I was a kid during the greatest era in boxing history. The 1970’s had the richest and deepest talent in the ring.
Part of my childhood melted away this morning when I awoke to the news of George Foreman passing away.
I can still picture the pizza my dad ordered for the “Thrilla in Manilla.” It had green peppers and onions along with our regular sausage topping.
I never had a pizza with such a combination, but it was a school night and I had permission to stay up for the fight. So I sucked it up and ate this new fangled pizza.
I watched most of those fights in front of the Zenith with my Oldman. It was on those occasions that my dad would order pizza and let me drink pop in the living room.
My dad was a Joe Frazier guy and always called Muhammad Ali by his birth name, “Cassius Clay.” It wasn’t until after Ali lost to Larry Holmes when I finally heard my dad call him by his new name.
I was a George Foreman fan well before he kicked the living shit out of Joe Frazier. Howard Cosell was shouting “Down goes Frazier….,” I was jumping up and down in the living room and my Oldman was taking the pizza box into the kitchen telling me to turn off the television and go to bed.
I never had another favorite boxer after George Foreman. I never liked Ali, didn’t care for Leon Spinks or Larry Holmes.
The death of George Foreman hijacked today’s Morning Chalkboard. I was going to talk about Kurt Vonnegut and his quote that I chalked. I was going to talk about a concentration camp. I had some good things to tie together about both subjects.
At some point today, I’ll be on YouTube watching old fights from my youth.
God Speed Mr. Foreman. Thanks for those special moments that I shared with my Oldman.
Go take your shorter shadow for a walk today….
