A widespread belief that the late, great Muhammad Ali, who turned 80 today, had not died, at 74, was forever "on" on June 3, 2016, with large crowds at a moment's notice. was ready to recapture or even small gatherings of his fans with the high-decibel eloquence of someone who quickly and often declared that he was the greatest of all time. That Ali of our memories was the ultimate showman, whose public persona had a plethora of influences, which included, among others, Gorgeous George, Sugar Ray Robinson, Malcolm X, Elijah Muhammad, Nelson Mandela, maybe even a touch of mother. Teresa.
Combine all that with an exciting array of boxing prowess and the end result was a unique individual who elevated a brutal sport to an art form, similar to Michelangelo's ceiling painting. They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but more than a few fighters have tried to model themselves after Ali, he was an original beyond replicant, a talent so dazzling that he was everything he could have been. Which he claimed to be, and a personality so compelling out of the ring that the three-time heavyweight champion was, arguably, the most widely known man of the late 20th century. Even now, more than five years after his death and more than 41 years since he last won the heavyweight title, he remains arguably the most famous boxer, or athlete, to have taken the global stage.
But the Ali who angered many and was loved by countless others during a turbulent era, when I wrote that he was "perhaps the most polarizing figure in America, with the possible exception of Jane Fonda," was a remarkable Change took place that eventually won over a significant percentage of his harshest critics. The young Bragduccio, who was alternating, amusing and infuriating, was decimated by the ravages of Parkinson's disease, a progressive neurological condition that has affected both his verbal aplomb and physical dexterity in the 32 years since he was first diagnosed. Saw it robbed. As his decline became more pronounced over the years, the young chest-thumper was variously ridiculed by critics as "Louisville Lip," "Cash the Brash," "Mighty Mouth" and "Gasius Cassius". , though was still mentally intelligible. became so silent that his barely audible murmur was interpreted and relayed through to his fourth wife, Lonnie.
Ali, virtually silent, trembling and unable to walk without assistance, was on stage in Philadelphia on the night of September 16, 2012, when he received the Liberty Medal, marking the 225th anniversary of United's ratification. Constitution of the States. Past honorees have included former presidents, Supreme Court justices, international dignitaries and other notable figures who have been chosen as advocates of the principles of liberty. More than 2,000 spectators heard and applauded on the front lawn of the National Constitution Center as Ali was described as "an ambassador of peace and justice around the world", "a tireless humanitarian and philanthropist" and "a symbol of hope and a catalyst for constructive dialogue". appreciated as ,
In November 2005, Ali – who by that time had launched missions to developing countries to deliver food and medical supplies, in addition to serving as a fundraiser for the Special Olympics and the Muhammad Ali Parkinson Research Center in Phoenix – called for independence from Received President's Medal. President George W. Bush in Washington. In addition to the Liberty Medal, forgotten, or almost so, was his brutal taunts of many opponents, most notably Joe Frazier, whom he ridiculed as "a gorilla," and "Uncle Tom" and "ignorant" and condemned them. White people as "the devil".
At the ceremony in Philadelphia—somewhat ironically, Joe Frazier's adopted hometown (no members of the Frazier family were in attendance)—a parade of speakers, from Pennsylvania Governor Tom Corbett, a conservative Republican, to Philly Mayor Michael Nutter, until a liberal Democrat. , moved to the stage to praise Ali as everything that is fine and decent and praiseworthy.
One of the speakers, Joe Louis's son, Joe Louis Barrow II, nodded to Ali and said, "You both made opposite choices - my father chose to volunteer in World War II and you, for religious beliefs, served." Were refusing to do so. Vietnam. You both defended the ideals of the Constitution in different ways. But time has shown that both of you were on the right side of history."
How the history of Joe Louis Barrow II will eventually treat Ali remains to be seen; History is like an amoeba, which constantly changes shape according to time and circumstances. The presumption here is that for the most part Ali's dazzling image will stand well in the future and possibly forever. Even the long-standing rift between Ali and Frazier, who was 67 when he died on 7 November 2011, was somewhat mended; In the commemorative issue of The Ring's 50th Anniversary of the First Frasier-Ali Battle, I wrote a story on the long-delayed reconciliation of two great rivals, which took place on February 8 and 9, 2002, the night before and again at the 53rd Annual Day in Philadelphia. NBA All-Star Game. In that story I noted that as Ali and Lonnie attended Smokin' Joe's funeral service in Philly, Ali's appearance was marked by solemn reverence and respect, not belligerence and bombast.
Regardless of how one remembers Ali for other reasons, his greatness as a warrior is undeniable. He was arguably at the top of his powers at the Astrodome in Houston on November 14, 1966, when the then-24-year-old retained his heavyweight championship by dethroning the dreaded Cleveland "Big Cat" Williams, the finishing sequence in a rapid-fire combination that included the challenger's skull. The bobblehead was shaking like a doll.
