by Josh Gross
“This guy was dying with every fight he fights,” Pacheco said. “Blood was coming out in his urine and eventually it’ll be the end of the road. They just kept on going until the last fight. He had to quit because he couldn’t walk up to the ring. For them to put him up to the ring was criminal. The poor guy couldn’t even walk to the ring. This model, wonderful athlete just run down. Like a Model T running the Indianapolis 500. It shouldn’t have happened but it did. I said it on television so much they asked me to shut up.”
Ali’s kidneys were not only allowing blood to pass, there was evidence that the lining of his kidney’s cellular walls were disintegrating, Pacheco said. The great boxer was literally falling apart from the inside, but he didn’t care. In Ali’s mind, a fighter’s mind, The Greatest’s mind, he remained invincible and untouchable.
Three months after the match in Tokyo, Ali received a victory many people felt he should not have over Ken Norton in their third fight at Yankee Stadium. He managed two more wins before dropping his title to seven-fight “veteran” Leon Spinks in 1978.
“It’s like somebody with a paintbrush walking up to the Mona Lisa saying I can make that better,” said Pacheco, who had sounded the alarm bells and removed himself from the equation in September 1977 after Ali’s unanimous decision over Earnie Shavers.
“It’s the Mona Lisa, you can’t touch it! Well, that’s what Ali was. He was the Mona Lisa. He was a perfect specimen. He was a masterpiece. Don’t touch him. Don’t fool around with him. But everyone did and he let ’em. He let them all. I didn’t want to be a part of that and I wasn’t, and to this day I’m proud I wasn’t. I stopped and stepped away from him when I wanted to.”
After regaining the belt versus Spinks at the Superdome in New Orleans, Ali announced his retirement in September 1979, which he promptly broke thirteen months later against Larry Holmes.
“The press conference that they had at the Forum for him when he decided he was going to retire was very memorable,” said newspaper columnist John Hall. “They had a circus going. Several bars on the floor. Chick Hearn was the MC and introduced a lot of people. Ali made a big speech that day and was the most charming I ever saw. He said, ‘I fooled you all. You believed I was a bad guy. I fooled you all. I’ve enjoyed it and thank you for everything.’ He was totally charming. The next time I saw him he was already starting to mumble and lost the personality. I think it was from the punches. Larry Holmes really beat him up both to the body and head. He hurt him a lot too.”
Ali looked deceptively great ahead of that fight. He weighed under 218, and as far as his personal goals went this was good news. Ali hadn’t been less than 220 pounds for a boxing bout since upending Foreman in 1974, but in 1980 this was smoke and mirrors as he suffered from the dehydrating effects of thyroid pills. Gene Kilroy said he took Ali to the Mayo Clinic for a checkup before meeting Holmes. The boxer passed, though Pacheco knocked those results.
Fourteen months later in a minor-league baseball park in Nassau, Bahamas, Ali, weighing 236.5 pounds, went down to Trevor Berbick in an ugly display. He seemed almost unable to make it into the ring on his own. This was undoubtedly the end. No more propping up an old master.
“One of the main differences between Ali and other fighters today, he never walked around thinking he was a god,” said Rudy Hernández, who remembered the great boxer shadowboxing at the Main Street Gym in Los Angeles in 1981 like the rest of the guys. “He walked around being humble. He spoke to us. There was no catch. No cameras. No one around. He spoke to us like another human being. To me guys today feel like they’re owed, and they haven’t earned it. They weren’t as humble as he was.”
Up until Parkinson’s disease overtook Ali’s life, the man exuded a special sort of boundless energy. It was here that Ali and Antonio Inoki, whose famous “burning fighting spirit” mantra follows him wherever he goes, truly connected. An important piece of Inoki’s persona focuses on transferring his energy to fans, fighters and other wrestlers. A believer in the supernatural, Inoki will literally slap people silly as a goodwill gesture, and most recipients accept the experience with reverence. More than saying hello, Inoki always asks how are their energy levels. Someone wondering that, then, needs to be spry most of the time.
