Muhammad and Larry

Director: Albert Maysles

I feel bad for Larry Holmes.

He's that dude who deserves to be voted into the starting lineup of the All-Star Game every year but gets bumped to coming off the bench because a bazillion fans voted for an injured Yao Ming instead.

Holmes was stuck between two of the most iconic heavyweight fighters in the boxing — Muhammed Ali and Mike Tyson. Despite all his success, he's the forgotten man that connects "The Louisville Lip" to "Iron Mike," and I feel bad for him because of it.

Watching Muhammad and Larry, you see the difference style and personality and charisma can make. It's not that Holmes lacked any of those things; it's just that like everyone else in the world, he couldn't hold a candle to Ali in those departments.

It didn't matter that Holmes was unbeaten and the reigning heavyweight champion of the world or that Ali had been out of the ring for two years prior to their February 1980 meeting at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas — he was facing "The Greatest of All-Time," a no-win situation if ever there was one.

No matter how the fight played out, there was no way Holmes was going to surpass the legacy of Ali; no one in boxing ever will. Ali transcended the sport and remains one of the most influential athletes of all-time, and everyone that came after him prior to Tyson just couldn't compete with the aura of Ali.



Holmes was no different.

If you look at their fight without the nostalgia of everything Ali had done in the past, there was no way you would think Holmes would lose this fight.

Maybe that's me looking at things in hindsight as someone who wasn't around to witness Ali's exploits myself and be caught up in the magic feeling of his bouts, but to me, Holmes was easily the better of the two at the time.

He was younger, stronger, and in superior shape; the reigning heavyweight champion of the world. Ali had to be lured out of retirement by a hefty purse to take the fight.

Sidebar: watching this fight, I think of all the times I've heard UFC President Dana White say he doesn't want to make a dime off trotting Chuck Liddell back into the cage to get beat up and knocked out again, and feel a sense of pride. Ali needed a Dana White on his side at the time this fight got proposed.

Holmes didn't just win the fight, he dominated. Ali had nothing to offer, and the fight was eventually stopped in after the tenth round.

"The Easton Assassin" would remain heavyweight champion for another five years, pushing his record to 48-0 before dropping back-to-back fights to Michael Spinks and retiring for two years.

He fought for the heavyweight title again 12 years later after handing 1988 Olympic gold medalist Ray Mercer his first professional defeat, losing a unanimous decision to Evander Holyfield.

Added all up, Holmes' record rests at 69-6, but he still lacks the one thing I think everyone craves to a certain degree — recognition.

Nobody was going to top Ali, and Tyson came along as a force of nature.

George Foreman had more grandiose moments — The Rumble in the Jungle, late-career championships, The George Foreman Grill — and fighters that came after him like Holyfield and Lennox Lewis became bigger stars because the stage was much larger.

I'm not a boxing guy, but Holmes feels like a guy who is overlooked to me; a guy who just doesn't get enough credit for what he accomplished because of the people who came before and after him.

Maybe he really doesn't care — from the clips you see of modern day Holmes in the film, he appears quite content with his life and his legacy. If that truly is the case, I think Holmes deserves even more credit.

Ali will forever be "The Greatest," and others have their legacies, but there has to be some room for Holmes too.