... and so is he in my book
REGGIE AMIGO HONG KONG
In my heart, he will always be the greatest.
-- George Foreman on Muhammad Ali
That line struck me like a punch. And as I flipped the cover of the latest book
on the former world champion, I found myself thumbing through some of the
greatest tributes to any man, page after page.
“Lawdy, lawdy [Lord, O Lord], he’s a great champion,” came off a battered –
and humbled – Joe Frazier after Thrilla in Manila, an epic third fight in their
head-to-head contests against which future boxers would measure
themselves.
REGGIE AMIGO HONG KONG
In my heart, he will always be the greatest.
-- George Foreman on Muhammad Ali
That line struck me like a punch. And as I flipped the cover of the latest book
on the former world champion, I found myself thumbing through some of the
greatest tributes to any man, page after page.
“Lawdy, lawdy [Lord, O Lord], he’s a great champion,” came off a battered –
and humbled – Joe Frazier after Thrilla in Manila, an epic third fight in their
head-to-head contests against which future boxers would measure
themselves.
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In their own words, Ali is the greatest
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And Larry Holmes, who would be
remembered more for who he fought than
what he did on the night he predictably
defended his world title against an aging,
tired Ali, saved his best for a parting shot,
telling his fallen hero: “You’re the greatest. I
love you.”
In the outpouring of generosity over Ali’s
failing health, it’s hard to find an unkind
word. In fairness, however, the man had
earned the accolades long before
Parkinson’s Disease began to ravage his
body into a shell of his former self.
Even so, that’s only part of the great story
that is Muhammad Ali, and the world may
never know the half of it.
But thanks to people like Alan Goldstein, a
long-serving sportswriter on the Baltimore
Sun, we get to relive the Ali legend. The
book is an honest portrait of the man not
from the reams of copy he inspired but from
the fighters who were on the receiving end
of his greatness.
remembered more for who he fought than
what he did on the night he predictably
defended his world title against an aging,
tired Ali, saved his best for a parting shot,
telling his fallen hero: “You’re the greatest. I
love you.”
In the outpouring of generosity over Ali’s
failing health, it’s hard to find an unkind
word. In fairness, however, the man had
earned the accolades long before
Parkinson’s Disease began to ravage his
body into a shell of his former self.
Even so, that’s only part of the great story
that is Muhammad Ali, and the world may
never know the half of it.
But thanks to people like Alan Goldstein, a
long-serving sportswriter on the Baltimore
Sun, we get to relive the Ali legend. The
book is an honest portrait of the man not
from the reams of copy he inspired but from
the fighters who were on the receiving end
of his greatness.
In their own words, each one of them – from Sonny Liston to Floyd
Patterson, Leon Spinks and little known Jean-Pierre Coopman (whom Ali
called “a gentleman” ) – helped put together Muhammad Ali, the Story of a
Boxing Legend (Carlton Books, 178 pages, $272).
Goldstein keeps it simple by not getting in the way, except to introduce a
chapter in the chronology, drawing on the many years he spent covering Ali’s
fights.
One such fight, which took Ali and Foreman to darkest, deepest Africa,
almost leaps out of the pages.
And here I was, transfixed on the images, knocked back to a summer
afternoon 34 years ago, lost in a crowd of grown men shouting themselves
silly around a black and white TV at the sight of Foreman being cut from his
legs, crashing down and out.
I had to skip my UP zoology class for that. I remember telling my laboratory
teammates the story the next day only to find out they had done what I did.
By the time Thrilla in Manila rolled around, I had started a small collection of
things Ali, from stickers to newspaper clippings and some of the earlier
books on him.
I was a visitor in my mother’s Grade 3 class sleeping away boring
afternoons under her desk when Ali won his first professional fight. I had not
heard him proclaim himself “The Greatest”, but now we know how it became
a currency. Now we also know why he liked to call his opponents names,
and why TV executives lapped up the one-liners he used to sell his fights.
In a time when internet marketing was not even a sound bite, Ali was a
brand. He pitched himself like so much stuff off a store shelf and earned
handsomely. When asked why he came out to take on Holmes, the reigning
world champion, his former sparring partner and 12 years his junior, Ali
said: “I got it made for life financially and every other way. I don’t need to beat
Larry Holmes.”
The following year, Ali fought Trevor Berbick and lost a painful 10-round
decision, but even as he was being put to shame, Ali was thinking of a
grand comeback. Six months later, he put the question to manager Angelo
Dundee. “You can’t do it anymore,” came the reply. “There isn’t any water left
in the well.”
So Ali closed his career in defeat, but he hadn’t hit bottom. And so, the story
continues ...
Like the man that inspired it, the book takes some doing to put down.
I’m reading it a third time, reliving the moment in each word. If you have not
read about Ali or heard of him, you’ll never know what I mean.
Patterson, Leon Spinks and little known Jean-Pierre Coopman (whom Ali
called “a gentleman” ) – helped put together Muhammad Ali, the Story of a
Boxing Legend (Carlton Books, 178 pages, $272).
Goldstein keeps it simple by not getting in the way, except to introduce a
chapter in the chronology, drawing on the many years he spent covering Ali’s
fights.
One such fight, which took Ali and Foreman to darkest, deepest Africa,
almost leaps out of the pages.
And here I was, transfixed on the images, knocked back to a summer
afternoon 34 years ago, lost in a crowd of grown men shouting themselves
silly around a black and white TV at the sight of Foreman being cut from his
legs, crashing down and out.
I had to skip my UP zoology class for that. I remember telling my laboratory
teammates the story the next day only to find out they had done what I did.
By the time Thrilla in Manila rolled around, I had started a small collection of
things Ali, from stickers to newspaper clippings and some of the earlier
books on him.
I was a visitor in my mother’s Grade 3 class sleeping away boring
afternoons under her desk when Ali won his first professional fight. I had not
heard him proclaim himself “The Greatest”, but now we know how it became
a currency. Now we also know why he liked to call his opponents names,
and why TV executives lapped up the one-liners he used to sell his fights.
In a time when internet marketing was not even a sound bite, Ali was a
brand. He pitched himself like so much stuff off a store shelf and earned
handsomely. When asked why he came out to take on Holmes, the reigning
world champion, his former sparring partner and 12 years his junior, Ali
said: “I got it made for life financially and every other way. I don’t need to beat
Larry Holmes.”
The following year, Ali fought Trevor Berbick and lost a painful 10-round
decision, but even as he was being put to shame, Ali was thinking of a
grand comeback. Six months later, he put the question to manager Angelo
Dundee. “You can’t do it anymore,” came the reply. “There isn’t any water left
in the well.”
So Ali closed his career in defeat, but he hadn’t hit bottom. And so, the story
continues ...
Like the man that inspired it, the book takes some doing to put down.
I’m reading it a third time, reliving the moment in each word. If you have not
read about Ali or heard of him, you’ll never know what I mean.
The book is an
honest portrait of
the man not from
the reams of copy
he inspired but
from the
fighters who were
on the receiving
end of his
greatness
honest portrait of
the man not from
the reams of copy
he inspired but
from the
fighters who were
on the receiving
end of his
greatness
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