The heavyweight greats from the 70’s were a direct product inspired by the passing greats of the hungry 60’s, a time when famished fighters were literally starving and had a shack full of little mouths to feed. This set the standard for a legendary set of fighters who we all have the greatest respect for.  

The 70’s set such a high standard that the next generation had to be almost jet propelled to outdo them. Unfortunately one thing that came from the 70’s greats was great cash demands. The fighters were not food hungry anymore but were demanding high purses that were being satisfied in a reflection to the way they performed.  

Ali, Frazier and Foreman were the established superstars of the era and were pulling in millions of dollars as more than fighters, but as almost sporting gods who graced us with seven amazing battles between the three of them. When the eighties came around, the fighters were inspired by the cash, but weren’t as appreciated as athletes.

Larry Holmes, for instance, was in many ways resented for being a mere shadow of Ali at his worst; Ali was placed on such a pedestal that even in beating his hero, Larry couldn’t out shake his predecessor due to his larger than life character. Ali wasn’t a million miles better boxer, but was a trillion times larger character than Larry, and this proved a giant monkey for Larry to carry on his back.

Larry was proud and when he wasn’t fully accepted he became bitter. Larry Holmes beat everyone in his era, in fact many fighters that Larry soundly beat went on to hold different versions of the title alongside him and after he had retired for the first time. This didn’t make the champions produced in the 80’s terrible, they just didn’t match up to their forefathers so to speak. But the money was around now and for many it wasn’t a passion to become champion, but a jackpot win to land even a title shot.  

Fighters started to use recreational drugs, come into the ring looking less than svelte and were just happy to be millionaires for as long as they could bear the crown. Longevity was the structure that was eventually lost when Holmes was arrested of his title, and the holders were mere torch carriers, short term heroes that were tough dudes, but never all time greats in the way we viewed the classic 70’s daddies of the division. It was an interesting time because it wasn’t dominated and we could watch the contenders go all out to get a stranglehold on the scraps that were left in Holmes’ wake.  

The year 1987 brought us our first ray of hope since the heady 70’s, in the form of 20 year old Mike Tyson, the man who looked like he would bring us into a new era of domination as a long term champion. Tyson would see off most of the dead wood that the early eighties had scattered around. He was a product of being a celebrated throwback, nurtured at the hands of a maverick from a hungrier era. Cus D’Amato had instilled a rare commodity into Tyson, passion. Not for money, but for the chance to be honored as a champion. Later Mike would state it was more fun before the money became a factor, from then on it was not about boxing, but all about business.  

This became Mike’s and heavyweight boxing’s downfall yet again. It wasn’t a matter of who would be a better opponent, as it were to be a question of who would be the better prospective financial draw.  

Michael Spinks was a prime example, he was scared to death on the night he faced Tyson, but it was that big a financial exercise for all concerned that he was obliged to fight Tyson to satisfy outside interests. Mike’s passion was lost and so was his title to the hungrier man as we entered the early nineties. Now just like the early eighties we had a power struggle fuelled mostly on the cash earning power Mike showed a dominant champ could once again bring. 

Buster Douglas ate his passion away after defeating Tyson, then rolled over and gifted Evander Holyfield the title far too satisfied by his Tokyo pay slip. He merely showed up and checked out just in time to catch the last sitting at the Mirage buffet. Evander was a different animal, a warrior, a man of substance and it would take a crafty customer to take the trappings away from such a strong minded cat. In 1992 Evander would meet the first of the super sized heavies to throw down the gauntlet.  

Riddick Bowe and Lennox Lewis were the new kids on the block, products of the ‘88 Olympiad in Seoul, Korea. Lewis edged out Bowe in their headgear and vest bout, but a paid bout between the two fell through when that old devil once again became the bigger issue MONEY…   

Bowe was first to the post as a pro, undefeated and driven by a passion to make good an underprivileged childhood. Riddick was a lazy 1980’esque typical looking heavyweight who had skills that far outsized his heart. When Holyfield met Bowe, the Brooklyn man had his finest hour, doing what no one had managed to do thus far in Evander’s career, he out gamed Holyfield and dropped him in a magnificent showing that would trick one to assume he was the prodigal son that would save the heavyweights from mediocrity. But in the same breath his Olympic counterpart was to obtain Riddick’s castoffs when the former threw his WBC title in the garbage making the bold statement that he wanted no part of meeting Lewis, no matter at what price.  

Over time Lewis would meet and beat every man he met in the ring until his retirement in the new millennium years. Bowe was financially made, and again a member of the self-satisfied gang, and would soon lose his remaining titles to Evander in a rematch before losing his real grasp on the titles proper to the refrigerator and his inner demons.  

Tyson tried the comebacks, but we know how that went. His hunger for Holyfield’s ears were about as far as it went for Mike, his passion is still sitting in the murky cells at the Indiana Youth Correctional facility and never really surfaced after he made a catalogue of errors in his life as well as boxing. Champions came and went in the 90’s but all roads passed through Lewis, he lost his belts twice, but immediately flip-sided the result decisively...  

The point that I am highlighting here is how a sport as brutally blunt as boxing can move in generic cycles, from absolute food hunger, to money hunger and success hunger, to obscene greed and egotistic power gains. We have evolved to a place where we now have champions emerging from the kind of poverty that was thought to have been eradicated from society.  

The millennium years since the departure of Lennox Lewis has seen a different breed of beast emerge from nations that had never before been considered serious players in the heavyweight mix. Complacency of self-satisfied payroll heavyweights have encouraged overseas competitors who have been sharpening their teeth, lying in wait for the day when they could dominate the picture, driven by those  same primary motives of our aforementioned heavyweight forefathers. Hungry serious throwbacks who are living proof that the difference between a champion’s spark and a pretender’s mediocrity are basically measured in passion and strife to be the best for no other reason than to be recognized as The Heavyweight Champion of the world in terms of what that title once truly stood for.  

Nigeria, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and other fragments of the former Soviet Union threw their hat into the ring and brought a completely new flavour to a relatively open door of a division. Technically better equipped, yet not always charismatically gifted, names like Lyachovich, Klitschko, Ibragimov, Maskaev, Peter, Valuev and Chagaev have taken to the driving seat, leaving most of the world’s heavyweight talent playing pillion passenger, queuing in the championship waiting room for a chance to pit their primitive skills against more iron willed belt holders. Tougher, hardier and better prepared for war the newcomers may be, but all of this development has come with a price…  

Professional pursuit of perfection isn’t always the preferred choice of paying customers, and the ones who count, are the paying public who often pays with their feet and wallets. The Iron fist may have a title attached to it, but it sometimes lacks charm and personality. To win is admirable but to be victorious and entertaining is masterful. A thousand Klitschko’s can be admired, but only a sprinkle of greatness can be revered. It’s a subtle mix of talent and hunger that makes a true endearing heavyweight champion, we needed the stern work ethic of our eastern bloc victors, but to hold the gaze of what our sport is designed for requires personality and unpredictability.  

Careful what you wish for I always say, and I wish for a Champion risk taker, who isn’t afraid to take a lump or two to make us sit up and take notice.. Safety first has no place in entertainment, but neither does complacency. I appreciate how hard it is to climb to the top but to chance it all on the line and fight was that 70’s ethic that is truly lost.

Muhammad Ali, you raised the bar too high and our overfed expectations remain unsatisfied. I wait patiently for the next changing of the guard.