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immediate aftermath. No doubt unsatisfied with his poor performance, he directed his bile at one of the most beloved fighters the business had ever known: the late Rocky Marciano, whose undefeated record Holmes was attempting to match and whose presence had hovered over the bout for weeks. The diatribe, delivered in a Las Vegas pressroom, was a case of emotions running high. He felt terrible about it later, but once the words were out, he was stamped as a loudmouth who had made millions of dollars but remained classless. Michael Katz of the New York Daily News interviewed him afterward, portraying Holmes as ashamed and embarrassed. “I hope he is forgiven,” Katz wrote. At the time, such an idea seemed far-fetched. Holmes, who was never particularly popular, had become a full-blown pariah. The fight itself felt like a last-minute lark. During the first part of 1985, Holmes and Spinks were talking retirement. Though younger than Holmes, Spinks had done all he could as the light heavyweight champion. He’d made a verbal challenge to Marvelous Marvin Hagler, the middleweight champion who was red-hot after his victory over Thomas Hearns, but nothing came of it. It was Spinks’ trainer, Eddie Futch, who first teased the idea that Spinks could become the first light heavyweight champion to win the heavyweight title. Spinks played it down, mostly because Futch had also trained Holmes for years. “If the fight is made, Eddie’s in for a tough night,” Spinks said. “He’s gonna work my corner for one round, then Holmes’ corner, then back again. He’ll be running from one side of the ring to the other.” Moreover, the world wasn’t clamoring for the fight. Light heavyweight champions had a history of trying and failing to win the heavyweight title. In 1985, most of the working sportswriters could recall the well-known parade of Georges Carpentier, Billy Conn, Archie Moore and Bob Foster, all of whom were knocked out in their attempts to win the heavyweight crown from Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Marciano and Joe Frazier, respectively. Most reckoned Spinks’ chances were no better than his light heavyweight forefathers. Still, Futch pressed on. He insisted Spinks could not find a decent payday at 175, or in the obscure cruiserweight class. Holmes dismissed the idea when it was first floated. Spinks, he said, “was not a quality opponent for me.” When he wasn’t
campaign. He was 35 years old with a lot of hard miles on him. Along with an unhealthy right hand, doctors had diagnosed him with vertebrae problems. He was still the Ring and lineal champion and was the man to beat, but he’d given up his World Boxing Council title and now wore the recently established International Boxing Federation belt, which meant little at the time. Four months before fighting Spinks, he’d struggled to win a 15-round decision over Carl Williams. He’d reached 48-0, but with his subpar ring performances and his obsession with money, Holmes had become a bit like bloated royalty, an old king on his throne ready to be knocked off. Not that anyone believed Spinks was the man to do it. The fight was proposed for May on NBC, but Spinks turned it down, saying he needed more time to prepare. Instead, he fought Diamond Jim MacDonald and stopped him in eight. From there, the Holmes and Spinks camps haggled over money, but by June the fight was signed. Then, while trying to block out the old-fashioned thinking that a good big man always beats a good small man, Spinks spent the summer training for an opponent he usually referred to as “the big guy.” Spinks’ magic talisman came in the form of Mackie Shilstone, a physiologist and nutritionist who had been in Spinks’ camp for three years. Spinks walked around at 205 and usually had to shed 30 pounds for every fight. Now, instead of helping Spinks drop pounds, Shilstone designed a program that would build him up into something resembling a heavyweight. Shilstone eschewed traditional methods in favor of modern techniques using weights, speed drills and meticulous calorie-counting. Boxing’s old guard thought Shilstone was an eccentric spouting drivel about carbohydrates. In their eyes, Spinks would always be a knock-kneed light heavyweight. Holmes would handle him like a Doberman chewing up a terrier. Or so the reasoning went. There was a symmetry to the event. Holmes could pull up even with Marciano’s record by beating Spinks, and Marciano had reached his own 49th victory by beating Archie Moore, the light heavyweight champion of the time. Additionally, the fight was made for September 21, 1985, the 30th anniversary of Marciano-Moore. Promoters Butch Lewis and Don King were pulling out all the stops to make it seem Marciano was part of this event, if only in spirit. Not surprisingly, Holmes received hate mail for daring to tie the record, while older columnists declared him overrated and lacking Marciano’s panache. Holmes grew edgy, declaring no one had thought about Marciano for years until this fight. “I have resurrected Rocky Marciano,” he said, displaying a tiny hairline crack in his psyche that by fight time would grow into a chasm.
Holmes’ pre-fight joviality was in sharp contrast to his notorious post-fight flare-up.
threatening to retire, Holmes had a grandiose exit strategy in mind, including a European tour of exhibitions. When reminded that he was just shy of matching Marciano’s record of 49-0, Holmes talked about fighting Greg Page or Pinklon Thomas, or maybe a rematch with his old rival, Gerry Cooney. But increasingly, Holmes said he was done boxing. “Why should I go through more training?” he said. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.” He said he wouldn’t fight Spinks for less than $4 million. Though he talked about retiring to focus on his real estate
boxing fans. Going 50-0 would help raise Holmes’ profile and guarantee him, if not celebrity, a measure of reverence. Holmes claimed to not care about such things, but when Marciano’s name was mentioned around him, his bitterness appeared, practically oozing from his pores. He would claim Marciano’s record was padded with exhibitions (not true) and that his own record was already better than Rocky’s. Meanwhile, Holmes groused that the Ford Motor Company had cut his endorsement deal and replaced him with New Jersey Generals quarterback Doug Flutie, a switch Holmes blamed on racism. It was more likely that Ford thought Holmes had lost some of his luster, which was accurate. Holmes had been inconsistent during his 1984-1985
ventures in Easton, Pennsylvania, no one believed Holmes would leave boxing without trying to surpass Marciano’s undefeated streak. No heavyweight had come close to it, and though the record wasn’t as heralded as, say, the home run record in baseball, it was a valid talking point along press row and among
“Sometimes people light candles and pray for your defeat. Sometimes you can’t overcome that.” - Larry Holmes
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