Word: cassius
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Momma, Momma, Momma. Cassius' narcissistic posturing was not meant to convince. "Actually," he confided, "I respect Liston. That look of his shakes me." It was meant to humor, to prod, to annoy, to con Champion Liston into thinking that a young (22), tall (6 ft. 3 in.), sturdy (210 Ibs.) heavyweight with 119 amateur and pro victories behind him would be easy pickings for the man-monster who had twice butchered Floyd Patterson. And, my, how he succeeded, thanks to his unwitting accomplices, the sportswriters...
...pranced a corps of teen-aged girls -"foxes," in Cassius' vocabulary-carrying signs that read: MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA, CAN WE FIGHT! Clay's eyes rolled. "This is my show! My show! My show!" he raved. "I'm ready to rumble! Ready to rumble!" He shrieked at Liston: "You nothin'. You scared. You a chump, a sucker. I'm gonna eat you up." Newsmen shook their heads sadly. "Schizophrenia," suggested Milton Gross of the New York Post. "Hysteria," said New York Timesman Arthur Daley. The boxing commission doctor reported Clay's pulse rate...
...Clear-eyed again, Clay sprang from his corner in the sixth round. Rat-a-tat-tat, a flurry of eight punches made Liston double up. "Get mad, baby," Clay's handlers chanted. "Go after him." Fighting flatfooted, Cassius ripped off a roundhouse right that just missed. Jab, jab, jab, jab, the cut under Liston's eye began to ooze blood again. Two left hooks snapped Sonny's head back. Cassius sank back onto his stool and leaned through the ropes. "I'm gonna upset the world," he told a TV announcer...
...warning buzzer for Round 7 rang, and Cassius mentally began ticking off the seconds to the bell. Across the ring, Liston spat out his mouthpiece. Clay blinked: Liston was not coming out. With a wild whoop, Cassius leaped to his feet, gloves high above his head. The fight was over-and Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. was the new heavyweight champion of the world. Round the ring he danced, leering down at the sportswriters and bellowing gleefully: "Eat your words...
...scattering of sportswriters took defeat hard enough to hint "fix," but the rest took their medicine. And bitter it was. "Hypocrites!" yelled Cassius Clay at the press conference. "Whatcha gonna say now, huh? Huh? Who's the greatest?" "Cassius," came the faint reply-too faint to satisfy the new champ. "Let's really hear it!" he hollered. "Who's the greatest? I'll give you one more chance: Who's the greatest?" The chant was loud and clear. "You, Cassius, you. You're the greatest...