Prizefighting: Theater of the Absurd

Nobody can deny that Cassius Marcellus Clay, 23, has an affinity for fantasy. Last week in Lewiston, Me., Cassius fought a fight that did not seem to be a fight, threw a punch that did not look like a punch, scored a knockout that the referee did not realize was a knockout, and set a record that turned out to be no record. In the process, Cassius clearly established himself as the heavyweight champion of the world and a consummate actor—in the theater of the absurd.

The background music was perfect: outside the Central Maine Youth Cen ter teen-age carolers chanted The Mickey Mouse March. So was the lighting: to ensure a "perfect" picture for the closed-circuit telecast that carried the action to 257 theaters across the U.S., technicians installed huge klieg lights that sent the temperature at ringside to 100°. Then there was the supporting cast. Spooked by reports that followers of the late Malcolm X planned to avenge their leader's death by assassinating Black Muslim Clay, some 300 Lewiston police, county sheriffs, state troopers, firemen and civil defense workers milled around the arena in a ratio of roughly one lawman for every 14 fans.

Ponderous Punches. The prop for the farce, of course, was an overrated bum named Sonny Liston. He must be close to 40; he was bulky at 2151 Ibs. (to Clay's 206), was 2 in. shorter, and about as nimble as a Gila monster. Somehow he had persuaded quite a few people—including the underworld characters hanging around his training camp —that he would button the lip of the twinkle-toed loudmouth who took his title away in Miami last year. Oddsmakers made him the 6-5 favorite, and in Miami the word was that one mobster bet $30,000 on Liston to win.

The bell for the first round had barely sounded when Clay quickly banged a right off Listen's ear and went hippity-hopping around the ring, effortlessly slipping Sonny's ponderous punches. Clay hung his arms at his sides; Liston attached his arches to the canvas. The pursuit grew slower and slower, stopped altogether when Clay unloaded a solid right to Listen's head. Straining to reach Cassius with a left hook, Listen bent forward and swung. From somewhere in the general direction of his right hip, Clay flicked a right-hand chop that traveled no more than a foot to the side of Sonny's head. Listen sank to the canvas, rolled over onto his back, struggled to his knees, and went down again.