Ali Buma Ye
Muhammad Ali - it may be the most recognizable name in the world. You could travel to any country, play a word association game with that name, and the results would probably be the same, regardless of continent or language. Muhammad Ali... the Greatest... the Champ...float like a butterfly, sting like a bee... all words conjured up by the mere thought of Muhammad Ali.
The images summoned by the name are something else. I am 34, and from the dim edges of my conscious mind I can recall memories of the tail end of Ali's career in the late 70's; yet the most vivid mental pictures I have of the man are of a still sharp mind trapped in a failing body, lighting the torch at the 1996 Olympics, or more recently appearing at the All-Star game. For people younger than me, perhaps that is all they see when they think of Ali, this bent figure shuffling forward to thunderous applause. So it is that When We Were Kings comes as a revelation, taking the viewer back to a time when Ali's mind was still unfettered by Parkinson's, when his outsize personality captivated the world.
When We Were Kings is a documentary account of the 1974 title bout between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in Zaire - the famed 'Rumble in the Jungle.' From the beginning Ali is shown everywhere - in press conferences, sparring, being interviewed, meeting and greeting. He dominates every scene he is in, through a combination of sly wit and braggadocio. As the DVD played on I kept thinking to myself 'this guy is full of shit.' Not in the sense of being stupid or ignorant, but in the sense of being a supreme bullshit artist. The press and the public hang on Ali's every word and clamor for more. Watching this, I got the sense that Ali was playing a huge joke, knowing he could spout off whatever nonsense he felt like and the media would eat it up. Ali promises victory in the coming fight, he threatens and taunts Foreman. In one press conference he taunts the assembled writers, demanding a show of hands of the those who think he is doomed to lose calling them out by name. The crowds in Zaire love him. Love Him. Apparently Foreman kept himself isolated from the public, and was largely unknown to the people there. Ali, with his enthusiasm for Africa and charismatic manner becomes a huge favorite of the crowds. Whenever he appears in public he is greeted by ecstatic chants of Ali Buma Ye! Ali, Kill Him!
The footage of Ali sparring with a young Larry Homes stands in stark contrast to the slow combinations he threw at Derek Jeter before the All-Star game this summer. He is not the lean and chiseled fighter of the Ali-Liston matches ten years gone - age and muscle have thickened him, and his face is fuller. But he is still fast and fit. Still, nobody believes he can win. Even his entourage fear he will be badly hurt by Foreman.
Foreman too presents a contrast. This is not the cuddly and amiable Foreman who fought Moorer and went on to sell grills by the thousands. This Foreman radiates menace. He wears a denim pimp suit that makes him look an evil Easy Reader. He says little, but the clip of him hitting the heavy bag says it all. An assistant holds the bag while Foreman clubs it. Each time he hits the bag it folds inward and when he stops a big glove-sized crater remains, a testament to the enormous power that felled Joe Frazier and Ken Norton in two rounds apiece.
And then, of course, there is the fight itself. Ali's 'rope-a-dope' strategy is well known...
..but the thing that made an indelible impression on me was Ali's brazen tactics in the first round:
He threw twelve of those lead rights, before falling back against the ropes. Where he hung until the eighth round:
These are the images that stuck with me after watching When We Were Kings, but there is more, much more: the musicians, including James Brown and B.B> King, and their hangers-on that traveled to Zaire to play in conjunction with the fight; the promoter of the music festival who seemed relentlessly stoned in every scene; a brief clip of Don King sucking up to some of the dictator Mobutu's cronies; all worth seeing for yourself.
The images summoned by the name are something else. I am 34, and from the dim edges of my conscious mind I can recall memories of the tail end of Ali's career in the late 70's; yet the most vivid mental pictures I have of the man are of a still sharp mind trapped in a failing body, lighting the torch at the 1996 Olympics, or more recently appearing at the All-Star game. For people younger than me, perhaps that is all they see when they think of Ali, this bent figure shuffling forward to thunderous applause. So it is that When We Were Kings comes as a revelation, taking the viewer back to a time when Ali's mind was still unfettered by Parkinson's, when his outsize personality captivated the world.