Ali didn’t need to slap someone cross the face to transfer energy. He only needed to walk in a room. I saw him once in person, in 1998 at a K-1 kickboxing event in Las Vegas. Pronounced physical ailments caused him to shake and slow his gait, but the room didn’t care that Ali wasn’t Ali. They loved him just the same. Everyone stood and looked before offering an equal mix of cheering, clapping, and respect. The feel of the place bumped up a few notches—even then he had that sort of presence about him.
A year after their draw in Tokyo, Inoki traveled with his wife to California to witness Ali’s wedding to Veronica Porche at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills. Ali’s divorce from Belinda had just finalized when he and Porche became official. Ahead of the fortieth anniversary of The Rumble in the Jungle, Porche, who provided Ali two more daughters, including famed female boxer Laila Ali, claimed she and Ali had married in a secret service in Zaire in 1974. By 1986, however, they were apart for good, as he married a fourth and final time that November, taking vows with Lonnie Williams, whom thirty years later he still lives with in Scottsdale, Ariz.
Ali’s influence on Inoki was massive—all one needs to see is how the wrestler patterned himself after the great boxer. Ali allowed “Ali Bomaye,” a catchy, upbeat track from the movie The Greatest, the 1977 biopic in which he played himself, to be used as the Japanese wrestler’s theme song. Inoki treated it as his own from then on. And when Inoki moved into the fight promotion business, he named his traditional New Year’s Eve events “Inoki Bom-Ba-Ye.” Inoki has always treated wrestling as a vehicle to bring people together, and in this sense the mixed match with Ali served its purpose, even if he never found the fame he hoped for in America. The closest he got to enjoying notoriety in the U.S. outside of hardcore pro wrestling circles, beyond being the Japanese guy that Ali fought in the non-boxing bout, was appearing as himself in The Bad News Bears Go to Japan.
Inoki continued to build his wrestling career, getting in and out of trouble, and playing off the mixed-match theme until 1989, when he made the move into politics—a new sort of public life—through the “Sports and Peace” party and the Japanese House of Councillors.
The next year both he and Ali visited Iraq as the U.S.-led coalition ramped up for the Gulf War following Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait. Both men attempted to negotiate the release of hostages taken by Saddam Hussein as bargaining chips to stave off attack. Ali sought freedom for fifteen Americans, while Inoki hoped to secure safe passage for over one hundred Japanese families.
As he had in Pakistan during the peak of his wrestling days in the 1970s, Inoki embraced Islam while he was in its midst. Whether or not this was a nod to Ali it surely seemed so, though Inoki generally took on the defining characteristics of the environment he operated in at any particular moment. In 1990, he became the first Japanese politician to be admitted to the mosque at Karbala. Standing in view of news cameras with his hands raised and palms facing skyward in prayer, Inoki underwent the process of becoming a Muslim. He was given the name “Muhammad Hussain,” although that was not revealed publicly for twenty-two years.
Days later, an estimated 35,000 people attended a “peace festival” Inoki organized in Baghdad featuring Japanese professional wrestlers, traditional taiko drummers, a rock concert, soccer, basketball, karate, and judo exhibitions at Saddam Arena. Another area in which Inoki and Ali were similar: they had no problem operating in the backyards of despots.
As Inoki’s return to Japan loomed, Saddam Hussein’s son Uday, Iraq’s minister of sport when he wasn’t raping, murdering, or torturing, announced that according to a special order from his father, all remaining Japanese hostages would be released. Uday went so far as to apologize for holding them.
Within days of one anot
her, Ali and Inoki departed Iraq in the company of their respective countrymen, and a month later, on January 17, 1991, the bombing commenced.
Neither Ali nor Inoki were prone to following rules. They operated as they wished in a world that was malleable to their needs. This is how truly pioneering people operate, and there’s no question that Ali and Inoki qualify. Ali’s strain of rebellion is a well-understood American quality. For the Japanese, however, Inoki’s subversion in wrestling, politics, and life has served mostly to push firm boundaries. At certain moments he paid a price, including scoldings from the Japanese government, yet, like Ali, Inoki functions best when the lights are brightest.
In 1998, Inoki retired from active wrestling. Ali flew to Japan and sat ringside at the Tokyo Dome, joining over 65,000 fans (another 5,000 were turned away at the door) to honor the Japanese wrestler, statesman, salesman, and chameleon. Inoki walked away from participating in “strong style” matches by working over American tough guy Don Frye—just as Rikidōzan might have done if he had had the luxury of wrestling to a conclusive career arc.
