"This altitude done got my throat," said Hayes.
"Hit a note," Ali said.
"He's a little mad because he got cut. You better hit a note," said Bundini.
Hayes took the phone and did something that might have been called hitting a note. Cosby came in and faked crying. "You were bleeding," Cosby said. He knelt and stroked Ali's feet. "My master," Cosby said. He sat beside Ali and motioned for a photographer to take their picture. "Now, Lazarus, get up and walk again," said Cosby.
"I gotta whip Frazier," Ali was saying, fingering the bandage on his eyelid. "I gotta whip that man. Then make a couple of defenses. Then that might be it for me. That might be the end." He looked at himself in the mirror. "I'm still pretty," he said and put on a pair of dark glasses.
Upstairs, Foster was recovering his senses at a cocktail party. "Clay wobbled when I hit him and he wasn't fooling," Foster said. "I hurt him. Clay can't punch hard enough to knock out Joe Frazier. Clay will never beat him. Joe don't mouth-off like Clay does. Joe works. He breaks his sparring partners' jaws. He figures he's got to pay 'em anyhow, he might as well break their jaws. Clay can't hit that hard."
What was it, then, that caused Foster to keep falling down? "Clay hurt me with shots I couldn't see," he said. "He's got a trick. He jabs and covers your eye with his thumb. When he comes off the jab, he hits you with a right that you can't see. It's a good trick. But I could have beaten Clay if I'd used my left hand more."
That's all Foster needed to do? Use more lefts? "That and gain 10 pounds," Foster said, smiling. "Clay beat me because he's fast and he's 41 pounds heavier than I am. But he sure made me more money in one night than I ever made in my life." It was, you see, a 41-pound mismatch.