Muhammad Ali (1942-2016)

I'd been laboring over a post about the late comedian Lenny Bruce, when the news broke that Muhammad Ali's health was failing. When I went to bed last night Ali was still in the hospital battling a repertory ailment (one of a slew of illnesses he'd had to fight over the past three decades). This morning, he was gone.

The image that I saw accompany the story most often, from the Chicago Tribune this morning, where I first saw confirmation of his passing, to any number of sites on the web was of the iconic shot of him standing over a fallen Sonny Liston. It was their second fight, held on May 25, 1965 in the unlikely locale of Lewiston, Maine.

That photo of Ali (then still known as Cassius Clay), flexing his arm across his chest, built like a Greek god - his handsome, almost boyish face contorted into a mask of rage - roaring like a lion over it's conquered prey, became an icon. It indeed captured the essence of that young lion in his prime: defiant, strong, and proud.

He had already converted to Islam and would shortly make his name change legal and permanent. Like Bruce, a contemporary who's controversial stage act made him subject to arrest for violation of obscenity laws, Ali ran afoul of the law. In his case he refused induction into the military during the Vietnam War. While he didn't lose his freedom like Bruce did on several occasions, his stand cost him three years in the prime of his career. As Lenny Bruce found it almost impossible to get a gig, Ali couldn't book a fight since no state would grant him a boxing license. With his passport revoked, going overseas to box wasn't an option. He was a polarizing figure, and there were those who initially refused to call him by his Muslim name. His arch rival Joe Frazier always called him Clay just to get under his skin.

If he never had converted to Islam - allying himself with the Nation of Islam - or changed his name you could argue he probably wouldn't have gotten drafted to begin with. But he still would have been controversial. He was brash, quick witted, and boastful. He belittled his opponents verbally before humbling them physically in the ring. He said what was on his mind. Sure, some of it was show business: he had a lot of promoter in him, as well as fighter. But most of it wasn't an act. It was all Ali.

He would come back, becoming the first, and so far only, man to win the heavy weight crown three times - when being the Champ still meant something. I saw Ali relatively late in his career, vividly remembering him win that last title, reclaiming it from Leon Spinks. And I saw him when he could still jab and duck, weave and sting verbally. It was something to hear, and the saddest thing is that it's been three decades since the world saw and heard the legend in full.

This is but a thin outline. I'll be back with a deeper appreciation for Muhammad Ali. For now, I'll leave you with the image that tells the story.