Foreman - Lyle
It's January 24th, 1976. George Foreman stands in the ring across from Ron Lyle, a massive, powerfully built man with a record of 33-3-1.
This is the first time that Big George has challenged a credible opponent since October of ‘74, when he was famously stopped by Muhammad Ali, after battering the former heavyweight champion mercilessly for seven straight rounds.
To Foreman's mind, it wasn't Ali that beat him. It was exhaustion. Something must have been wrong with him, the way he sees it, and he is determined to prove that he is still the greatest heavyweight on earth. In 1975 he traveled to Toronto to challenge five men in one night. His opponents--Alonzo Johnson, Jerry Judge, Terry Daniels, Charley Polite, and Boone Kirkman--were journeymen, most of them with losing records aside from Kirkman, who had nonetheless experienced four straight losses leading up to the bout. Foreman beat every one of them with ease, sadistically mocking his victims as he sent blow after thundering blow crashing against their chins. Meanwhile, Ali sat ringside, and mocked Foreman just as viciously, loudly advising his opponents to lay on the ropes and tire the big man out, just as Ali himself had done six months before. This infuriated Foreman, and he took out his rage on his hapless opposition. By the end of the night, Foreman was holding his hands high as the crowd hurled their derision--in the form of jeers and empty bottles--into the ring.
The "experiment" was supposed to have proved some point about Foreman's endurance, but all it really did was reveal how highly he thinks of himself, and how little he cares for losing. This is not a man who learns lessons from his losses. This is a man who thinks himself incapable of suffering true defeat.
This man thinks he is invincible, and Ron Lyle is about to test that.
Two minutes in, and Foreman looks confident. He moves around Lyle, not quite dancing as he did in Toronto, but not picking the shorter man apart either. For a man who became heavyweight champion of the world by knocking out Joe Frazier in two rounds in 1973, this is strange. Years later, Foreman would admit that he had feared Frazier--even proclaiming that had the great Philly fighter looked down, he would have noticed Big George's big knees quivering. Now, however, it's clear that Foreman doesn't fear Lyle in the slightest. He doesn't even respect him.
With twenty seconds remaining in the first round, Lyle flashes his jab and lands a thudding overhand right that shakes Foreman's foundations. The giant stumbles, but refuses to go down. Held up by pride, he clinches, trying to tie up the arms of his aggressor in order to make it out of the round.
When the bell rings, Foreman is still on his feet. Wobbly, he returns to his corner, looking almost baffled by the turn of events. How could this man--this Ron Lyle--possibly hurt him? Not even Ali had truly been able to hurt him. No one could hurt George Foreman.
As the referee orders the seconds out, Foreman remains on his stool, his eyes fixed on the man across the ring. Just a man, and nothing more. Not invincible like himself. He chews his mouthpiece, tensing his unbreakable jaw in preparation for the work to come. Lyle is just a man, and in his seven years as a professional Foreman has knocked out 31 other men just like him.
The bell rings. Foreman rises, and resolves to do it again.
Foreman is hitting, hitting, hitting, but Ron Lyle is still fighting. In round two, Foreman had forced his way back into the bout. When, at the end of the round, Lyle got in with a counter, Foreman locked eyes with him. "That won't happen again," he seemed to say.
Now it's round three, and Foreman is determined to finish Lyle for good, the shame of the first round driving him on. Big George lands combinations of three and four punches apiece, but Lyle keeps responding. He's not throwing as much as George, no, but he's not quitting either. After every Foreman left hook he answers, sending that same right hand over the top and into Big George's face. Foreman keeps throwing.
Finally a shot manages to stagger Lyle, but the big man throws back all the same. And again. Foreman refuses to back down. One, two, three. They trade right hands, then left hooks. And again. Foreman is throwing everything he has into these blows, nearing upending himself in the process. This isn't boxing anymore. This is war.
At last, Lyle stumbles to the canvas, ending up in an awkward heap at Foreman's feet. The former champion walks to his corner, his chest heaving from the effort. Finally, he thinks to himself, he has done it. No one can withstand his power.
In center ring, Ron Lyle rises to his feet.
Foreman can't believe it, but Lyle is still conscious. More than that, he's fighting back again. His opponent's back to the ropes, Foreman smashes away, each punch more desperate than the last. His skills are waning as he grows weary, but his furious pride fuels him on. Lyle bulls into him, returning the fight to center ring. Foreman sticks his left into the enemy's chest, preparing to unleash another barrage. Ron Lyle musters his strength, and counters.
There's no holding on this time, as Foreman plummets to the canvas face-first. The big man crawls, child-like, to his feet. He is dazed, hurt, and enraged like never before. As the referee finishes the count, Foreman looks straight past him, at the man who dared to knock Big George Foreman down. The round is over, and in the commentary booth Howard Cosell mentions that there is no saving by the bell in this fight.
George Foreman knows otherwise. Beating the count, he returns to his corner, shooting a glance over his shoulder on the way. As he sits on his stool, he looks over his cornermen's heads and stares, hatefully, at Ron Lyle. Foreman's mouth is open, and he gasps for air. Just a few more seconds in the round, he seems to think, and I would've had him.
Foreman is hitting, and getting hit. Lyle refuses to quit of his own accord, but he is breaking. George can feel it. He hammers his foe against the ropes, just like he did to Ali back in Zaire. Lyle covers up, but the punches are getting through, one after the other. He won't stand for much more. He can't. No one can survive Foreman's power.
One, two, three, four--Foreman hurls left hook after left hook at Lyle's head. Lyle counters over some of them, but the counters don't hurt anymore. Nobody can punch like Big George. When the lefts alone don't do the trick, Foreman, adds in the right hand, mindlessly swinging, left-right, left-right, left-right. Every blow is landing. Lyle is breaking. Foreman keeps punching.
Finally Lyle collapses forward, leaning into the chest of the man who continues pounding at his skull. He falls to his knees, exhausted, and nearly unconscious. He can't take anymore. He can't even stand. The referee counts him out, and it's all over.
Foreman walks to the ropes. The audience is screaming, cheering--men and women jumping up and down in wild celebration of his great victory. He is too exhausted to raise his arms, so his gathering entourage does it for him.
Looking into the crowd, he smiles. They came for blood, and he gave it to them.
And all it took was one more punch.
(By Connor Ruebusch)
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The above article is curated from excerpts from a larger article by Connor Ruebusch (UFC Boston - Conor McGregor: The Puncher's Path), which also contains animated gif's to compliment the article and can be read here...
http://www.bloodyelbow.com/2015/1/16/7555985/conor-mcgregor-george-foreman-siver-ufc-boston-punchers-path-mma-technique-boxing-gif-poirier-lyle
