The Greatest Is Dead

Obvious departure from normal format here -- yes, one could speak of Ali-Liston I, but now is not the time nor place.

Muhammad Ali died tonight in an Atlanta hospital, according to the family spokesman.

The greatest nom de plumes one can give are not just the ones the mouth speaks.  They are the ones the man behind the mouth can prove.

Yes, when he was in full Ali Mode, Muhammad Ali had the biggest mouth in sports.  He said he was "The Greatest of All Time", "Pretty", "A Bad Man", and all sorts of other jibes, insults, and who knows what.

But he was Heavyweight Champion of the World when being Heavyweight Champion of the World meant something -- and more than to just boxing. 

He was a man of convictions.  It's not easy to understand when a name and everything attached to it is no longer yours.  There came a day, as Ali looked around him, that he was no longer "Cassius Clay", even with a 1960 Olympic gold medal (regardless of the story of how he lost the physical medal).

He was Muhammad Ali, a proud Black Muslim, but with nothing of the stereotypes of Islam of today.  Yes, he was brutal in the ring -- but he a passionate and devout man, only wanting the respect he was due as not only Heavyweight Champion of the World (or seeking the title again), but of him as a man.  As a human being...

And it's that Muhammad Ali that we also remember tonight, as he goes beyond and embraces Howard Cosell for the first time in many, many years.  Cosell... A braggadocious white man, with as big a mouth as Ali.  But Cosell knew to listen to this man and what he had to say -- and then make sure that his job was to say it, so that the world could not ignore it on the basis of the man's religion, nor the color of his skin.

Ali conscientiously objected to the Vietnam War, lost everything, and then won everything again.  I remember when there was even a Saturday morning cartoon of Ali on NBC back in the 1970's.  Ali went beyond sport.  For sport, this is like when music lost Michael Jackson, when movies lost John Wayne, and I'm not even sure who on television could compare.

But, as many whose heart and courage go beyond what their body can take, Ali stayed too long.  Cosell could not bear to watch as Ali declined, and then, as the years progressed, we saw the real toll:  Parkinson's.  The loss of motor control.  The mind being aware of everything going on, but of little else.

I remember crying in 1996, when the IOC re-awarded Ali a new gold medal at the men's basketball final in Atlanta -- and then hoping that the man would be greater than nationalism, and that NBC would show the Yugoslavian players respecting Ali.  (NBC did so.)

I remember crying again at the MGM Grand on one of my Las Vegas trips, when the Florida Marlins opened their new stadium on ESPN.  By now, it was clear Ali was even worse off than the Parkinson's had made him beforehand.  I couldn't believe the announcer, almost in pity, pleading for an "Ali!" chant.

But he is now dead.  The Greatest.  And not just as a function of being one of the most respected Heavyweight Champions of the World.  He was a rough-houser in there, and not afraid to break a rule or two.

But he had more than just his mouth and his true talent.  He had a heart, and a conscience.  That's what took him from saying he was The Greatest to being The Greatest.

Be at peace, Muhammad.