THE YAWN FROM SAN JUAN
to the press or the fans for this, the fifth defense of his second title reign. Aside from a recent speeding ticket in Michigan – he was clocked driving his Rolls-Royce convertible at 109 mph – there was little from Ali in the way of headlines or pre-fight bravado. When he arrived in San Juan, the reason behind Ali’s silence was revealed:
could win,” Coopman said in Stephen Brunt’s 2005 book, Facing Ali . “But two seconds after the bell sounded, he knew I was nothing more than a fly. I wanted to spend four or five rounds just putting on the pressure and blocking the shots. But against Ali it didn’t work.” Ali’s punches, Coopman recalled, “came from all sides, from all angles.”
final punch connecting on Coopman’s temple – followed by a dismissive shove, as if to say, “I’m done with you.” Faster than you could say “Karl Mildenberger,” Coopman was on his knees being counted out. Coopman said after the fight, “It felt like 500 pounds fell on my head.” The end was so sudden that people
He was suffering with a nasty, rasping cough. Had his opponent been anyone else but Coopman, the fight would’ve been postponed. Rumors spread that Ali’s cold had kept him from training and that he weighed more than 230 pounds. Between Ali being ill and the fact that so little was known about the challenger, there were murmurs among the press that maybe Coopman’s witch was onto something.
may not have appreciated the absolute beauty of it. It was nearly vintage Ali, a brief summoning of the old brilliance, the final right hand thrown like he was christening a yacht. At 34, bored, sick and fat, the champion was still too quick and clever for the likes of Coopman. Ali patted Coopman’s back as the defeated challenger was led to
ALI’S PUNCHES, COOPMAN RECALLED, “CAME FROM ALL SIDES, FROM ALL ANGLES.”
Ali established his superiority in the opening round, landing hard jabs and right leads, rarely missing as Coopman came straight to him, face first, his hands low. Coopman was the sort of opponent Ali devoured, shorter at 5-foot-11 and a plodder. Now and then, Ali would wiggle his ass to amuse the crowd or lay on the ropes for a “rope-a-dope” moment. In the second, Ali landed a flurry of bolo punches and slaps that froze Coopman in mid- ring. Perhaps trying to stretch out the evening for CBS’ sake, Ali eased up in rounds three and four. The Puerto Rican fans, estimated at 11,500 or so, began whistling and jeering. Coopman, a purplish lump forming under his left eye, could only shamble across the ring after Ali, an obedient draft horse trudging in the mud. In the fifth, Ali got up on his toes and started circling his opponent, sticking his jab into Coopman’s face. Ali was heavy and some of his gracefulness was gone, but this added movement seemed to invigorate him. After landing about 15 consecutive jabs, Ali battered Coopman with an eight-punch combination – left-right, left-right, left- right, left-right, blindingly quick, the
his corner. While the ring filled up with police officers, photographers, broadcast people and members of both camps, Ali sauntered through the mob, stood in his own corner and … yawned. As if the fight had kept him up past his bedtime. Ali praised Coopman as a “nice man” and said, “I’m sorry we had to fight.” When a CBS commentator asked Ali about his ever-growing fame, Ali was blasé. “It’s all good while it lasts,” he said, “but you can’t let it go to your head.” Coopman sat quietly next to Ali at the post-fight press gathering. His big night was over. The witch had failed him. Though he would return to Belgium and face criticism for the way he lost, Coopman enjoyed a kind of celebrity, as all fighters did when they faced Ali, as if his fame was so large that it could only rub off on them. Though he was recognized briefly as the heavyweight champion of Europe, Coopman spun off in the usual direction of faded boxers: running around with beautiful women, making bad investments, losing fights. Aside from a gimmicky bout in 1999 – a six-round draw with Freddy
At the weigh-in, Ali came in at 226. He was still coughing. “He’s ready,” Dundee said. Coopman weighed 206. He was still smiling. The Roberto Clemente Coliseum was nearly at capacity for the bout. The undercard included Puerto Rican favorite Alfredo Escalera, the WBC junior lightweight titlist, who scored a 13th-round TKO of Jose Fernandez, as well as future titleholders Wilfredo Gomez and, in his pro debut, Ossie Ocasio. Also on the undercard was heavyweight contender Jimmy Young, who won a sleepy 10-round decision over Jose Roman. Though the United Press called the bout a “bleak disappointment,” Young was already penciled in as Ali’s next challenger. In two months, Young would extend Ali through 15 dull rounds, proving Ali clearly wasn’t the fighter he’d once been. But that was in the future. On February 20, 1976, the story involved Ali against an unknown Flemish challenger, a young man who had been grinning nonstop since December. “Until the bell sounded, I thought I
Ali landed a quick combination in Round 5, and the fight was over.
De Kerpel when both were in their 50s – he put boxing aside and returned to his artwork, which is probably where he’d always belonged. Coopman’s final record was 36-16-2. Strangely, the biggest take from the fight was a rumor that Coopman drank champagne between rounds. He denied it, saying he was only rinsing his mouth with it. He did swallow some by the final round, Coopman said, just to give himself a boost, what he called “euphoria.” Whether he was the least qualified man to challenge for the heavyweight championship is hard to say, but regarding the champagne story, Coopman gave new meaning to the term “punch drunk.” Sportswriters dismissed the fight
as a farce and forgot about it. A few newspapers dubbed it “The Yawn in San Juan.” CBS, though, was happy. The network’s fight coverage finished 12th in the week’s Nielsen ratings, just behind Happy Days and Baretta but ahead of The Waltons and Kojak. Most impressive was the 10-10:30 p.m. slot that aired the fight and drew a staggering 45% share of the national audience. The number was remarkable for a fight no one wanted, proof that Ali was not a mere athlete but a pop culture institution. As for Ali, he left Puerto Rico and resumed his chaotic personal life. There were taxes and expenses and wives and girlfriends, along with the not so small matter of his skills and his health
slipping away. The Coopman fight notwithstanding, the remainder of his career would be unimaginably hard. Three days after the fight, Ali was in Manhattan again for another press conference. This time, he was announcing the new Ali doll. When asked about his future, he said he would fight a few more times and retire. “I’m going out on top,” Ali said, claiming he would “buy a bowtie and a briefcase and go lecture in the colleges.” It was a fine plan. But not one he followed.
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