Ali vs. Inoki

by Josh Gross

  Race was about to shoot York when Valentine sprung to life. The blast had come from a blank, and blood was actually ketchup. As soon as the room realized what was underway, it sank in that this was just another classic rib.

  Swerves are more involved than ribs. They typically emerge as part of a storyline presented to oblivious fans. The marks. Wrestling writers will also throw curveballs when smart fans, the snarks, think they know where a story is headed.

  Most people assumed Ali’s match with Inoki was going to be a work. That was the discussion behind the scenes and it went so far as Vince McMahon Sr. laying out the finish. The idea was to play off the sneaky Japanese stereotype, which is why Ali and Blassie both invoked Pearl Harbor in the lead-up to the match.

  “The way Vince wrote it, Ali was supposed to come out and look like he was hitting Inoki with punches,” Bob Arum told Sports Illustrated in 2012. “Now wrestlers, they use razors to cut themselves so Inoki was supposed to cut himself, and blood would be everywhere. Then Ali would turn to the ref and say, ‘Hey, please stop the fight.’ Then Inoki would jump on Ali’s back and pin him. Ali would get up and say this was just like Pearl Harbor, then we’d all go home.”

  Before Ali met Inoki in Tokyo, while Vince McMahon Sr. promoted the WWWF closed-circuit locations in the U.S., his son, Vince McMahon Jr., was sent to Japan as an emissary. Junior presumed the Ali–Inoki contest would be worked, but soon realized that both sides of the bout had different plans.

  Junior tells a story in which he attempts to persuade Ali to agree to stick with a scripted outcome. In Ali’s hotel room, chairs and beds are pushed to the walls, making just enough space to wrestle. The story goes that McMahon took Ali down to the floor with ease, and made his case against participating in a legitimate fight.

  “I certainly remember Vince being there and spending time around Ali,” said publicist Bob Goodman. “But wrestling Ali to the ground would have been a little strange to me.”

  Publicly, of course, Blassie was all in for Ali. Privately he admitted rooting for the wrestler, though he disliked Inoki for several reasons, not the least of which was because to him Inoki had followed the path laid by Rikidōzan and jammed it down the throats of Japanese audiences. Blassie fully expected Inoki to twist Ali into a pretzel, but just in case the match went sideways, McMahon Jr. claimed a plan was concocted between himself, Blassie, and LeBell for everyone involved to save face.

  In Blassie’s 2003 biography, McMahon Jr., the promotional face of modern-day wrestling, laid out the scheme. According to the story, LeBell would sneak a blade with him into the ring. Some wrestlers were like surgeons with blades, and they could be very sneaky in terms of how it was used. As soon as there was any contact that made it look like Inoki was in trouble, LeBell was allegedly going to put himself in the middle of the combatants and figure out a way to knick Ali across the tip of his hairline. It wouldn’t need to be a big cut, just large enough for sweat to take over and make it look bad.

  “A lot of times it’s the referee that does the gimmick,” said Dan Madigan, the former WWE writer.

  “Even Ali wouldn’t know what the fuck was happening,” McMahon is quoted as saying in Blassie’s book. “We had the deal where Ali wouldn’t get hurt, but he would bleed profusely because Gene would do a damn good job, and Gene would have to stop the fight because of the blood. Thus, the fans would want to see a return match or some damn thing.”

  For his part, LeBell said he doesn’t even recall McMahon being in Japan. LeBell knew McMahon Sr. and spoke with him, but said he never got on well with Junior. “Vince McMahon Jr. didn’t mean much to me at the time,” he said. “Just Freddie,” his old dear friend from Los Angeles.

  Over the years LeBell heard the McMahons wanted the Ali–Inoki contest to be pro wrestling, “but it’s just hearsay,” he said. “I thought Vince Jr. wanted to see Ali win and go against Andre the Giant. Shoot or work, either way, Junior wanted to make it happen.” LeBell asked Blassie in Japan before the match if Ali–Inoki was going to be a shoot or a work, and Blassie responded, “Sounds like it’ll be a shoot to me.”

  LeBell thought that was nice.“I heard every story about that in the world, but I didn’t get it from the jefe, the boss. Nobody told me anything. If the promoter said, ‘Hey, we’re going to work,’ I would have said, ‘Fine.’ I’ll referee a work or referee a shoot. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  Asked if as part of a work he would have taken a razor to Ali, LeBell said he wouldn’t. The WWE did not reply when asked if the quote from McMahon Jr. was accurate.

