When the Final Bell Sounds . . .

The most celebrated moments in sport are often frozen in time.  Captured in a vintage sepia tone or the cracked frame of the days when photos were taken on actual film, they live on forever as windows into the past.  From Chuck Bednarik towering over a lifeless Frank Gifford to Bobby Orr soaring above the ice in celebration, greatness can sometimes be captured through the confines of a Kodak.

But in a sport such as boxing, especially in its past form, one must set their sights on a shared experience among men in order to understand its vast worth.

Boxing’s most celebrated division – the Heavyweights – experienced its Golden Age some four decades ago.  It was then that the world witnessed a bevy of quality competition among gladiators of the last century.  As we find the division today, lost in a bland state of lackluster monotony, it’s difficult to imagine a time when just to be a contender turned you into a household name.

The men who defined this era made careers fighting in phone booths, yet never actually needed one to do so.  It came natural.  The same warrior creed that each of them shared would have it no other way.  The heavyweight mainstays of the 1970s had a single understood process: sign the contract, lace up the gloves, and cake the canvas with a quart of blood. Put simply, they were fighters.

That is why it’s hard to imagine any fighter, especially those who wrote such a chapter in the sport’s history, to leave this world in a way that is not in some way due to the toll they took between the ropes.

In less than four months, the boxing world has lost three combatants from the heyday of heavyweight boxing – Joe Frazier, Scott LeDoux, and Ron Lyle.  While only Frazier ever laid claim to the world title, all three men helped in writing the heavyweight story that we all long for today. 

Lyle is the latest to depart this world after succumbing to a stomach abscess over the weekend.  He was 70 years old.  A convict by age 19, Lyle, who was serving a stint for second-degree murder, required upwards of 30 pints of blood following a prison stabbing.  Having cheated death, the young con turned to boxing and other sports as an avenue to control his aggression and possibly gain a piece of his life back.  Late into the fight game, the heavyweight became a stalwart of the 1970s and may be best remembered for having been stopped by Muhammad Ali in the 11th round of a fight in which he found himself leading on two scorecards and even on a third.  Most significantly, perhaps, was the war he waged in a losing effort to George Foreman.  Though falling to the two-time champion in five rounds, Lyle floored Foreman twice in the fourth in what many ring experts regard as the finest single round in the history of the fight game.

While some casual sports fans may recall Scott LeDoux’s more recent work as ESPN’s color man for its Tuesday Night Fights series, an earlier act in the Minnesota native’s life was spent as a heavyweight contender.  Having fought eight men who at one time or another shared a portion of the heavyweight crown, LeDoux earned draws against both Leon Spinks and Ken Norton, while also losing a title bid against Larry Holmes.  A workman-like fighter, LeDoux paid a dear price for ring acclaim.  In August of this year, he passed away after a three-year battle with Lou Gehrig’s Disease.  The disease is often linked to Dementia Pugilistica, a condition that is believed to result from the accumulated blows to the head that fighters commonly suffer.

Then, of course, there’s ‘Smokin’ Joe who also recently fought his final round in this fleeting bout called life.  There’s little that can be added to the tributes and recollections afforded to the all-time great in recent weeks. Although a brief battle with liver cancer is the official cause of death, it’s heard to imagine that the many rounds and blows he took part in had nothing to do with his death.

Death, whatever the cause or timeliness, is tragic.  It signifies the end to a story, an existence.  While all of our stories are diverse and unlike any other, the guaranteed endings are all essentially the same.  However, what Frazier, LeDoux, and Lyle took part in during their lives is everlasting.  Far too significant to ever be captured in a still frame, these men, and all whom they ever shared a ring with, gave all of themselves.  They were warriors; fistic poets hell-bent on earning a moment’s supremacy.

Some will say that they were too dumb in choosing careers where ducking or stepping back are frowned upon.  Others will see them as wise enough to know that what they were doing would last forever.

All I will do is say ‘thank you’ for sharing your art with the generations that have followed.

Rest in Peace…