When reading about Joe Frazier’s recent death, I could not help but notice every article explored in-depth his rivalry with Muhammad Ali. Even in articles not strictly focused on his boxing career, they still made it seem as though Ali was more important than any other person or event in Frazier’s life. At first I thought this was a rude way to remember one of the best boxers ever; he’s always judged as slightly inferior to Ali, the man he despised until death. But then I realized maybe the fixation with the Ali-Frazier rivalry was actually a sign of great respect for both boxers.
For a while, Roger Federer was indisputably the best tennis player in the world. He would dominate his opponents, cruising to victory against whoever was unlucky enough to face him. While his reign was marked by the elegance and grace characteristic of his game, there was no story — it was just a laundry list of achievements. Then, up comes Rafael Nadal, who beats Federer more often than not, thus forcing the top-ranked player to fight for his No. 1 status.
Suddenly, people around the world are transfixed by the rivalry. The situation has become much more relatable because it is the tale of two people: each fighting to prove he is the best, not just one man vanquishing all challengers. People will always care more about battles than Federer’s supremacy.
Rivalries do not just create enemies and partitions. They create stories and legends. There is a rise in action, a climax (sometimes several) and then a resolution. They give the observers something to care about and root for. The contention is capable of generating more widespread debate and interest than could competitors or either of the parties alone.
Let us take a moment and consider our rivalry with Duke. Though some would argue it’s just one-sided hate, we see it as a rivalry and treat it as such. Matchups in basketball, soccer and football between the two teams consistently sell out, even though there’d likely be many empty seats against other opponents. Even as we graduate and move on with our lives, we will remember the concept of this rivalry more than any one game. And years from now, when we watch the Terps or check the ACC standings, we will care the most about whether or not we are beating Duke, because that is the story we have grown to love, and it is the one we want to hear again and again.
In the end, a legacy is how others remember you. The one moment or specific action that meant the most to you won’t necessarily be the one etched in the public’s memory — it will be the one that meant the most to them. For Frazier, this means he will never be remembered just for being a great individual boxer. Whenever his epitaph is read, the name “Muhammad Ali” will be heard. His legacy is forever linked to that of The Greatest, to the extent that he almost does not seem like an independent identity. And the truth is, this is how he should be remembered. He is so important to the public because of this rivalry, and so his history is defined by it. It is more of a testament than an insult to be eternally compared to an opponent — it means people cared and still care about the story he helped create for them.
Rajarshi Chattopadhyay is a sophomore aerospace engineering major. He can be reached at chattopadhyay@umdbk.com.
