Adieu, Muhammad Ali, you are ‘The Greatest’, forever

Pallbearers escort the casket of boxing legend Muhammad Ali during the Jenazah prayer service at Freedom Hall on June 9, 2016 in Louisville, Kentucky. PHOTO | JIM WATSON |

What you need to know:

  • Dancing was the signature act of Ali’s boxing style
  • In 1974, Ali was an ‘old man’ and indeed, only his truest believers thought he could pull it off with mighty George

Ken Norton, the man who broke Muhammad Ali’s jaw, once of spoke of the transforming power of facing history’s greatest champion in terms of death and resurrection. Like his many peers who litter the legends of heavyweight boxing, Norton’s life was changed by the mere fact of a clash with Ali.

He had fallen on times so hard that sharing a hot dog with his son was the equivalent of eating a gourmet meal and he asked his father to allow him to return home. His father declined, saying: “If I start taking care of you now, I will take care of you for the rest of your life. Son, be a man.”

Norton plunged hard into his boxing career and in a few short years, earned the millions which only a contract to fight Muhammad Ali could rake in. In Pete McCormack’s absorbing documentary, Facing Ali, Norton recounted:

“In 1986, after I retired, I was on my way home, going up onto the freeway and my car somehow went over the ramp on about a 40-foot drop. And that’s all I remembered for five years. I cracked my skull. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t go to the bathroom. I was paralysed for three years. But when I was in the hospital, Ali came to see me and they said that I responded.”

In his own retirement, The Greatest was afflicted by the debilitating Parkinson’s disease and like millions of his fans around the world, those who had fought him found it difficult to come to terms with. Remembering what Ali had done for him and crushed by the champion’s cavalry, which Ali bore with the same fortitude that had marked his every battle in the world, Norton visited him, perhaps hoping for the same miracle that had been occasioned by the voice of the champion.

He said: “Ali was sitting down at a table drawing pictures. I walked up to him. I said: “Ali, let’s do it again.” He sat there for a moment, then he slowly turned to me. And his eyes opened up and he said: “Norton.” “It was the last time I saw him. To be in the same ring with this man called Muhammad was to me an honour, a life saver, career saver and I can’t thank him enough for giving me the chance.”

Ron Lyle was at no time ever comatose in a hospital bed. But his life was. His way out of poverty was boxing but he couldn’t navigate life’s intricate pathways in the freedom of the whole wide world. He couldn’t regularly put two meals before him in a day and it was not long before he went to jail.

There, in the confines of a bare six feet by six feet cell and three meals, he found focus – and a dream.

“Before, I could do a thousand push-ups in a day,” he said. “And I thought that was good. Now with regular food, I could do a thousand push-ups in an hour. And I could dream. Do you know who I was dreaming about? Muhammad Ali.” Relating this story must have inspired the kind of devastating response that could only come from The Greatest. Ali said: “If you even dream of beating me, you’d better wake up and apologise.”

Mercifully, Lyle’s big dream eventually came to pass and he had his day in the sun with Ali – and millions into his bank account. Such was the transformation brought about by just one meeting in the ring with The Greatest.

In retirement, Lyle was profuse in his tribute to the man who changed his life: “The representation that he gave the black community will never be forgotten, no matter what. Like I say, he can’t speak for himself, but we can speak for him.”

George Foreman, the most articulate, perceptive and likeable of all the fighters who faced Ali, believed that his duel with The Greatest, the globally-touted Rumble in the Jungle, was going to be the easiest of his career. He had crushed Joe Frazier and Ken Norton with devastating efficiency.

Frazier had taken Ali to the very gates of death, as Ali himself had said, but Foreman had dispatched him in two rounds in the course of which he repeatedly begged Joe to stay down in the canvas because “I am tired of knocking you down.”

In 1974, Ali was an “old man” and indeed, only his truest believers thought he could pull it off with mighty punching George. The accounts of those who were in his dressing room in Zaire spoke of a gloomy corner staff, consumed by the fear that their man was going to slaughter and yet there was no turning back. Surveying his depressed staff, Ali took on the role of evangelist among them. He asked: “Why is everybody so unhappy? What’s the matter with everybody? Bundini, what am I gonna do? I'm gonna dance! Everybody say, ‘you’re gonna dance!’”

