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GOT TO LOOK GOOD TO ALLAH
Tex Maule
November 29, 1971
Muhammad Ali, the compassionate, has his old skills, but the will to kill has waned
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November 29, 1971

Got To Look Good To Allah

Muhammad Ali, the compassionate, has his old skills, but the will to kill has waned

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Muhammad Ali can be as good a fighter as he ever was. The five fights he has had in the year or so since the end of his involuntary retirement have scoured away the rust of 3� years of inactivity; against blubbery Buster Mathis last week in Houston's Astrodome, he moved with the old graceful speed afoot that is his trademark. He easily avoided the long punches Mathis whaled away with, leaning just far enough to escape them by inches. Both his left hand and his short right-hand chop were quick and accurate.

Yet the punches had no real sting, not because Ali has lost his power, but because he seems to have lost the desire to use it. He knocked Mathis down four times in the 11th and 12th rounds and he won by a unanimous decision, but he fought with compassion in a business that requires a measure of cruelty.

During the first 10 rounds, all of them dull, Mathis plodded doggedly after Ali, occasionally trying a leaping left hook that made him look ridiculous, as if he were an overstuffed Floyd Patterson. Ali avoided most of these wild swings, but one of them bounced off the top of his head when he was against the ropes near Mathis' corner and Joe Fariello, Mathis' trainer, screamed, "He's hurt, Buster. He's hurt!" Ali looked at Fariello, winked and moved easily out of punching range.

In the 11th round Mathis was still forcing the fight, lumbering after Ali energetically enough. If he was tired, he didn't show it until late in the round, when Ali hit him with a short, chopping right on the side of the jaw and he dropped to his hands and knees, shaking the ring with the weight of his fall. He was on his feet again at the count of eight, legs rubbery and eyes glassy, and Ali hit him with a volley of punches, the last a right hand that landed on the top of Buster's head and drove him to the floor again. This combination was thrown almost reluctantly, none of the punches fired with the real power Ali possesses when he wants to use it. Certainly none of them was strong enough to deck Mathis had he been fresh. The bell saved Buster at the count of four this time and his cornermen dragged him back to his stool and labored over him. Later, Fariello admitted that he wanted to throw in the towel.

"I knew he couldn't defend himself," Fariello said. "He was tired and he was still dazed when the bell rang and I asked the referee to stop the fight if he saw Buster could not defend himself."

This was evident at the start of the 12th round. When Buster stood up, he staggered a couple of steps to his left before he caught himself and moved toward Ali. Ali reached out a long left and tapped Mathis rapidly on the forehead, like a man knocking on a door. Even these feathery punches made Buster's legs wobble, and when Muhammad hit him with a gentle right hand he went down again.

He struggled to his feet and Ali flicked him lightly with the left hand as he staggered around the ring and again hit him with the caressing right, and Buster was down. To his credit, the big man hauled himself up yet once more and tried to return to the attack while Ali patted him even more gently with the left and did not throw the right, although in Ali's corner Angelo Dundee, his trainer, was yelling, "Take him out, damn it, Ali! Take him out."

Later in the dressing room Ali defended his lack of a killer instinct. "I don't care about all them people yelling, 'Kill him!' " he said, his voice raspy and raucous when he imitated the fans. "I see the man in front of me, his eyes all glassy and his head rolling around [he walled his eyes and slumped in his chair and waggled his head drunkenly]. How do I know just how hard to hit him to knock him out and not hurt him? I don't care about looking good to the fans or to Angelo. I got to look good to God. I mean Allah."

He mopped his face with the towel and looked around at the writers.

"I got to sleep good at night," he said. "How am I goin' to sleep if I just killed a man in front of his wife and son just to satisfy you writers?"

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