Joe Frazier Speaks

With his only four defeats standing as benchmarks for two of boxing's other greatest heavyweights, the career of "Smoking" Joe Frazier was defined not only by his punching ability but also by his fighting spirit. While big knockouts are still evident in today's ring, that fiery determination is not.

Earlier this month the heavyweight division stumbled yet again, as it failed to place any one of the current four champions at the top of the heap. With Vitali Klitschko announcing his retirement after sustaining a knee injury, he bequeaths his title to Hasim Rahman without so much as throwing a punch in what was a highly anticipated bout. Rahman now joins a muddled division, filled with halfway-decent boxers but lacking a true and credible champion to claim the title as the baddest man alive.

"I couldn't really tell you who the champ is right now," says a wizened Frazier, who was in town recently to promote his new book and his pair of youth organizations. "It puzzles me."

Frazier, who currently trains boxers back in Philadelphia, is among those most qualified to critique today's heavyweights, having made his own place in the sport as a man among giants. Frazier stood atop the heavyweight ranks while fighting just under 200 pounds, wielding a great equalizer—the Philadelphia left hook. His impact on the sport is so great that each of his two losses to George Foreman and to Muhammad Ali speak more to the quality of the fighters of his day than any victories from today's so-called champions.

Unlike current heavyweights, Frazier was a versatile fighter who won through a combination of speed, power and determination. Although some would say that Frazier was at his best when he charged in to let loose a volley of punches, he was remarkably adept at slipping punches as well. In his prime, he threw up to 90 punches a round.

"Balance and strength," Frazier said, explaining the basics of his style while lifting up a pair of worn, clenched fists. "Sometimes I'd take one to give one, other times I'd slip under an arm and get one off just like that." In a moment of revelry, he fired off a quick four-punch combination that today's heavyweights would be hard-pressed to imitate—and even sorrier to receive. "Sometimes I could hit a guy with four shots before he'd fire off one," he added. Frazier admits that even today, whenever he passes a gym he cannot leave without hitting a speed bag.

This fact speaks more to Frazier's success inside the ring than any dissection of his style could hope to illuminate. Because he was not a dominant physical specimen like Sonny Liston or Jack Johnson, Frazier needed something else to reign over the division—an indomitable spirit. He credits this attribute to his original trainer, Yancey "Yank" Durham. "Yank trained me to come out smokin'. He made my defense my offense," said Frazier, who was known for relentlessly stalking fighters around the ring. "Sometimes I would just take my opponents from corner to corner."

Far from being a crotchety old-timer longing for his glory days, Frazier has made a smooth transition from boxer to trainer. He offered some simple criticisms of today's boxers and what's keeping them from capturing the public's eye. "This is a sport that you have to put your heart, soul, body and mind into. It has to be everything you want," said Frazier. "But guys today don't put all they want into it." He explained that, while he had no problem resisting the fruits of his labors, he hasn't seen this next generation exercise self-control or discipline. "I would go seven or eight weeks without sex back in those days," he said. "But today's guys, they don't know how to stay away from the beaver."

Frazier also balks at the added weight classes in the sport and the growing influence diets play in a fighter's training regimen. "It doesn't matter what you eat, as long as you stay full," he said. "You can't face a heavyweight without energy. Your head's not on right. You don't want to get hit by a guy like George Foreman in that state."

Frazier was knocked down six times when he faced Foreman—he recalls the fight being lopsided. But he looked at his smaller size as one of his few advantages. It was easier for him to get up than Foreman's heavier opponents, and he was most likely frustrating the young heavyweight by continuing to come back. "George beat me up pretty good," he said. "But I had to get up because I didn't think anyone could." Today, not only is his caliber of fighter sorely missing from the heavyweight division, but so too is any shred of rivalry or heart that could produce a match that might hint at either Foreman's power or Frazier's will.

Despite his criticism of today's boxers, Frazier also places some blame on those training the younger athletes. He maintains that is his reason for staying involved with the sport.

"What makes a good trainer?" Frazier asked, repeating my question. "Someone who has been there. Someone who has run in the rain, sleet and snow. Somebody who knows—like me."

Frazier is neither bashful nor boastful when it comes to his past success. He examines himself and his career with a matter-of-fact frankness that is refreshing in an age when heavyweight posturing outdoes performance inside the ring. Even in his old age, Frazier still possesses the spirit of a champion. He retains that fire in his drive to push others towards the pantheon that he helped create. "Boxing championships can go to anybody," he said. "But first, before all of that, a boxer must always remain loyal and truthful to himself, otherwise they just wind up a fooling himself."

Today's heavyweights are fooling themselves, but thankfully they are not fooling the world of boxing. Now all we can do is wait for a boy to grow up into a man like Frazier, who began his dream by practicing punches on bits of bricks hanging from trees. Hopefully there is a young kid out there working to echo Frazier and his simple mantra: "Ever since I was a country boy, I wasn't going to let anything stop me from being at the top." n