PPT Commentary Muhammed Ali Loved, Hated, but Foremost Authentic

PPT Commentary Muhammed Ali Loved, Hated, but Foremost Authentic Dr. Mark Andrew Holowchak “It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.” Muhammed Ali Muhammed Ali—who passed on June 3, 2016—habitually called himself “the greatest.” At first, we hated him because of that pomposity. After all, it’s use of a superlative, and cavalier use of superlatives—“‘I am the greatest,’” stated he, “I said that even before I knew I was”—is generally a sign of someone with an unbridled imagination and a loose grip on reality. Yet he was Muhammed Ali, and that made all the difference. Ali was loved, and he was hated, not only by Whites, but also by Blacks—especially those Blacks who had to face him in the ring. Yet he was perhaps an athlete who did more to advance the squalid, cramped situation of Blacks, to advance their rights, and to increase their dignity and pride than any other, and he didn’t do it through quiet conformity as did another great, Jackie Robinson. He did it through bucking the system—by refusal to conform to a system that wrongfully treated Blacks as subhuman. And so, in the eyes of many, he has a rightful claim to be the greatest. “A Nat’ral-Born Worl’-Shaker!” In the delightful, yet deep, movie, “Cool-Hand Luke,” sctor George Kennedy, as Dragline, says of Cool-Hand Luke, Lucas Jackson (Paul Newman), after his death: “Ol’ Luke, he was some boy. Cool Hand Luke. Hell, he’s a nat’ral-born worl’-shaker!” For those familiar with the movie, Luke was anything but a worl’-shaker— something Luke himself had come to realize long ago. Unlike Luke, Ali was a worl’-shaker. At the age of 12, someone stole his bike and the officer to whom he reported the incident suggested that he take out his rage through taking up boxing. He did. Ali won the Olympic gold medal in boxing in 1960. In 1964, Ali, then known as Cassius Clay and only 22 years old, defeated Sonny Liston in an astonishing upset to become the new heavyweight champion of the world. After the bout, he told the nation that he’d become a Black Muslim and that his new name was Muhammed Ali. In 1967, Ali refused military service in the Army because of his newly found religious convictions. Of course, he expressed himself in his customary nonconformist manner. “My conscience won’t let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what? They never called me nigger, they never lynched me, they didn’t put no dogs on me, they didn’t rob me of my nationality, rape or kill my mother and father.” Ali’s refusal irritated many, but his words resonated then and still resonate. They brought to the fore the deep-rooted racial prejudices extant at the time. Because of his refusal to join the Army, Ali was kept out of boxing from 1967 to late 1970—the prime years of his boxing career, said his trainer Angelo Dundee. Once reinstated, Ali worked his way back to contention and was eventually in position to challenge then-champion Joe Frazier. The fight took place on March 8, 1971, and Ali lost unanimously, though he fought valiantly. The two would fight twice more, with Ali winning both bouts, each unbelievably draining for both fighters. After the last bout, a brutal fight in intense heat, a victorious Ali said that the fight was “the closest thing to dying.” On October 30, 1974, Ali was to fight world champion, George Foreman, one of the hardest punchers in the history of the sport. Said Ali: “If you think the world was surprised when Nixon resigned, wait till I whup Foreman’s behind!” He did, much to everyone’s surprise. In 1984, three years after his final retirement, Ali was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. That didn’t stop him. On November 19, 1990, Ali travelled to Baghdad and met Saddam Hussein. He convinced Hussein to release 15 American hostages. Young, boastful to point of arrogance, and confident, Ali was a strong, energetic, and intelligent black man in a country and at a time where strong, energetic, and intelligent black men seldom got anywhere. Being black, he already knew defeat and that’s what made him unafraid of failure and certain of success. “Only a man who knows what it is like to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even.” Ali often said things that rankled others, but there was always something worth considering about what he said. “Boxing is a lot of white men watching two black men beat each other up.” Again, after convicted of draft evasion in 1970, he said: “I am America. I am the part you won’t recognize. But get used to me. Black, confident, cocky, my name, not yours. My religion, not yours; my goals, my own; get used to me.” What defined Ali? Justice. He never forgot about his bike, and that he was black, but he was proud to be black and he helped other blacks to be proud to be black. Black could be strong, energetic, and intelligent. Black could be handsome. Most significantly black could be heard. Ali was all about being heard. “At home I am a nice guy: but I don’t want the world to know. Humble people, I’ve found, don’t get very far.” Authenticity too—yes, authenticity. Ali was a nice guy at home, but also when not at home. His larger-than-life persona was carefully crafted because he was fighting a larger-than-life issue, racism, out of the ring. His toughest bouts were not with Liston, Frazier, or Foremen, but with social injustice. Fighting on behalf of social justice, Ali, it is clear, won a unanimous decision. .

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