SOUTHPAW RESISTANCE
unimpressed, as if it weren’t enough for Ali to merely be active and win fights. The issue seemed to be Ali’s punch. He’d beaten Mildenberger handily, yet one journalist after another sniffed that Ali lacked a knockout punch, as if this were the gravest of human failings, some unsavory secret that had finally been exposed. “He is strictly a slap-hitter,” sneered Gene Ward of the New York Daily News, “all wrist and forearm, and his delivery is made from an up-on-the-toes ballet position from which it is impossible to generate even a modicum of power.” Red Smith, the wise old sage of American sportswriters, called Ali’s winning effort “35 minutes of leisurely fungo practice.” The casual armchair dismantling of Ali was a popular hobby in those days. The 24-year- old champion was as sleek and beautiful in the ring as summer lightning, yet he was a favorite target of the middle-aged grouches who wrote sports columns. Granted, younger writers and fans recognized Ali as an exciting new talent for their generation, but their voices were drowned out by aging gatekeepers, cranks who demanded their heavyweights be flat-footed sluggers with faces of granite. While the press pined for the days of Sailor Tom Sharkey, they failed to appreciate a pretty good fight between Ali and Mildenberger, one that stayed in the German memory for years. A native son had fallen short against a far superior champion, but he’d done his countrymen proud. Anyone who saw the crowd invade the ring to hoist the beaten challenger onto their shoulders would’ve known that something very special had taken place in Frankfurt, something more meaningful than mere punches and knockouts. Mildenberger was born in 1937 in Kaiserslautern, a town in southwestern Germany that was bombed heavily during World War II. His father’s cousin had been an amateur boxer during the Third Reich; he’d whetted the boy’s appetite for fighting by giving the young Mildenberger some boxing tips.
U.S. Army. His alliance with the Nation of Islam had been disturbing enough for middle- America, but when he cited religious reasons and publicly opposed the Vietnam War in early 1966, many Americans viewed him as emphatically unpatriotic. With state athletic commissions threatening to ban him from fighting domestically and promoters pressured by political groups to not showcase him, Ali’s camp opted to fight outside the country so he could earn a living. This eventually led him to Germany and Mildenberger. “I’d like to give all the countries a chance,” Ali said, “make it a real world title.” After he’d defeated Henry Cooper in London by sixth-round TKO in May, Ali mentioned Mildenberger as a possible opponent. The decision, he added, was up to his managers. “I guess they’ll go where the money is right,” he said. And it turned out the money was right in Germany. During a trip to Egypt, Ali stopped at Frankfurt’s Rhein-Main Air Base to meet with Mildenberger and hold an informal press conference. It was, said a Mildenberger acquaintance, “love at first sight.” Wearied by the critics and challengers who disrespected him, Ali was charmed by the polite German contender. “I thought, so far, that I was the prettiest man in the ring,” Ali said to his potential challenger, “but you look pretty too.” Then, as they stood together for a photograph in the airport waiting room, Ali grabbed Mildenberger’s left hand and held it up. Mildenberger was a rarity for the time: a southpaw. “I’ve been beaten twice as an amateur by a left-hander,” Ali said, “and they always give me a rough time.” Suddenly, the fight had an angle. Mildenberger didn’t score many knockouts, he had fought outside of Germany only once, and he was virtually unknown to Americans.
Despite being cut badly by Ali’s sharpshooting, Mildenberger continued to press the champion.
After turning professional in 1958, Mildenberger defeated some solid competition, including Joe Erskine, Pete Rademacher and Eddie Machen, earning recognition in 1964 as the European heavyweight champion. By 1966, Mildenberger’s record was a respectable 47-2-3. He’d also earned a ranking in The Ring and was on the radar of American promoters. Meanwhile, the heavyweight title picture was foggy. After defeating Sonny Liston for the championship in 1964, Ali had bucked WBA rules and granted Liston an immediate rematch.
This resulted in the WBA stripping Ali of its belt and then crowning Ernie Terrell as the new titleholder. Most in the press viewed Ali as the real champion – he was still recognized as such by The Ring, New York State and the fledgling WBC – but his unusual boxing style and his outspoken personality left room for detractors. California promoter Roy Warner spoke for many when he said, “[Ali] is not a good representative of the profession.” There was even a rumor that 43-year-old Rocky Marciano was training in secret to challenge him. The
But the cagey Ali was already promoting Mildenberger as a troublesome southpaw. In fact, Mildenberger would be the first southpaw to challenge for the heavyweight title. This became one of the bout’s selling points. It was “Ali versus The Lefty,” a new twist for those who had grown tired of his easy wins. A southpaw, at least, was something different. Ali and Mildenberger had other commitments before they fought each other. On August 6, just 35 days before he’d face Mildenberger, Ali crushed the U.K.’s Brian London in three
rumor turned out to be rubbish, yet it showed how certain people were desperate for someone, anyone, to dethrone Ali and restore the boxing world to normalcy. Adding to the backlash was Ali’s ongoing conflict with the
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