Ali vs. Inoki (19 page)

Gorilla Monsoon came over to Wepner and put his hand out. Monsoon was playing Andre the Giant's “manager” and a few weeks earlier, at 419 pounds, he had twirled Muhammad Ali in the air before tossing him to the canvas. Now Wepner thought Monsoon was going to help him back into the ring, but instead the bully wrestler pinned down the boxer on the infield with a size twenty boot to the chest. Needless to say, Wepner wasn't going to make it into the ring by the count of ten. Then, according to Wepner, the show turned real. Wepner's cornermen, easy to spot in their white satin jackets with “Don King” written in black lettering across the back, hustled to Wepner's aid, shoving ensued, and that's about all it took for a melee to break out.

In the ring in the middle of the fracas one of Wepner's seconds threw a punch that hit Andre the Giant in the shoulder. He broke his pinky and the next finger over on his right hand. A jaw was rearranged. Someone got knocked down. It was wild.

“I was like what the hell is going on here?” Wepner said. “It got very heated. Some of the wrestlers were jumping into the ring. Gorilla Monsoon was throwing guys around like rag dolls. It got heated and was finally broken up. I didn't want to get involved. We were in there to put on a show and give them a good time. A real fight over this? It was crazy.”

More than two decades later, on March 28, 1999, Wepner appeared as the chief judge for a shoot fight at Wrestlemania XV.

“This was going to be another mixed martial arts bout,” he said. “Well, Butterbean was gonna fight Tommy Gunn,
one of their top wrestlers. It was in Philadelphia. They picked me up by limo and drove me and my wife down there. Before the bout I went in the dressing room. And I said to The Rock and, oh, the other champion, Steve Austin, I said, ‘Butterbean is gonna knock your guy dead.' And they said, ‘Get the fuck out of here. He'll take that fat bastard down and break his arm.'

“Vinny Pazienza was the referee for Wrestlemania XV. They come out and right away Butterbean, who weighed 330 pounds, by the way, came out and hit him about three shots and dropped Gunn. He staggered up at the count of five and Vinny is looking at me to wave the fight off. And I said
don't stop it
. Vinny's looking at me. He said the guy's defenseless. I said
no, don't worry about it
. Butterbean hit Gunn with an overhand right that picked him up off the ground, drove him through the ropes and out on to the scorer's table. And now he's absolutely unconscious.

“Butterbean destroyed him in half a minute. Now I go back into the dressing room. Vince is sitting there with The Rock. I grabbed myself on my crotch and said, ‘Here's your g
^un!
'

“The Rock had some shoes in there that were taken off. They were put out into the hallway. So I was standing by the door and I grabbed two—one from each pair—and I jumped into the limo and said to the driver
let's get outta here
. I ended up raffling off the shoes at a charity event in New York about a month later.”

Between the end of the Wepner–Andre the Giant bout and the start of Ali–Inoki, Sammartino–Hansen went off for ten minutes at Shea, just enough time to lead up to the match in Japan. Sammartino was given a chance to beat up and bloody
Hansen, and he did. After Sammartino's New York faithful got to cheer for their guy, the lights dimmed as the projection of Ali–Inoki began on big screens inside the ballpark.

Sammartino had always wanted to fight Ali, and made several challenges in the 1960s. Despite his efforts, boxing people passed and Vince McMahon Sr. had no desire to do it either. Bruno resented Inoki for getting the opportunity and called the match with Ali “hogwash.”

Standing along a guardrail near the pitcher's mound at Shea, Sammartino waited for the fight from Tokyo to start. Inoki's reputation among most pro wrestlers put him in the class of a tough guy, and he was thought capable of hurting someone if he had to. But Sammartino had been vocal in the media about calling Inoki a “third rater”—a fairly large insult to the Japanese wrestler—pining, some said, for the fight himself.

“It's absolutely ridiculous,” Inoki responded through a spokesman. “Obviously Sammartino is envious that I'm fighting Ali and not him.”

As the program for the closed circuit emphasized, the night was about boxer versus wrestler. And the main event was set to start.

Regarding the match, Inoki declared: “Ali may be the greatest boxer, but not the greatest in the martial arts, and that is what this bout is all about. Ali has been making a lot of derogatory comments about me and is not treating this fight seriously. Some of my fans are beginning to think this isn't a serious fight so now I must go out there and dispose of him in a manner that will show he is finished. I know I can break his leg or arm, whatever's necessary to win. And he's insulted me so much I will do that.”

