A tale of two photographs

Two of the most iconic boxing photographs of all time include one man: Muhammad Ali.

In the first, he yuks it up with The Beatles.

In the second, Ali looms over a vanquished opponent, spitting disdain.

Many don’t realise another boxer played a major role in both photographs. That man is Charles ‘Sonny’ Liston.

These two photographs are typical of the sad life of Sonny Liston. A man — who an acquaintance remarked — died the day he was born. Sonny is the boxer lying on the canvas at Ali’s feet, immortalised in celluloid as the archetype loser. A simple prop to greatness.

That Liston was one of the most-feared champions of all time often gets overlooked.

Nobody knows exactly what date Liston was born into extreme poverty. Best guess is sometime around 1930. His father put him to work in the fields at the first opportunity. He doled out vicious beatings to his son on a regular basis. Aged 13, Sonny ran away from home, pitching up in St Louis. There he drifted into a life of violence and crime and made the inevitable transition to jail.

It was during his incarceration that he discovered boxing. Finally, his imposing physical attributes found a positive outlet. After release, he enjoyed a brief but eventful amateur boxing career. He turned pro in 1953, signing a promotional deal with a consortium of backers.

Unfortunately, these benefactors had less than salubrious ties. From that point, Liston was indelibly linked to mafia and underworld figures. Something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Liston blazed a trail of destruction through the Heavyweight division. Soon he was the number one contender for the throne. Floyd Patterson was the incumbent at that time. A gifted, fast-handed fighter, Patterson studied under Cus D’Amato. D’Amato — a shrewd operator — knew that Liston had too much for his man. Cus did everything he could to avoid Liston and Patterson sharing a ring. But finally, the fight was made. In September 1962, Liston demolished Patterson in one round.

Today, Sonny Liston's would be the ultimate redemption story. The boy who came from nowhere and nothing to claim the most prestigious title in world sports. In 1962 he was a pariah. Shunned by the white community - who portrayed him as a bestial savage. The black community abhorred his criminal past and underworld links. They saw him as a risk to the civil rights movement.

Still, Liston resolved to use his new title and status to turn his life around. In the process, he wanted to be a force for good. On the plane back to Philadelphia airport, the new champ prepared a speech. He eagerly anticipated a triumphant homecoming.

The plane landed at a desolate airport. No gathering throngs of well-wishers and supporters. No parade or large media event. Onlookers described a crestfallen Liston. From that point, things trended downhill.

Even as Champion of the World he was still hounded by local police. Ran out of Philly, he relocated to Denver. He despatched Floyd Patterson in a rematch — again in one round.

Next up? A brash youngster by the name of Cassius Clay — soon to assume his Muslim name: Muhammad Ali.

The 1960s saw a cultural revolution in TV, movies and music. The biggest band in the world at that time were The Beatles. The Mersey four-piece were a cultural phenomenon. While touring the US, they set their heart on meeting the Heavyweight King.

Maybe a rejuvenated Liston, ebullient from a hero’s welcome in Philadelphia would have embraced the moment. Perhaps he would have recognised the reputation-changing opportunity in his grasp.

It wasn’t to be. An embittered Sonny couldn’t get out of his own way. He would have none of it. He even took the time to disparage Ringo Starr: ‘My dog can play drums better than that kid with the big nose’.

The young Cassius Clay was a promotional pioneer. He was happy to step in and replace ‘The Big Old Ugly Bear’ as he’d christened him. Clay recognised the power of the media. An initially reluctant Fab Four were soon blown away by his irrepressible schtick. They got a foretaste of the star that was soon to burst onto the world stage. The pictures are iconic. And they put Cassius Clay on a comparative platform with Liverpool's finest.

Even so, Clay was a massive underdog going into the fight. Most expected Liston to button the Louisville Lip in short order. What followed were two of the most hotly-debated, controversial fights in history.

In the first, Clay shocked the world. His sublime footwork, reflexes and hand speed were too much for a ponderous Liston. The fight played out amid tales of suspect ointment on gloves and alleged injuries. Sonny did not report for the 7th round, surrendering his title on his stool.

By the time the rematch rolled around, Cassius Clay was Muhammad Ali. Sonny Liston was Sonny Liston — now older, more tired and a whole lot more cynical. Liston trained hard for the rematch, but his saw his preparation ruined by a postponement.

Some say that was the final straw for a man who may have been much older than his stated age. For whatever reason, the Sonny Liston that turned up in Lewiston, Maine, was a hollow shell.

Midway through the first round, Liston crumbled to the floor after an innocuous looking right hand. The Phantom Punch is the most infamous punch in boxing history. Some say that the speed and impact on Sonny’s temple caused the damage. Others are adamant he took a dive at the behest of his mafia sponsors.

Looking at the footage, I err with my gut. Sonny Liston was many things, but he was not a good actor. His exaggerated flopping and rolling about after the knockdown is almost comical.

In the celebrated photograph, Ali stands victorious over his beaten nemesis. But is there more than meets the eye? Far from snarling triumph, ringsiders point more to indignant, shocked rage.

Many report Ali as shouting: “Get up and fight, Sucker! Nobody is gonna believe this!”.

Chaos ensued in the ring. The referee — Jersey Joe Walcott, himself a former champion — lost control of proceedings. Not even a long count could save the supposedly stricken Liston.

Those in attendance were in no doubt: the fix was in. A cascade of boos rang out. It had taken a gang of policemen using billy clubs to arrest Sonny on one occasion. And now here was - lolling about the ring in painful slow motion.

The press buried Liston. There were calls to withhold his purse. Most boxers would have faded into obscurity at that point. But Sonny Liston was still a handful for most. He racked up creditable wins against fringe contenders. Then with talk of a Joe Frazier fight, Leotis Martin effectively ended his career. Martin got off the canvas himself to poleaxe Sonny in the 9th. This knockout was definitely for real.

Even then, Liston returned to beat the granite chinned Chuck Wepner into submission. That was June 1970. By January 1971 he was dead.

Fate would not even afford Charles Liston a dignified death. Returning from a trip away, his wife discovered his decomposing corpse at their home. Rumours of a heroin overdose, a mafia hit — all contribute to a sordid end. Even today, Liston's death is a sideshow of intrigue and conjecture.

The man who didn’t know his own birth date, dead on an undetermined day.

Sonny Liston was a great champion. Reportedly left-handed, he boxed from an orthodox position. This might explain his murderous jab and left-hook. Future champions such as George Foreman and Mike Tyson revered him. In retrospect, Ali lionised him.

He was a complicated man. He adored children and had a generous, loving side to him. Yet he was also reputedly a vicious Mafia enforcer and street criminal.

Whatever he was, Charles Liston deserves recognition as one of the best heavyweights in history. His legacy is much more than a victim in a Pop Art poster.