And they responded, “Champ, you’re gonna dance!” “What am I gonna do?” he asked again. “Champ, you’re gonna dance!” They responded again and for a while, it became a song and people swayed side to side. The mood fired up.

A woman holds a portrait of Muhammad Ali during an Islamic Janazah service for him at Freedom Hall on June 8, 2016 in Louisville, Kentucky.
A traditional Muslim funeral service for Muhammad Ali began Thursday in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky opening two days of farewell ceremonies for the late boxing legend and civil rights hero. PHOTO | MICHAEL B. THOMAS |

Dancing, of course, was the signature act of Ali’s boxing style. His fans were concerned that his advancing years were going to preclude him from dancing. He had snapped at those who doubted: “Can I dance? Is the Pope a Catholic?”

Well, dancing he didn’t do against Foreman; he went rope-a-dope and as Foreman said, “it became a different fight,” and the rest is history.

The highly perceptive Foreman later said: “Early is his life, Ali had found something else to fight for other than money and championship belts. And when that person finds something like that, you can’t wholly beat them.”

Indeed. The Greatest did lose some of his fights and did hit the canvas sometimes. But there was always something about him that was above these losses. He was always The Champ, even with a broken jaw. He was still The Greatest, even in the years he lectured in campuses to make a living after being stripped of his title for refusing to be drafted in the Vietnam war.

On return from the 1960 Olympics, he found a country that still treated him as a second-class citizen just because of the colour of his skin. They couldn’t serve him in a Whites Only eatery. So he took his friend with him to the bridge across the Ohio River and threw his gold medal into the river, telling the shocked and inconsolable companion not to worry because “it was just a piece of metal” since his country thought nothing of the achievement of winning it.

RECONCILED

Even then, it was America that had lost, not Muhammad Ali. And in the 1996 Olympics, now not just a hero but an icon and having brought the country to his point of view, he received a replica of the medal he had thrown into the river. The Greatest and his country were reconciled.

What was Muhammad Ali fighting for “other than money and championship belts?”

He answered this question long ago when the entire nation of America seemed arrayed against him for declaring himself a Muslim. Against overwhelming odds, he stood by his conscience. He said: “Whatever the punishment, whatever the persecution is for standing up for my religion, even if it means machine gun fire, I will face it before denouncing Elijah Muhammad and the religion of Islam. I am ready to die.” He lost his boxing license. He lost the best three years of his career. But he wouldn’t budge; he stared down the country – and won.

Then there was also the immensely sad day when he lost his heavyweight crown to the little known Leon Spinks. Behind translucent shades, he was uncharacteristically low when he told journalists: “When we are submitted [to faith] we all lose in life. We lose our mother, we lose our father, our brothers, our sisters, our health. And you just learn to live with these conditions and you keep going.”

He soon after reclaimed his crown and he was three-time heavyweight champion of the world.

Of the uncountable stories and anecdotes told about Muhammad Ali in his eventful 74 years in this world, which one stands out for me, a Kenyan and his eternal fan? It is the one I came across about the relationship he had with Angelo Dundee, his long-term manager. I learnt that throughout the years they negotiated all those millions of dollars in fight deals, they never wrote anything about what they had agreed Dundee would get. It was always a word of mouth agreement. And it worked without acrimony to the end their lifelong relationship.

As someone who lives in a country where it is culture to short change each other with or without inch-thick contracts, I thought for a long time about what a beautiful life that is. Those were refined human beings, I thought.

Because of who he was, any story about Muhammad Ali’s departure from this world was always going to be mentally and spiritually draining. I experienced something close to despair under the weight of its unfolding. He was taken to a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona with respiratory problems on Thursday last week. The following day, doctors asked his wife Lonnie to call family members to his bedside.

Clearly, The Champ’s last fight on earth was seriously underway. In their thoughts, millions of his fans around the world gathered at his bedside ring, praying for his successful recovery. But this time, the king of the comeback failed to return. But Muhammad Ali will never really go, as he never really lost a fight, because he was truly The Greatest.

Adieu, and, so long.