Two fights later, Zora Foley's seventh-round stoppage at Madison Square Garden on March 22, 1967, Ali was again the picture of pugilistic perfection. And frighteningly, he might have been even better if his career had not been halted by a suspension on religious grounds for refusing to join the military during the Vietnam War. Ali, whose boxing license would take 43 months to be reinstated as a result of a favorable Supreme Court ruling, fought again for Jerry Quarry's third-round TKO on October 26, 1970, in Atlanta. But that Ali, though still a prolific fighter, was different—a little heavier, a smidgen slower, more apt to absorb punishment and fight through it than punches with almost accidental ease.
His longtime coach, Angelo Dundee, said in 1995, "Ali was a better fighter than Ali before the layoff." Ali may have been the best at the time, fighting Cleveland Williams and Zora Foley, but he was getting bigger and stronger and more experienced in the ring. What was he, 25 years old when they stopped him? Those next three years would have been his peak. If he kept getting better at the rate at which he was progressing, then only God knows how great he would have been. ,
Throughout the journey of his career, Ali was, undoubtedly, arrogant, not in the least hesitant to say how brilliant he was at his craft, in relation to the lesser practitioners of the pugilistic art. "Who made me," he once said. "My only flaw is that I don't know how great I am. I am the greatest, and I said that before I knew I was.
But the fame and/or fame that Ali set out to achieve, and did, was not without its drawbacks. His more reticent side was not often seen outside of his inner circle, but it was something I had the privilege of seeing up close and personal after his boxing career ended, and the circumstances of his retirement. Certain realities were dampening his relentlessness. Haste.
I was a sports columnist for the Jackson Daily News in Jackson, Miss., when Ali came to town in June 1983 for Medgar Evers Homecoming, not by private jet but on Delta Flight 216, in the first class section. As photographers and television cameramen elbowed for better positions, some onlookers began to gather.
"Who's the celebrity?" asked one.
"Muhammad Ali," replied a photographer. "Muhammad Ali is on that plane."
This word soon spread like brush fire. Even before the passengers got off the plane, some curious people were drawn into a mini-mob. Ali, the fourth person in line, surrounded by the glare of TV lights and flashbulbs, smiled at babies being born to kiss, women proceeded to hug and men stretched out scraps of paper for autographs. Ali leaves her kiss and hug and autograph with a lack of enthusiasm, and why not? Celebrity pays a price, and by then Ali had probably paid it a million times.
The routine continued at Ali's hotel in downtown Jackson, which was delivered by limousine. "You look like Joe Frazier," he said to a bellman in the lobby, leaning down and throwing some playful jabs. The doorman, clearly delighted at being alone, broke into a wide grin. "You're still the greatest, winner," he told Ali.
Being the greatest is the image that Ali worked so long and hard to create, and after a while no one escaped it, not even occasionally. The image was self-perpetuating, able to feed on its own encouragement, with or without the help of its creator.
Later, in his suit stretched out on a bed, boots kicked and tie loose, Ali practices magic tricks for some of his crew members who accompany him to Mississippi as well as a sports columnist. He had temporarily consented to the temporary entry into his private space.
"My dream," he told me, "is to go somewhere and not be recognized. To go to the beach, to go to the amusement park with the kids and not have to stop and sign autographs all the time..."
Ali smiled, fully aware of the impossibility of making that particular dream come true. "Being famous isn't so bad," he said. “Everyone likes to be recognized and appreciated. Anyway, you get used to it. ,
When asked if he would have to do it the same way if he had to do it all over again, Ali said he wouldn't change anything. "Yes," he confirmed. "I'll do it exactly the same way. Because everything that was bad turned out to be good.
"Boxing was fodder. People are fish. Boxing made me famous. People used to come to listen to me. They still do. There is a bigger fight for me to win than anything I did in boxing. I am those I intend to win matches."
At the time, Ali seemed to me not to have the same measuring stick as Elvis Presley against other great heavyweights like Lewis, Jack Dempsey, and Rocky Marciano. Elvis was the king of rock 'n' roll, one of the greatest in his field, a man who was attracted and repelled by the limelight he was so easily attracted to. And I wondered whether the golden cage of fame that many had discovered, had been attained by some, all this while Muhammad Ali began his quest to place himself on a pedestal unknown to any boxer.
In 2015, the United States Postal Service conducted a nationwide survey to determine which version of Elvis Presley should appear on a commemorative stamp. One version was from 1955's lean and hip-curved Elvis; The other was the sequin-jump-appropriate and remarkably plumper Las Vegas model of the 1970s. The vote, of course, was a landslide for the young Elvis.
An equal vote should be cast for the American public for the Ali stamp, a young, sleek and impossibly gifted boxer who did a job he hadn't done before or after, or the aged, retired Ali, whom his Quoted for the humanitarian and philanthropic contribution to society, the outcome would be as predetermined as it was for Elvis. That class of humanists and philanthropists may be in short supply, but they are still more plentiful than individuals who can achieve feats of athletic excellence that mere mortals can gasp in amazement.
For what would have been his 80th birthday today, remember Muhammad Ali for the fact that he lived a good life in both incarnations.