In the 10th round David Haye He stood in a neutral corner. He rested the gloves on two tight lines coming from the post. He had to get up. He sent countless blows to his head, his cube collapsed under him, his right leg disappeared. It was a struggle to get up, not to mention the fight. In real pain, a losing to a man he did not think of being able to beat him, Haye looked at the crowd howling around him. He could give up. He could call the time at the end of the sixth round when his leg gave way. He could give up during the impact he took in the next rounds. He could give up now. Instead, he turned to Tony Bellew to get off, to meet him and lose the fight.

It wasn’t supposed to develop that. Haye was larger, much more powerful, well -established weight. Bellew, when he called David Haye, was a talkative world champion, who certainly bit more than he could chew. The almost universal expectation was that Haye would knock out his antagonist. Bellew is not evenly a model of the politically correct virtue, but the low Jibes Haye that they would be Tony’s “last days” and so on, they were all the more distasteful, because he actually entered this competition with all the advantages. Fear was that he would hurt Liverpudlian.

Haye seemed no doubt. But he started the fight wild. From the first round he was decreasing massive arrows from the grille, missing Bellew. Its range and time were issued. Tony replied with his left hook, who rejected David on his heels for a moment. It could have instilled some respect. In the first half of the fight, Haye became more measured. He cut Bellew with almighty left hooks and stunning right. Liverpudlian remained patient, wanting to remain clear and counteracting when he could. Indeed, Bellew mixed up many, simply reaching the sixth round.

Then Haye suffered an injury. He slipped and it was immediately clear that something was wrong. He got crazy, worried on the whole face. Bellew rushed after him when the London’s drew himself. He finally put him down. David just got off the canvas at judge Phil Edwards from eight. He survived the round round, but finished shaking his head in the bell.

“In my head I thought I would be hit by a bus. And you know what, I was going to get up and ride,” said Bellew. “I did what I had to. It’s just crazy.”

Haye’s own fight persecute him. He suffered. The Londonian fought for the seventh round, hanging on ropes for balance. Bellew poured blows, hammering into Haye. But then he couldn’t finish it. The former heavyweight world champion survived the punishment, taking these hits. He fought, crawling on the ropes in the eighth round, cutting the reckless Bellew with the left hook, which he moved. But David had to hit his hands, he couldn’t twist his whole body for his shots. Tony returned to him, cut his right hand hitting down. Haye consumed them when Liverpudlian apparently began to hit.

“I was just waiting for my second wind to start,” said Bellew. “I was absolutely exhausted. I was blowing, I gave him a immense barrier to six, because he was hurt and disappeared. I don’t even know how many times he went down. I spent and just waited for the second wind to appear.”

In the ninth round, standing against a greater man, Bellew caught air. Haye, getting away from the ropes to the center of the ring, somehow managed to release his right hands. However, these were desperate efforts, looking for one blow to save the victory, which, to the center of the fight, were once inevitable. But it wasn’t. In the 10th round Bellew once again hit more free. He finished the session by landing one two and then on the left. Haye was going on. But he wouldn’t give up.

“I looked at David and said,” Stop now, “Bellew said. “Please, stop”. I’m not here to hurt people. “

The end had to come, not before time. In the 11th round, inexplicably taking into account his ruined leg, Haye threw forward to hit Bellew’s head. But Liverpudlian returned to him, drumming. The detained attacked forced Haye to Lin. Bellew will throw himself on the hooks, and the weight of the blows led David through the bands. Haye had to fall over and painfully back to the ring. His corner finally saw enough, and coach Shane McGuigan threw a towel. The finish came at 2-16. David Haye was humiliated.

But for a man who notoriously lost his loss in Vladimir Klitschko to the injured feet, Haye, he was generous in failure. He raised Tony’s arm in victory and did not justify. The next day he would have the surgery of a broken Achilles tendon, but he said: “Tony was a great warrior. That’s what it went wrong. I was wonderful, I felt good in the fight.”

“I did not expect that he would have a chin and the durability he had. I gave my best. My best was not good enough,” he continued. “I’ve never fought before. And if the fans want to see it again, I would like to do it again.”

