Earlier this year, the satin white shorts that Muhammad Ali wore during his third and final fight (see war) with arch-rival Joe Frazier were auctioned and were expected to fetch around $6 million. The man, who wore shorts, “came as close to death as I’ve ever seen” during the fight. Someone, somewhere, now has a piece of history from the fight in which both warriors of the ring (with one massive “W”) gave up a piece of themselves.

It was 49 years ago that the fight that never gets antique, that never becomes a fight that cannot be written about… again and again… took place in Manila, Philippines. And the 14 rounds of pure hell that Ali and Frazier endured, a fight so packed with almost unimaginable action, drama and turning points, remains at the very top of the great bar standard when it comes to truly great fights.

Together with true bad blood, these two kings gave it their all in a fight that challenged the world heavyweight title, but also much more. The loser of this particularly fierce competition (wild in and out of the ring) will have to endure the pain forever of knowing that he was defeated by the fighter he had the hardest fight against, the fighter he HAD to beat the most to ensure his eternal greatness.

And although Ali, 48-2(34), made the mistake of believing that Joe was almost shot and therefore had to train less than diligently, while “Smokin’ Joe” was slaving away in training camp, his thoughts were focused on the fight and nothing like that like, say, the fun Ali had when he was able to spend quality time with his lover, “The Greatest” was able to reach deep into his tanks when the time came. And how Ali had to do just that.

Ali got off to a quick, determined start as the 33-year-old was expected to pull out Frazier (32-2(27)) and head home (or his hotel). But Frazier, although he bent several times, was stuck there. And then Joe came back. From rounds 6 to 10, it was Frazier’s fight. A few years younger than Ali but more torn and exhausted, Joe’s vision was questioned, the former champion had gone to his well, and there was a lot of hatred for Ali down there.

Frazier, quite simply, was beating up on Ali during these rounds, with the challenger’s hooks and more hooks doing particular damage to Ali’s body. Sometimes, as he sat in the corner and allowed himself a brief respite from the hell of Frazier’s ever-looming, flailing, indiscriminate punches, Ali was close to fainting. Ali later said he wanted to quit before round 10. But he could never, ever quit, and eventually, when Frazier’s face swelled up grotesquely and his “good eye” deteriorated, the greatest heavyweight to ever do it grabbed him for the claws. way back to the top.

Eddie Futch is eminent for not allowing his almost begging fighter to go out for the 15th and final round. To this day, fans wonder what would have happened if there had been a fight in the last three minutes. Frazier was almost completely blind, but may have been less physically devastated than Ali. Ali, informed by Angelo Dundee that the fight was over, briefly stood up, then weakly and with an open mouth raised his hand in a gesture of triumph, before falling to the mat, leaving his most demanding opponent to forever snarl and mock it. he was actually the better fighter of the two.

There hasn’t been a more epic, more brutal and, unfortunately, more devastating heavyweight title fight since. Whoever owns Ali’s shorts, covered in blood, sweat and tears, should fully understand and appreciate the level of courage – pushing human endurance to the limits – the man who wore them was capable of that early morning (Manila time) 49 long years ago .

Both greats made the critical mistake of continuing to fight after Manila when neither really had anything left to fight for. Or something to fight for. Together, Ali and Frazier should have closed the show on each other.

At ONE you often hear state-of-the-art fans debating who is the greatest British player of all time. Most of the names that appear are those of men whose professional careers took place over the last 30 years. There seems to be a view that state-of-the-art fighters, due to access to better training resources and improved diets, are better than their counterparts from 50 or 100 years ago. They are not.

Tough times breed tough fighters, and former champions often had to struggle with physically demanding jobs as well as a career in the ring. Few of them could afford to live solely on boxing earnings, and most of them worked full-time throughout their professional career. Many of them were, for example, miners, and today there would be few people willing to do this type of work.

Ted “Kid” Lewis is, to me, the greatest warrior to come from these shores in the pre-World War II era. His only rival at that time was Jimmy Wilde. Ted was the British Featherweight Champion at the age of 19 before moving to the States where he really made a name for himself. After winning the world welterweight title in 1917, he returned to Britain and within 12 months won a further three British titles at welterweight, middleweight and airy heavyweight.

At the time there were only eight weight classes and Ted won the British title in four of them, which was a remarkable feat. Ted grew up on the mean streets of London’s East End during the Edwardian era and had to struggle to survive as an immigrant Jew from Eastern Europe. He had nearly 300 professional careers and fought through the toughest times of all, on both sides of the Atlantic.