When We Were Kings is a documentary account of the 1974 title bout between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in Zaire - the famed 'Rumble in the Jungle.' From the beginning Ali is shown everywhere - in press conferences, sparring, being interviewed, meeting and greeting. He dominates every scene he is in, through a combination of sly wit and braggadocio. As the DVD played on I kept thinking to myself 'this guy is full of shit.' Not in the sense of being stupid or ignorant, but in the sense of being a supreme bullshit artist. The press and the public hang on Ali's every word and clamor for more. Watching this, I got the sense that Ali was playing a huge joke, knowing he could spout off whatever nonsense he felt like and the media would eat it up. Ali promises victory in the coming fight, he threatens and taunts Foreman. In one press conference he taunts the assembled writers, demanding a show of hands of the those who think he is doomed to lose calling them out by name. The crowds in Zaire love him. Love Him. Apparently Foreman kept himself isolated from the public, and was largely unknown to the people there. Ali, with his enthusiasm for Africa and charismatic manner becomes a huge favorite of the crowds. Whenever he appears in public he is greeted by ecstatic chants of Ali Buma Ye! Ali, Kill Him!
The footage of Ali sparring with a young Larry Homes stands in stark contrast to the slow combinations he threw at Derek Jeter before the All-Star game this summer. He is not the lean and chiseled fighter of the Ali-Liston matches ten years gone - age and muscle have thickened him, and his face is fuller. But he is still fast and fit. Still, nobody believes he can win. Even his entourage fear he will be badly hurt by Foreman.
Foreman too presents a contrast. This is not the cuddly and amiable Foreman who fought Moorer and went on to sell grills by the thousands. This Foreman radiates menace. He wears a denim pimp suit that makes him look an evil Easy Reader. He says little, but the clip of him hitting the heavy bag says it all. An assistant holds the bag while Foreman clubs it. Each time he hits the bag it folds inward and when he stops a big glove-sized crater remains, a testament to the enormous power that felled Joe Frazier and Ken Norton in two rounds apiece.
And then, of course, there is the fight itself. Ali's 'rope-a-dope' strategy is well known...
Ali fell back against the ropes, and waved Foreman to come get him. He protected his head, but Foreman pounded away at his ribs and his gut. Round after round, quite possibly the hardest hitting heavyweight in boxing history unleashed his fury. Only the ropes kept Ali from being launched into the ringside seats. Under the thudding attack of Foreman's sledgehammer fists, to Ali, every three-minute round must have seemed an hour long.
But there was a nefarious method to Ali's madness. After several rounds of relentlessly throwing leather, Foreman began to tire, his arms began to drop. In the seventh round, Ali let Foreman in on his secret. "I beat him for one, two, three, four rounds - beat him good", Foreman said. "At about the seventh round, I had him beaten, I knew I had him, he fell on my side and whispered, 'Is that all you got George?' I knew something strange was happening in my life especially because that was all I had."
..but the thing that made an indelible impression on me was Ali's brazen tactics in the first round:
Ali had boasted that Foreman couldn't keep up with his speed. To prove that point in the first round, he threw lead rights at Foreman from across his body. The lead right from a right-handed fighter is the easiest punch to see coming, so in a sense, Ali was openly taunting Foreman.
He threw twelve of those lead rights, before falling back against the ropes. Where he hung until the eighth round:
Ali sprung like a cobra in the eighth round. He exploded with a right-left combo, over Foreman's lowered arms, directly to the chin of the exhausted champ. Foreman went down, and couldn't beat the count. Ali had stared down the barrel of the world's most powerful heavyweight -a physically superior opponent- and completely out-thought him in the ring. Ali's strategy, the infamous "rope-a-dope", reversed the odds. Muhammed Ali was the Heavyweight Champion of the World, only the second man to ever win the title back.
These are the images that stuck with me after watching When We Were Kings, but there is more, much more: the musicians, including James Brown and B.B> King, and their hangers-on that traveled to Zaire to play in conjunction with the fight; the promoter of the music festival who seemed relentlessly stoned in every scene; a brief clip of Don King sucking up to some of the dictator Mobutu's cronies; all worth seeing for yourself.
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