The Importance Of Being Earnie, Act 1

Behold the puncher, the ever-dangerous man in the ring. Behold Earnie Shavers, who will face Muhammad Ali for the heavyweight championship of the world in two weeks. Despite Shavers' credentials—52 knockouts in 54 victories, 33 of them in a row, 32 first-or second-round KOs—the critics remain underwhelmed. Angelo Dundee, who trains Ali, compares Shavers with Bob Satterfield, the up-and-down sensation who enlivened the early days of televised boxing. "Shavers is a do-or-don't fighter," Dundee says.

Either way, he keeps busy, at times too busy for his own good. After 17 amateur bouts around his hometown of Warren, Ohio, he won the national AAU heavyweight title in 1969. He turned pro with a vengeance, taking three fights—in Akron, Orlando, Fla. and Seattle—in a nine-day period, winning two and suffering the first of his five losses, to the then-and still-obscure Stan Johnson.

"I've heard it all about me," says the 6', 216-pound Shavers. "They say, 'That guy's a dog. That guy's got no heart. That guy can't fight.' " Shavers recalls that his former manager, Don King, expressed the same sentiments after Shavers had been knocked out by Jerry Quarry in the first round. "Now King comes around with this 'Brother, we got to get together' stuff," says Shavers, savoring the moment. King was not alone in dismissing Shavers after the Quarry fight. "There were a whole mess of people who now call me brother, cuz or honey, who didn't know my name the day I lost," says Shavers. "It was like a covey of quail scattering before a rain cloud."

All told, Shavers has been knocked out three times, by Ron Stander in the fifth round in 1970, by Quarry in 1973 and by Ron Lyle in the sixth round in 1975. Win or lose, fight fans are convinced Shavers tends to run out of gas. It is a theory that is difficult to prove or disprove. Indeed, he has only gone the full 10 rounds eight times, but then, in most of his fights he didn't need to.

Whatever, Shavers now talks of a new beginning for an old team. He is back with his original co-manager, Blackie Gennaro, a millionaire road builder from Youngstown, Ohio, and Trainer Frank Luca.

Luca is sometimes called Lucas, as in "my man Lucas," articulated with an English accent by Shavers when Luca is chauffeuring him. The little trainer willingly accepts the role of servant; he, too, was once a Don King employee and was fired. Now he is the indispensable man, and Shavers will not enter the ring if Luca isn't in his corner.

"That Shavers ain't so bad, after all," Earnie Shavers said the other day, enjoying the pastoral view from the picture window of the $150,000, one-bedroom lodge at his training camp in Calcutta, Ohio. Shavers obviously feels it suits a man who will earn some $300,000 by fighting Ali.

The camp mood has been spare and to the point—no entourage, just workers. Gennaro was in the kitchen cooking dinner, Luca was at the door to turn away favor-seekers. After each trip, Luca called out, "We got to put up a gate and get a guard to man it." No distractions, no irritations. While Shavers was out at the grindstone sharpening a lethal array of axes for wood-chopping exercise, Luca said his fighter was relaxed and that, despite the importance of the fight, he had a sense of destiny.

Shavers' euphoria is partly the result of his having convinced himself of the truth of an old boxing maxim: different fighters make for different fights. For example, George Foreman demolishes Ken Norton in two rounds and Joe Frazier in five. Yet Foreman looks foolish against Ali, while both Frazier and Norton fight the champ on even terms. More to the point is the case of Jimmy Young, who nearly beat Ali, nearly became champion of the world—and there are many who insist that he did. Yet the same Jimmy Young was kayoed by Shavers in the first round in 1973 and could only manage a draw in their return bout in 1974. These are the reasons for Shavers' sense of well-being.

"We've all had a series of dreams with Earnie winning by a KO," says Luca, who has his own theory on the mysterious disappearance of the Ali punch, which joins such other explanations as bad hands, boredom and Ali's sweet, loving spirit, which gets in the way of the old killer instinct. " Ali has taken too many punches to the sides and arms," Luca reasons. "All that laying on the ropes and catching punishment has damaged the tissue and nerves." Although this remains a theory, Luca contends that the evidence is irrefutable; in the Alfredo Evangelista fight Ali was pawing with his right, once his most lethal punch. "At times he was lunging, which makes me wonder about his balance," Luca says.