“SIT down, son. It’s all over. No one will forget what you did here today.”

The aforementioned words, spoken by trainer Eddie Futch to Joe Frazier at the end of the 14th round of arguably the most punishing heavyweight fight ever fought, when he faced Muhammad Ali in Manila on October 1 1975, have justifiably gone down in boxing folklore as the best and most humane example of a trainer saving a fighter from himself.

The sheer courage displayed by Futch in pulling his fighter out of the fight at such at late stage was only matched by the courage displayed by Frazier in the final bout of the trilogy he fought against Ali — his nemesis without whom he himself would never have reached the heights he did in the sport.

Indeed, as Ali said of their rivalry after finally retiring from the ring: “I’m sorry Joe Frazier is mad at me. I’m sorry I hurt him. Joe Frazier is a good man. I couldn’t have done what I did without him, and couldn’t have done what he did without me.”

Ali was here referring to the merciless insults he levelled at Frazier in the lead-up to the fight, repeatedly calling him an Uncle Tom, ignorant — even going so far as to produce a toy gorilla at the pre-fight press conference, punching it while call it Joe.

Returning to Eddie Futch, we are reminded of the critical role that a trainer plays in any fighter’s success in the ring and also on many occasions failure too.

Frazier never forgave Futch for pulling him out of the Thrilla in Manila, but even so, Futch, looking back on his long career, declared that “Joe Frazier was the easiest boxer to work with that I ever trained.”

Considering that Futch also trained such greats of the squared circle as Ken Norton, Larry Holmes, Trevor Berbick, Riddick Bowe, Montell Griffin, Marlon Starling, along with numerous others, this is high praise indeed.

Futch it was who is credited with developing Frazier’s bobbing and weaving style, utilising his relatively small stature as a heavyweight to his advantage by coming in low to force his larger opponents to punch down and thus lose a significant portion of their power.

In so doing he turned Joe Frazier into Smokin’ Joe Frazier, the legend he became.

Against Ali in the first fight with Frazier at Madison Square Garden on March 8 1971, known to history as the Fight of the Century, Futch devised the gameplan that would clinch Frazier the victory by unanimous decision to retain his world title.

Futch took note that Ali leaned back to avoid incoming punches to the head and that he also threw a technically deficient and loose right uppercut that left an opening that Frazier could exploit with his notorious left hook.

Futch advised Frazier to concentrate on breaking up Ali’s body until the late rounds to make him lose mobility, then to start firing the left hook over the top.

Frazier did precisely that and ended up dropping Ali with a vicious left hook to the chin in the very last round of what had been a 15-round all-action affair.

As veteran US sports journalist William Nack described it in the pages of Sports Illustrated years later: “If Ali-Frazier I was the most memorable athletic event of our time, surely it was the 15th round that made it so.

“About 20 seconds after the opening bell, Frazier threw the most famous left hook in boxing history. The punch began south of his brocade trunks, somewhere down in Beaufort, and rose in a whistling arc that ended on the right side of Ali’s jaw, just above the point of his chin.”

Boxing trainers of the quality of Eddie Futch are rare specimens. With his softly spoken manner and calm demanour, Futch never panicked in a corner when faced with a fighter who was hurt or in trouble.

Not for him the screaming and rah-rahing that too many trainers adopt today in similar scenarios —in many cases not for the fighter’s benefit but their own, conscious as they are of the boom over their heads recording their words for a live TV audience watching at home.

Futch would not even begin giving his fighters instructions for the first 10 of the 30 seconds they had before the bell went for the next round. Instead he allowed them those precious 10 seconds to orient and rehydrate themselves, feeding them water while holding the protective cup under their trunks out to allow them to breathe more easily.

Then calmly and quietly, Futch would give his fighter just a few simple instructions as to what adjustments he needed to make in the next round.

An exhausted fighter bursting with adrenalin needs calm not chaos in his corner between rounds, especially in a major fight with all the riches and glory that are at stake.

Bombarding a fighter in the corner with advice, screaming imprecations, does more harm than good, which is why great trainers can literally win or lose their man or, as is increasingly the case, woman a fight.

Freddie Roach learned his own craft as arguably the pre-eminent trainer of his era at Eddie Futch’s side, when Futch took him on as his assistant in Vegas after Roach retired from the ring.

I still vividly recall him telling me one day that Eddie Futch was the most knowledgable boxing coach there’s ever been.

This is of course a subjective opinion, and Freddie Roach is clearly biased given his own relationship with the man, but objectively Futch does have claim to such a lofty status.

Other legendary trainers do as well — the likes of Ray Arcel, who trained Roberto Duran for much of his career, Angelo Dundee, Emmanuel Steward of the famous and iconic Kronk Gym in Detroit, the Petronelli brothers, Pat and Goody, who guided the career of Marvellous Marvin Hagler stand on the same legendary ground as Futch.

Eddie Futch died on October 10 2001, having finally retired from boxing in 1998 at age 87.

He was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1994. Never has anyone in boxing either before or since been more deserving of this particular accolade.