IN HIS OWN WORDS Muhammad Ali recalls punch that broke his jaw and almost killed his wife

Norton shattered Ali's jaw and the defeat left his wife in a severe state of shock.

ONLY five men survived the sting of Muhammad Ali. Smokin’ Joe Frazier was the first to beat the legendary boxer in 1971.

The defeat demoralised Ali and his wife Belinda had to be strapped to a dressing table

But when Ali, who died last Friday aged 74, unexpectedly lost to Ken Norton two years later, he was not the only one who felt the shock.

I’M sitting on the dressing table, looking at the faces near me and feeling as though I am in a strange place.

Frazier first beat Ali in 1971, but his defeat to Norton was a massive upset

Then I understand why. It’s not the winner’s room it’s the loser’s room. No one knows what to say in the loser’s room.


Why did I lose?

I think back to the second round, when Ken Norton got in through my guard and crashed a left up, breaking my jaw. I felt a snap and a sudden gush of blood in my throat.

During the fight, Ali was convinced Norton couldn’t beat him even with a broken jaw

There were 13 rounds left. I went through round after round. Why didn’t I stop when I could have got my face torn off? Maybe because I didn’t believe Norton could beat me, even with a broken jaw. Maybe because I’ve never backed off from a fight.

Ali pictured in 1974 with his wife Belinda and their four children

Every throb is like toothache. “Where’s Belinda?” I ask.

Nobody answers. I know something is wrong. Nothing would keep my wife away from me when I’m hurt.
Finally someone speaks up: “She’s in a room down the hall.” And then, “She’s in shock.”


I am pushing through the door, down the hall toward the room Belinda is in. The clusters of hecklers cheering my defeat have grown and when they see me a roar goes up.

“That loudmouth’s finished. Norton beat that n****r!”

Only this morning Norton was a n****r like me. Now he’s the Great White Hope. The catcalls and screams follow me. Whoever wanted revenge for all my boasting and bragging has it.

Norton’s blow is nothing to what shakes me now. Belinda, strapped on a dressing table, is clawing, straining, screaming, rolling her head from side to side. Five men are holding her down.

She struggles and twists so hard the straps fly open. The men scramble to keep her down and get the straps fastened again. My personal physician, Dr Ferdie Pacheco, has given her a heavy sedative. “But she resists it. I’m afraid to give her any more.” Belinda’s companion, Suzie Gomez, says: “She just went wild when they announced that Norton won.

“At first, she just sat there. Very quiet. Very still. But I could tell something was wrong with her. “We saw you come down from the ring and we tried to get through to reach you. Then Belinda started fighting her way through. She hit a policeman and she was screaming all the time, screaming

‘Muhammad Ali is dead! They killed him!’”

I put my arms around Belinda, trying to hold her still.

We married in 1967 when she was 17 years old and I was in exile. For the first three years of our marriage there were no trips across the world to fight, no build-ups for fights, no training.

It was the worst time for my career but the best for my family. I feel her forehead. It’s blazing hot. I make them loosen the straps that are cutting into her arms. She’s crying: “Muhammad Ali is dead. He’s dead.” I lean closer and put my mouth to her ear. “No he ain’t, pretty girl. I’m right here. I’m all right.”

I look into her eyes. They’re wide open, she’s looking right through me to something far away. The California Boxing Commission doctor comes over to me. He says: “You’ve got to leave for the hospital now. The quicker we get the X-rays, the better.”