The History of the Heavyweight Championship - 1976

In 1975 Muhammad Ali had defended the world heavyweight title four times, taken the championship back to America after nearly three years on the road and finished the year in Manila after the greatest fight in history. His fame had never been more impressive – Presidents, despots, kings, queens and dishwashers all queued for his blessing.

When 1976 started, there had been murmurs of discontent about Muhammad Ali. People were talking about him quitting, men and women in the Ali business and onlookers had the same opinion: the end was surely getting closer. Ali would have to soon leave the sport he owned. Or that was the thinking.

He did need an easier fight… that was for sure.

So, how about a Belgian. A man called Jean-Pierre Coopman. He carved religious statues as a restorer of medieval churches in Belgium. The most eclectic job any challengers for the world heavyweight title has ever held. Jean-Pierre had lost three of is 27 fights. One of the men to beat him was wonderfully named Rudi Lubbers, the Dutchman who had met Ali in 1973. Perhaps the most notable win was over Terry Daniels, the student stopped in 1972 by Joe Frazier in another world title fight that made no sense.

Ali wanted and asked for an easier touch and he got it. Coopman was quickly given a nickname aimed at generating a bit of pride and a few lines in the papers: He was dubbed The Lion of Flanders. He was 3 inches shorter, 20 pounds lighters and could not stop thanking and trying to kiss Ali on the cheek. Also, Coopman did not speak or understand English and that meant Ali had no way of getting inside his head – no way to torture or torment.

“How can I get mad at this man,” Ali asked at one conference.

The fight took place in February in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Ali had come down with a cold – that was not hype, it was real.

The Lion of Flanders had to spar and prepare behind closed doors because he was so unimpressive and word of the mismatch was undermining the sales. A local witch was hired… not a bad way to get some coverage. She declared that Coopman would walk to the ring and fight with an obscure and long-since departed Puerto Rican general and the general’s army right behind him. On the night over 10,000 paid to watch in the Coliseum and another 11,500 paid to watch on closed-circuit television at venue next door.

Coopman had a go, as they say – moving forward, hands high, looking to land. Ali danced, moved, used his jab, avoided hurting his hands too much – At the end of the first round, Ali leaned over the ropes and told the TV teams at ringside:

“You guys are in trouble, ain’t anyway you getting all your commercials in.”

Coopman was meant to have drunk champagne between rounds and had a decent slug in the dressing room before the fight. Ali dropped Coopman in round five, a final right uppercut sending the Belgian to his knees. He never beat the count and Ali was over as he regained his feet and the fight was waved off with 14 seconds left of the 5th round.

“The man is hard. He took some good punches,” said Ali at the end – the cold from the week before the fight making him sound breathless, a bit weary… like he had just completed 15 hard rounds and not 5 easy rounds. Angelo Dundee, in Ali’s corner, was just happy the fight was over:

“Muhammad actually slapped that guy into submission. His hands were so sore he couldn’t him hard.”

For the next defence Ali weighed-in heavier than he had ever weighed before. The opponent that night in Landover, Maryland, in April was Jimmy Young. Now, Young had been slipping and sliding under the Ali radar for a long time.

On that night Young was 27, had lost four times in 23 fights and had mixed with good fighters – he had a win against Ron Lyle and a draw and a loss against Earnie Shavers. He had also travelled to London and stopped Richard Dunn at a private sporting club in Mayfair in 1974.

“This was my guy’s worst fight,” claimed Dundee.

It was not a great spectacle, but it was skilful and Young was able to counter Ali at times. Young found ways to get out of the way and picked his own punches cleverly. He was smart.

“Young was a steady, technical fighter with a great chin,” Dundee again.

There were boos at the final decision after fifteen rounds. All three judges went for Ali.

“I don’t know what fight the judges were watching. I’d like him to give me a rematch,” said Young. There was no chance of a rematch.

Ed Schuyler, a ringside traveller from 1960 to 2002 as the boxing writer for the Associated Press, scored it in favour of Young. He was not alone, but Ali did admit that he had created the problem:

“I underestimated him. He was dismissed by everybody –I got it wrong and I ate too much pie.”

Just 22 days later, Ali was back in the ring defending his heavyweight championship. This time, it was Munich and this fight had some intentional and unintentional comedy attached to it. It was another bizarre fight in the life and career of Ali.

The plan by the German promoters was for a man called Bernd August to fight Ali in Munich. August first had to beat Richard Dunn, a scaffolder from Yorkshire, in their vacant European heavyweight title fight at the Royal Albert Hall in early April: Dunn knocked out August.

The German promoters should have walked away, but they went with Dunn. An odd move to say the least. Dunn was a former paratrooper and was led to the ring by members of the 1st Para troop regiment. That’s strange. And, Ali bought 2,000 tickets for American soldiers, based at camps in Germany. It cost Ali 100,000 dollars and Mickey duff, the British promoter and manager, always claimed that Ali was making an astonishing 3.3 million dollars for the fight.

