One Night in Miami...

The rain has stopped.

The excitement has really grown

among this 40,000-strong Wembley crowd.

Safe to say that every single one of them

is on Henry Cooper’s side.

And Cooper’s eye is opening wider.

It’s a shocking cut above his left eye.

He knows he’s got to get this fight over with fairly quickly.

Clay doesn’t like it.

He pushes the referee, but the referee’s having none of it.

-Clay is mocking Cooper. I’m over here.

Cooper knows. He’s trying to get that left...

I’m over here. -...left hook now.

-(bell dinging) -Left hook. Oh, there he goes!

-He just misses Clay. -(crowd jeering)

And he raises his hands as he goes back to his corner,

the crowd jeering him all the way.

My goodness, Cooper.

Is this a joke to you, kid?

-What’d I do? -Nothing.

That’s the problem. We had a fight plan.

Plan? Angie, look at him.

I’m beating the shit out of that tomato can.

Damn right he is. Rumble, young man, rumble!

-Ah! -Ah!

Listen, if you’re not gonna keep your hands up,

can you at least finish him off?

I don’t want to get too close to him.

I get any more of his blood on my trunks,

my mama ain’t never gonna be able to get it out.

Nobody gives a damn about blood on some boxing trunks.

These is my lucky trunks.

Your mama’s still doing your laundry?

-(laughter) -Shut up.

Would you both shut the fuck up?

Here.

Three rounds in, and it’s not looking good

-for Henry the Hammer. -No, it is not.

This Wembley Park crowd was expecting

a better showing from local lad Cooper

against American upstart Cassius Clay.

They’ve been saying the Louisville Lip’s theatrics

overshadow his actual skills in the ring.

I doubt Cooper agrees with that assessment tonight.

Let’s just hope Clay can put this bloke

out of his misery soon.

I think we may have all

underestimated Cassius Clay, Ronnie.

Perhaps he is as good as he says he is.

Finish him off!

I’ll finish him when I’m good and ready to.

-(crowd cheering) -Let’s go, Cooper.

Fight!

You ain’t got nowhere to be, do you, Henry?

Jab him! Jab him!

-Push! -Let’s go.

-(grunting) -(crowd shouting)

Let’s go, now, Cassius. Let’s go.

There you are.

There you are.

That’s right. -No holding, Henry.

-Cooper, hang on. -Don’t stay in too long. Move.

-Move! -Dance, Cassius. Keep moving.

-Come on. -ANNOUNCER 2: Clay is mocking Cooper.

There it is. There you are.

Got to dance with him. You got to dance.

The crowd doesn’t like it.

None of that.

-Hands! Hands up! -Come on, Henry!

-What is he doing? -I don’t know. Playing around.

Don’t walk this guy down.

That’s how you do it.

Keep your eyes in the ring.

Is that Elizabeth Taylor?

Anything might happen.

Keep those hands up!

There you go!

-Oh! -(crowd clamoring)

That was the end of the fourth round,

and he hit him.

-Get up! -So close, before the end of the round.

That was lucky.

Get up there, Cassius. Come on.

Get up.

You’re okay! You’re okay! Come on.

Clay took one chance too many,

and he still doesn’t know where he is.

He’s still half out, Clay.

I want you to imagine a man

who, for 25 years of his life,

arrived to work every morning at 9:00.

You could set your watch by him.

Then suddenly one morning, after 25 years

of punctual 9:00-in-the-morning appearances,

not only is he late but he doesn’t look like himself.

Big lump on his head, two black eyes, bloody nose,

torn lip, clothes ripped and disheveled.

His boss says, "What in the world happened to you?"

He says, "Oh, fell down a whole flight of stairs,

almost got killed."

His boss says, "So this took you an hour?"

Jules, work with us.

The Copa has rules.

Band members sit in the bandstand.

Cliff’s not dressed.

You don’t even have a chair for him.

-If your guy’s a real singer... -Real singer?

...then he don’t need no guitar player on the floor with him.

My guy’s first single was number one in America.

He ain’t had any hits in here.

I never should’ve booked him.

We could’ve had Mark Wilson in this slot.

Who? The magician?

From The Magical Land of Allakazam?

I love that show, man.

See? Even that guy knows, and he looks like an idiot.

-Fuck you, man. My dear good friends,

you’ve been a wonderful audience.

Thank you very much, and good night.

So? -Thank you.

Should I tell Myron to do an encore?

He’s the one these people paid to see.

Shh.

-Sam. -MAN: Give it up for Myron Cohen,

-ladies and gentlemen. -(applause)

Myron Cohen.

-All right, fine. Fine. -Fine.

Next up... -Better not fuck up my arrangements.

...we have a young man coming to the Copacabana

for the very first time.

You all know him from his hit song "You Send Me."

Ladies and gents, let’s give a warm Copacabana welcome

-for Sam Cooke! -(applause)

(band playing lively jazz music)

It’s great to be at the Copacabana!

How’s everybody feeling tonight?

Uh, I-I want to tell you that, uh,

ever since I started singing,

before I even knew I wanted to be a singer,

playing the Copa has always been a dream of mine.

So thank you for being here

on the night that dream comes true.

I thought I’d start off this evening, uh,

with something that you all might recognize.

Boys.

-(band playing "Tammy") -Cigarettes, ma’am?

No.

-What time is it? What time is it? -Uh...

I liked this song so much better

when Debbie Reynolds sang it.

-(door opens) -(distant applause)

Boy, you... you really did bomb tonight, Sam.

Motherfucker, have you ever made

a quarter of a million dollars singing?

-Sam, no. -Well, I have.

So until you do, keep your fucking mouth shut!

-He ain’t wrong, though. -(laughing)

You did kind of stink the place up tonight.

: Yeah, I did.

Told him not to sing that song.

-He got all them hits; he chose that one. -I know.

(insects trilling, birds chirping)

(song continues faintly over car stereo)

-(music stops) -(engine turns off)

Yes? May I help you?

Yes, ma’am.

I’m here to see Mr. Carlton.

Would you tell him that Jim Brown is...

Jim Brown? Oh.

God! From the NFL!