However, this is a grave injury, from which he must recover, at the age of 36, at the end of his career, which was almost circumscribed by shoulder operating a few years ago. If this is the last appearance of David Haye in the boxing ring, then at least after this show of slow dignity it is redeemed.

Tony Bellew has already reached more than the most considered possible. The WBC world champion in Cruiser was simply a stunning victory in massive weight, as unlikely as we saw in the British ring.

“This circus will follow me now,” Tony said without enthusiasm. “I did what I had to do,” Bellew continued, emotions heard in his voice.

“I’m far from Rocky. I’m an ordinary guy. Whoever simply can’t give up. I can’t withdraw.”

Nowadays, it seems that there is a trend towards celebrities. With the creation of the YouTube star, supported by some television and media personalities, which also want to break into a professional game, most would think that this is a contemporary phenomenon. In the history of boxing, however, there were similar cases, and Edwin John is one of them.

Edwin John was always accounted for from Chelsea and in the early 1930s he was a very promising medium. Chelsea for many years has been a pressing of the London Bohemical elite and Father John [pictured above right with Edwin centre] He was the leading figure of this free, artistic and unconventional movement. He was also the most celebrated and best paid painter of his time and regularly transported Edwin and his siblings in the countryside dressed like gypsies and in conventional caravan. No wonder that after Edwin’s maturing, he will be attracted to a similarly unconventional calling. He chose boxing and this was very annoyed by his father, who wanted him to go to art school.

As a son of such a known public figure, Edwin’s boxing career from the very beginning aroused the interest of the press. His coach was Johnny Thomas of Clerkenwell, the Pro more than 150 competitions were experienced, who knew the game for Inside Out, and Johnny turned the raw novice into a very promising warrior in the blink of an eye. It is not surprising that John made his debut in Paris, the center of Bohemianism, in February 1931 and immersed a draw with a local boy in six -handed. When he returned to Great Britain, he joined forces with Thomas and six months later, after a disaster course at smaller art points, he was ready to debut in Great Britain. He made his base at Croydon and fought most of his early competitions.

His opponent of competition number two was Ted GilesCroydon demanding man. Giles was a veteran of over 30 competitions, including over 12 and 15 rounds, and he was the best performer in London Lesser Londer Londer Lander Malle Halls, but Newborn Edwin stopped him for eight. The next month, John repeated the feat, this time over 15 rounds, and soon boxed in the main places, including Blackfriars Ring and Royal Albert Hall. In the ring he spoke experienced Australians, Leo Wax, and then underwent a 12-round draw with the Master of Eastern Counties, Seaman Harvey. Although his father hated his involvement in sport, he participated in some Edwin’s competitions to support him. In 1932, Edwin began to look as if he could be a threat at the championship level and after throwing Jacek Strongbow Hartlepool in four rounds in the Royal Albert Hall, then he fought with two men at the peak of the British medium weight division.

The first of them was Jack Hyams from Stepney, an outstanding talent and BN report to their competition, over 15 rounds at Royal Albert Hall, said that “Hyams has much more experience, in English and American, and his additional knowledge enabled him to overcome the simpler hit of the artist-Boxer. “Later Hyams became the champion of the southern region in both the middle and lightweight massive, and in 1937 he turned the title of British medium.

John had the courage to climb the ring with the powerful Jock McAvoy. This turned out to be his last competition and it was an unpleasant experience all the time, and Rochdale Tearaway chose him before judge Jimmy Wilde entered after six rounds.

After 18 competitions, which only four, Edwin John settled into a more appropriate calling, turned one canvas into another and was a known water supply. He died in 1978 at the age of 73.

We were stranger at night, mentioning when a guy with a trilby standing next to me in a male urinter in Madison Square Garden asked: “How do you make a guy?”

“Okay thanks, Mr. Sinatra.” I stuttered.

“Who is fancy?” He asked.

“Well … Ali,” I answered hesitantly.

“No, the phrase will destroy him,” a broken answer has come.

