This content is protected This content is protected This content is protected This content is protected This content is protected This content is protected March 06, 1967 A Sad Farewell, A Glad Hello The dream died with worthy Doug Jones, but it gleamed brighter than ever for Joe Frazier, who has a Marciano punch and Ali in his future Doug Jones, suddenly too old and too vulnerable too soon, is on the floor, his chest heaving, his right hand standing limply, seemingly letting go of a once boundless, sweet but now unendurable dream. Joe Frazier is across the ring, his big-boned body suspended high in the smoky gauze, both of his arms stretched up and reaching for the roof and a peg to hang the world on. Neatly destructive and animal-like, Frazier had caught Doug Jones on the cheek with a heavy, body-twisting left hook. Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth and his head flopped, like a scarecrow's. Jones, his hands down, just stood there, stone-like. Frazier looked at him, and then Jones started descending slowly, his body disassembling. He landed on the middle strand of the ropes, and his head, bleeding at the mouth, dangled there. His face, with those brooding eyes of an M-G-M Mexican busted in a crap game, gaped out at the crowd. No one—except some insensible dude—could miss feeling the moment near the end of the sixth round last week in Philadelphia: one moves up and one moves down, a theme, with all its endless variations, as old as hell. A theme that belongs to all the old birds who sit in the public parks and play checkers and rail against that one brief moment when some kid lays a gold watch and handshake on them—and then says thanks, sorry and goodbye. Frazier's victory has made a sharp and real impact in the heavyweight division. Forget about those who scoff at Muhammad Ali's skilis, call his opponents stiffs before they ever see them and speak of long-gone club fighters and other old toothless soldiers as monarchs. Frazier is genuine, and even now, because of his style, his attitude and firepower, he is an immensely better fighter than any whom Ali has defended his title against. The 23-year-old former Olympic champion has improved rapidly with each of his 14 pro fights, 13 of which were won by knockouts. His jab, a weapon he never knew how to use, is now crisp, and he uses it intelligently. The right hand no longer looks as though it had been manufactured in some boys' club gym. The left hook, which has been shortened up, is swifter and more punishing than before, and Frazier is thinking constantly. Against Jones he set up numerous openings, and in the second and sixth rounds he threw right-hand uppercuts when Jones appeared to be covered against hooks and straight punches. None of these improvements are altering his natural and primitive style, a type of offense similar to Rocky Marciano's, and one that many think will topple Ali. A short, marauding fighter—he now fights at 205 pounds—Frazier crowds his opponent and moves inside the natural line of punches. Like a drum roll, his punches start at the body and end up with striking velocity and violence at the head. The punches are unremitting, and he knows the only way to move—right at you. "He's like a leech," said one of Jones's handlers. "You can't get away from Frazier. This guy is Murder, Incorporated. Jones, the poor devil, had to change styles every round. Frazier just took the fight away from him. There was nothing he could do." This seems to be a more accurate analysis than the charge by some of the press that Frazier was being fed another "body." Jones certainly fits that description now, but there was never any indication of this before the fight. Nobody had labeled him a setup or a tapped-out scuffler in his fights with Ernie Terrell and Thad Spencer. Indeed, Jones prepared for Frazier more carefully than he had for many previous fights. He knew this was his one—maybe last—chance to stay near the big money, and a chance, however remote, for a shot at the heavyweight title. He was no longer cheating on his roadwork or malingering in the gym. He was certain he was too fast for Frazier. Jones did move, more than he had in recent years, and he did land several good right hands—Frazier is not a difficult target—but his calculations had sold Frazier short. Frazier was no longer the rough, predictable fighter who had twice been knocked down in one round by Oscar Bonavena last fall in the Garden, the fight in which he proved he could take a lethal punch. He had worked long and hard in the gym and, even more important, he had listened, and then executed the moves that he was taught. Much MORE HERE: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1079597/2/index.htm
I always wanted to see this fight. Such a shame it doesn't appear to be on film - or does anyone know otherwise?
