Lewis feels Ali's sting in bruising encounter

FROM THE ARCHIVES - Muhammad Ali v Al "Blue" Lewis, July 19th, 1972, at Croke Park:CLASS TRIUMPHED over raw courage at Croke Park last night when Muhammad Ali, in varying degrees of efficiency and expediency, dismissed the challenge of his fellow American, negro, Al "Blue" Lewis.

The end came after one minute 15 seconds of the 11th round when Lewis, tortured and tormented all night, was eventually led back to his corner by referee Lew Eskin.

It was a sad episode which surprised nobody for while Lewis’s brave heart and splendid physique enabled him to ship an enormous amount of punishment he never, at any stage, looked capable of conjuring up the punch that might.have stripped Ali of his immaculate composure.

And short of a miracle punch, there was no other way it seemed, that the loser could topple this prince of a boxer who, in between moments of indifference, turned on the high-powered brand of boxing that has earned the admiration of people the world over.

Lacking only a decisive punch, Ali’s display crystallised all, that is best in the sport. Dictating the tempo from the start, the former champion punished Lewis with almost every punch in the book and yet, this incredible athlete was still on his feet when referee Eskin decided that it was pointless to allow the carnage to continue in the 11th round.

For one eventful moment, it looked indeed as if Ali would spare himself the trouble of having to go past the halfway stage.

After an opening, distinguished by Ali’s precision jabbing and perfectly timed hooks to the head more than Lewis’s stubborn refusal to capitulate, Ali finally brought over the punch that everybody thought would end it with less than 15 seconds of the fifth round remaining.

Lewis, reeling on his feet after a tremendous two-handed barrage, was lifted clean off his feet by a snorting left hook to the jaw and as he dropped in an untidy bundle on the floor, it did not seem possible that he would beat the count.

Except for a few involuntary twitches, Lewis never moved a muscle before the count of six but then, with ringsiders jumping to their feet to acclaim a decisive victory for Ali, the bell sounded almost simultaneously with the count of 10.

To some pressmen at least it, looked as if the count had expired before the bell rang out but the official in charge thought otherwise and allowed Lewis’s handlers to drag, their man back to the corner for a hasty repair job.

It was a reprieve of doubtful value to Lewis for if Ali failed to complete the demolition job, there and then, he punished his hapless opponent fairly viciously for the remaining five, and a half rounds.

Lewis, by now reduced to a big ambling hunk with nothing more adventurous in his repertoire than a left hook, generally aimed at the broad expanse of Ali’s midriff, must have known then that his chances of success were virtually non-existent but he battled on bravely in the pursuit of his lost cause.

With the former champion taking time off in both the sixth and seventh rounds to allow Lewis a rare moment of aggression, the tempo dropped somewhat towards the middle of the contest but it rose to an exciting crescendo in the ninth when, with Ali’s corner demanding more positive action, the winner finally opened up with all guns blazing.

Trapping Lewis on the ropes he sank punch after punch into the loser’s unprotected body and at that stage Eskin must, have been sorely tempted to intervene.

He did not, however, and Lewis proved him right to some extent by emerging from the ropes to take on Ali in a thrilling toe to toe slugging match that must have surprised even his own handlers.

As it transpired, however, Lewis had nothing else left in the locker. By round nine, Ali was setting him up almost, at will, for body punches and the big red weals around Lewis’s heart betrayed the effects of the damage that he was being made to take.

A left cross stopped Ali momentarily towards the end of the 10th, but Muhammad shook it off almost contemptuously to proceed with his clinical dismantling of the figure in front of him.

Lewis, his mouth opening progressively wider, his feet almost stationary on the canvas, presented a target that was now almost impossible to miss and Ali, revelling in the ease of it all, embarked on another punchbag session.

The last vestige of resistance was now being drained from Lewis and within 90 seconds of the 11th Dublin’s most publicised fight of all time was over. Ali threw another left hook like a tree trunk to Lewis’s head, the loser’s knees buckled and as a torrent of leather went in, Eskin finally responded to the demands of the ringside spectators by stopping it.

Lewis, like a man long resigned to his fate, offered no visible reaction and within a matter of seconds the ring was covered from rope to rope with a mass of humanity proclaiming Ali’s victory.

Back in the dressing room the winner was gracious in his appraisal of Lewis’s display. “That guy has real guts, man, and I am not sure if the public here realise just how tough and how strong he was,” said Ali.

“I hit him with some of my best shots at different stages of the fight , and still he just stood there. There were times when I could not believe it.

“No, I was never worried at any stage. My old rhythm is now coming back and I think that I showed tonight that I am capable of taking back my world title from Joe Frazier.”

Viewed in the light of last night’s performance, Ali’s oft-repeated chant that he will destroy Frazier, does not now seem so far-fetched.

Admittedly his failure to take out Lewis with a single punch when the chance appeared to be there for the taking, must have been a little disquieting to his manager Angelo Dundee but he certainly appears to have lost none of his pace around the ring.

On only one occasion did he choose to demonstrate the famous Ali shuffle, early in the third round, but Lewis answered it. immediately by dropping his hands, by his side and inviting his tormentor to come in and have a real fight.

Unfortunately, from Lewis’s viewpoint Ali did just that, and for all his bottomless courage and ability to soak up punishment, there was nothing the Detroit man could offer by way of positive reply.

The setting for the fight could not have been better. A warm balmy evening presented a perfect backcloth for this all-American battle, but unfortunately the public response was not nearly as good as this Butty Sugrue-Harold Gonrad enterprise warranted.

Needing a live audience of 32,000 to break even, the promoters had to settle for a figure in the region of 17,000, a biting indictment of the apathy of the Irish sporting public in the matter of international sport.