End of conversation. We returned to press places – Sinatra was accredited as a photographer for Life magazine, and I was a modest juvenile writer from Southern London, including the fight of life.

Is it really exactly half a century ago that I found myself next to “Ole Blue Eyes and such literary fixtures as Budd Schulberg and Norman Mailer on Mecca Boxing? One of about 760 media (500 other applications were rejected), chronicing one of the most memorable episodes in Annals of Sport. I even have to get caught now when I remember about pure size and greatness.

As a lover of Ali, I was surprised by the concise release of Sinatra his chances. But of course, aged Warbler was known that he hates him because of his stand in Vietnam, and probably because Ali was the only character even more known all over the world than he himself.

Recent York, Recent York. It really was a night. The city was living with licking. In Madison Square Garden, the atmosphere was so intense both before and during the fight that two viewers died of heart attacks.

The fight of the century was a thrill for me. When we were waiting for the gladiators’ entrance, we in Ringside were delayed with brilliant red baseball caps blue and the Frazer Vi Insignia badge, strongly on our heads.

They were distributed by the wonderfully laconic head of public relations, John XF Condon. (XF standing for Xavier Francis). Some of the more venerable members of my trade, led by Daily Mirror’s The slightly valuable Peter Wilson protested that he was not annulled. “You don’t really expect that we will sit here, John,” Doyen issued from tabloids. “Well, Peter,” answered Condon. “Yes, there is a crowd with a capacity of 20,000 tonight, and another 5,000 outside is trying to break the door to get. If so, in Ringidide there are riots, the cops will want to know which heads hit and which do not hit.”

“Half of Hollywood seems here tonight”, my good friend Colin Hart with Sun He noticed to me when he looked at the mass ranks of A-Lister.

Earlier during the WAG-in Condon dinner, which had a great affinity with British Hacks, he asked a few of us, including Hart, Peter Moss from the Daily Mail and the deceased REG Gutteridge, if we would like to meet the Burt Lancaster, who was a commentator on the colors of the fight. Burt Lancaster, a trapezoid star, hence to eternity and many other Macho movies? You will bet.

“Hey, Burt. Greepe to these lime writers,” he called Condon to Lancaster, who turned away from watching fighters in breaking the scales. He was wearing a Rouge, brilliant red lipstick and eyelashes, stout with mascara, fluttering in our direction. “Hi guys” – he added. “Don’t love their muscles!”

“A friend of me!” He exclaimed London Evening News and ITV Gutteridge commentator, clearly surprised by the actor’s sexuality. It was of course another world.

A few weeks later, Lancaster was arrested in Hollywood while wearing women’s clothes. Three times a five-person father turned out to be a transvestite and one of the gay clicks (not because the word had this connotation) or bio-sexual ranning celebrities, along with Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter.

Condon seemed surprised that we didn’t know. “It’s showtism for you,” he chuckled.

We liked Condon. There was an aged school PR who did not take prisoners. At a press conference after a fight (in which no veterans participated, when they were hospitalized-Frazier for six weeks) noticed the singer Diana Ross, sitting in the first place of the packed media hall.

“With whom, with a little lady?” He asked.

“I am Diana Ross,” she went.

“I know who you are, a little lady,” said Condon. “Did I say who with? What media they represent?”

“Well, none,” she said. “Only I, Diana Ross.”

“Sorry, a little lady,” Condon said. “Out. This is only a strictly working press.”

And supremes superstar had to drill. Can you imagine a similar scene today, PR is dared to remove such celebrities such an escalate from a press conference? They prefer to remove reporters … how times change.

Only a handful of directors in the garden on March 8, 1971 are still with us and I think that other octogenarians Hart and I are the only two survivors of British diaries that still write about boxing.

Colin, who will write his own memories on Sunday Shining. He catches my views on how a huge opportunity it was.
He says: “I doubt that today’s fans can appreciate how gigantic this fight was and how good Ali and the Frazier were.