In February 1922 he boxed Tom Gummer from Rotherham in a 20-round match at Brighton Dome. In his previous two fights, Lewis had defended his British middleweight title against Johnny Basham, winning the European title in the process, and then won the airy heavyweight title with a 14-round victory over Boy McCormick. Gummer’s fight was scheduled for the British and European middleweight titles, but Gummer was overweight and the fight ended without a title.

Gummer knew a thing or two about strenuous times himself. Having lost his father at the age of eight, he took up boxing so he could bring home extra money to support his mother. During the Great War he served with the Lancashire and Yorkshire Regiment and was wounded twice in action and was awarded the Military Medal for bravery in the trenches.

After demobilization in 1919, he resumed his boxing career, winning the British middleweight title in 1919 in a fight against Jim Sullivan at the National Sporting Club. He was Lewis’s great rival, although much less well-known, and a fight between the two men became inevitable.

Lewis was a good athlete as well as a great fighter and refused to accept confiscation from Camp Gummer when their fighter was overweight. He was disappointed that he wasn’t defending his titles, but decided that revenge was best sought inside the ring. He was in devastating form that evening.

Immediately engaging in combat with Gummer, BN reports that “Lewis looked determined and most perilous, attacking fiercely from the gong and rushing in with his head down to deliver a barrage of body blows.” Gummer hit the deck with a count of nine midway through the first round, and Lewis wasted no time with him anymore, driving the Yorkshireman to the body, weakening his guard, and then nailing him with a finishing left hook.

In his next competition, Ted suffered his worst ever defeat, losing in one round to Georges Carpentier when he was hit by a shot when he did not defend himself, thinking that the referee had called a “timeout”. Lewis, a welterweight, would be anyone’s opponent today, and he’s an all-time great.

Years pass and memories fade, or at least some of them. It was 18 years ago that this writer had the absolute privilege of sitting ringside for a fight that everyone knew would be special. As it turned out, no one knew how special he was. And as far as memory goes, the war, slugfest, classic – call it what you want – that Jamie Moore and Matthew Macklin put on when they fought at light-middleweight/154 pounds still resonates powerfully today.

How could it not be?

It was a scorching and steamy night at a packed George Carnall Recreation Center on September 29, 2006, and the fight had long since sold out (in retrospect, this epic should have been fought in front of a much larger crowd, but the fact that it did was not , gave/gives those who were there a huge “I was there” – they claim, along with a treasured memory). Moore, the defending British champion, gave his all against challenger Macklin, who stripped himself of himself that night and his effort was simply mesmerizing.

Southpaw Moore was 24-3 and Macklin was 17-1. Moore was 27, Macklin 24.

Together they fought a fight that would forever secure their place in British boxing tradition.

Macklin, trained by Billy Graham (remember Ricky Hatton who was there that night), came out, as it was written at the time, “like a train that had lost control of its brakes” and continued to attack: on and on…. But Moore, trained by Oliver Harrison, a little smarter, a little smarter and a lot more experienced than Macklin, pulled up, fought against the ropes, fired off some pointed, grueling counterattacks. Macklin told the writer many years after the war that he “fought with his heart in the third round.”

Indeed, the scorching pace set by Macklin was fit for nowhere other than the depths of hell. Both men will pay for the cruel skin they have put on their hands. At times, “Mooresy” felt like a punch or two, a way to overwhelm, and maybe stop. But every time danger loomed – and it did visit both corners many times – Moore would pull him in, maybe drop the ropes or spin his man to the center of the ring and regain control.

And finally, inevitably, Macklin’s hourglass emptied, so slowly and so painfully, to the benefit of the warrior and his followers. There were two, maybe three rounds that were Round of the Year material, and until the very end no one was sure who would win. Ultimately, the fight ended brutally when Moore scorched Macklin with a brutal two-punch combination upstairs, and a final left hand from the defending champion left Macklin face down on the canvas.

And just like that, although Macklin seemed moved, the previously swaying crowd fell hushed. Deafening. The sound of silence hit us all for a while. Fortunately, as we know, Matt was fine and his career continued and he was involved in several bigger fights. Over time, the two would work together; this added to the “it was a British Gatti-Ward” speech that had already started circulating that evening due to the great action.

Neither Moore nor Macklin ever became world champion. It doesn’t really matter. Together these two proud, fiercely determined, brave, courageous and fierce warriors will fight in a fight that is one of the best and greatest ever seen in a British ring.

Without a doubt, Moore KO 10 Macklin is by far the greatest, most stimulating and most memorable fight this writer has ever had, and let’s say it again, a privilege to be right there in front of it!

Eighteen years have passed and this fight still sends shivers down your spine.

As winner Moore said years after the fight, “I wish I was a fan of that fight at ringside!”