SPECTATOR SPORT
Battles royal
Frank Keating
THE Guardian's compelling Centipede col- umn, which reviews each week various milestones down the 20th century, got round to prize-fighting the other day and came up with 1975's `Thrilla in Manila' between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier as the century's finest battle royal. I wasn't there, but it was obviously one heck of a palpitating fist fight, Ali's heroic resilience prevailing when Frazier retired hurt (and how) at the end of the 14th.
I was also at the Dominion, Tottenham Court Road, for the 'Rumble in the Jungle', when Ali dismantled the seemingly unbeat- able George Foreman with his breathtak- ingly bold rope-a-dope tactic. When the lights went up at the end of the live trans- mission that night, the packed throng of London's underworld, hoods and hookers, were in tears at the wonder of good beating the perceived evil. So was I, and in nomi- nating a fight I witnessed second-hand, that one would get the palm — although I once saw on video, one after the other, the trio of 1940s middleweight contests between Tony Zale and Rocky Graziano, and for blood, guts and ferocity, even on fuzzy, far- away sepiascope, those take the biscuit.
I suppose Neil Allen, for 20 years the Times boxing correspondent and, so far, 17 with the Evening Standard, has a longer span than any Brit journo at the ringside. Of them all, Neil picks the almost demonic three-round eruption between Marvin Hagler and Tommy Hearns at Las Vegas in 1985 as the most fulminating he has wit- nessed live. Hagler won in the third but, as Allen says, 'the opening three minutes are generally regarded by my colleagues as comprising the round of all they have watched'.
Although I did see, live, Ali in the utter pomp of his pre-Vietnam ban — notably when he cut down Cleveland Williams the contest that left me most drained and admiring of the few I have attended, com- pared to Neil, was the classic 14-rounder between Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard, also in Nevada, in 1981. Phew! Some war- riors, and skill with it.
Come to think of it — no boasting, just damn good luck and being in the right job at the right time — I have been in on quite a few of the century's most resplendent sporting head-to-heads. Well, all the retro- spective films and books already queuing up for 1999 cannot possibly ignore the McEnroe-Borg tie-break (you don't have to give the year, these happenings neon-lit the century), or the final to end them all, in Dallas, when Rosewall beat Laver after hour upon hour by 4-6, 6-0,.6-3, 6-7, and a final set 8-6, the final two decisive strokes from the little man each a sumptuous back- hand pass of rare daring and beauty.
Or what about Nicklaus v. Watson at Turnberry? Sure, it was the 1977 Open championship, but in no time it had become one-on-one (the third-place prize- winner ended up 11 shots behind) as the old champ and new pretender slugged it out voluptuously in the heat wave. In his last two rounds, Nicklaus shot 65 and 66 yet lost by a stroke to Watson's two 65s. All square on the last tee, the vast auditorium awaiting them in the distance, young Tom placed his ball and then turned to Jack and said, 'I guess this is what it's all about?' Said Jack, with a smile, 'You bet it is. Great, isn't it?' And Tom won the hole.
Or Ovett v. Coe, twice within days at the Moscow Olympics. First up, the 800 metres, Ovett skates it, Coe distraught and his con- fidence shattered for the upcoming 1500m. Till, on the morning of the race, he opens a telegram from an unknown Mrs McGinty of Leicester, or wherever: 'C'mon, Coe, I've got money on you, pull your ruddy finger out.' And so he did. Epic stuff.
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