It was the perfect bookend to the first one, which was the greatest sporting event in world history. And, for pure tenacity, this one was even better. Oct. 1, 1975 — 50 years since Joe Frazier met Muhammad Ali in a hot box in the Philippines. The two men battled to the brink of death, their furious epic forever known, and perhaps undersold, as “The Thrilla in Manila.”
It remains a stark reminder of how a dictator can dip his grimy hands into sport in an attempt to wash them clean.
It had been four years since they first faced off. In the interim, both had been in with George Foreman — Frazier destroyed, Ali victorious via an 8th round KO in newly christened Zaire. That “Rumble in the Jungle” also happened to be held under the auspices of a despot, the notorious Mobutu Sese Seko, an oddball dictator who took particular pleasure in changing the names of things on maps (ring a bell?) Mobutu had no intention of washing anything other than cash. And, oh, Don King was there, too.
Given Ali’s relatively easy victory in their rematch, coupled with each fighter’s recent performance against Big George, the run-up to this one was at first lukewarm. Many thought Ali was just returning a favor to washed-up Joe for his granting the exiled champ a rightful chance to decide things in the ring back in ‘71. Until.
Until Ali broke out a prop, a miniature rubber gorilla that he tapped in the head repeatedly in an effort to humiliate Joe. He was guilty of this kind of garbage before the first fight and relied on it in the second, but this mockery seemed more personal than showmanship. With every insult Ali hurled, Joe would train more — more roadwork and more tearing into the heavy bag with that lethal left. He secluded himself in physical and mental preparation with serious intent to answer in the ring.
By fight time enthusiasm had reached a point to where over one billion people would tune in worldwide. Perhaps, it was Joe Frazier’s quiet dignity that spurned people’s interest — Ali had gone too far, and many wanted to see him get whupped — or the axiom about “styles” and how these two were made for each other. Most certainly, it was the opportunity to see them in the ring together one last time. And all this excitement happened to culminate at 10 a.m. local time, under the one-man rule of Philippines President Ferdinand Marcos.
Marcos had whittled away at his country’s constitution, like Ali’s jab chipped away at Joe. By the time of the fight the Philippines were well under martial law and would remain that way for years to come. Only the pageantry of a world heavyweight championship fight, let alone Ali-Frazier III, could deflect the focus from the misery and corruption at Marcos’ hand and onto the fury of four black fists. It’d become a blueprint for wannabe monarchs.
Ferdinand Marcos was not to be the last autocrat to use sports as a conduit to obfuscation. Today we have one who injects himself in sports to distract from the huge divide in his country, to make himself out as a (strong) man of the people, as he simultaneously whittles away at their Constitution.
Think the U.S. Open Tennis, a Yankees game, the Ryder Cup. On the horizon, muscling in on the World Cup and Summer Olympics — there’s never been a U.S. president more calculatingly visible at stadiums and arenas than the one we have today (Ironically, Marcos and he share the same de facto press agent, Cindy Adams, proving that a lie today is as effective as one 50 years ago).
What better place to throw the word “courage” around than from a stadium’s luxury suite. And put Roger Clemens in the Hall of Fame now! And fix that sissy kickoff rule in the NFL while you’re at it. That’s our president. President Marcos, of today.
The fight itself was Homeric. Ali dominated early, taunting, countering Frazier smoke. Joe seized control with that left of his in the middle rounds, even surprising Ali with a solid right or two. Ali came on late, in one round blasting the mouthpiece from unrelenting Frazier. When Joe’s corner stopped the fight before the 15th round, both men were on the precipice of death. It was one of the most brutal fights in history.
Fifty years ago, in the blistering heat of Manila, two heroes met…
Today… Praise the Lord and pass the ball to MAGA.
Marotta is a filmmaker and writer.