“I’m just going to help Richard make his final drop,” Ali promised.

After Dunn landed in Munich it was revealed that he was getting help from a man called Romark. Now, this Romark character was a glorious chancer, known to tabloids and television for his stunts – or, rather… his half stunts: He claimed he could drive blond-folded across London. He crashed straight away.

He attempted to hypnotise Dunn – Dunn played along, hearing how he now had “fists of iron”. It was hard to invent. “He was a donut, that’s what I call him,” said Dunn.

Romark also tried his magic on Ali when he saw the champion at the hotel. He told Ali that he was “doomed” after fixing him with the evil eye – Ali fell on the floor laughing. “Who is this nutter?” Dundee asked.

Ali had dropped ten pounds since the Young fight, which was barely three weeks earlier. It was a sign of intent. He also arrived in Munich with a whopping 54 in his entourage. It was out of control and Gene Kilroy, Ali’s long-serving facilitator, called a meeting at the luxurious Bayerischer Hof to try and sort out the abuse. It was, by the way, abuse… with people calling America non-stop and eating steaks like there was a cow plague coming. Ali tried to get angry, tried to moan, but ended up smiling. Kilroy just shook his head:

“He could never say No.”

Dunn, as expected tried to take the fight to Ali, catching the champion and making him dance. And then, in round four … Ali started to set his feet and connect. Dunn was sent tumbling to the canvas three times in the fourth and twice more in the next round: it was called off after 2:05 of the fifth. It was the last stoppage win of Ali’s career, the last time he would score a knockdown. That is a sad fact – he would fight seven more times before walking away in 1981.

“Dunn can be proud of his performance – he hit me with some good shots.” Ali on Dunn.

“I don’t think I let anybody down – He’s the Greatest and I got to rock him. That’ll do for me.” Dunn on Ali.

The last word from Munich must go to Romark. He had given Dunn “Fists of Iron.” It was not enough. After the fight in the dressing room, as Dunn had a beer or two, Romark arrived in tears:

“Richard, I let you down. I’m sorry. I made your fists turn into iron – but I forgot about your chin.”

There was one more world championship fight planned for 1976 – a third and final meeting with Kenny Norton – they stood at one win each. Their final fight was set for Yankee Stadium in New York in September. However, Ali agreed a madcap fight against a martial arts wrestler called Antonio Inoki in June in Tokyo. It was not the comedy fight that many believe. It was crazy, just not very funny.

Ali had been promised 6 million dollars, but probably ended up with about 2.5 million dollars for the Inoki carnival.

“I can’t let boxing down. I can’t let my fans down. I can’t lose to this old, fat-bellied wrestler. I’ll destroy Inoki – the moment I go upside his head, it’s over.”

The original plan was for a glorious fix – a wrestling match, in other words. Inoki had agreed to cut himself, make it look hellish and then he was to take Ali down illegally and get disqualified. Well, that’s one version of the chaos.

On fight night the circus was ready. However, there would not be a fixed fight. It was going to be real. It was ridiculous. Inoki crawled like an injured crab all over the ring, kicking out at Ali – enough kicks did get through, especially to Ali’s left leg. Ali never threw enough punches and the pair did get caught up in a tangle. Ali also jumped up on the corner posts – raising his feet and legs to avoid Inoki’s kicks. It was oddly vicious.

Inoki had on hefty boots and one had a busted eyelet… and that cut Ali’s legs. This was not a joke fight. At the end of 15 repetitive rounds the decision was given as a draw. Ali was in a bad way – his legs were in a state. He had ruptured blood vessels, swollen legs and needed serious hospital treatment. The Norton fight was close.

The Norton fight was Muhammad Ali’s 55th fight – it was his 20th world title fight. He was 35 years of age. Norton was never easy for Ali. Never and some other things never change.

Mark Kram wrote a sober warning in Sports Illustrated of the dislike that still existed for Ali nearly ten years after his refusal to join the American armed services:

“The Ali haters who breathe heavily whenever he is faced by anyone who, anatomically, is in one huge, beautiful piece.”

Kenny Norton, Hollywood pin-up, fighter and beast of a man was certainly in “one huge, beautiful piece.”

Yankee Stadium was set for 30,000, but only 19,000 attended. There was a police strike on the night and a lot of trouble with muggings and pickpockets having a lovely time. Bob Arum, the promoter, blamed the unruly mob for the low numbers. It was certainly ugly that night in New York.

“Kenny is in the best shape of his career,” said Bill Slayton, Norton’s trainer.

Norton never once sat down or took a drink during the fight. Norton broke Ali’s rhythm again, using he jab to keep to build up points. Slayton again:

“Ali doesn’t like a jab, never has. He’s too worried about is face. Kenny will jab and jab.” Kenny did jab and jab and was in front after about eight rounds – then Ali came back, then Norton won another round or two. It was a hard, hard fight.