  “You have a better chance of reaching the president or the pope,” Madigan said. “Vince is protecting the business, as he should.”

  McMahon Jr. learned many lessons from the Ali–Inoki promotion that shaped his opinion of mixed martial arts contests as being a far riskier proposition than wrestling. Even with the rules stacked against Inoki, there was a tremendous amount of uncertainty on all sides because of lack of control. For a pro wrestling production, it was a unique feel. And Junior, an adventurous guy with vision, felt what it was like to operate on the world stage.

  The soon-to-be-dominant pro wrestling impresario didn’t know how his dad found out about the plan, “but he knew I was up to no good over there,” McMahon Jr. explained for Blassie’s book. “He said, ‘Goddammit, you’re dealing with Muhammad Ali, and you’re going to get into trouble legally in Japan. Get your ass back here now.’”

  Madigan, who was privy to the company’s versions of the Ali–Inoki stories, noted that Senior had placed great faith in Blassie.

  “How can Vince not trust and respect a guy like that?” Madigan said. “No matter what, with Freddie over there Vince Sr. knew he had the set of eyeballs.”

  McMahon Jr. returned to New York by the time the official weigh-in began in Tokyo on Friday. The weight tally was to be shown on live local TV but Inoki materialized a half hour behind schedule and, not to be outdone, Ali followed him with nearly forty of his entourage in tow. Andrew Malcolm, the New York Times Tokyo bureau chief, shadowed Ali as he made his way to the scale. There was plenty of cheering and yelling to accompany the moment. Inoki stood waiting on the stage and Ali bounced down the aisle, acting as if he wanted to get at the Japanese rassler.

  “Save it for the fight, champ,” said one member of the entourage. “Save it for the fight.”

  Ali looked at Malcolm and winked a knowing wink, like you know this is just show business, right?

  “I don’t want Inoki,” he told the reporter. “I want that redhead over there.”

  “There really was a redhead,” Malcolm recalled. “There was a thing in his eyes. Because I happened to be close in that moment you could see that.”

  After the experience of the stage falling in Munich, Goodman tested the platform to make sure it was stable. He smiled knowing it was. Soon it filled with people from both camps, and Ali started up with his act.

  “I will dee-stroy Inoki,” he yelled. “I want Inoki . . . Inoki . . . Inoki . . . you are in trouble.”

  Ranting and raving, Ali finally pushed Inoki towards losing his cool. The broad-shouldered Inoki stood, arms crossed, staring at Ali. Then put his hands on his hips. He had held fast but finally . . . Enough.

  Inoki’s personal physician claimed he was in fine shape. There was some concern with his left shoulder but it wouldn’t be an issue. Inoki looked strong at 100.5 kg (221.6 lbs). When he stepped off the scale Ali jabbed in his direction.

  “I hit you and it’s all over,” Ali said. “Just don’t get hit.”

  Ali weighed 99 kg. “How much is that in English?” he asked. The answer: a fit 218.3 lbs.

  Before leaving the stage Ali grabbed Inoki behind the neck. Inoki bristled and Ali went theatrical. Dundee and the rest of the entourage stepped between them.

  Kilroy, Brown, and Rhee all stood close by. Kilroy looked concerned as he sized up Inoki.

  “You wait until I let go for real,” Ali said. “I’m joking now.” />
  Inoki stuck a finger in Ali’s face and Ali swatted it away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ali shouted, wagging his finger at the wrestler’s nose. “Be serious tomorrow. Be serious. You’re meeting Muhammad Ali. The gloves will be small and I will be dancing. I will be dancing. I don’t like you. I don’t like you. Tell him I don’t like him. You’re ugly. I will destroy you. Tomorrow. I want you tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sayonara. Sayonara motherfu . . .”

  ROUND TEN

  Pitting a heavyweight world champion boxer against the top Japanese heavyweight wrestler was professional wrestling’s way of saluting the American bicentennial. That’s what it said on the cover of the program that sold at arenas where live wrestling supported the American closed-circuit broadcast. The photo-heavy souvenir was clear about the night ahead. Under the simple headline “Wrestler Vs. Boxer,” the program explained that the broadcast was promoted by Top Rank, Inc., Video Techniques, and Capitol Wrestling Corporation (unmentioned were New Japan Pro Wrestling and Lincoln National Productions, Ltd.).

