They called it The Fight of the Century, which may have been going a little strong - but when did boxing promoters ever undersell their wares?

Joe Louis versus Max Schmeling in 1938 may have been bigger in terms of historical impact, but Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier was the first truly global sporting event made possible by satellite television.

It is hard now for fight fans and supporters of any kind of sport to appreciate just how big this happening at Madison Square Garden really was. Muhammad Ali was so much more than simply a boxer or a sporting star.

He had become a man who represented much more, as the one who prepared to sacrifice all over a point of principle.

When he said "I don't have no quarrel with them Viet-Cong," Ali was speaking from the heart in refusing to be indicted into the US Army and his stance, which he justified through his religious beliefs, locked into the heartbeat of a generation.

Icon

When he beat Sonny Liston, adopted the Nation of Islam beliefs, and went on to prove he was, by a very long way, the best heavyweight fighter on the planet, he had seemed no more than a braggart and an uppity nigger to many.

In standing up for his beliefs, to the point where he was prepared to relinquish the richest prize in sport, the world heavyweight title, Ali became more than just a fighter.

He had become a hero, and an icon whose fame now transcended sport and the mere four corners of a boxing ring.

To the young boy I once was, Muhammad Ali was the ultimate super hero. The best fighter ever, at least that was what I was ready to believe, and a man who had been big enough to say what he really thought.

Idealistic

He would not cow tow to the establishment. He was black, Muslim and proud. As the United States had continued to be locked into a vastly expensive and unpopular war in the Far East, Ali had been the highly visible and handsome face of dissent.

This was a man the world, and especially the young world adored.

So watching Ali return to the ring meant so much more to this impressionable and idealistic schoolboy than just sport and boxing.

Where once you had to be content to marvel at his athletic prowess and an ability to subdue all comers, now it was rather more.

Ali was in there fighting for you. It may sound crazy now, but to me and so many others of my generation, it really did feel as though a part of you was carried into the ring in support of somebody who actually did seem 'The Greatest'.

The evidence of Ali's form before stepping into face Frazier had not been particularly encouraging.

More than two and a half years away from training and boxing had taken their toll on the sublime skills of boxing's dancing master.

To put it bluntly, after the comeback Ali never had the legs of the fighter who had won the title in 1964.

Savage

A win against Jerry Quarry had proved little and his subsequent victory over the tough Argentinian Oscar Bonavena had only served to suggest that Ali was not the man he was.

Back in England, I would read all the newspaper reports on which I could lay my hands and watch avidly anything which came to our television screens. It was the return of the true champion, but there was word from informed quarters that Ali may have taken Frazier too soon.

Frazier was being dubbed a new Marciano; savage in his punching power and a fighter who didn't know the meaning of retreat or defence and the question was whether Ali could recapture the sublime skills and speed of years gone by to keep this monster at bay.

Joe Frazier may have been a nice guy. But Ali taunted him endlessly and loudly at every available opportunity.

He had called him ugly, and less forgivably an 'Uncle Tom' - suggesting this was the man who danced to the tune of the white establishment, somebody no right thinking black American could support.

Tired

Frazier, relatively inarticulate, was hopeless in his verbal responses but carried into the Madison Square Garden ring a thinly veiled fury to his unquestionable boxing ability.

Everybody talked about the fight, and the whole world seemed to be waiting. Like most 13-year-olds, I watched on television, hoping and praying that my hero could be as good as he ever was.

At times, it seemed he could, but he was getting hit and getting tired. This man Frazier could never have done this to my Ali four years earlier, but now Muhammad was becoming mortal before our eyes.

When Frazier's hook put him down in the final round, we knew the worst, and the judges' scorecards were the confirmation that time would not stand still, even for Ali.

I remember a feeling of disbelief that Ali could have lost. It was the same emotions I could see in thre legions of Tyson lovers twenty years later when Buster Douglas sent him to defeat in Tokyo.

But they say the making of a true champion is the manner in which he copes with a loss.

Ali never again became the man who had pulverised Cleveland Williams in 1966, but he found a way to claw his way back to the top through displays of bravery, resiliance, raw fighting skills and a desire to win which may never have been equalled.

And it may be, as he beat Frazier twice, and subdued Foreman on that unforgettable night in Zaire, that we loved him all the more because Frazier had shown us that this hero of a generation was human after all.