Denver resident took his best shot at Ali

DENVER • Ron Lyle had a dream.

He stood in a boxing ring with Cassius Clay, later known as Muhammad Ali. He smacked Clay upside the head, and the champ teetered for an instant before crashing to the canvas.

Lyle lifted the title belt above his head as he listened to thunderous cheers. He reigned as heavyweight champion.

Then he woke up.

It was 1964, and he rested in a tiny room in Cell House 3 of the Colorado State Penitentiary at Cañon City.

He touched a jagged scar that snaked across his entire lower belly. During a brawl, another inmate had powered a shank deep into Lyle’s gut. He spent 72 hours on the operating table as doctors fought to keep him alive.

Lyle was 23, a convicted murderer, the wayward son of his parents’ 19-child clan. He had walked through the valley of death.

But he had a dream.

Last Wednesday, Lyle leaned against the ring at the Salvation Army youth center near downtown Denver where he teaches boxing skills to 70 young men. He’s 67, but still looks ready to do damage.

He delivered one of the incredible tales in Colorado sports history, even if his story is most remarkable for what he almost accomplished.

Lyle was paroled in 1969 and embarked on a professional boxing career. He won 43 of 51 fights. He battled George Foreman, Jerry Quarry and Earnie Shavers. He earned a good living.

But that’s not the best part of his story. On May 16, 1975, 11 years after his Cañon City dream, Lyle stepped into the ring at Las Vegas Convention Center to face Ali.

He was a heavy underdog, which inspired the caustic Howard Cosell to ask on national TV, “Why are you qualified to fight Ali?”

For 10 rounds, Lyle offered a compelling answer. Ali beckoned him to the ropes, but Lyle refused the invitation.

In Ali’s latter days, he won by enticing his opponents to throw dozens of needless punches. When they grew weary, Ali attacked.

Lyle declined to follow Ali’s strategy. This bothered boxing’s butterfly, who repeatedly insulted Lyle. “Show me something,” the champ roared. “You ain’t nothing.”

Lyle ignored him, and his wise, if boring, strategy worked. After 10 rounds, he led on two of three judges’ cards.

It was right there. For more than a decade, Lyle had been propelled by his vision. After his prison dream, Lyle went to work and eventually could drive his body through 1,000 push-ups and 800 pull-ups a day.

Hundreds of fans flew from Denver, Lyle’s hometown, to watch him fight Ali. He was the most unlikely of sports heroes, a man who made something of his blood-stained life.

Lyle was starting to think of the title belt. He was beginning to believe he would topple Ali.

Boom.

The punch came from nowhere. A minute into the 11th round, Ali unloaded a mind-altering right that caught Lyle flush in the jaw. His head shot back. His mind was a mess.

His dream was rushing to its end.

Ali landed 34 straight punches in a dazzling, frightening flurry. Lyle stood in the corner, barely able to raise his hands, when Ali beckoned to referee Ferd Hernandez to end the fight.

“Didn’t want to hurt him,” Ali said seconds later. “No need to hurt him.”

Lyle’s ultimate defeat came 34 years ago. He knows his saga would be sweeter — and more cinematic — if he had conquered the king.

He didn’t.

Lyle shrugged his still-massive shoulders.

“I ain’t Rocky,” he said.