  “Your local wrestling promoter has arranged this exclusive showing for this area,” it said.

  Fans at Shea Stadium in Queens had the chance to see one half of the closed-circuit feed in person. As an appetizer to Ali vs. Inoki, thanks to Vince McMahon Sr. and the World Wide Wrestling Federation, boxer Chuck Wepner would meet iconic pro wrestler Andre the Giant. Meanwhile, WWWF heavyweight champion Bruno Sammartino’s emotional return from a broken neck got top billing at Shea.

  Running the evening’s production and promotion, pro wrestling folks were in the midst of making a major statement about the future of their business.

  The “WRESTLER VS. BOXER” program included images and quotes from the contract signing at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan in March, laying out the expectations and relevance of the live pictures being beamed from inside the stifling Budokan Hall, and a ring above the Mets’ pitcher’s mound on the first Friday night of summer in Flushing, Queens. Ali vs. Inoki and Andre the Giant vs. Wepner “are the culmination of an effort to decide which sport has the superior fighters. Both will be seen here live tonight through the magic of television” the program promised in advance of a “history-making presentation.”

  The technology that allowed audiences to view backto-back events as they happened on opposite sides of the globe came courtesy of Henry A. Schwartz. His Brooklynbased Video Techniques was basically alone in pulling the strings on major heavyweight closed-circuit fights since Ali–Frazier I in 1971. According to a piece published in New York Magazine ahead of the “Rumble in the Jungle,” Schwartz made money in more than a few ways as cable television penetrated American homes.

  Forerunner to the pay-per-view business—which generated grotesque wealth in 2015 because of the promotion of Floyd Mayweather’s fight with Manny Pacquiao and a record setting year for the Ultimate Fighting Championship— Video Techniques monetized the lease and sale of projection equipment and technical services for satellite broadcasts, and Schwartz worked with Don King and Bob Arum to do all of Ali’s fights on closed circuit.

  In 1974, Schwartz found the money to put on Ali– Foreman in Zaire, and joined with King to sell the fight. The “Rumble in the Jungle” was seen perfectly in 390 closed-circuit locations in North America and in nearly one hundred countries worldwide. At Madison Square Garden, seats to watch ranged from twenty to thirty dollars. Ali and Foreman were set to split a $10 million purse, double Ali’s take versus Frazier three years earlier, and the bout was projected to bring in twice the revenue, too, increasing from $20 to $40 million.

  In addition to the group-watching experiences, the bout was available live in about 50 million homes, mostly in Central and South America and Japan. The rest of the world except China, India, the Soviet Union, and other Communist-bloc countries saw the fight live or tape-delayed over free home television.

  On the road to Ali, Foreman trashed Joe Frazier and Ken Norton in the second round each. Hundreds of millions of people around the world watched live as Ali’s brilliant ropea-dope strategy unfolded against a man who hadn’t needed more than four rounds to put away any of his previous twelve opponents.

  A new kind of megastardom was bestowed upon Ali as the spread of communications technology netted him a much larger audience. And Schwartz was the guy creating the conditions for record purses to go to Ali, whose incredible feats were shared with the world in innovative and exciting ways.

  Even if the mixed-ruled contest failed as an event—and there was a chance of that because some of the regional promoters weren’t 100 percent on board—wrestling would likely benefit in the long run from being attached to The Greatest. On the night Ali–Inoki was broadcast in the U.S., there were significantly more closed-circuit locations in place than for the first Wrestlemania in 1985.

  The WWWF delivered for promoters across the country both with press attention and satellite access. This was a rare spotlight moment for wrestling, which had been relegated to near backwater status by the mid-1970s. The pro wrestling business was split into little fiefdoms across the U.S. Each promoter intended to protect his enclave since it wasn’t to anyone’s benefit for fans to learn about different regions and champions.

  Though action was live at Shea Stadium, and Jeff Wagenheim had on many occasions made the trip from New Jersey to see the Mets play, he and a friend felt it was too much trouble to make the trip for Ali vs. Inoki.

