I was a young, hungry fighter when I stepped into the ring with Joe Frazier in 1973. I had come up the hard way—straight out of Houston’s Fifth Ward, rough and tough, with a chip on my shoulder and power in both hands. Boxing was my escape from the streets, my way out of poverty. And when I got my shot at the heavyweight title against Smokin’ Joe, I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way.
Frazier was the undisputed champion, the man who had beaten Muhammad Ali in the Fight of the Century. People feared him. And I’ll tell you the truth—I feared him too. I had knocked out every man I faced, but when I stood across from Frazier in that ring, I felt a wave of fear like never before. I had seen what he did to Ali, how relentless he was, how he kept coming forward like a freight train. I knew that if I didn’t take him out quickly, he would wear me down and destroy me. But fear can do two things—it can paralyze you, or it can drive you. And that night, it drove me.
The bell rang, and I unleashed everything I had. My punches came in thunderous waves, and within two rounds, Frazier was down six times. It was a slaughter. I became the heavyweight champion of the world, and in that moment, I felt invincible.
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Then came Ali.
