Muhammad Ali was taught like Sunday School

I remember kneeling on the windowsill, watching my father jump in Mr. Tom’s black Chevy Nova and pull out of our driveway. Backlit by the sun setting over the Hudson Valley mountains, I followed that car until it was a speck at the bottom of the hill.

Mom said I had to go to bed, but what my footie-pajamed self wanted was to go to the pay-per-view of Muhammad Ali and Smokin’ Joe Frazier. The first one. The fight of the century. New York City. Madison Square Garden. Howard Cosell. The pay-per-view was mysterious and glamorous in the pre-cable days, where hefty sums were saved to have a big night out with the men. No kids, no women (I believed). Just a darkened room of tables, cocktails, cigar smoke and a drive-in sized screen of two gladiators — black gladiators — fighting to be the unquestioned, indisputable champion of the world.

I mimicked my father’s passion, a former Navy boxer. I practiced my jab learned how to throw a punch, and “keep your right hand up”. Leading up to the fight, I watched Ali’s training, his mastery of the speed bag and the impossibly tasselled Ali shuffle. I saw the mugging for the cameras, but also the bent-back sweat dripping from the open-mouthed former champion, exhausted between rounds. I knew eventually the fight would be on Wide World of Sports and we’d sit in the basement and watch from start to finish. But that’s not even half the reason I pressed my nose at the window, feeling the injustice of an early bedtime.

See, the story of Muhammad Ali was taught — as serious as Sunday School. Ali was taught like Dr. Martin Luther King. Except only Ali was still standing. All of us black kids at church, a sanctuary in a lily-white town, knew more than Ali’s rhymes, taunts and jabs. We knew his meaning, his sacrifice and his courage. “I have a dream” and “Float like a butterfly” had the same power.

And now Ali was BACK — but I couldn’t see him.

I watch films of Ali now, marvelling at his youth, speed, size in the ring, and his fierce clarity and conviction outside the ring. I don’t have illusions about his cruelty toward Joe Frazier and I remember the sickening beatings he took late in his career, knowing he would pay the price that was eventually Parkinson’s. I watch When We Were Kings, when he wills his aging body on long morning runs while pulling the flim-flam on an entire country, and standing triumphant at the end.

I wonder, is there any sporting figure with even a glimmer of potential to have the worldwide impact of Muhammad Ali? In the age of super-marketed, globally-networked, Twitter-engaged sportsmen and women, is there anyone who combines mastery, charisma, courage, sacrifice and impeccable timing like him? It’s not like there’s a shortage of issues: We have FIFA, doping, concussions, NCAA cartels, sexual assaults and Olympic sized graft. What makes me sad is too few superstars would even take the risk.

Muhammad Ali, thank you. I am grateful to have witnessed your prime. As-salamu ‘alaykum.