The heavyweight division that George Foreman briefly ruled over in the seventies was the strongest in history. The only other era that could compare arrived 20 years later and, incredibly, a middle-aged George Foreman was among the leaders of that wrecking crew, too.

His astonishing durability, and habit of coming back against all odds, meant his passing at the age of 76 came as a huge shock. There was a feeling in boxing circles that Big George, such articulate company in retirement, would last forever. 

“When I started out I didn’t know how far I was going to get,” Foreman told me when we last spoke a few years ago. “Back then I was always chasing a meal but what a wonderful time to be alive. If I had a time machine I would go right back to the start because I didn’t know how to appreciate it all back then – but that’s what happens when you’re young.”

After winning gold at the 1968 Olympics and bludgeoning all comers in the professional ranks, Foreman was cast by the media as an angry young man.

“The truth is you get given a script by the media and mine read, ‘Big Surly George Foreman’, so I was stuck with it. They didn’t rate me at all, the newspapers, but they built me up to be the fighter I became. That was their story for me and it’s always the story that makes you money.”

He would win the world heavyweight championship in 1973, demolishing Joe Frazier in two rounds. Ken Norton, another great fighter, didn’t last any longer in Foreman’s second defense. During that period, Foreman was deemed invincible. 

He would lose, of course. First to Muhammad Ali in 1974 in the ‘Rumble in the Jungle’, arguably the most famous fight of all time. And then to Jimmy Young in 1977, triggering a 10-year layoff. When he returned, without hair but extra padding around the belly, few gave him a chance of getting anywhere near his heights of old.

“When I came back I was making my own story and making my own money,” he said. “Of course I knew that people doubted me; the media in particular. Did I care? Not one bit. I was in control of every step because I had walked that journey before. I was crafty by then; I knew how to appreciate the second time.”

The comeback, initially designed to raise funds for his church, lasted a mind-boggling 10 years. He surprised everyone by giving champion Evander Holyfield a tremendous tussle over 12 rounds in 1991 but by the time he was outpointed by Tommy Morrison two years later, most were urging the old man to retire.

Then the 45-year-old was gifted a shot at Michael Moorer, the new king, in 1994.

“Everybody knew George was too old, nobody gave him a chance,” remembered Michael Buffer, who announced the fight. “I gave him a great introduction because I thought for sure it would be the last time I was going to introduce him.”

For nine rounds Foreman took the pasting everyone was predicting. Then, in the 10th, a short left-right combo landed and Moorer collapsed, barely conscious. Twenty years after losing the title to Ali, George Foreman had regained it.

“That was the best time of my whole career,” he recalled. “I came back and I gave back. I was unkind the first time and this allowed me to make up for that. [After beating Moorer] I couldn’t sign autographs or shake people’s hands because I had sprained my hand. So I just sat by a post and let anyone who wanted to come over and talk to come and do that. I was sat there for three hours and that was the nicest time of my life as a boxer. Nothing compared to that moment – not even beating Frazier, or being with Ali in Zaire.” 

He would fight on until 1997, retiring after a contentious loss to Shannon Briggs. At the age of 55, however, he started to plot another return.

“I was going to do it,” Foreman explained. “I was in good shape. I would talk to my wife every night about it. David Tua was the No. 1 contender and I knew I could beat him. My wife said, ‘You’re not going back to boxing’. I said, ‘Yes I am! You think I can’t beat these guys don’t you? I tell you I can beat them.’

“She looked at me and said, ‘George, isn’t that the way you want to leave the sport, thinking you can still do it?’ That was so profound. I never brought the conversation up again.”