The third man was Arthur Mercante, the referee in the Fight of the Century back in 1971, and he didn’t like what he was watching from up close:

“Ali was not the same fighter. His timing was off, he tired more easily. But he was still the best boxer I’ve ever seen at coming up instinctively with what was necessary to win.”

At the end of the 14th round the fight was even, poised in just the exact same way their previous two fights had been: it was simple, win the last and you win the fight.

The corners were a contrast – the fight was won and lost in the final minute between rounds 14 and 15: Slayton told Norton not to blow it, not to take a risk. In Ali’s corner… Angelo Dundee was at his stirring, brilliant best and sent Ali out telling him that he Had to win the round.

Ali did win the round. And took the decision and kept his world championship belt.

Norton was furious again, but did tell me one night in Sheffield twenty years later:

“I wish I could fight that last round again.”

It was a win, but a win at a cost. Ali’s personal doctor, Ferdie Pacheco, wanted Ali to quit:

“I’ve recommended that Ali retire. I’m worried about liver and kidney damage with all the body blows he takes, but the great man will not listen.”

Nobody was really listening. Ali made 6 million dollars for the Norton fight – that type of cash can cause a lot of deafness.

Mark Kram sat down after the fight to write in sports Illustrated with a heavy, heavy heart:

“There is no question now that Ali is through as a fighter. The hard work, the life and death of Manila, the endless parade of women provided by the fools close to him, have cut him down.”

Ali would take eight months off before his next defence and would insist on an easy night.

George Foreman ended his exile in 1976, finally clearing his head after the loss to Ali in 1974’s Rumble in the Jungle.

His first was against Ron Lyle in a short, brutal, memorable slugfest. Lyle had lost to Ali and had stopped Earnie Shavers in the two fights before meeting Foreman. That is an exceptional hatrick of fights – the type of short series that exemplifies the Seventies in the heavyweight division.

The Lyle and Foreman fight would be voted Ring Magazine’s Fight of the Year for 1976. It took place at the Sports Pavilion behind Caesars Palace in Las Vegas in January. The actual venue is gone now, replaced by a topless swimming pool with a cover charge of 50 bucks.

“I knew going in that I would either get hurt or do the hurting,” Lyle said. He did both, as it happens.

Lyle hurts Foreman badly in round one. Foreman coms back in the second. The fourth is incredible, unbelievable. First Lyle sends Foreman down heavily. It looks over. Foreman gets up, drops his hands and just starts swinging – it is his last stand, his farewell. The Lyle is over and he looks finished. And then, seconds before the bell Foreman goes down again, this time headfirst. The bell sounds, he gets up somehow… he can just about walk.

Ron Lyle – the fearless Lyle – finally falls face first after forty punches in the fifth. He tries to beat the count, rolls onto his back at ten and the fight is over. Foreman has won, the exile is over.

In June, Foreman stopped Joe Frazier again. It was billed as The Battle of the Gladiators. Frazier shaved his head in the dressing room that night. The “Kojak” look, he said. A surprisingly small crowd of 10,000 came out for the fight in Long Island, New York.

Frazier was fighting with contact lenses. Foreman knocked one of them out in the fifth round. Frazier was in trouble. He was dropped twice, hurt, staggering and cut – Eddie Futch, so long the man in his corner, had seen enough. He climbed up, but the ref called it off. “It’s over, Eddie,” the referee Harold Valan said. “That’s good, Harold,” Futch replied.

Foreman would have four more fights, never get his Ali rematch. But in 1987 he would return and eventually win a world heavyweight title in 1994 in his 77th fight.

Frazier would take over five years out, return to the ring for a draw in 1981 and retire to his Philadelphia gym.

Lyle lost to Jimmy Young on points at the end of the year and would fight Joe Bugner in March of 1977.

Bugner knocked out Richard Dunn in one round just a few months after Dunn had lost to Ali. Bugner was still fighting 20 years later.

Larry Holmes won four. He beat the fearsome Roy Williams, perhaps the hardest of all the fringe contenders in the Seventies. Williams had once demanded a ten-round gym fight with Ali to settle an argument over some cash. It is according to legend one of Ali’s toughest ever fights. Holmes was ready.

At the Montreal Olympics the Cuban heavyweight Teofilo Stevenson knocked out four men to win his second gold medal. He was still refusing offers of millions of dollars to fight as a professional.

At light-heavyweight, Leon Spinks won the gold medal. His brother, Michael, won at middleweight. Leon would make his professional debut in January of 1977.

The year belonged, like so many, to Muhammad Ali – the fighter his people called The Great Man. But, the serious signs were there, signs that his reign must surely end, signs that his health was under threat. The problem was… who was left to beat him and who was brave enough to stop him fighting.