I had a different blog post planned for tonight.
I held it off -- wisely, it turned out -- when I heard that one of my childhood idols had fallen ill.
It's hard to begin. My mind is racing. For those who never saw him in action, never heard him speak, never knew the kind of man he was, both in front of the cameras and in private, it's impossible to describe Muhammad Ali. All many people will remember is his inability to walk, or speak, as his disease robbed him of the grace he showed so well for much of his life. He was so ahead of his time that he became the time. He was color, when the world was still black and white. He was a digital voice, when the world was analog. He was an iPod, while the rest of us carried Walkmans.
I don't remember the first time I saw Muhammad Ali. I do remember my father talking about him. I remember, growing up, seeing him on ABC's Wide World of Sports, and I remember hating Howard Cosell for grilling Ali and forcing him to defend himself. Years later, I learned that the two were really best friends, and Ali had virtually scripted every encounter. But that's another tale for another time.
Ali was more than just the heavyweight champion of the world. There were, after all, a lot of champions. Some of them had better win-loss records. So why aren't they celebrated?
Because he reminded the world something it had forgotten since the days when boxers didn't wear gloves and matches would go on for hours. It was the same reason baseball exploded in the early 20th century. And the reason the AFL began to catch up to the NFL, and attention was being taken away from Johnny Unitas and Joe DiMaggio, and given to Joe Namath and Mickey Mantle. They were entertaining.
Ali didn't just beat you. He told you he would beat you. Then he would describe it in detail. Then he would shadow box and threaten to "take that rag off Cosell's head." We cared whether he won or lost. We had to care.
He borrowed elements of pro wrestling in his boxing career. He was a long admirer of George Wagner, a.k.a. "Gorgeous George" and borrowed his flair. He used quotes from wrestling champions like Dick The Bruiser and "Nature Boy" Buddy Rogers. Why? Because wrestling was popular, even though there was a "stigma" at the time that the whole thing maybe, just maybe, isn't completely legit. Ali took what was popular in wrestling and brought it to a legit sport. By himself.
I never had the chance to meet Muhammad Ali. I always with I had. I wanted to know what the real Ali was like. My eyes are literally filled with tears as I write this. But I think it finally hit me -- Ali was everything we saw. There was a piece of Ali in every shred of film, and in every interview with every family member, confidante or opponent. (In many cases, someone was all three.) Ali touched so many lives, and every single soul he encountered is actually a part of him. I realize that now.
It's just too bad it took his death for me to understand that.
I can see it now. Ali is being welcomed by St. Peter, who tells him he's led a good life. Ali's response, "Never mind that. Where's Frazier?"
Ali/Frazier IV. The Altercate at the Pearly Gates.
Rest in peace.
