How Ali's rope-a-dope ended Foreman's reign in the Rumble in the Jungle

At 4:30 in the morning on October 30, 1974, with the temperature still hovering around 80 degrees Fahrenheit and storm clouds gathering overhead, Muhammad Ali climbed through the ropes of a boxing ring erected inside the 20th of May Stadium in Kinshasa, Zaire. Sixty thousand people had stayed up through the night to be there. Millions more were watching on closed-circuit screens in theaters across the United States. Around the world, an estimated one billion television viewers were tuned in. Ali raised a fist toward the moonlit sky, and the crowd erupted: 'Ali, bomaye!' — Ali, kill him.

Seven years had passed since Ali last held the heavyweight championship. He had not lost it in the ring. In 1967, the New York State Athletic Commission stripped him of the title and banned him from boxing for more than three years after he refused induction into the U.S. Army, citing his religious beliefs and opposition to the Vietnam War. He faced a federal conviction and the prospect of five years in prison. When he finally returned to the ring in 1970, his legs were no longer young. He lost to Joe Frazier in what was billed the Fight of the Century, then lost again to Ken Norton. He avenged both defeats — but by then, a new and far more fearsome champion had arrived.

George Foreman had gone 40 fights without a loss, 37 of them by knockout. His eight most recent bouts had ended in the first or second round. Among his victims: Frazier, knocked down six times in two rounds, and Norton, demolished in two rounds in Caracas. Foreman was 25 years old to Ali's 32. He entered the ring in Kinshasa with 'World's Champion' emblazoned on the back of his red robe. Ali was a 4-to-1 underdog. Even Ali's longtime supporter Howard Cosell did not believe he could win. Dave Anderson of the New York Times wrote that Foreman might be the heaviest puncher in heavyweight history and predicted Ali would, for the first time in his career, be counted out.

George Foreman might be the heaviest puncher in the history of the heavyweight division. For a few rounds, Ali might be able to escape Foreman's sledgehammer strength, but not for 15 rounds. Sooner or later, the champion will land one of his sledgehammer punches and, for the first time in his career, Muhammad Ali will be counted out. That could happen in the first round.— Dave Anderson, New York Times

The fight existed at all because of an audacious promise made by a then-little-known promoter named Don King. King convinced both Ali and Foreman to sign contracts for a fight by guaranteeing each man $5 million — double what Ali and Frazier had each earned in 1971, and more than the entire lifetime earnings of former champions Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano. There was one problem: King did not have the money, and had no venue willing to host the event in the United States.

The solution came through Zaire's president, Mobutu Sese Seko, a dictator who had seized power in a 1965 coup. An American advisor named Fred Weymar persuaded Mobutu that hosting the fight would generate global publicity for his regime. Mobutu fronted the purse money. Signs erected around the country declared: 'A fight between two blacks, in a black nation, organized by blacks and seen by the whole world; that is a victory for Mobutism.' The fight became the first heavyweight championship bout ever held in Africa.

Mobutu Sese Seko used money that he robbed from his country. The country was mineral-rich, and Mobutu had millions of dollars in a Swiss bank account.— Bill Caplan, Foreman's publicist

The original fight date of September 25 was pushed back five weeks after Foreman was cut above his right eye by an accidental elbow from sparring partner Bill McMurray, a wound requiring 11 stitches. Mobutu, fearful Foreman would leave and never return, refused to let him leave the country for treatment. The delay only widened the psychological gap between the two fighters. Foreman, miserable in Zaire — in part, according to his autobiography, because of the absence of cheeseburgers — stayed in seclusion. Ali did the opposite.

Ali mingled with the public, ran training laps with bands of local boys chanting alongside him, and held court at press conferences. He learned quickly that Zaire's residents harbored deep resentment toward Belgium, the former colonial power. At one public appearance, Ali held up his hands for quiet and announced to the crowd: 'George Foreman is Belgian.' The crowd immediately began chanting 'Ali, bomaye.' He taunted Foreman relentlessly in the press, promising: 'If you think the world was surprised when Nixon resigned, wait till I kick Foreman's behind.'

A three-night music festival, Zaire 74, had taken place as originally scheduled in late September — featuring James Brown, B.B. King, Bill Withers, Miriam Makeba, The Spinners, Celia Cruz and the Fania All-Stars, and others — while the fighters waited out the delay. Literary figures Norman Mailer and George Plimpton covered the fight from ringside. The fight was scheduled to begin at 4 a.m. local time so it could air at 10 p.m. Eastern in the United States, where fans crowded into 450 theaters to watch on closed-circuit television.

When the bell rang for round one, Ali tested Foreman at long range. Then, 30 seconds into the second round, he did something that baffled his own corner: he retreated to the ropes. Conventional wisdom held that the ropes were the last place any fighter wanted to be against the most feared puncher in boxing. Ali's corner screamed at him to dance. He stayed put.

I didn't really plan what happened that night. But when a fighter gets in the ring, he has to adjust to the conditions he faces. Against George, the ring was slow. Dancing all night, my legs would have got tired. And George was following me too close, cutting off the ring. In the first round, I used more energy staying away from him than he used chasing me. I was tireder than I should have been with 14 rounds to go. I knew I couldn't keep dancing, because by the middle of the fight I'd be really tired and George would get me. So between rounds, I decided to do what I did in training when I got tired.— Muhammad Ali

For six rounds, Ali leaned back against the loose ropes, blocking some punches, rolling away from others, letting Foreman's enormous power land on his arms and body while throwing sharp counters whenever openings appeared. Fighting off the ropes, he won three of the first four rounds. In round five, Foreman began landing thunderous right hands to Ali's body. The end seemed near. Ali survived rounds six and seven. Then, at the start of round eight, he told Foreman: 'Now it's my turn.'

Foreman, exhausted from eight rounds of throwing his full power against an opponent who refused to fall, began to slow. Ali unleashed a combination, and Foreman went down. Referee Zack Clayton counted him out. The time was 2:58 of the eighth round. Ali had reclaimed the undisputed heavyweight championship of the world — becoming only the second man in history, after Floyd Patterson, to regain the undisputed title. The tactic he had improvised between rounds became known as the rope-a-dope.

The fight grossed an estimated $100 million in worldwide revenue — approximately $700 million in inflation-adjusted terms. A record estimated 50 million viewers watched on pay-per-view or closed-circuit theater television. Decades later, the bout was the subject of the Academy Award-winning documentary When We Were Kings. It has been called 'arguably the greatest sporting event of the 20th century.'

For Ali, the victory was more than a sporting triumph. He had been indicted, convicted, stripped of his livelihood, and publicly vilified for a stand on conscience. He had fought his way back through Frazier and Norton and now through the most physically imposing champion of his era — at 4 a.m., in Africa, as a heavy underdog. The Rumble in the Jungle did not just restore his title. It completed a story that, as one writer put it, was the classic tale of a prince unfairly stripped of his crown who battles back against adversity to recapture what rightfully belongs to him.

To say Ali is an original is to understate the truth. He is a universe of one. He is the first, the last, and the only. What he did, he did. Only he could have done it.— Dave Kindred, sportswriter

Why it matters — The Rumble in the Jungle remains the template for how an athlete — and a cause — can transcend sport: Ali's victory, won by wit rather than youth or power, restored a title taken by law rather than defeat and was watched by more people simultaneously than any live event before it.

Sources differ on Ali's betting odds as underdog: 4-to-1 underdog (wikipedia.org, andscape.com) vs 3-to-1 underdog (history.com, theguardian.com)

Reported by history.com, boxrec.com, nytimes.com, en.wikipedia.org, theguardian.com, andscape.com, acp.cd, nation.africa