And Ali: “I'll whip Inoki bad. I've always wanted to take on a wrestler and now I'll be able to do it. Mark my words, Inoki will fall. One good right hand and it will be all over for him. I've stopped George Foreman, paralyzed Joe Frazier, and now I'm gonna use my explosive right-left combination on the chin of Inoki. When you can beat the toughest of the boxers in the world you can beat anybody and Inoki will fall like the rest.”

Against Andre the Giant, Wepner knew what was coming. He also figured that the Ali–Inoki match would be show business.

“Come on, this guy Inoki is a legitimately tough guy,” he said. “You're not gonna put him in there with the most famous man in the world and look for him to break his arm or legs.”

Two weeks before Ali faced Inoki in Tokyo, “Toots” Mondt, who played a large role in innovating much of what Ali loved about wrestling, passed away at the age of eightytwo. Ahead of one of wrestling's biggest showcases, a boxer versus wrestler clash at that, the timing is worth noting.

ROUND ELEVEN

T
he Japanese tradition of handing out floral bouquets to combatants prior to an important bout is a tribute to the Rikidōzan era. Around noon on June 26, 1976, inside a steamy Nippon Budokan Hall, this practice was in full effect. In some sense the ceremony offered a sweet-smelling salve for the destruction that was potentially about to unfold—to the dead man walking, a bed of roses.

Following all the talk and hype, there remained a distinct unease as to what might happen between Muhammad Ali and Antonio Inoki. Crowds in venues throughout North America were buzzing, and the predominantly Japanese Budokan Hall audience, most of which had spent quite a lot of money to attend, was atypically noisy.

“It wasn't as loud as a Yomiuri Giants game, but it was loud,” recalled Andrew Malcolm, the
New York Times
Tokyo bureau chief who sat fifteen rows from the ring. “I
was worried whether they could hear me on the dictation machine in New York.”

Despite the heat, neither heavyweight noticeably perspired as they left their respective locker rooms.

Wearing a brilliant purple robe trimmed in orange around the collar, Inoki strode through the crowd. The back of the robe was festooned with a mythological creature, the phoenix, giving an indication perhaps that there would be no giving up today no matter how many times Inoki went down. Flanked by coaches and seconds all wearing white shirts trimmed in red that had been tucked neatly into red pants, Inoki stepped into the ring, raised his right hand, and offered a 360-degree twirl for the crowd, which returned a warm applause. The Belgian catch wrestler Karl Gotch, former Olympic judo coach Seiji Sakaguchi, teacher of New Japan Pro Wrestling's “young boys” Kotetsu Yamamoto, and Kantaro Hoshino, an early star of the junior division, calmly stood by Inoki as he waited for Ali to appear.

Coming out second is generally reserved for champions or more established fighters, and thus it was appropriate for Ali to follow. Also wearing red and white in the form of a satin robe with Ali emblazoned above his heart and the Everlast logo, the boxer was surrounded by his entourage and handlers while smooth funk music greeted him inside the arena. “Classy” Freddie Blassie, the famous wrestler, donned a mustard-yellow shirt and brown cravat around his neck, almost a Western formal look. He was joined by Top Rank's Butch Lewis, Ali's manager Herbert Muhammad, the taekwondo man Jhoon Rhee, and, of course, the boxer's typical corner: trainer Angelo Dundee, Dr. Ferdie Pacheco, hypeman Drew “Bundini” Brown, and trainer Wali Muhammad.

Ali entered the ring gloveless, and gave a smile and a wink to a beautiful black woman who handed him flowers. Meanwhile, “Bundini” Brown, holding a bucket, moved to the middle of the ring and glared at Inoki. Visible on the back of Brown's white satin jacket, in red lettering:

FLOAT LIKE A
BUTTERFLY
STING LIKE A
BEE

ALI

Soon Dundee laced up Ali's specially made four-ounce Everlast gloves. First the left, then the right. All the while Ali stared across the ring and mimicked punching the wrestler.

“Trouble,” he mouthed. “Trouble.”

Inoki stood stoic in his corner, that pelican chin hanging so temptingly high.

The crowd grew louder as Ali, reveling in the speed his light gloves might afford him, unfurled punches in a neutral corner. Gotch, expressionless, joined Inoki in watching. A loud cheer boomed throughout the Budokan when Ali's name was announced. At the moment of his introduction, Inoki snapped off his robe, as was his typical prefight routine. He shared a knowing smile with Gotch while being wiped off with a red towel that had been hidden beneath his robe.

