Silly pictures with silly guys standing next to Smoking’ Joe Frazier – a boxer who was decidedly not silly.
The great Paulie Balst moved to Atlanta in the mid-1990s, and that meant a group of friends felt compelled to visit not long after.
Julie, Ryan, and I came from Indianapolis. Ross and Julie Sheffield rolled down from Chicago. There might have been others. Who knows? This was a substantial group with substantial appetites that drove us to a dinner at Chicago Pizza a few blocks from Balst’s upscale apartment.
This wasn’t the Chicago’s Pizza we have in Indianapolis. There was no all-you-can-eat buffet in this place. This was a fully functional large sports bar that happened to have pizza on the menu.
On this Friday night, we had a responsible mindset to go easy because we had a round of golf to play early the next morning. Those plans didn’t last long, as we correctly assessed the night as infinitely more fun than we would have on the golf course – whether we shot 75 or 95. We ate, drank, and laughed for hours, until Paulie pointed and said, “That guy looks like Joe Frazier! We need to get a picture.”
Joe Frazier was a boxer whose first and third fights against Muhammad Ali are thought to be among the very best of the last half century. The final fight of the trilogy, the Thrilla in Manila is still shown regularly on ESPN, and established both Frazier and Ali as societal icons of the era.
Ali painted Frazier as the villain. That was excellent for marketing their fights, but unfair to Frazier as a human being who was never anything less than an absolute pro as a competitor and person.
These were the days before iPhones, so cameras were a little scarce. Ross had one back at the apartment and Balst encouraged him to go get it quickly, “How often is Smokin’ Joe Frazier going to walk into a bar where we are?”
Ross dutifully drove the few blocks back and forth to bring us the camera, so fueled with a little liquid courage, Balst and I made our way through the crowd to get our picture with the former heavyweight champ.
We found Frazier standing by the bar surrounded of a group of big guys, whose presence seemed to deter lesser boobs who might approach for an autograph or picture. There was no chance we were going to turn away.”Hey, champ, can we get a picture?” I asked.
“Talk to my man,” responded Frazier, who pointed toward the guy standing immediately to Frazier’s left.
“Hey, Joe’s man, can we get a picture with the champ?” I asked.
“Five dollars,” barked Joe’s man.
“Five dollars?” I asked to confirm the amount. Joe’s man nodded. “I’ll take two!” I said as I handed Joe’s man a $10 bill.
Paulie took my picture with the champ first, and then I reciprocated for Paulie. Mine was a straight forward picture with Frazier and I appearing to to friendly. Balst’s was more theatrical with Balst pretending Frazier had just hit him with his devastating right cross.
We shook hands with both Frazier and his man and proudly returned to our table. Frazier likely returned to his friends and never gave Balst or me another thought. The $10 likely bought a couple of cocktails, which were gone in moments.
The picture of Frazier and me still hangs in my den, and the pic of Balst and the champ hangs on our refrigerator.
Not only did Frazier loses twice to Ali – he lost the negotiation with Balst and me too. Those pictures are worth much more than $5 each to me.