From Knockouts to Comebacks: The Legend of George Foreman

Growing up, I did not look twice at boxing. Of course, we all knew Mike Tyson, but it was more cultural than sporting. It was not until I went for the compulsory industrial attachment for my engineering degree with Engr. Busari, a friend of my dad’s with whom I also lived, that I was drenched in the sport. A lover of boxing, at scheduled times on DSTV, this man, one of the kindest I know, would invite me upstairs to watch matches. An animated storyteller, he would regale me with legendary boxing bouts, making them so vivid that you felt like you were in the stands.

So when I heard that George Foreman died last night, I could not help but recall Engr. Busari sitting on the three-seater adjacent to me, telling me of Rumble in the Jungle, that unforgettable night in Kinshasa, Zaire, when the seemingly invincible Foreman faced Muhammad Ali.

George Foreman was more than just a boxer; he was a force of nature. His punches were wrecking balls, his physique was sculpted for destruction, and his aura in the ring was one of pure intimidation. But his story was not one of brute force alone; it was one of reinvention, resilience, resolve, and, I dare say, redemption.

Born in Marshall, Texas, on January 10, 1949, and raised in the rough streets of Houston, Foreman was a troubled youth, like many blacks in the 40s and 50s. He dropped out of school and salvation would only come from boxing for him. As it often happens, it is the government that proved instrumental in the life of this kid.  Through the Job Corps, a program aimed at helping disadvantaged youth, he discovered the sport that would define his life.

Naturally talented, it did not take long for him to make a name for himself (what do I say about talent being universal?). At just 19, Foreman bulldozed his way to an Olympic gold medal at the 1968 Mexico City Games. As he stood on the podium, he waved a small American flag. It was a controversial image as it stood in stark contrast to the raised fists of Tommie Smith and John Carlos who sort to raise awareness against discrimaination days earlier. But it didn’t bother George; he was not here for politics. He was there to fight.

Foreman’s professional career was an onslaught. He won his first 37 fights, an astonishing 34 by knockout. Then came Joe Frazier, the reigning heavyweight champion and a man who had never been knocked down. It took Foreman just two rounds to send him crashing to the canvas six times. The fight was so brutal that the legendary commentator Howard Cosell uttered the famous words, “Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!”

In that moment, Foreman seemed invincible. But invincibility is often an illusion.

By 1974, Foreman was the most feared boxer on the planet. He had dismantled Frazier and Ken Norton, two men who had given Muhammad Ali nightmares. “The Rumble in the Jungle” was supposed to be another demolition job; another routine fight.

Ali had other plans.

Using what became known as the rope-a-dope strategy, Ali leaned against the ropes, absorbing Foreman’s devastating punches, waiting for the moment when exhaustion would take its toll (I can still see the head movements of Engr. Busari writing this). By the eighth round, Foreman had punched himself out. Ali, still fresh, pounced, knocking him out and taking the heavyweight crown.

The fight has been called “arguably the greatest sporting event of the 20th century”.

Foreman was stunned. He later admitted that the loss haunted him for years. It was not just about losing a title; it was the realization that brute strength was not always enough.

Following a shock defeat to Jimmy Young in 1977, Foreman claimed to have a near-death experience in the locker room. He became an ordained minister and walked away from boxing.

For ten years, he preached, worked with troubled youth, and ran a church. But by the late ’80s, financial difficulties led him back to the ring, at the age of 38. Many laughed. He was overweight, slow, and seemingly past his prime.

But Foreman had learned something in his years away. He was no longer the raging bull of his youth. Instead, he was a patient, cunning fighter. And in 1994, at 45, he shocked the world by knocking out Michael Moorer to reclaim the heavyweight title. It was the ultimate redemption story, the oldest champion in heavyweight history.

Foreman retired for good in 1997, but his biggest payday was yet to come. He agreed to endorse a kitchen appliance, the George Foreman Grill. The deal reportedly earned him over $200 million, far more than he ever made in boxing.

Through it all, Foreman remained a larger-than-life figure—preacher, businessman, and family man. His five sons are all named George. When asked why, he famously said, “So they always have something in common.”

From street fights to Olympic gold, from world champion to preacher, from an aging underdog to a history-making legend. That was George Foreman.

A personalization of endurance, and the ability to reinvent oneself.  That was George Foreman.

Last night, boxing lost a legend. As tributes pour in, one thing remains undeniable: the man widely regarded as one of the top 10 heavyweight fighters of all time, ranked seventh in a 2017 Ring Magazine survey, never stopped throwing punches, both in and out of the ring.