I went to Great American Ballpark last summer and sat a few hundred feet from Muhammad Ali. I somehow sensed closure within myself. I had come that close to someone I regarded as a model of manhood, a source of inspiration, and a funny guy whose patter I consciously imitated (to the annoyance of my best friend's sister on whom I had a terrible crush) in adolescence. January 14, 2010, Muhammad turned 68. He has grown with age and grace and has blessed us and future generations just by being himself.
I recently watched "Facing Ali" featuring giants of the boxing ring who had faced him including Joe Frazier who shed a tear or two for the pain caused by the psychological warfare (psyching out) done and long since apologized for by Ali, the unsurpassed master of the art. I also saw Joe, a good and decent man, a helluva fighter, and perhaps the only man in the ring suited to bring out Ali's best because his was just so damned good, shed a tear and wish Ali health and happiness. Joe without you Ali's story would be incomplete...and yours is pretty amazing!
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