Prizefighting: Skinning the Cat

“Now,” said Cassius Clay at his press conference in Houston last week, “are there any questions you want to ask about my fighting ability?”

The reporters were respectfully si lent. The night before, in front of 35,460 people in Houston’s Astrodome, Heavyweight Champion Clay had made believers out of all but his severest critics by utterly demolishing the man who was supposed to be his toughest challenger: Cleveland (“Big Cat”) Williams. Granted, Williams, at 33, was nearly ten years older than Clay, and he was not exactly intact; in 1964, a .357 magnum bullet from a Texas state trooper’s pistol had ripped through his stomach, costing him a kidney. But at 6 ft. 2 in. and 210 Ibs., he was still a genuine tough guy — with a record of 51 knockouts and 65 victories in 71 pro fights. “Williams has the essential of a real champion — a punch,” said ex-Champion Joe Louis, and the Cat’s manager, Oilman Hugh Benbow, predicted: “We’re going to knock Clay’s brains out.”

Pounds for Power. Cassius apparently took the threat to heart. He boxed more than 100 rounds in training, built his own weight up to 212 lbs. The added poundage, explained Trainer Angelo Dundee, was “for power”—but sportswriters scoffed at that. Some of them went so far as to call Cassius “the punchless wonder.”

The wonder was the punch. Cleveland Williams can’t even remember what happened during the last 4 min. of the 7 min. 8 sec. that he was in the ring with Clay. And it’s a good thing he can’t. In the first round, Cassius contented himself with giving the Cat a dancing lesson and a nosebleed. Then, when the bell rang for Round 2, Trainer Dundee ordered: “Go after him. Use a chopping right.” Clay’s first chopping right dropped Williams for a count of two; his second caught the Cat flush on the mouth so hard that his teeth sliced right through his rubber mouthpiece and gashed his lower lip. Williams went down for a six count, got up, and staggered into another Clay right that knocked him flat on his back, out cold. The referee was at the count of five when the bell rang. Williams’ handlers dragged him back to his corner, revived him by breaking ammonia capsules under his nose.

They should have tossed in a towel. A barrage of punches battered Williams down for the fourth time as the third round started, and Referee Harry Kessler stopped the slaughter.

Winner & Loser. For Clay, the victory marked the end of a year in which he has beaten five opponents and earned $2,000,000. It also left Cassius with only one logical contender: Ernie Terrell, the World Boxing Association’s heavyweight champion, whom he will probably fight next February.

For Williams, the fight marked the end of the road; face bruised, one eye puffed nearly shut, five stitches in his cut lip, he announced that he was quitting the ring. He is leaving it the same way he found it—penniless. His share of the purse and ancillary rights may total $160,000, but cuts, taxes, and debts will probably take all of it.