On the phone from Philadelphia, Marvis Frazier launches into an eerily perfect imitation of Howard Cosell. The words tumble out in that familiar New York twang, clipped and concise:
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for joining us for today’s rebroadcast of The Fight of the Century on Wide World of Sports. Those of you who saw it live or watched on theatre television will never forget the sight of Smokin’ Joe Frayzuh putting Muhammad Ali on the canvas with that lethal left hook in the 15th and final round. Nor the sight of Ali, struggling to regain his senses, seemingly unable to ward off the fury and ferocity that was Frayzuh.
“Suddenly, there was Joe, stalking his prey like a timber wolf, landing that left, again and again …”
Joe Frazier’s eldest son chuckles gleefully, then turns quietly thoughtful.
“That first fight was the happiest and most exciting night of my life, to that point. I was 11, and I thought my father would be champ forever. But then when I was the water boy in his corner in Manila, I saw the other side, so to speak. I watched my daddy and Ali go to war, man, and it was scary. Very scary. I thought my father would kill Ali, or Ali would kill him.
The younger Frazier turned pro in 1980 and retired eight years later with a record of 19-2 (the two losses were to Larry Holmes and Mike Tyson), but he has no regrets. And the men to whom he’s most grateful for that are his father – and Ali.
“After the fight in Manila, Ali sent word down to my father’s dressing room that he wanted to see me,” recalls Frazier, who today is an ordained minister.
“I was 15, I was scared, and I didn’t really want to go, but I did. When I walked in, Ali didn’t even look like the same guy. His skin was all kind of grey, his lips were bloody, his face was battered and puffy.
“But then he pulled himself up and reached out to take my hand. In a real quiet voice he asked me to tell my father that he was sorry for all the things he said; you know, the stuff about being ignorant, being a gorilla. He said my daddy was a great, great fighter, a tough man, and that he (Ali) could never have taken the punches my daddy took.
“I thought it was a nice gesture, and it made me feel a little better about what happened. But when I told my father about it, he made a good point. He said Ali should have been man enough to apologize to his face.”
OPEN WOUND
Three decades later, papa Joe still wears his bitterness and resentment like an open wound.
Asked recently if he regrets any of the comments in his 1996 autobiography, Frazier was adamant. “Not a bit,” he said. “I don’t hate Clay (Ali), I just think he’s crazy. He knew what he was doing when he demeaned and disrespected me, over and over again. There’s never no forgivin’ for that.”
The harshest passages in Frazier’s book are near the end, when he writes:
“Today people ask me if I feel sorry for Clay. Nope, I don’t. Fact is, I don’t give a damn. People want me to love him, but I’ll open the graveyard and bury his ass when the Lord chooses to take him.
“You can see what the Lord did to him: He shut him up. Clay always mocked me like I was the dummy, gettin’ hit in the head. Now look at him. He can hardly talk, hardly move, and he’s still out there trying to make noise. He’s a ghost, and I’m still here.
“Truth is, I’d like to rumble with that sucker again – beat him up piece by piece, then mail him back to Jesus.”
