Anyone brave enough to stick around knows the endless cycle of boxing thriving, croaking and being reborn anew. In the early 1960s, the changing television landscape and a frustrating heavyweight division summoned the undertaker for the sweet science, and as always it was premature.

From the public’s perspective, it’s difficult to blame anyone for their concern. Television sets just began flooding the market and already closed circuit viewings and additional ways of extracting income from viewers arose. Where would boxing even fit in?

And then there was Floyd Patterson and his craggy trainer avoiding major challenges until they couldn’t sidestep Sonny Liston, the ex-con thoroughly rejected by former heavyweight champions in magazine interviews. In the thick of all this, Ali was another placeholder until it became loudly obvious he wasn’t.

Ali’s ability to sell himself should have been obvious the moment he became a cottage industry for writers. In the mid-60s and into the next decade, newspapers uncovered new ways to cram Ali’s name into headlines and use it to cater to whatever audience may be reading. Everyone felt one way or another about “The Louisville Lip." News people knew it and exploited it, and Ali orchestrated much of it. His open refusal to serve in the Vietnam War since being drafted in early 1966 only amplified the noise.

The matters Ali couldn’t handle were left to the Louisville Sponsoring Group, a cluster of Louisville businessmen who financially backed and guided the early career of young Cassius Clay. The syndicate had a measure of control over Clay, but virtually none over Muhammad Ali, who’d aligned himself with the Nation of Islam outside the ring and Angelo Dundee inside of it as the group’s contract with Ali came to a close.

Against the odds, Ali transformed from a news item into a full-fledged heavyweight menace who defended the title five times in under three years. He needed 20 more defenses to match the record of his hero, the great Joe Louis, but he also needed a signature opponent or rival, as Louis had in German boxer-puncher Max Schmeling.

Germany sought to resurrect Schmeling for its own reasons: another world champion and potential uniting force for a shattered country. Karl Mildenberger, a handsome heavyweight who nevertheless sported the scar tissue around his eyebrows typical of the average fighter. The main problem was Mildenberger’s stance, in that it was all wrong.

From the old Stillman’s Gym in New York to Main Street Gym in Los Angeles, withered, cigar-smoking trainers forced left-handed fighters to change stances. There were tricks to make the switch, like tying a hand behind a fighter’s back or leading them around the ring until it stuck. Otherwise a southpaw fighter would be avoided, the trainers said. Nobody wanted to fight southpaws, and no promoters wanted them on their cards.

They were merely urban legends and wives’ tales, of course, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t effective. Boxing’s first southpaw world champion was Al McCoy, who captured the middleweight title in 1914. It took nearly 20 years for another to come along in Lou Brouillard, welterweight champion in 1931. Most lower weight divisions were ruled by a southpaw at one time or another by the 1960s, but a southpaw had never even challenged for the heavyweight championship until Mildenberger.

The German at least had pedigree, as he learned to box in one the country’s many sports clubs at the urging of a relative. Mildenberger was a deceptively fast heavyweight who employed side-to-side head movement that made him unpredictable at times. A lack of punching power was his primary hindrance against opponents near the world class level, which Ali was well beyond.

Ali’s troubles in the U.S. stemming from his draft refusal sent him on a six-month world tour. His second defense of the title came against hard-headed George Chuvalo in Toronto, then Henry Cooper and Brian London in London. Mildenberger, the European heavyweight champion, was the natural next choice and had been since earlier in the year.

Nat Fleischer, founder and editor of The Ring who happened to also be judging the fight, slammed members of the media who apparently repeated rumors of a potential fix against Ali in Germany, which was hosting its first heavyweight title fight. Fleischer was often in attendance for world title bouts outside the U.S., and countries with burgeoning boxing commissions or none at all often used him as an official. His reputation was at stake, he argued.

Then again, those looking for reasons to criticize Ali politically, socially or fistically would scrape any barrel to find them. When Ali rematched Liston, for instance, the World Boxing Association stripped the champion of its title, which fell into the hands of Ernie Terrell. Occasionally a misguided member of the press would claim Terrell deserved his championship claim. Thus, Ali couldn’t even afford a poor performance.

The champion chopped wood during training sessions near Frankfurt, but there was little to no sparring. Dundee told reporters he didn’t want Ali leaving his fight in the gym, though local sparring likely wouldn’t have helped a lot. In classic fashion, Ali stole any other headlines by declaring he would retire and become a Muslim preacher if Mildenberger defeated him.

More than 40,000 fans sat through intermittent downpours at Wald Stadium in Frankfurt, Germany, some to cheer on Mildenberger, others to have a live view of Ali, a huge favorite to emerge victorious.

The trouble Ali thought he might be in with Mildenberger’s southpaw stance never materialized beyond the champion’s inability to nail down his squirrely foe in the early rounds. Mildenberger moved his head well, but he couldn’t move his head and feet simultaneously. It took some rounds for Ali to realize he just had to throw in combination.

At the end of round 5, Ali landed a counter right hand similar to the one that dropped Liston in their rematch, and Mildenberger hit the deck too. He popped up quickly and the bell rang, making for a flash knockdown, but a knockdown all the same. Mildenberger’s eyebrows then began to redden, and his left eyebrow opened up thanks to Ali’s jabs.

Ali connected with a right hand and followed up with his left hook to send Mildenberger down again in round 8, and he finished the round whacking the German’s head about in the corner. Mildenberger appeared to stun a tiring Ali in the following round, and Ali rebounded by knocking the challenger down with a snappy right hand in round 10. Mildenberger rose visibly exhausted, and he valiantly stayed in the fight. Or inside the ropes, anyway.

In no hurry to end matters, Ali fought patiently in round 11 before dialing in during the 12th. Mildenberger’s head abruptly stopped moving, so Ali opened up and the German’s body scrunched up as if to retreat anywhere but in front of the heavyweight champion. More punches rained in until Mildenberger reached out to grab the top rope, and the fight was immediately stopped.

There were records broken outside the ring even if what happened inside was relatively routine. Mildenberger found himself among Ali’s rotating cast of “my toughest ever opponents,” perhaps because he refused to cooperate with the champion’s style, and both made six-figure paydays.

For Ali, the European tour offered a distraction from domestic complications, and the Mildenberger fight ended the trip. It also symbolized the end of Ali’s association with the Louisville Sponsoring Group, whose contract with “The Greatest” ran out.

Ali was always more than just another heavyweight champion, though. He was news. He was money. He was an open portal directly to the days of Jack Dempsey, when newspapers spun up stories about what his next business venture might be, or what the champion had for breakfast. And people devoured it, unknowingly breathing new life into the sport.