In his outrageousness and his nobility, Ali was truly ‘The Greatest’
We never really knew Muhammad Ali because, in his heyday, he never stopped talking long enough to let us. Most likely, that was not by chance.
In life, he was “The Greatest.” He told us that for so long that we eventually just shrugged and accepted it. In death, and with the benefit of quiet reflection, a more accurate label would be “The Most Complicated.”
To say Ali was a boxer is to say John Wooden was a basketball coach. There is so much more.
Ali was No. 175 in a graduating class of 175 at his Louisville, Ky., high school. Some 47 years later, he was awarded an honorary doctorate of humanities from Princeton.
He won an Olympic gold medal in 1960 for the United States, then allowed the story to be retold for years that shortly after his return from the Rome Games, after being refused service at a restaurant because he was black, he threw the medal in a river. After he lit the torch at the opening ceremony for the ’96 Olympics in Atlanta, he was awarded a new gold medal, reportedly replacing the 1960 gold he had merely lost along the way.
He patterned his career after that of Gorgeous George Wagner, a pro wrestler. The flamboyant Wagner and his sport were all an act, and Ali saw inspiration in that. Some chroniclers of the Ali era saw him as a decent boxer who, out of the ring, was mostly a “preening narcissist.” Others saw him as a great boxer — Roger Kahn likened the
20 points a game.
It’s sad to have to write this column about Ali, but also an honor. It’s been a privilege to watch his boxing career, which included winning the heavyweight title three times, but also fascinating to see how people who once hated him now love him.
Some labeled him a coward and a racist back in 1967, when he refused to go into the U.S. military to fight in the war in Vietnam because of his religious beliefs as a Muslim and his opposition to the war.
Yet in 2001, President George W. Bush awarded Ali the Presidential Citizens Medal, and later Ali received the Presidential Medal of Freedom at the White House.
That’s what I admired the most about Ali. In current times, when so many people are swayed by polls and what is or is not trending, Ali stayed true to his belief in religious freedom and fighting against racial injustice.
He didn’t mind being out front in regard to any of society’s prevailing issues. A lot of today’s fans, especially African-Americans, believe that high-profile athletes should be outspoken leaders.
That was always a major criticism of Jordan, who, though always a leader in his own quiet style, was different from some who came before him, such as Brown, Bill Russell, Arthur Ashe and Kareem AbdulJabbar.
But Ali was different from all the others in the modern era. As a boxer, he was provocative and outlandish, and he transcended the role of African-American athletes in America.
Yet as the world’s most recognizable athlete even after he retired in 1981, he became an ambassador for peace, going to visit Saddam Hussein during the Gulf War to try to obtain the release of American hostages, or going to Afghanistan in 2002 as a U.N. messenger of peace. He probably gave away several million dollars through various charities.
I loved Muhammad Ali. I loved him because he didn’t give a damn. As a teenager, I liked his arrogance and the way he went against the system. His poems were funny and he became boxing’s version of a carnival barker.
I tried to emulate the hand speed in our backyard brawls or imitate his “Ali Shuffle” or bolo punches. I would run home Saturday afternoons to watch a tape delay of his fights on “Wide World of Sports”; his interactions with Howard Cosell were almost as entertaining as the fights.
I was overcome with emotion when the U.S. Supreme Court overturned his conviction for refusing military service and allowed him to return to boxing in 1971, and that in itself became a major victory and a source of black pride.
But I also didn’t want to go to school March 9, 1971, one day after Ali lost to Joe Frazier in the first of their three epic fights. Only two days before, my birthday wish was for Ali to knock out Frazier. At least he won their next two fights. I lived a lot of my childhood life with Muhammad Ali. I still have two posters of him on my office wall at home and one on my basement wall.
Some say Joe Louis was a better heavyweight than Ali, but not in my eyes. Ali was big, was strong and could pepper an opponent with his signature jab or hit with the big right hand. What made him truly great was his ability to land punches while moving backward. Yes, he was The Greatest. There was never anyone better, never anyone who provided as many magical moments despite his nearly 31⁄2-year exile from the sport by the federal government during the prime of his career.
I have to admit, though, I was one of those who never wanted to see Ali retire. Even when his reflexes were starting to slow and there were whispers about his opening bouts with Parkinson’s disease, I thought he would still find a way to win as he did with his rope-a-dope style against George Foreman in 1974.
Little did I know that Father Time has never lost a battle.
It has been 33 years since I started writing professionally, and we all become a little jaded with time. We get to see the side of these athletes that others don’t, and it isn’t always flattering.
But regardless of what will be written or said about Ali, he will always be my hero. Every year on our trip to Cincinnati to cover the Ravens playing against the Bengals, a lot of my co-workers fly into Cincinnati or nearby Dayton, Ohio.
I always fly into Louisville, Ky., and visit the Muhammad Ali Center. It’s great to go there, kick back in the recliner and watch old Ali fights on video.
I’m going to miss him because he gave me a lot of anxious nights and some great childhood memories.
But the admiration will always be there, and so will the intimidation.
Rest in peace, Champ.