Dressed like mod young cornermen, The Beatles arrived at Miami’s Fifth Street Gym in February 1964 for a publicity meeting with a boxer whose euphonious name meant little to them. Cassius Marcellus Clay was freshly turned 22 years old and (as a 7-to-1 betting underdog) showed a certain presumption in challenging for Sonny Liston’s heavyweight title; on this afternoon, he kept the world’s greatest pop band waiting for 15 minutes. After greeting his guests with a “Hello there, Beatles,” and posing for a photo in which his gloved fist knocked the group’s Mop Tops together, the fighter concluded with one of his rhyming predictions, imagining Liston angrily reading news of The Beatles’ visit.

Clay was then widely considered a talented, but overmatched boxer with a graceful, evasive style and freakish speed for a big man; he had only 19 professional fights behind him. Athletes, boxers especially, still didn’t speak much for themselves in 1964, but Clay had already cut an album of his poems and patter, and for the big Liston match, he had prepared a 33-line poetic prediction, delivered in his rising tone of self-astonishment: “Clay comes out to meet Liston / And Liston starts to retreat / If Liston backs any further / He’ll end up in a ringside seat.” Some 43 out of 46 sportswriters polled had predicted that he wouldn’t leave the Miami ring of his own power, but Clay concluded: “Yes, the crowd did not dream / When they laid down their money / That they would see / A total eclipse of the Sonny.” Clay’s bizarre, almost supernatural confidence predated his short professional career and his winning the gold medal in the 1960 Olympics in Rome. As a boy, he had run beside the bus as a way to get people talking about him; as a teenaged amateur, he once told his coach, Joe Martin, that he’d make quick work of his opponent if Martin wanted to have an early dinner.

The man Clay was now facing was an ex-convict and former Mob enforcer. He had wrecked a series of terrified heavyweights, including the popular two-time champion Floyd Patterson, whom he’d thumped into unconsciousness in just over two minutes on two separate occasions. The press already considered Liston among the sport’s all-time punchers, the “invincible one.” Jackie Gleason said that “Sonny Liston will win in 18 seconds of the first round, and my estimate includes the three seconds that Blabber Mouth will bring into the ring with him.”

Clay began his psychological attack before the two had even signed to fight each other, at 3:00 on a morning in 1963, when he pulled into Sonny Liston’s Denver driveway in a red-and-white bus emblazoned with the messages “World’s Most Colorful Fighter” and “Sonny Liston Will Go in Eight.” He had sized up Liston early as a bully who depended heavily on intimidation for his victories. Clay’s plan, he