Big George Foreman – The End Of An Era
I woke up to the news this weekend that George Foreman had passed away, and I had to sit down and get this out. Still half-asleep, hair a mess, I didn’t even think about fixing myself up—I just had to speak. Because for me, and for so many fight fans, George Foreman wasn’t just a boxer. He was a giant. A warrior. And in some strange, wonderful way… a friend.
George Foreman – the last of an era
I grew up in the golden age of heavyweights. Muhammad Ali. Joe Frazier. George Foreman. Titans. Gods of the ring. And they weren’t just fighters—they were linked forever. Ali and Frazier. Foreman and Frazier. Ali and Foreman. Their names echoed off each other like punches off canvas. Every week you’d open up Sports Illustrated and there’d be another mythic story. These weren’t just sports figures. They were modern-day legends.
And towering among them? Big George. The biggest, baddest of them all. I mean, George openly admitted that after he won gold at the ’68 Olympics in Mexico City, he walked away wondering if he could actually kill a man in the ring.
That was the raw energy he carried into his early career. That was the power behind those punches that sent Joe Frazier down six times in just two rounds in 1973. You watch that fight now and it’s like watching a freight train slam into a mountain—over and over.
But as fierce as George was in the ring, what makes his story so incredible is the rebirth. After he lost to Ali in Zaire, after his time seemed to pass, George stepped away. And then he did the impossible. He came back. Older. Heavier. Slower. But smarter. Stronger in spirit. At age 45, he knocked out Michael Moorer and reclaimed the heavyweight championship. We all remember where we were for that. I was watching with friends, and when that punch landed—we lost our minds. The living room erupted like we’d just won the fight ourselves.
George Foreman – emails and Steven Seagal
To be able to say I actually talked to George Foreman still blows my mind. We’d exchange emails every year. I’d send him a happy birthday message, and he’d always reply, “Thank you, Jim,” and sign it—George Foreman. Like I didn’t know who he was. It cracked me up every time.
One year, I asked him about something kind of ridiculous. In 2017, for reasons still unclear, George challenged Steven Seagal to a fight. Yes, that Steven Seagal. George said, “I’ll box you. You can use all your martial arts techniques.” I think it had something to do with the kneeling protests—Colin Kaepernick, the anthem—but it never quite got explained. So I shot him an email, just curious.
That was the thing about George. Everyone knows him from the grill—how could you not? He made more off that grill than he probably did boxing. But for those of us who saw him in the ring, who felt the thunder of his punches through the screen, the grill was just a sideshow. The real George Foreman was the man who showed you that no matter what the world thinks, it’s never too late. You can always reinvent yourself. You can come back stronger. He didn’t just win titles. He changed his story.
Ali may have handed him a loss in the ring, but he also handed George a new beginning. That loss gave him a second life—and he used it to become someone even greater. A family man. A businessman. A preacher. A cultural icon. A fighter in every sense of the word.
I’m heartbroken he’s gone. Not just because of the fights. Not just because I got to call him a friend. But because with his passing, it really feels like the end of an era. The last of the great warriors. The men who fought with fire in their fists and poetry in their pain.
I know his family was around him in Houston on that Friday night. I know God welcomed him with open arms. And I know that somewhere, Ali and Frazier and Norton are standing ringside, waiting for him to join them in the eternal ring.
Before I go, I want to leave you with the image burned into every fight fan’s memory: George Foreman, in the second round against Joe Frazier, delivering a storm of blows, sending Joe down again and again. And still, Frazier kept getting up. That was the thing about all three of those men—Ali, Frazier, and Foreman. They never stopped. They never gave up.
Just like George.
Love you, Big George. Rest easy, champ.