  “Our interest level was enough to go to the next town over and go to a theater,” Wagenheim said. “But our interest level was not so high that we were gonna hop on a bus or a train into New York and then take a subway out to Queens and see it there.”

  The open-air spectacle played out on a hot and muggy New York summer night. Other cities featuring live wrestling to go with the satellite show included Chicago, Houston, San Francisco, Atlanta, Indianapolis, Dallas, Miami, Los Angeles, Detroit, Calgary, Tallahassee, St. Louis, and Tokyo.

  Depending on what part of the country the feed was coming from, star pro wrestlers from their territories were shown in addition to the two matches everyone saw. Wrestling pulled out its biggest names and matches during the nationwide festival.

  “This wasn’t the NWA that did it,” said Dan Madigan. “This was the WWWF at the time. The country was still divided up at the time. That was huge.”

  The WWWF, under an increasingly influential Vince McMahon Jr., held over four hundred dates across the Northeast in 1976.

  “Superstar” Billy Graham was the first WWWF champion to take the belt outside the territory, and in 1978 he wrestled NWA heavyweight champion Harley Race in a bigtime crossover bout on a rainy night at the Orange Bowl in Miami. Other than slipping on the wet canvas once in a while, neither champion was allowed to look weak. After an hour the match ended in a draw, each wrestler scoring a fall apiece.

  The “Superbowl of Wrestling” again showed the McMahon family’s ambition to grow their brand beyond its current confines. Respected by everyone in the business, Senior was old school and wanted Junior to honor the traditional boundaries.

  However, when Senior stepped down and Junior formed the WWF—World Wrestling Federation—with his wife Linda in February 1980, all bets were off. NWA-affiliated or not, promotions across the country soon struggled and many of their popular wrestlers found safe harbor under the WWF banner.

  “This is a business. The Ali–Inoki match was business. How can we generate revenue?” Madigan said. “It was also the seeds of Vince’s expansion into other territories.”

  In Los Angeles, where the LeBells dominated after the Daros, strong local wrestling promotion ended when Worldwide Wrestling Associates, whose title was on the line during the Blassie–Rikidōzan trilogy, closed the day after Christmas in 1982. By shuttering his NWA promotion, Mike LeBell, the first North American promoter to make closed-circuit television locations available to fans who couldn’t get into the arena, ceded the territory rights to Vince McMahon.

  “Cable guarantee
d the end of the territories,” Dave Meltzer said. “It was just obvious because once you had national exposure you could promote in more places and offer the guys more money to work major cities. The local promoters couldn’t afford to keep up.”

  Speaking in a famous article from 1983 that blew up kayfabe, Bay Area wrestling promoter Roy Shire told the Los Angeles Times the truth behind wrestling, in and out of the ring. What you thought you saw, you didn’t. And this is how it all really happened. Shire left the wrestling business two years earlier after a long stretch as the dominant promoter out of San Francisco’s Cow Palace, but in reality he was out of the game well before that.

  Approaching retirement, Shire’s last partnership was with Eddie Graham, a promoter out of Florida who served as the NWA president in the 1970s. Graham was the one who approached McMahon Sr. with the idea of a WWWF vs. NWA title match in ’78, and though Florida is a long ways from San Francisco, he and Shire pulled off three shows.

  Shire hosted his last eighteen-man “Battle Royal” at the Cow Palace, which had a reputation for its share of knife fights on wrestling nights, on January 24, 1981. Fans did not know they were witnessing the final wrestling event Shire would promote after decades of selling seats to Bay Area crowds. Without a TV partner he was only able to draw 6,000 fans for his last show. Lacking good TV exposure, which he lost in the early 1970s, he simply could not promote.

  Speaking with the Los Angeles Times, Shire tabbed the rise of the WWF and Vince McMahon to the promotion’s national television exposure, and longstanding connection to Madison Square Garden.

  “He’s not that great a promoter,” Shire said. “But if you’ve got TV, and you go national, you know, and people are seeing those wrestlers, week in and week out, then you come along—that’s the scenario of our business—you put a guy on TV and you get people to like him or hate him, then you put him in a town, and the people that have seen him on TV for seven, eight, ten weeks or months or ten weeks—or whatever, long enough to either you really like him, or really hate him, you bring him in the people’ll pay their money at the box office to see him. That is the essence of our business. Has been.”