Referee “Judo” Gene LeBell brought the men to the center of the ring and made quick inspections of both. “You both know the rules, OK,” LeBell said without a hint of
irony since he would later admit to not really knowing them himself. “Shake hands and go back to your corners.” Gotch stepped forward to examine Ali's gloves and the boxer responded by putting a fist near the mean catch wrestler's face. “It's fine,” said Dundee, and Gotch mumbled something that made the veteran boxing man smile. Ali was less amused, and exchanged a few words and glances with Gotch, who surely would have loved a chance to get sadistic on the boxer.

“I'm going to send you back to your ancestors,” Ali told Inoki.

LeBell said the wrestler was psyched out. “It seemed he got a little scared then,” noted the referee.

They stared at one another before retreating to their corners. Ali kept jawing and Dundee did a fairly poor job of faking a need to restrain his charge. Inoki stood still as Gotch, who exited the ring last, patted him on the shoulder. Ali moved once more to the center as his corner filed out, but LeBell cut him off.

It was time—yet again—to see what might happen when a boxer fights a wrestler.

ROUND 1

Before Ali's cornermen could find their seats, Inoki hurled himself with a swinging kick towards the champ's left thigh. Ali absorbed the attack and made faces as he danced away. The most famous man on the planet ran to Inoki's corner and, like any American pro wrestler might, bounced backfirst off the ropes.

Ali's inclination was to skirt around Inoki, who assumed a position on the canvas that would forever be derided as “crab-like.” Brazilian jiu-jitsu competitors termed it the “butt-scoot,” a boring but admittedly useful tool for any grappler with an aversion to taking punches from a standing opponent.

“When the fight first started, to see Inoki almost immediately get down in this crab position and start leg sweeping and kicking Ali's legs, the style of the fight was determined then,” recalled Bobby Goodman, Ali's publicist for the fight, who also provided minimal analysis on the closed-circuit broadcast. “He didn't want to get hit by Ali, of course, and Ali didn't want this guy getting his hands on him.”

Standing above Inoki, unsure what to do, Ali experimented by kicking Inoki's legs. Accomplishing little, the boxer leaned forward and gestured for Inoki to come at him—the first of many times he tried to goad Inoki into a mistake. Instead, the Japanese wrestler landed a solid kick that ruffled Ali's balance and drew cheers from the crowd.

Ali shuffled his feet and Inoki stood. “Now,” Ali said as his eyes opened wide. “Now . . . Now.” He wouldn't find what he was looking for because Inoki scored flush with a kick to Ali's left thigh. Moments later, after several swings and misses, Inoki scored with a strong side kick, which playby-play man Frank Bannister acknowledged. So did Ali's corner. “Move away from him champ!” yelled “Bundini” Brown.

Ali asked Inoki to stand but the pro wrestler slammed home another kick, bringing a roar from the crowd and a shake of the head from the boxer, who raised his right arm as if to say, “No, I didn't feel nothing.”

The bell tolled for the end of the opening period, and neither man looked at the other as they headed back to their teams.

“Well it's obvious to me, Frank, forget the rules, forget the prefight publicity, forget the ballyhoo. The gentleman from Japan is not fooling around,” said Jerry Lisker, sports editor of the New York
Daily News
, who provided color commentary during the fight. “He's playing for keeps. Take a look at Muhammad's shins. They've been bloodied already. Now I don't know if Muhammad had anticipated the intensity of Mr. Inoki in the ring, however he realizes that he's not playing with a dead cobra. This is the mongoose and the cobra and everyone should watch out.”

In San Jose, it was clear to Dave Meltzer and his pals “that this was not a pro wrestling match.” Meanwhile at Monzo's Howard Johnson's outside of Pittsburgh, Kevin Iole wasn't sure what to make of it: “Like when you saw Inoki do that crab thing or whatever you want to call what he did, it was like, this guy seems to be doing some kind of strategy, but is it really true?”

A call came for the seconds to exit the ring and Ali jawed at Inoki: “You coward. Don't let the Japanese see you're a coward.” Inoki dismissively waved his left hand and Gotch gave Ali a hard look out of the corner of his eye.

ROUND 2

“Ali's legs are in very much danger,” Bannister noted after Inoki leapt forward with a side kick. Inoki swung, missed, and flopped to the floor. Dancing clockwise, Ali moved
near the ropes when someone from the boxer's entourage screamed for Inoki to “get up.” He did, leaning and crouching to the right, doing everything he could to remain out of range of Ali's punches.

“I just need to hit you once,” Ali said in the ring. “One time.”

Inoki missed with a kick and Ali mocked him, leaning forward, hands down at his thighs, sticking his tongue out.

“Muhammad Ali is joking and Antonio Inoki is serious,” Bannister said.

