By Bob Markus

They say that history is written by the winners. Sometimes it is rewritten by the losers. And sometimes it is difficult to determine which was which. That certainly is the case with "Thrilla in Manila," a new HBO documentary about the savage end game, the brutal final act of their three act play, played out with cosmic consequences by Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Written almost entirely from Frazier's perspective--Ali appears only in film clips--it is a story steeped in bitterness and hatred, emotions apparently so deeply implanted in Frazier's brain it's a wonder he has managed to keep them even marginally at bay.

To be sure, Frazier has good reason to despise Ali. Ali is almost universally loved. Frazier, Ali's near equal as a fighter, is universally ignored. During the totality of their respective careers, Ali has publicly ridiculed Smokin' Joe, calling him everything from an Uncle Tom, before their epic first fight, in Madison Square Garden, to a gorilla, while preparing for the apocalyptical third fight, in Manila, the ultimate result of which left Ali a stumbling, mumbling shell of a man and Frazier not much better off. Ali has tried to apologize to Frazier, pointing out that he was merely trying to hype the show and I, for one, believe him. I spent a considerable amount of time with Ali in his heyday and while there sometimes was a mean streak behind that poetry-sprouting ebullience, there was also a boyish exuberance that let you know he really didn't mean it. Perhaps the exception came in his title unification fight with Ernie Terrell in Houston in 1967. Terrell had refused to call Ali by his Muslim name, referring to him as (Clay). While administering a savage beating to the outclassed Terrell, Ali accompamnied each salvo with a taunting, "What's my name?" Terrell was not the only one who balked at calling Ali by his new name. I was not the only writer who was conflicted and I at first always skirted the issue by calling him "Champ" and he never seemed to object or even notice.

When Ali fought there was no need for a publicity director and it was he who coined the phrase "Thrilla in Manila." While doing so he also got in the "gorilla" epithet that so outraged Frazier. Upon arriving in The Philippines, Ali announced "It'll be a thrilla and a killa, and a chilla when I get the gorilla in Manila." Gorilla, of course, was a pejorative for a black man and Ali was never loath to play the race card, even when his opponent was another African American.
Before the first fight, Ali threw the Uncle Tom gambit at Frazier and said that any black man who rooted for Joe was also an Uncle Tom. After Frazier won the decision in one of the great fights of all time, Ali was gracious in the immediate aftermath but later called it a "white man's decision."

I covered the first fight in New York and whenever anyone asks me what was my alltime favorite event I always say there are three and the first Frazier-Ali fight is one. (I'll keep you in suspense for awhile about the other two). My prefight assignment was to cover Frazier's workouts in Philadelphia in a tiny gym across the street from Philadelphia's 30th Street station. I was staying in New York and commuting daily on Amtrak. It was quite convenient. Frazier wasn't available that often, so I did one column on a sparring partner, who was articulate and forthcoming on what it was like to fight a brawler like Frazier. His name was Ken Norton.

Earlier, while covering the Super Bowl in Miami I had visited Ali's training camp and, thanks to the intervention of Angelo Dundee, gotten an exclusive interview with Ali. He astonished me by confessing that he was afraid every time he stepped into the ring, not that he would get hurt, but that he would somehow lose and destroy the aura of invincibility he had so meticulously created. Of course it was not the first time I had a one-on-one with Ali. During the time he was barred from fighting after refusing to join the army, he was living in Chicago in the south side home of Herbert Muhammad, son of the Black Muslim leader Elijah Muhammad. We were talking about the fact that white America almost universally despised him, when he remarked that in the rest of the world the opposite was true. He then went to a closet and dragged out a huge suitcase, which he opened and began pawing through the contents. There were letters, hundreds of letters, in his treasure trove and like King Midas counting his gold he began throwing them in the air and exclaiming: "They love me; my people love me." If I learned one thing about Ali, it was this: If you ever begin to think you know him, think again. You don't."

Because I was there, I always wanted to believe that the first Ali-Frazier fight was the greatest heavyweight bout of all time. But honesty compels me to admit that the Thrilla in Manila was better. I wish the HBO film had showed the fight in its entirety. With its palpable bias towrd Frazier, I'm not certain what might have been left out. The impression left by the movie was that Ali was ready to quit after the 14th round, but Frazier's trainer, Eddie Futch threw in the towel first. It is true that Frazier appeared to be begging to continue and George Benton, only suruvor among Joe's cornermen that night, insists that he, too, argued in favor of continuing. Years later, Futch was asked why he had stopped the fight and he had replied, "because I've seen eight men die in the ring."

What is more debatable is the contention that before Futch made the decision, Ali could be heard yelling at Dundee, "Angelo, cut off my gloves," indicting he was ready to quit himself. There is, of course, the precedence of Dundee having to push the near-blinded Ali (then still Cassius Clay) into the ring with Sonny Liston after Clay was ready to quit because a caustic substance in his eyes made it difficult for him to see The Big Ugly Bear.

The Thrilla in Manila took a dreadful personal toll on both fighters, although Ali would go on to lose and then regain his heavyweight championship against Leon Spinks and take a dreadful drubbing from Larry Holmes, who makes a singular appearance in the documentary. "Ali was over-rated as a boxer," said Holmes. I always thought Holmes was underrated as a heavyweight champion, but Larry never fought Ali in his prime. "I'm so pretty," Ali used to say of himself and he was, both in form and movement. Having known him then it is difficult seeing him the way he is now. Unless you're Joe Frazier, whose bitterness is abiding and almost overwhelming. "I did that to him," he crows. "Whatever you do as a young man comes back to bite you on the butt. God marks it down."