As the celebration of Inoki continued, Ali had a turn to offer his thoughts on the man with whom he tested his status as the best fighter on the planet.
“It was 1976 when I fought Antonio Inoki at the Budokan,” Ali said. “In the ring, we were tough opponents. After that, we built love and friendship with mutual respect. So, I feel a little less lonely now that Antonio has retired. It is my honor to be standing on the ring with my good friend after twenty-two years. Our future is bright and has a clear vision. Antonio Inoki and I put our best efforts into making world peace through sports, to prove there is only one mankind beyond the sexual, ethnical, or cultural differences. It is my pleasure to come here today.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is my debut book and I want my first acknowledgment to be that it’s taken too long to muster the courage to get this done. I’m glad I finally did. Diving into an important and misunderstood subject, around which I’ve dedicated myself as a reporter since the year 2000, made it considerably fun and worthwhile.
For introducing me to my terrific literary agent, Nena Madonia, who works under the legendary Jan Miller, my good friend Doug Melville earns the first nod. Doug is one of many friends whom I told this story to well before any publisher expressed interest, and I want to thank all the people in my life who listened to me babble on about it. Almost everyone I spoke with seemed genuinely interested in the tale of Muhammad Ali’s forgotten fight with Antonio Inoki, and their piqued curiosity only strengthened my desire to get this done.
Thanks to Glenn Yeffeth at BenBella Books for understanding the depth of the Ali–Inoki tale and agreeing to put his team on this project. I hope I did right by the story. Thanks to Jason Probst for being a sounding board, editor, and researcher. Thanks to my friend Michael Weber for putting together the book proposal.
A heartfelt tip of the cap to everyone who spoke to me. Quoted or not, the folks who allowed me to engage them were crucial to the story I could tell. Culling memories of great moments in fighting and pro wrestling history is one thing, but several people went above and beyond.
Jimmy Lennon Jr. opened up his childhood memories and family photo archive to me, and I still feel bad about arriving late for our first meeting.
Gene Kilroy, whose morning shave in Tokyo begins this book, was a tremendous asset on the Ali side of the story. Among others, the Ali confidant led me to Bobby Goodman, the hall of fame publicist, whose answers helped me piece together the events of 1976 as they happened. Bobby also passed along some tremendous press photos of Ali and Inoki.
Gene LeBell, whom I’ve known for many years, allowed me to join him in his office several times as we discussed his recollections of refereeing the match and growing up in Los Angeles. I love that in their bedroom closet, Gene’s wife, Midge, still hangs the Keio Plaza Hotel robe that he brought back from Tokyo after that trip. A month after the Ali–Inoki fight they bought a duplex across the street from a park in the San Fernando Valley, and have lived there since. I should also thanks LeBell’s right-hand woman, Kellie Cunningham, who puts up with more than she should but, if seeing is believing, wouldn’t have it any other way.
Many thanks to Grand Master Jhoon Rhee for his graciousness. Thanks as well to his son, Chun W. Rhee.
I want to acknowledge a truth now. The story I told is close to the full tale but it’s not. I scoured newspaper stories and attempted to re-create events as they happened, but it can’t be the whole tale because some people connected to it chose not to participate.
Antonio Inoki wouldn’t speak to me. Despite expressing through his son-in-law, Simon Inoki, that he would, the great wrestler never came through—a disappointment, but I want to still thank Simon, who passed along DVDs of the match, which I watched nearly thirty times, and shared several hours worth of stories about the most famous face in Japan. Thanks to former Pride executive Hideki Yamamoto, who offered many insights on Inoki, some of which may ring controversial. I was grateful for his perspective about the match, Inoki’s history, and the intersection of organized crime and the Japanese fight world.
Unfortunately, boxing promoter Bob Arum decided against engaging with me. I still have lingering questions about the role of Ronald C. Holmes and Lincoln National Productions, Ltd. Hopefully someday we can chat.
