The victory was ours
I MUST take issue with David Lewis’s contention that the Battle of Jutland was not a British victory (Letters).
It is true that it was not hailed as such in the immediate aftermath. The public had been fed on a diet of Trafalgar for a century and had unrealistic expectations of a walkover.
With the passage of time we can see the bigger picture. The Royal Navy’s World War I strategy was to enforce a blockade and bring Germany to its knees. There were no meaningful incursions by the main German fleet after Jutland and the blockade held.
That had a devastating effect. The Germans were on a virtual starvation diet by 1918. Morale was sapped and the German Navy mutinied on October 28, 1918, forcing
SO SAD to hear of the death of Muhammad Ali, arguably the greatest sportsman ever. He fought in an era when virtually every challenger was as formidable as him. What put him apart from the others? Surely the Rumble In The Jungle against George Foreman, which must be considered his best fight. Foreman was world heavyweight champion and seven years younger than Ali. Even though Ali had been boxing since the 1960 Olympics at the age of 18 and had been world champion twice, few gave him a hope. He didn’t just beat Foreman, he humiliated him to become world champion at the age of 32, when most sportsmen are reaching the end of their careers. In contrast to his frequent rants and theatrical sayings about ‘rope a dope’ and ‘float like a butterfly’, his speeches and sayings showed great intelligence. Like George Best and Ayrton Senna, he was a one-off. He really was The Greatest.
M. CAIRNS, Waterlooville, Hants.
THE media hysteria concerning Ali was over the top. He was a pleasant, likeable man who beat up others better than most. Other than that, he made no contribution to the development of mankind.
K.P. WAGNER, Holywood, Co. Antrim. WHY is a megalomaniac draft dodger who showed contempt for the U.S. by throwing his Olympic gold medal into a river treated like a hero?
PETER BOOTH, Altrincham, Gtr Manchester.
I ONCE had the pleasure of dining in London with Ali and his entourage. On my right sat a Chicago cop built like the proverbial outhouse. ‘What’s your role?’ I asked. ‘I’m the champ’s bodyguard,’ he said to my amazement. Apparently, people yearned to pick a quarrel with Ali so they could boast about how he had knocked them out. The cop’s task was to send them on their way — with their heads still on their shoulders.
VICTOR DAVIS, London W8.