I would say that compared to this fight they call the proposed struggle of this century, Tyson Fury against Anthony Joshua, will be at the top of the bill at York Hall, Bethnal Green. Does anyone really care about fury and Joshua in China or Africa? But then the whole world talked about Ali and Frazier. It was really global, even though there was no pay-per-view-only TV from a closed circuit. It was so huge that even the Soviet Union, in which professional boxing was then banned because he sent two reporters from the TASS State Information Agency.

Yes, it really was an epic meeting that offered the world.

Until the evening, Fight Madison Square Garden had a circus atmosphere with dozens of police to control the crowd. Eight best in Recent York were assigned to act as 24 -hour bodyguards for Ali, who received numerous threats of death from Redneck Fractions.

This was not my first visit to the garden or the first meeting with the phrases. I discussed his free competition for the title of world champion with friend Ali, Jimmy Ellis, but if I have any claims to fame, it was because I was the first to put Smokin ‘Joe on the floor! Truthful. Seven years earlier, in 1964, as still soggy behind the debutant of Ears Debutant in a fleet press group based on the street, I was sent to my first Olympic Games in Tokyo. In these early days, security was much more loose than now, and we, the types of media, could wander the Olympic village without care. This is what I did when he threw himself around the corner on the bike at a enormous, fat juvenile man in shorts furiously at speeds. He saw me rather delayed. I jumped; He twisted, slipped and fell firmly. I recognized him from his shirt as a member of the United States team, one Joseph William Frazier, their heavyweight representative in a boxing tournament. I swallowed when I looked at the cursed figure spread before me. “My God,” I thought. “I am in trouble here!”

I was worried that he was very hurt enough to get him out of games – or worse. Was something broken? Adolescent Joe – he was 20 years aged – at first he looked, and then pulled out, rubbing the grazed knees. He smiled shyly and apologized. “I’m sorry, I think I was walking a little quickly,” he said. “My fault. Are you okay?”

I nodded and my sigh with relief was heard. We hugged our hands and wished him luck in the upcoming Olympic tournament, hoping that this almost disaster did not damage his chances.

It wasn’t. Then he won the gold medal, arranging the destructive ball of the left hook, which was to become his trademark in the semi -finals against the Russian, on whom he broke his thumb. This injury restricted his power to hit in the finals when he developed German Hans Huber on the decision of the majority.

The next time I saw that the amazing left hook in action was in Madison Square Garden six years later, when Ellis knocked down and then exploded him on Grotesquelo swollen jaw ali in the 15th and final round, because he clearly won the first of the most dramatic trilogy in boxes. The report, which I returned to my newspaper group immediately after the fight, began: “The legend was listed. A man who hypnotized the world of his mouth of magic is no longer the greatest …”

The clash of Ali’s Shock were news on the first page around the world, London Evening Standard simply managed the great, delayed report of George Whiting: “Ali-Oot!”

The fight itself even exceeded her promotional noise. At the end of the 14th round, the phrase led on the results of the results of the Ace Arthur Mercante judge and two ring judges, and even as involved Ali-Shile I could not disagree with the final assessment of Mercante 8-6-1. Ali spent these three and a half years in exile in exile, with only two balmy -up fights, he finally caught up with him.

But the phrase, 205 pounds of smoldering injuries, was absolute in the pursuit of revenge, which he was looking for “Uncle Tom” of the bad and twisting tickets he survived from Ali in accumulation. He was a worthy winner.

Returning from the garden in the early hours, the air at 7th Avenue was still electric – and not only from shocks obtained from acrylic wallpaper in the hotel where we lived, Statler Hilton, celebrated as a stationary Hilton.

To be straightforward, when it comes to boxing, it wasn’t really the fight of the century. Ali against Frazier III, The Thrilla in Manila four years later, in my opinion three times was a good ring spectacle. “Closest to dying”, Ali was to notice. However, there is no doubt that their first garden event was the boxing of the century.

I still have a baseball cap and a perfectly produced 1.50 USD program, with his stunning cover of the celebrated sports artist Leroy Neiman, as well as other souvenirs, which, as I was told, can be worth a few beans for grandchildren when I go through.

But my personal memories of this magical night are priceless.