Seasoned reporters and fans vividly recall witnessing one of boxing`s most legendary fights unfold live: “The Thrilla in Manila” between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier.
Initially, I was convinced Joe Frazier would emerge victorious, a prediction I confidently made in the Boxing News preview. I harbored a strong sense that this particular bout transcended mere sport for Frazier; it felt like a struggle of existential importance.
The animosity was palpable, intensified by Ali`s notorious pre-fight jibe about “getting the gorilla in Manila.” Frazier`s anger was raw and unmistakable. I watched the fight unfold in the early hours at the Odeon cinema in London`s Leicester Square. After about five or six rounds, I perceived Ali as being too skilled, too dominant, believing he had Frazier’s measure and would control the rest of the match. However, my assessment proved premature. Frazier relentlessly pressed forward, delivering powerful body shots. Ali often resorted to clinching, attempting to tie Frazier up by grabbing his neck, but Filipino referee Carlos Padilla consistently intervened, breaking the hold.
Around the tenth round, I sensed a definite shift in momentum, with Frazier seemingly turning the tide. Yet, Ali mounted another powerful surge. By the fourteenth round, I remember thinking Frazier would be fortunate to hear the final bell. His trainer, Eddie Futch, ultimately made the difficult decision to stop the fight before it reached that point. Ali, having weathered the storm, prevailed. I left the cinema with the profound feeling of having witnessed an extraordinary event.
Jack Hirsch
At the time, I was an aspiring amateur boxer, and I viewed the match on closed-circuit television at a movie theater on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. While the pre-fight hype might not have reached the same fever pitch as their first two encounters, the event itself still possessed an undeniable magic.
By the time “The Thrilla in Manila” took place, Ali was widely considered the clear favorite. This isn`t to say Frazier was completely written off, but it was generally felt that Ali had surpassed him in their careers. One specific moment from the fight remains etched in my memory: the sixth round, which was arguably Frazier’s strongest. As he cornered Ali against the ropes, a fan loudly shouted, “Eat him up, Joe!” It was a stark reminder that in the Ali-Frazier saga, neutrality was impossible—you either rooted for one or the other. I quietly supported Frazier, but I didn`t leave the theater disappointed, knowing I had seen something truly exceptional. It was, without a doubt, one of the most grueling fights in boxing history, a sentiment Ali himself echoed when he famously called it “the closest thing to death.”
Miles Templeton
My love for boxing was truly ignited in 1970 when I watched Muhammad Ali’s comeback fight against Jerry Quarry, his first televised contest that I saw. Just three weeks later, I witnessed Joe Frazier decisively defeat Bob Foster, defending his heavyweight title with powerful precision.
I was still in school for Ali-Frazier I, attending college for Ali-Frazier II, and working by the time their historic Manila encounter took place. It was, without question, an incredible era to be a fan of the sport. For me, “The Thrilla in Manila” remains the greatest world heavyweight title contest of all time. It was a genuine 50/50 proposition leading into the fight, and throughout most of its fourteen brutal rounds, the outcome hung in the balance, capable of going either way. I watched it, completely enthralled, later that same day when the BBC broadcast the bout, featuring the legendary Harry Carpenter behind the microphone. It became clear that these two men were destined for each other, leaving absolutely everything they had in the ring that unforgettable night.
Simon Euan-Smith
I had the unique opportunity to witness all three Ali-Frazier bouts “live” in cinemas—the first in Bristol during my final year at university (I vividly recall someone offering me £20 for my £2.10 ticket, a substantial sum for a student then, but I never even considered it!). The subsequent two fights, including “The Thrilla,” I watched in London as a staff member of Boxing News.
A particular memory from “The Thrilla” stands out: a massive trophy was brought into the ring during the pre-fight introductions, intended for the victor. Ali, with characteristic showmanship, promptly picked it up and carried it back to his corner. He could joke, even in such a momentous setting! However, once the fight began, all jesting ceased. It quickly devolved into one of the most brutal battles I’ve ever seen—an all-out war. Often, when a bout concludes due to a corner retirement, there’s a sense of anti-climax. This was emphatically not the case here. Ali and Frazier had truly given every ounce of their being, and it’s probably accurate to say neither fighter reached those extraordinary heights again.
Gareth Jones
It was well past midnight when my Tuesday shift at the Western Mail concluded, and I made my way along the newly pedestrianized Queen Street to the Capitol cinema. It was the only venue in Wales broadcasting “The Thrilla” live as it happened. The “boys from Tiger Bay” were there in full force, every single one an Ali supporter. If any women were present, beyond the cinema staff, they were as inconspicuous as Frazier fans that night.
The relentless action on the giant screen was mirrored by the fervor in the stalls, amplified whenever the champion stood between rounds to encourage the chanting of his name—a roar taken up with as much enthusiasm in Cardiff as in the Philippines. For such a hard-fought contest to end unexpectedly with just one round remaining could, under different circumstances, have felt anti-climactic. But not this time. The entire audience rose as one to celebrate their idol`s triumph. My most enduring memory is the dramatic transformation of the two protagonists over the course of that hour. Before the opening bell, both had disregarded the referee`s warnings, instead screaming insults at each other. By the end, neither fighter possessed the energy even to speak.
Oliver Croft