The pro wrestling side of this story was not particularly interested in participating. Vince McMahon Jr. and the WWE declined to answer any questions, so I tried other ways to get inside. Dan Madigan, the former WWE writer, was extremely helpful and, as one might expect, a great storyteller. A friend, Yoshi Obayashi, was one of this book’s biggest champions and he led me to Dan and others. I’m very grateful.
Dave Meltzer, the great wrestling writer, was instrumental in backfilling the wrestling history. Admittedly I’m not a wrestling fan, and some wondered why I would want to tell such a pro wrestling–heavy story. One of the great results of all this is I’ve fostered a new respect for the business, and I’m happy to report that I’m not the snob about it that I used to be.
With that, let me single out media folks. My colleagues. Thanks to Meltzer, Dr. Mike Lano, Bobby Goodman, Kevin Iole, Jeff Wagenheim, Rich Marotta, Bill Caplan, John Hall, and Andrew Malcolm for all your recollections and analysis. I hope you enjoyed the chats as much as I did. Dr. Lano lived and breathed wrestling around the Olympic, and told me one of my favorite anecdotes in the book, about Freddie Blassie’s false fangs. There were so many.
Thanks as well to John Nash, Bobby Razak, Bill Viola, Josh Barnett, Maurice Smith, Chuck Wepner, Don Chargin, Art Davie, Rudy Hernández, Ferdie Pacheco, Alan Swyer, Dave Sloane from Honda of Hollywood, Don Fraser, Bernie Yuman, Rami Genauer, the Cauliflower Alley Club, and Ronald A. DiNicola.
Party on and Godspeed to Bas Rutten. One of my earliest mixed martial arts teachers was kind enough to pen the book’s great foreword.
Lastly, I want to acknowledge how lucky I was to find the Ali–Inoki story. Somehow, after traveling to Japan twelve times to cover the biggest MMA events in the world from 2000 to 2003, life brought me to a fantastic fight and pro wrestling souvenir shop near the Tokyo Dome. Hanging on my office wall today is the only piece of memorabilia I ever brought back from Japan: a replica poster of the Ali–Inoki match that advertised closed-circuit venues in Riverside, Calif. The poster sells “East Meets West” and features copies of both fighters’ signatures. It fascinated me on the spot and I told myself then that someday I’d write a book about this.
–Josh Gross, 2016
INDEX
Page numbers in italics refer to photographs
A
Accu-punch, 108–110
Adonis, Adrian, 165
Aldo, Jose, 233
Ali, Belinda, 101, 102, 277
Ali, Laila, 277
Ali, Muhammad, 135–137, 139–143
affair with Porche, 101–103, 277
blood clots, 226, 229
“Boxer of the
Century” award, 241
bragging, 44, 227
celebrity, 103, 244
charisma, 43, 111, 271, 276
children, 101, 277
competitiveness, 244
confidence before fight, 5, 6, 15
energy level, 276, 277
entourage, 2, 13, 106, 107
hospitalization after fight against Inoki, 229
Inoki, relationship with, 279, 280
Inoki’s retirement, attendance at, 279, 280
intelligence, 78
invincibility, 2, 274
Iraq, trip to, 278, 279
Islam, conversion to, 43, 86
Islam, support of, 103, 244
lifestyle, 103
likability, 223, 276, 277
Main Street Gym, training at, 74, 75, 78, 79, 276
marriages, 277. See also Ali, Belinda; Porche, Veronica; Williams, Lonnie
opponents, mocking, 44
Parkinson’s disease, 276
physical decline, 273–276
poetry, 42, 63
pro wrestling, interest in, 3, 5, 18, 121, 171, 180
publicity, 80, 81, 111–116, 273
recuperative powers, 61–63, 85, 86, 216
retirement, 275
risk in fighting Inoki, 273
rope-a-dope strategy, 161
“Rumble in the Jungle,” 99, 101, 160, 161, 277
self–promotion, inspiration for, 40–44
South Korea, trip to, 135, 225–228
speed and agility, 61–63, 79, 274
stamina, 63
“Thrilla in Manila,” 2, 99–103, 216, 225
training, 75, 108, 109, 121, 216, 230, 244
vs. Banks (1962), 62–64
vs. Berbick (1981), 105, 266, 276
vs. Besmanoff (1961), 61, 62
vs. Cooper (1963), 86