didn’t always get it right, but I tried to do my job with honesty and integrity. For forty-five years, calling games was my life. I think it all worked out.”

Thomas Hauser’s email address is thomashauserwriter@gmail.com. His next book – The Most Honest Sport: Two More Years Inside Boxing – will be published this month and is available for preorder at:

https://www.amazon.com/Most-Honest-Sport-Inside-Boxing/dp/1955836329

In 2019, Hauser was selected for boxing’s highest honor – induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

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Argentina’s Fernando Martinez Wins His Rematch with Kazuto Ioka

Published

2 days ago

May 11, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Argentina's-Fernando-Martinez-Wins-His-Rematch-with-Kazuto-Ioka

In an excellent fight climaxed by a furious 12^th round, Argentina’s Fernando Daniel Martinez came off the deck to win his rematch with Kazuto Ioka and retain his piece of the world 115-pound title. The match was staged at Ioka’s familiar stomping grounds, the Ota-City General Gymnasium in Tokyo.

In their first meeting on July 7 of last year in Tokyo, Martinez was returned the winner on scores of 117-111, 116-112, and a bizarre 120-108. The rematch was slated for late December, but Martinez took ill a few hours before the weigh-in and the bout was postponed.

The 33-year-old Martinez, who came in sporting a 17-0 (9) record, was a 7-2 favorite to win the sequel, but there were plenty of reasons to favor Ioka, 36, aside from his home field advantage. The first Japanese male fighter to win world titles in four weight classes, Ioka was 3-0 in rematches and his long-time trainer Ismael Salas was on a nice roll. Salas was 2-0 last weekend in Times Square, having handled upset-maker Rolly Romero and Reito Tsutsumi who was making his pro debut.

But the fourth time was not a charm for Ioka (31-4-1) who seemingly pulled the fight out of the fire in round 10 when he pitched the Argentine to the canvas with a pair of left hooks, but then wasn’t able to capitalize on the momentum swing.

Martinez set a fast pace and had Ioka fighting off his back foot for much of the fight. Beginning in round seven, Martinez looked fatigued, but the Argentine was conserving his energy for the championship rounds. In the end, he won the bout on all three cards: 114-113, 116-112, 117-110.

Up next for Fernando Martinez may be a date with fellow unbeaten Jesse “Bam” Rodriguez, the lineal champion at 115. San Antonio’s Rodriguez is a huge favorite to keep his title when he defends against South Africa’s obscure Phumelela Cafu on July 19 in Frisco, Texas.

As for Ioka, had he won today’s rematch, that may have gotten him over the hump in so far as making it into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. True, winning titles in four weight classes is no great shakes when the bookends are only 10 pounds apart, but Ioka is still a worthy candidate.

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Emanuel Navarrete Survives a Bloody Battle with Charly Suarez in San Diego

Published

2 days ago

May 11, 2025

David A. Avila

Emanuel-Navarrete-Survives-a-Bloody-Battle-with-Charly-Suarez-in-San-Diego

In a torrid battle Mexico’s Emanuel “Vaquero” Navarrete and his staccato attack staved off the herky-jerky non-stop assaults of Philippine’s Charly Suarez to win by technical decision and retain the WBO super feather world title on Saturday.

What do they feed these guys?

Navarrete (40-2-1, 32 KOs) and his elongated arms managed to connect enough to compensate against the surprising Suarez (18-1, 10 KOs) who wowed the crowd at Pechanga Arena in San Diego.

An accidental clash of heads opened a cut on the side of Navarrete’s left eye and forced a stoppage midway through the fight.

From the opening round Navarrete used his windmill style of attack with punches from different angles that caught Suarez multiple times early. It did not matter. Suarez fired back with impunity and was just as hungry to punch it out with the Mexican fighter.

It was savage.

Every time Navarrete connected solidly, he seemed to pause and check out the damage. Bad idea. Suarez would immediately counter with bombs of his own and surprise the champion with his resilience and tenacity.

Wherever they found Suarez they should look for more, because the Filipino fighter from Manila was ferocious and never out of his depth.

Around the sixth round the Mexican fighter seemed a little drained and puzzled at the tireless attacks coming from Suarez. During an exchange of blows a cut opened up on Navarrete and it was ruled an accidental clash of heads by the referee. Blood streamed down the side of Navarrete’s face and it was cleared by the ringside physician.

But at the opening of the eighth round, the fight was stopped and the ringside physician ruled the cut was too bad to continue. The California State Athletic Commission looked at tape of the round when the cut opened to decipher if it was an accidental butt or a punch that caused the cut. It was unclear so the referee’s call of accidental clash of heads stood as the final ruling.

Score cards from the judges saw Navarrete the winner by scores of 78-75, 77-76 twice. He retains the WBO title.

Interim IBF Lightweight Title

The sharp-shooting Raymond “Danger” Muratalla (23-0, 17 KOs) maneuvered past Russia’s Zaur Abdullaev (20-2, 12 KOs) by unanimous decision to win the interim IBF lightweight title after 12 rounds.

Both fighters were strategic in their approach with Muratalla switching from orthodox to southpaw at various times of the fight. Neither fighter was ever able to dominant any round.

Defense proved the difference between the two lightweights. Muratalla was able to slip more blows than Abdullaev and that proved the difference. The fighter from Fontana, California was able to pierce Abdullaev’s guard more often than not, especially with counter punches.

Abdullaev was never out of the fight. The Russian fighter was able to change tactics and counter the counters midway through the fight. It proved effective especially to the body. But it was not enough to offset Muratalla’s accuracy.

There were no knockdowns and after 12 rounds the judges scored it 118-110, 119-109 twice for Muratalla who now becomes the mandatory for the IBF lightweight title should Vasyl Lomachenko return to defend it.

Muratalla was brief.

“He was a tough fighter,” said Muratalla. “My defense is something I work on a lot.”

Perla Wins

Super flyweight Perla Bazaldua (2-0) eased past Mona Ward (0-2) with a polished display of fighting at length and inside.

Combination punching and defense allowed Bazaldua to punch in-between Ward’s attacks and force the St. Louis fighter to clinch repeatedly. But Ward hung in there despite taking a lot of blows. After four rounds the Los Angeles-based Bazaldua was scored the winner 40-36 on all three cards. Bazaldua signed a long term contract with Top Rank in March.

Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank

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