Range is a notable factor in fights, and Ali played with range more than most fighters. At various stages of his career he could dance on the outside, keeping opponents on the ends of his punches, and move away while making them look amateurish. Other times, like 1974 in Zaire against George Foreman, he enticed them to work on the inside. It didn't take long before Ali thought he had figured out Inoki's kicking range, like he saw the attacks coming from a million miles away. Ali jumped to the side, mocked Inoki, and got a laugh from the crowd. Inoki stood, wound up, and missed big again. Ali, mouth agape, let out a yell and backed away.

“As the second round started to unfold, and it was the same as the first round, the boos started up,” recalled Jeff Wagenheim, who watched the closed-circuit feed at the Liberty Theater in Elizabeth, New Jersey. “It was deafening and constant. People were beside themselves hating on this event that was happening. Even as it was happening in front of our eyes. But as much as people hated it, people stuck around in case something happened.”

Inoki swung and missed and Ali made fun of him for it, producing the first confident words from Dundee: “Let him blow his stack, Muhammad.”

“No more tonight,” Ali said to Inoki. “No more tonight. Getting tired? Are you tired?”

Inoki headed to his corner after the period closed, and LeBell stepped in front of Ali, who kept coming at his opponent. It was more for show than anything else.

“It's very obvious that Muhammad Ali will not be sucked into Inoki's tactics,” Goodman said on the broadcast. “He will not get on the canvas and he's trying to stay away from the center of the ring.”

Said Bannister: “Muhammad Ali knows what he has to do and he's confident now.”

Between rounds Ali shook his fist in the air and berated Inoki: “He's afraid. He's a coward. A coward. Coward in Tokyo. All your people see you, coward on the floor.”

Dundee asked LeBell to inspect Inoki's shoes. He did, and everyone was satisfied for the moment.

ROUND 3

“A coward in Tokyo!”

That's how Ali greeted Inoki to begin the third.
No one wants to see this! Get up off the floor and fight like a man!
This was the gist of what Ali was getting at. “It's the same every time,” Ali said after Inoki missed a kick and dropped into a heap on the canvas. “We can do this all night.”

From a sideways stance, leaning to the right, his right hand shaking a bit, Inoki didn't care and continued with his plan of attack.

“He can't understand you,” yelled “Bundini” Brown, who scolded Ali for getting too close to the ropes—this despite the fact that touching the ropes was a lifesaver requiring LeBell to separate the fighters.

“Don't worry about it!” Ali snapped back.

Brown: “Give yourself room to move.”

Ali: “Don't worry about it!”

A half-hearted flop by Inoki ramped up Ali's frustration. “Ah, you're tired, huh?” said the boxer, who moved forward against the advice of his camp and took a kick to the inside of his left leg.

“One lick. One lick,” Ali crowed. “I gotta get one. I gotta get one.”

From Ali's corner came advice to take his time and leave the hard work to Inoki, who responded with kicks to the right side of Ali's hip and the inside of his left leg. Again “Bundini” Brown raised his voice.

Ali turned vicious.

“Shut up motherfucker,” Ali yelled. “Shut up motherfucker. I got this sucker. I got this faggot. I got this homosexual faggot.”

If Brown was correct and Inoki couldn't understand what was being said—by most accounts he could have because his English was more than suitable at the time—he, like any lucid person, would have recognized the tension in the boxer's voice. While Ali may have been clowning around before, his tone now was of someone not to be trifled with.

“You could see the frustration in Ali when he acted out of character,” Goodman said as he recalled the event years later. “There were some times in fights when Ali would turn his mean switch on, like when he fought Ernie Terrell and he meant to do some damage. And he did.”

A member of Ali's entourage seated ringside meekly tried to placate the champ: “Kick him in the thigh, Ali.” Inoki was the one doing the kicking, though, and after several swings and misses he dug a shin into Ali's rapidly tenderizing left quadriceps. Another hard shot followed, eliciting “oohs” from a crowd begging for action. Ali danced to close the third.

“It's very difficult to score this match against a completely unorthodox combatant,” Lisker said. “However if we watch closely at Muhammad's shins, this is Inoki's obvious plan. To slow down Ali's legs by kicking him, which is illegal under the rules unless the kicks are made with the side of the foot soccer style. Now he has not adhered to this. He has also kicked low in the groin area more than once.”

Lisker was calling it very tight, as there had not been any obvious low blows to that point. Regarding kicks, both men had landed with the points of their shoes. Ali's corner became disgruntled, and Dundee shouted to LeBell that he failed to start a count whenever Inoki hit the floor.